the mendicants, the charitable would not have the opportunity of gaining for themselves merit. Not even a look rewards the most bounteous donation. With downcast eyes and hands clasped beneath the begging-bowl they pass on solemnly, meditating on their unworthiness and the vileness of all human things. Of course there are certain places where they receive a daily dole; but should the open-handed goodwife have been delayed at the market chatting with the gossips, or the the pious old head of the house be away from home, the recluses would rather go without breakfast than halt for a second, as if implying that they remembered the house as an ordinary place of call. It is a furlong on the noble path lost to the absentees, and the double ration of the following day is noted without a phantom of acknowledgment. So they pass round, circling back to the monastery after a perambulation lasting perhaps an hour or an hour and a half. A portion of all the alms received on the tour is solemnly offered to Buddha, and then all take their breakfasts. In former days this used to consist solely of what had been received during the morning, but the majority of monasteries have, sad to say, fallen away from the strictness of the old rule. Only a few of the more austere abbots enforce the observance of the earlier asceticism. Most communities fare much better than would be possible if they ate the miscellaneous conglomerate which is turned out of the alms-bowls. That indiscriminate mixture of rice, cooked and raw; peas boiled and parched; fish, flesh, and fowl, curried and plain; gnapee (a condiment made of decayed fish, smelling horribly and tasting like anchovy sauce gone bad, but nevertheless wonderfully esteemed by the Burmans, and let-hpet (pickled tea, is but seldom consumed by the ascetics of the present day. It is handed over to the little boys, the scholars of the community, who eat as much of it as they can and give the rest to the crows and the pariah dogs. The hpongyees and poyins find a breakfast ready prepared for them when they return from their morning's walk, and are ready to set to with healthy appetites. Breakfast done, they wash out the begging-bowls and chant a few prayers before the image of Buddba, meditating for a short time on kindness and affection. During the succeeding hour the scholars are allowed to play about, but must not make a noise; the monks pass the time in leisurely conversing; the abbot usually has visits from old people, or the kyoung-taga, the patron of his benefice, who comes to consult with him on various matters, or to converse about religion. About half-past eleven there is a light refection of fruits, and then their work begins again. If no one of his own choice cares to teach the lay scholars, some one is selected by the abbot. The monks and novices take up their commentaries, or perhaps copy one out, asking the abbot or one of the yahans about passages which they do not understand. This goes on till three o'clock, when the shins and scholars perform any domestic duties which may be required about

the monastery. The scholars are then at liberty to run home and get some dinner, as nothing solid is eaten in the monastery after noontide. They return at six o'clock, or sunset, recalled by the unmelodious sounds of a big wooden bell struck with a heavy mallet. This serves also as a summons for the regular members of the order, who have probably been out for a stroll to some neighbors, or to visit the pagoda. From nightfall till half-past eight, scholars and novices stand before the abbot and some of the yahans and recite all that they have learned, the whole sum of their literary knowledge, from the letters in the them-bon-gyee, the A, B, C, up to the book which was last committed to memory. The Pali rituals are chanted with surprising energy, abundance of sound supplying the place of a knowledge of the sense.

Few even of the yalans have any but the most superficial knowledge of the sacred language. Afterwards, if there is time, or if the kyoungpogo is an enthusiast, that dignitary delivers a homily, or an exposition of some commentary. The evening closes up with devotions in the presence of Buddha's image; and when the last sounds of the mournful chant have died away, a monk stands up, and with a loud voice proclaims the day of the week, the day of the month, and the number of the year. Then all she-kho before Buddha thrice, and thrice before the abbot, and retire to rest. The same routine gone through day after day may become monotonous, and lose some of its effectiveness; but such a school, presided over by an abbot of intelligence, and held in reverence by the people, cannot fail to have a powerful effect upon the minds of an impulsive people like the Burmese; and when we remember that the entire male population of the country passes through such schools, we can well understand how the mere teaching of Western secular knowledge has but little results in shaking the power of Buddhism among the people. Their manners may be softened and civilized, but they remain as firm as ever in their ancient faith, and more and more convinced that no other creed would suit them so well. The great number of the monasteries in all parts of the country render it perfectly easy for every one to obtain entrance for his children, and the poorest need have no fear that he will be refused admission. Every one, too, must learn. The discipline is exceedingly strict. If a boy is obstinate, or stupid, his hands are tied to a post above his head, and a stalwart mendicant lays on to him with a rattan till the weals stand out like ropes, and the blood trickles down the victim's back, Many a grown-up man can show you the scars he got in the hpongyee kyoung, because his head was too dense, or his memory too feeble, to get hold of the Pali formulas, which had and have not any comprehensible meaning to him. Nevertheless, he bears no malice; on the contrary, he is rather proud of it, as being likely to stand greatly to his credit in some future existence, or at any rate as atoning for the obfuscated brains with which he has been endowed in this existence. A

Turanian plagosus orbilius is therefore regarded with especial favor, and a Dotheboys Hall would be extensively patronized in Burmha, as considerably shortening the way towards Neikban.

