the huts of the timber-salvors. As we come nearer to Shwegun, the river faces the east again, and in the far distance, fresh and more stupendous peaks and battlements tower up against the misty sky.
And, as I write this, it is midnight, and the white moonlight is flooding a voiceless world. The
swooning palms are still ; the river appears to have attained immortal calm. From the dense jungle behind the house of Shwegun, no sound proceeds. It is as though I had strayed upon the threshold of a physical Nirvana.