A few miles north of Rahang the river branches once more. We follow the north-west fork, called the Maping. The other branch (Mawang) leads to the province of Lakawn, where is one of our Laos churches. Although the country in this vicinity is comparatively level, yet the high banks and the views of distant mountain-ranges or hills diversify the scenery, which has not the dull monotony of the lower Menam――a pleasing change, and one that beguiles our time and attention as the boats are slowly making their way toward the rapids; and seven or eight days’ “poling” bring us to the entrance of the ravine at their foot. After weeks of voyaging on a broad river and through a flat country, with a wide horizon always encircling us, how anomalous to be confronted by this rocky pass, through which we must thread our way up forty rapids to the equally level territory of Laos beyond it! As we enter the gorge from the bright sunlight a sombre shade closes over us, even “the shadow of a great rock in a _weary land_.” Wild and grand beyond description are these cañons and falls of the Maping River, and far exceeding any portrayal are the lofty, majestic mountains through which the river cuts its way. No scientific survey has ever been made of the incline of the river, neither accurate measurement of the height of its mountains. Missionaries have approximated the altitude of some of the cliffs that border the river at from eight hundred to fifteen hundred feet. The geology and flora of this region remain unclassified. In silent beauty they await the coming of one who may some day unlock their secrets. It occupies from one to two weeks in getting through the rapids. Some are so difficult of ascent as to require many hours for its accomplishment, while others can be gotten over in less than half an hour. By means of ropes and pulleys the men, with the “Heave-O” cry that is heard the world over, pull and push the boat upward through the gushing waters to the top of the fall, where we glide on in smoother ease――several miles, it may be――until a warning roar in the distance announces the approach to another rapid. The river is very winding in its course and variable in breadth――narrow here, where perpendicular walls of granite rise sheer out of the water to prodigious heights, shutting us in with heavy shadows and deep solitude; wider there, where the rocks recede and stand apart, leaving valleys between, where many a boulder, large and small, in “rank confusion” lies, and where at the river’s edge are spaces of white sandy beach. Here, where we halt for the night, a spacious ampitheatre encloses us apart from all of earth. Encompassed by the “everlasting hills” and under the silent stars, we sing our evening song of praise and worship “Him who is from everlasting to everlasting.”