The Temple, which we occupied during our stay at Chang-an-sa, contained The Altar of the Three Buddhas. The building was spacious and impressive. A wide verandah surrounded it, teak pillars supported a massive roof; scrolls and allegorical pictures, illustrating incidents in the life of Buddha, decorated the wall. Layers of oiled paper carpeted the floor; an altar cloth of silk, richly embroidered, small mats, bronze incense bowls and brass candelabra, embellished the altar, in the centre of which was a large gilt image of the Three Buddhas. Every evening at sunset, the monks who officiated in this Temple placed bowls of rice, honey, and pine-seed cakes upon the altar, and lighted the small lamps and candles which illuminated it. Prayers were not always said, nor were the services always the same, the numbers of the monks varying nightly according to the character of the special office. When the services concluded, there were many who found something to attract them in our small encampment. They gathered round the kitchen; they assisted the interpreter to cook, and tasted his dishes. They handled with amazement the cooking utensils of a camp-kitchen, the cutlery of a traveller’s table. Occasionally, as their increasing familiarity brought about some small degree of intimacy between us, the monks would display their beads and alms-bowls for our inspection, requesting our acceptance of copies of their books in return for photographs of their temples. The intricacies of a camera delighted them, the appearance of a sporting rifle created consternation in their breasts, and they were never tired of swinging in my camp-bed. [Illustration: THE ABBOT AND MONKS OF CHANG-AN-SA] Before the camp at Chang-an-sa was shifted to Yu-chom-sa, a fast friendship, engendered by many kindly acts and the uninterrupted expression of a thoughtful consideration for our needs, sprung up between the monks and ourselves. They consulted us about their ailments, which usually took the shape of an acute attack of indigestion or a form of intermittent dysentery. My medicines were limited to some quinine pills and a bottle of fruit salts; they accepted either prescription with gratitude and much melancholy philosophy. But although they remained always the same well-disposed visitors to our camp, I noted that they did not frequently present themselves as candidates for treatment again. When the moment came for our departure, many small gifts were pressed upon us. For a long time, too, it seemed as if it would be impossible to obtain an account of our indebtedness to the monastery. In the end the persuasion of the interpreter prevailed. When we added to the reckoning a few dollars for the funds of the monastery, the expressions of gratitude and appreciation, to which our little gift gave rise, made it almost possible to believe that the kindness and hospitality shown had been all on our side.