beautiful cardamom of Pursat, much sought after by the Chinese, who pay very highly for it, is entirely monopolised by the king and his ministers; and it is nearly the same with every valuable product."

After a sojourn of three weeks within the walls of Ongcor Wat, M. Mouhot returned to Battambong, whence he proceeded across the country to Bangkok. Part of the road lay over an immense plain, almost a desert, and our traveller suffered much from heat, from mosquitoes, and from want of water. On the 4th of April he regained the capital, after fifteen months' absence. 66 During the greater part of this time," he says, "I had never known the comfort of sleeping in a bed; and throughout my wanderings my only food had been rice or dried fish, and I had not once tasted good water. I was astonished at having preserved my health so well, particularly in the forests, where, often wet to the skin, and without a change of clothes, I have had to pass whole nights by a fire at the foot of the trees; yet I have not had a single attack of fever, and been always happy and in good spirits, especially when lucky enough to light upon some novelty."

Elsewhere he says, with that touching simplicity which reminds one of Mungo Park: "Nature has her lovers, and those alone who have tasted them know the joys she gives. I candidly confess that I have never been more happy than when amid this grand and beautiful tropical scenery, in the profound solitude of these dense forests, the stillness only broken by the song of birds and the cries of wild animals; and even if destined here to meet my death, I would not change my lot for all the joys and pleasures of the civilised world."

The rainy season having commenced, M. Mouhot had to delay his intended journey to Laos, and he went, therefore, to spend the interval at Pechaburi, on the Malayan peninsula, where the King of Siam has a palace built on the summit of a hill. On the low ground were forests, palm-trees, and rice-fields, the whole rick and varied in colour. Behind were a range of mountains inhabited by independent Kariens, and amid which he visited some curious grottos. But it was always raining, and his incessant persecutors-the mosquitoes-covered his body, face, and hands with blisters. "At times," he says, "I howl with pain and exasperation." Truly it would be better to have to do now and then with a wild beast of the forest, than to be incessantly exposed to a torment to which there is no relief.

After a sojourn of four months at Pechaburi, our traveller returned to Bangkok to prepare for his journey in Laos. Here he learnt that the steamer Sir James Brooke, in which he had sent off all his collections made up to this time at so great a risk, had foundered off Singapore. This was indeed a sad disaster, and well calculated to damp his ardour in a further undertaking. A start was, however, effected up the Menam, accompanied by his faithful Phrai, Deng, a Chinese cook, and four Laotian rowers, not to mention little Tiny, who had survived snakes and wild beasts as well as climate. The banks of the river were covered with splendid crops, the periodical inundations rendering them as fertile as those of the Nile. He soon reached the mountains of Phrabat, and rejoiced in their pure, clear atmosphere, the weather being pleasant, and a fresh wind blowing. Higher up the river the climate was not, however, found to be so propitious, and at Khae Khoe he records: "The air is March-VOL. CXXXIII. NO. DXXXI.

T

damp, unwholesome, and dreadfully heavy; one's head burns, while one's body is at one time covered with perspiration, and at another a cold shivering comes on." On his way hither he had indeed experienced a more severe headache than any he had had since he entered the country (his two men also suffered from occasional attacks of intermittent fever), and often complained of cold in his stomach. " Indeed," he adds, "death lays so many snares for us here, that he who escapes may think himself lucky." The Laotians attributed all sickness to demons taking possession of the body. Every day he went out on collecting expeditions. On one occasion he rejoined his servants, who were laying asleep at the foot of a tree, just as a large leopard was about to pounce on one of them. Luckily a first shot took effect in the shoulder, and a second in the heart, and the animal fell dead almost instantaneously.

