About Tourair there are woods and thick jungles, and the river Nam-Poune, 60 metres broad, runs near. The hills here are of moderate height. I saw some pretty young girls with intelligent faces; but before the females attain the age of eighteen or twenty their features become coarse, and they grow fat. At five-and-thirty they look like old witches. Two rivers unite here, the Nam-Poune from the west, and the Nam-Jame from the north. On my route from B. Nakhau to B. Na-Lê, I spent the night of the 4th of September in a hut at B. Nakone. On the 5th I reached B. Na-Lê, passing through several hamlets, Na-Moune, Na-Koua, and Na-Dua. Bane-Na-Lê contains only seven houses. The streams are, first, the Nam-Jame, crossed and recrossed several times; the Nam-Quême, Nam-Itou, Nam-Pâne; the Nam-Khou, near Bane-Nakone. The road lies across high mountains, with jungles full of monkeys uttering their plaintive cries. I was told of a royal tiger at Na-Lê, which, in the space of four months, had killed two men and ten buffaloes. I had the satisfaction of killing the tigress. 5th September, 1861.--From this date M. Mouhot’s observations cease; but until the 25th of October he continued to keep his meteorological register. The last dates inscribed in his journal are the following:-- 20th September.--Left B......p. 28th.--An order was sent to B...., from the council of Louang Prabang, commanding the authorities to prevent my proceeding farther. 15th October. 58 degrees Fahr.--Set off for Louang Prabang. 16th.--.... 17th.--.... 18th.--Halted at H.... 19th.--Attacked by fever.[9] [9] The handwriting of this entry is evidently much affected by his state of weakness. 29th.--Have pity on me, oh my God....! DEATH OF THE AUTHOR. These words, written with a trembling and uncertain hand, were the last found in M. Mouhot’s journal. His faithful Phrai asked him several times if he did not wish to write anything to his family, but his invariable answer was, “Wait, wait; are you afraid?” The intrepid traveller never for one moment thought that death was near; he had been spared so far, and he doubtless thought he should recover, or he might have made an effort to write again. He died November 10th, 1861, at 7 o’clock in the evening, having been previously insensible for three days, before which time, however, he had complained of great pains in his head. All the words which he uttered during the delirium of the last three days were in English, and were incomprehensible to his servants. He was buried in the European fashion, in the presence of his two servants, who never left him. It is the custom of the country to hang up the dead bodies to the trees, and there leave them.