extremely vigorous louse was at our disposition. We seized it by the sides with our nippers, but the Lama forthwith opposed this proceeding, and insisted upon putting a stop to the experiment, on the ground that we were going to cause the death of a living being. “Do not be afraid,” we said, “your louse is only taken by the skin; besides, he seems strong enough to get over the pressure, even were it greater.” The Regent who, as we have before mentioned, had religious theories superior to those of the common herd, told the Lama to be silent, and to allow us to proceed. We continued the experiment, and fixed in the glass the poor little beast, that struggled, with all its might, at the extremity of the nippers. We then requested the Regent to apply his right eye, shutting his left, to the glass at the top of the machine. “Tsong-Kaba!” exclaimed the Regent, “the louse is as big as a rat.” After looking at it for a moment, he raised his head and hid his face with both hands, saying, it was horrible to look at. He tried to dissuade the others from examining it; but his influence failed to make any impression. Everyone, in his turn, looked through the microscope, and started back with cries of horror. The Lama secretary, seeing that his little animal scarcely moved, advanced a claim in its favour. We removed the nippers, and let the louse fall into the hands of its owner. But, alas! the poor victim did not move. The Regent said, laughingly, to his secretary, “I think your louse is unwell; go and see if you can get it to take some physic, otherwise it will not recover.” No one wishing to see other living creatures, we continued the entertainment, by passing a small collection of microscopical pictures before the eyes of the spectators. Every one was charmed, and exclaimed with admiration, “What prodigious capacity the French have!” The Regent told us, “Your railways and your aerial ships no longer astonish me so much; men who can invent such a machine as that, are capable of anything.” The First Kalon was so delighted with the productions of our country, that he took a fancy to study the French language. One evening, we brought him, in accordance with his wish, a French alphabet, each letter of which had the pronunciation written beneath it in Thibetian characters. He ran his eye over it, and when we proposed to give him some explanations, he replied, that they were not necessary, as what we had written was quite clear. The next day, as soon as we appeared in his presence, he asked us what was the name of our emperor. “Our emperor is called Louis Philippe.” “Louis Philippe! Louis Philippe! very well.” He then took his style, and began to write. An instant afterwards he gave us a piece of paper, on which was written, in very well formed characters, LOUY-FELIPE.