Not only children, but thousands of the grown-up men and women hold firmly to these beliefs in spite of all the scientific explanations that are given to them. Quite recently a debate was held at the Bangkok Literary Institute on "What is the shape of the world?" The ecclesiastical portion of the audience, who were mostly natives, fought tooth and nail for the flatness of our planet, and though one or two of their own countrymen argued very forcibly against their notions, when the final vote was taken there was quite a large majority opposed to the theory of "round like an orange." One of the teachers was giving a lesson to his class one day on this very subject. His scholars promptly informed him that the world was flat. He further learned that it would take two hundred years to travel round it at the rate of two hundred miles a day, and that somewhere within the circumference of this pancake-shaped planet there is a mountain called Mount Meru, which is eight hundred and forty thousand miles high, bearing upon its summit the realms of heaven. He explained that the world was round, and was greeted by the remark, "Why, that can't possibly be, for if the world were round the water would all roll off." As there are no scientific terms in the language, and as all attempts to explain why the water did not roll off would have been utterly beyond the comprehension of the young minds of his scholars, he was rather non-plussed. He did his best, however, and believed that, by his earnestness in pressing home his point, he had at last made them accept, even if they did not understand, the fact. By way of recapitulation at the close of his lesson he asked one who had shown intense incredulity, "What shape is the world?" The boy stolidly replied, "The teacher says it is round." In their fairy tales they demand episodes of the most marvellous character. An Englishman once read to some Siamese boys the story of "Jack the Giant Killer," thinking it might interest them. To his great surprise they listened with the greatest indifference to his narrative. On being questioned as to whether they liked the story or not, one boy replied, "It isn't fierce enough;" and further, by way of illustrating what he considered satisfactory in this class of fiction, he related how a Siamese hero met the whole of his enemies banded together against him in a deep ravine. The hero went towards them single-handed, and just when the assembled foes were calculating upon a triumphant victory, he quietly took up the mountains to the right and left of him, in the hollows of his hands, brought them rapidly together, annihilated the multitude with one stroke, and then unfatigued, replaced the mountains upon their bases once more.