Arrived at Chiapume (February 28, 1861), the governor told him that if he wanted oxen or elephants there were plenty in the forest, so he had fain retrace his steps all the way back to Bangkok, where, by dint of presents, he obtained more stringent letters. Thus provided, he was enabled to effect his passage through the terrible Dong Phya Phai, "forest of the king of fire," for a second time, " with no spell to terrify the demons which inhabit it, neither tigers' teeth nor stunted stag-horn, nothing but his faith in and love for God." The profound stillness of this vast forest, and its luxuriant tropical vegetation, are indescribable. Our traveller passed ten successive nights in this deleterious forest, in which his Chinese companions never partook of a meal without their usual religious ceremonies and offerings to their ancestors, so fearful were they of sickness overtaking them. In the rainy season, with the feet in the mud, the body in a profuse perspiration, and breathing a fœtid atmosphere, hot as a stove and reeking with putrid miasma, many of the Laotians themselves sink and die in their attempts to cross the forest. As it was, two Chinese in the caravan arrived at Korat in a frightful state of fever, and M. Mouhot's servants were both invalided. Many of the oxen also died from fatigue and exhaustion. Once out of this dreaded covert, they entered a district of brushwood and tall grass swarming with deer, and, ascending some hills, the air became fresher and purer. They also passed now several considerable villages, in one of which six hundred oxen were kept belonging to the king. The Chinese quarter of Korat, the capital of the province, contained sixty or seventy houses, built with bricks dried in the sun, and surrounded by palisades nine feet high, and as strong as those of a rampart, denoting an insecure country. Korat is indeed a nest of robbers and assassins, the resort of all the scum of the Laotian and Siamese races. Beyond the Chinese quarter, which is the bazaar, is the town properly so called, enclosed by a wall of ferruginous stone, with five or six thousand inhabitants, the residence of the governor, several pagodas, and a caravanserai. The entire province of Korat comprises over eleven towns and many villages, some of the towns containing fifty or sixty thousand inhabitants. This little state is merely tributary to Siam, and there are in it many remains of the old dynasty of Ongcor, or of Khmordôm.

M. Mouhot obtained elephants here, two for himself and servants, and two others for his baggage, for his journey into Laos, in his progress into which no existing maps were of any further use. The Chinese gave him the following sound practical advice as to his future mode of proceed

ing: "Buy a tam-tam, and, wherever you halt, sound it. They will say, Here is an officer of the king;' robbers will keep aloof, and the authorities will respect you. If this does not answer, the only plan to get rid of all the difficulties which the Laotian officials will be sure to throw in your way, is to have a good stick, the longer the better. Try it on the back of any mandarin who makes the least resistance, and will not do what you wish."

M. Mouhot got on, however, without tam-tam or cane, but he was unluckily caught by the rain in a forest at the outset, and detained there five days in wet clothes. Poor Phrai was seized with a dreadful fever, and our traveller himself felt very ill. It is much to be regretted that he should have attempted to penetrate these unexplored regions at such a time of the year. A country of mountains and woods, the people were poor and rude, and elephants were the only means of transport. Every village possessed some, several as many as fifty or a hundred. The inhabitants were divided into two classes: "white-bellied Laotians," or Laos Proper; and "black-bellied savages," or Lao-Zuene, so called from the manner in which they tattoo themselves.

Most of the villages were situated about a day's journey from one another, but frequently our traveller had to travel for three or four days without seeing a single habitation, and had no alternative but to sleep in the jungle. This might be pleasant in the dry season, but during the rains, M. Mouhot says, nothing can give an idea of the sufferings of travellers at night, under a miserable shelter of leaves hastily spread over a rough framework of branches, assaulted by myriads of mosquitoes attracted by the light of the fires and torches, by legions of ox-flies, which, after sunset, attack human beings as well as elephants, and by fleas so minute as to be almost invisible, which assemble about you in swarms, and whose bites are excessively painful, and raise enormous blisters. To these enemies add the leeches, which, after the least rain, come out of the ground, scent a man twenty feet off, and hasten to suck his blood with wonderful avidity.

M. Mouhot had left Bangkok on the 12th of April, and on the 16th of May he reached Leuye, the chief town of a district belonging to two provinces, Petchabrine and Lôrne. It was situated in a narrow valley, like all the towns and villages since leaving Chaiapume. This is the district of Siam richest in minerals; one of its mountains contains immense beds of magnetic iron of a remarkably good quality. Others yield antimony, argentiferous copper, and tin. The iron only is worked, and this population, half agriculturists, half artisans, furnish spades and cutlasses to all the surrounding provinces. The people of the mountains were throughout terribly affected with goître.