The life of the hpongyee kyoung is about as lazy a round of existence as is to be found anywhere in the world. A few of the monks, seized by a sudden desire to do something, occasionally enter one of the zayats, the rest-houses round the pagodas, on a feast day, when there are a number of people gathered together, and read and expound passages of the law to such as care to come and hear them. Occasionally, too, devout laymen will go to the monastery to talk over points of theology, or to ask for elucidation of some passage in a commentary; but there are only a few who are troubled in this way, and unless the monk is an enthusiast, he need never be troubled with doing anything. They learn long passages of Pali ritual and dogma when they are preparing for admission to the order, and can always rattle it over with surprising glibness when occasion requires. I have never yet, however, met with one who had more than a parrotlike knowledge of the sacred language. There are a few tsadaus in Mandalay who are said to have a just comprehension of the sacred books, and certainly have most valuable collections of them, but they do not make much use of the learning claimed for them. They spend their time mostly in multiplying copies of Cinghalese commentaries, occasionally adding a note or two of their own, more or less peurile or superstitious, for they never venture to hint at modifications of doctrines. As an almost invariable rule, the monk is densely ignorant and far below the most ordinary layman in knowledge of every kind. Prompted by the establishment of government vernacular schools, a few monks in Lower Burmah have been induced, by the fear of losing their power over the youth of the country, to learn and commence teaching in their kyoungs a small amount of secular learning, and occasionally a little arithmetic. The latter accomplishment, however, is regarded with great suspicion as being cabalistic, and therefore opposed to the regulations of the wini. It is therefore only in the kyoungs, in and near our large towns, where the competition is great, that ciphering enters into the monastic curriculum. Neverthless, though teaching is all the hpongyees do for the people, and many of them do not even do that, there are no signs that they are losing their power over the Burmese. The public feeling against a want of rectitude in life in a monk is certainly very strong. A mendicant who committed any one of the four cardinal sins would be forced to leave the order by the unanimous vote of the people, supposing his abbot did not unfrock him-deprive him of the tsiwayan, the yellow, monkish robe. As long, however, as he lives an orderly life, no matter how little he does, the veriest drone may be assured that the people will not withhold their alms or respect. From the time when he first ties the patta, the begging-bowl round his neck, till

the end, when his body is embalmed and burned on a funeral pyre erected at the public expense, he meets with the utmost veneration. The people make way for him when he walks abroad. The oldest layman assumes the title of disciple to the last inducted koyin and with clasped hands addresses him as hpayah, the highest title the language can afford. The monk's commonest actions-walking, sleeping, eating-are referred to in language different from that which would be used of a layman, or even of the king, performing the same thing. The highest officials bow before them, and impose upon themselves the greatest sacrifices, both of time and money, to build kyoungs for them and minister to their wants. Finally, the monk's person is sacred and inviolable. There are but two motives for this high veneration. First, the admiration entertained for their austere manners and purely religious mode of life; secondly, the merits and rewards they hope to derive, in a future existence from the plentiful alms they bestow. Nevertheless to an unprejudiced stranger the hpongyees appear the least deserving of mortals. They spend the entire day sitting cross-legged chewing betel, or lying at full length endeavoring to fall asleep; when they go abroad during the day, it is because they are utterly ennuyés with sitting at home doing nothing and cannot find sufficient relief in merely standing up and yawning. But in their incomparable idleness, they are only an apotheosis of their countrymen, and perhaps not a little of the respect paid them is due to a secret admiration for their supreme objection to doing anything at all,-SHWAY YOE, in The Cornhill Magazine,

HEALTH AT HOME.

PART VI.

IN preceding papers in the "Health at Home" series we have studied the healthiness of the bedrooms and the staircase landings. We have considered how these should be lighted, warmed, ventilated, and cleaned. We have passed from these to the water closets, the housemaid's cupboard, and the closet which contains the watercistern, and have considered the defects which they commonly present, together with the improvements which are required in them. Lastly, we have moved into the bath room, and while, on the one hand, we have studied the simplest and cheapest means for rendering daily general ablution easy, we have glanced at what may be called "luxurious household bathing," the plunge-bath, the shower-bath, and, luxury of luxuries, the hot-air or old Roman bath. We will at this point change our course of study by making a

descent into the lower part of the house, and will consider what are the more important improvements in those regions of present domestic insanitation. Before making this descent, however, let me be allowed to add one word of an explanatory kind.

Two classes of readers accost me on the subject of the practical application of the lessons conveyed in these papers. One class expresses that while all that is suggested should and ought to be carried out, the carrying out would be so great an expense that none but those who are blessed with many hundreds a year are able so much as to contemplate any of the proposed improvements. The other class takes quite a different view; it tells me, as each progressive article appears, that I am not sufficiently radical in suggestion; that in respect to every detail something more could and ought to be done; that some entirely new system, out and out new and perfect, should be described; and that to plant new or improved methods upon old foundations is alteration without corresponding improvement. My answer to these friendly critics is, that the aim of this series consists in trying to propose as much as possible in the way of practical improvement on that which at present exists. I know very very well that, to insure perfection, our great cities require to be pulled down altogether, and reconstructed on new and better plans. But then, again, I know that this is utterly impossible. The point, therefore, to be arrived at, as it seems to me, is to make the best of what exists, and to implant the necessities in the best manner attainable, even in the midst of current faults and blunderings. By this method necessary reforms will not only be introduced into houses that already exist, but will in time be introduced, de novo, into houses that are undergoing construction, and which, from their very foundations, will be laid out with a view to perfection of sanitation. This is a point earnestly to be struggled for at the present time. In this great metropolis houses are springing up in all directions by the hundred. We go into them during the various stages of progress, and really in not one in a hundred is there any advance at all. The idea of the old class of house is molded, as it were, in the mind of the builder. If you dare to tell him of an improvement, he replies instantly that it "won't work." If you ask him whether he has ever tried it, he tells you that he "don't want." And resting his argument on these two phrases, as if they were final, he pursues his sullen and ignorant course of wooden wit and unhealthy adaptation.

It appears, therefore, better to begin with improvements in existing houses than to fight a perfectly useless battle in respect to new construction. A man is master of his house when he gets into it, not before, and he may expect half a century to elapse at least before improvement de novo is the order of the day. Still more to the point is the serious fact that whole cities-full of houses actually exist which cannot be pulled down, and which may remain forever as they