An eloquent reminder of the troublous times we had then barely passed through, was the little police fort close by the rest-house, constructed on the top of a ruined pagoda, where there was a view of the country for some distance round. During the first three or four years of British rule places like this had to be selected wherever practicable, and made strong enough to stand a rush by dacoits, and a careful watch had to be kept. The little bamboo house was perched right on the top of the steep mound of ruined brickwork, a wall breast high was erected round it, and with a few resolute men, well armed, inside, it would not have been easy to take. The rest-house at Pyinchaung, looking westward, overlooked a most lovely valley of great extent and fertility, through which we had now to pass. This valley looks as if it might have been at one time the bed of a mighty river, but the stream is now contracted to a very narrow span, and the alluvial soil of this rich valley is a veritable land of plenty. I never saw a region more lovely with “the fairer forms that cultivation glories in” than the Yaw valley then appeared. Whilst crossing this great valley we rode through fields of maize, and another tall grain, a kind of millet, far above our heads, with rice fields here and there, and abundance of pumpkins, beans and other vegetables, the ponies snatching an occasional bite at the sweet juicy stems and leaves of the millet, which they are so fond of. Carts in great numbers passed us, drawn by well-fed, plump oxen, and mostly laden with the leaves which envelop the maize cobs, all laid straight and packed neatly in bundles. The maize crop had nearly all been reaped, and these leaves of the Yaw valley maize, not the grain itself, form the most valuable product of the crop, and are largely sold all over Burma for the purpose of enveloping Burmese cigars.