The day after our arrival at Ghiamda we received a visit from the two Chinese officers stationed in the town. The one bore the title of Pa-Tsoung, and the other that of Wei-Wei. The Pa-Tsoung was a fine man, strongly made, with a sounding voice and quick movement. A large scar across his face, and great black mustachios, contributed not a little to give him a highly military look. For four years he had served in the Kachkhar as a private soldier, and had returned thence with the title of Pa-Tsoung and the decoration of the peacock’s feather. The Wei-Wei, a young man two-and-twenty, was also a well-built person, but his languid and effeminate mien presented a singular contrast with the manly bearing of his colleague. His face was pale, flabby, and extremely delicate, his eyes were constantly humid and languishing. We asked him if he was ill. “No,” replied he, with a scarcely audible voice; “my health is excellent;” and, as he spoke, his cheeks were slightly tinged with an angry redness. We saw that we had been guilty of an indiscretion, and we turned to another subject of conversation. This poor young man was an insane smoker of opium. When they were gone, Ly-Kouo-Ngan said, “The Pa-Tsoung is a man born under a very favourable star; he will ascend rapidly the grades of the military mandarinship; but the Wei-Wei was born under a cloud. Since he has become addicted to the European smoke, heaven has forsaken him. Before a year has elapsed he will have said good-by to the world.”