On the 24th of June he arrived at Paklaïe, described as a charming place, with elegant and spacious houses, situated on the Me-kon. This river has been described as a mere brook in the mountains of Laos, but it was larger here than the Me-nam at Bangkok, with the impetuosity of a torrent. No doubt it was the season of flood. Ninety miles farther north he came to Thadua, passing for eight days through the same style of country, changing one valley for another, and crossing mountains which became more and more elevated, but every evening reaching a hamlet or village with either a caravanserai or a pagoda. If one of

the elephants, M. Mouhot remarked, fell, in journeying, into a ravine, immediately the whole troop would, regardless of their riders or burdens, jump down after him to draw him out. There is something difficult to fathom in the intelligence and affections of these docile and wonderful animals. The Me-kon still continued to be over a thousand yards in width, everywhere careering through lofty mountains, clad with the richest and thickest verdure. "There was," says M. Mouhot, "almost

an excess of grandeur."

On the 25th of July he reached Luang Prabang, the capital of Laos, and the last point of his travels. He describes it as being a delightful little town, covering a mile of ground, and containing a population of some seven or eight thousand. The situation was also extremely pleasant, in a kind of circular valley nine miles in diameter. M. Mouhot was at once presented to the princes who govern this little state, and who bear the title of kings. The inhabitants appeared to him to be more industrious than the Siamese, and to possess a much more adventurous and mercantile spirit. They were also more intelligent than either Siamese or Cambodians, but neither so curious nor so hospitable. Chinese, Birmans, and Indians traffic here, but the missionaries have not penetrated the country like the Annamites; they dread the jungle-fever.

M. Mouhot made several excursions hence, and collected many geographical memoranda. The last dates in his journal were simple, but most affecting:

"October 19.-Attacked by fever."

"October 29.-Have pity on me, oh my God!"

66

These words, written with a trembling and uncertain hand, were the last. 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 that he should recover, or he might have made an effort to write again. He died November 10, 1861, at seven 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. Luang Prabang, where M. Mouhot perished, was only some sixty miles from the frontier of China, so that he had succeeded in traversing nearly the whole length of central Laos. It was his intention, had he been spared, to have descended the Me-kon to Cochin-China with his collections. It is probable that there would not be more than the average dangers and difficulties in passing from the same place to Birmah, and taking ship at Rangun.

THE MILITARY HERO.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

O WAR! What is it that invests thy brow
With captivating glory? Through all years,
Why has youth panted at thy feet to bow,

And felt a joy in danger, mocking fears?
Loud swells thy rolling music, and his eye
Burns with new flame; he sees thy banner fly,
And to be called a hero he will brave
The chance of suffering, peril, and the grave.

Say, what are laurels? sighed-for, dazzling prize,
Worthless, yet precious; man would fain appear
Daring and valiant in his fellows' eyes,

Laurels to base, as noble spirits, dear:
They crowned Miltiades with solemn glory,
They sat on Timur's brow all dark and gory,
They wove for Cæsar everlasting fame,
And on Napoleon's forehead turned to flame.

What now remains of ancient fields of strife,

Great, famous in their day, where heroes fought, And man won honour as he took man's life?

Ask the weird, passing winds-they answer nought;
Ask the wild flowers that bloom upon their graves,
Ask Canna's plain, and Tiber's winding waves;
Nature forgets them, fear hath ceased to bow,
Their agony and glory nothing now.

Thou mighty shaker of the moral world,
And changer of the destinies of man!
Let thy proud standard joyous be unfurled,
Let greedy Havoc stalk along the van,
And feed the wolf and eagle-rise, Oh, rise!
Alluring honour flashing in thine eyes;
Thou eldest born of Passion! mount thy car,
By Furies drawn, Oh, hydra-headed War!

Ambition still will follow thee, and pride
Behold but glory in thy ghastly mien;
Pomp and excitement still thy horrors hide,

And throw a magic o'er each bloody scene:
What are bereavements, widows', orphans' sighs?
For victory won, men's thanks to Heaven arise;
To heal a feud, when words might healers be,
We sweep doomed thousands to eternity.

And yet to keep our own, defend the right,

Not on mad conquest bent, when gleams the sword,

Warfare is justice; holy is the fight;

God doth approval, and his smile accord:

A nation arming to repel a wrong,

Or burst a tyrant's fetters galling long

Then battle wears a front unstained, sublime,

War to the death is virtue, not a crime.