[60] The Phongyies profess to have a tender compassion for the life of animals, and would not on any account allow themselves to be suspected of having contributed to the killing of an animal for the sake of feeding on his flesh. The writer has often taken a pleasure in taunting them on this account when he happened to see them eating pieces of boiled meat, by showing to them that their practice was little in accordance with their theory. They always answered that “they had not killed the animal, the flesh of which they were eating; but had merely received a piece of meat that had no life. As to the man who had deprived the animal of its life, he had certainly sinned, and would suffer for his misdeed. But that was an affair for which the perpetrator of the deed was alone answerable, and which concerned him alone.” To this answer, of a rather elastic nature, the writer jocosely replied that “if there was no eater of meat there would be no killer of animals; and that, in his opinion, if sin there was, both had a share in it.” Whereupon the yellow-dressed interlocutors invariably laughed, and feeling that they stood on insecure ground, adroitly changed the subject of conversation. There is no doubt that the Phongyies believe that it is sinful to kill animals, but at the same time they confess that it is difficult, nay, almost impossible, to live in this world without committing such a trespass. [61] The writer, when he visited Bhamo two years ago, had the opportunity of witnessing a striking illustration of the above assertion. Living in a fine and substantial dzeat, in the vicinity of a large pagoda, he remarked an elderly Burmese woman coming every morning with some flowers, which she respectfully deposited in front of a niche tenanted by a huge marble idol. She was poorly dressed, but her mien and countenance indicated that she had seen better days. Entering into conversation with her, the writer learned from her that she was the widow of a wealthy man who had been the principal writer of the governor. Her husband had spent twelve thousand rupees in building the pagoda in front of us and the dzeat, and had just died when the work was completed, leaving to her and her only daughter nothing but the house they now dwelt in. She was without any means of support. Having been asked whether she did not feel some regret that nothing had been left for her subsistence, and whether she did not think her husband would have behaved better in bestowing one-half of his money for religious purposes and keeping the other half for the maintenance of his family, the old lady gently smiled, and said, without hesitation or showing the least sign of repining, that her husband had acted very well and for the best; that she and her daughter, by their exertions, would always be able to support themselves in their humble and poor condition.