The Monticellonian., 1918-02-22
Encampment of Nomad Tent DweIlers.


 glare of the road. It stirred strange emotion in me; perhaps an early race memory, an ancient nostalgia for this first home of the human race. But there was no water for our beasts, and we must travel two Ii farther-two- thirds of an English mile. There, in the shadow of a doorway, we ate our first trail tiffin surrounded by half clothed men and not in the least clothed children, who followed us en- thusiastically.
 Past little gray wayside shrine past tall mastlike poles with their prayer flags dropping in the still air. the road led, striking suddenly trail that emerged onto a small plateau. The sheer thrill of that little plateau, like sharp upturning Chinese mir TOT! At the foot of the ascent lay a Bethlehem village. The mellow after noon sunshine reflected in small pool-the whole a study in quietude. And beyond, rushing swiftly away to the North, our Promised Land, the great Mongolian plain
 To the Top of the World.
 The ascent of the next morning was delayed by the appearance of cara van of two-wheeled ox-carts piled with wool, there where the pass notched the sky. But it was worth the de- lay. Whatever else slips from me through memory's net, it will not be those carts, for one supreme moment dominating the world, and then, like all things mortal, each losing the su- preme moment at the crest of things and plunging down the pass, lost in the dust below, while we ourselves took the uptrail to the top of the world.
 The top of the world Beyond a vision of sky and plain, magnificent open country rushing away gloriously to the horizon and beyond That Is the feel of Mongolia-beyond; vast silent beyond. Something of desert beauty lay in it's unbroken spaces. peace and healing and desert inscrut- ability. It was of the desert and yet it was not desert. Its tawny mono chrome was tinged with green, soft ened by short, sparse grass through which summer wind rustled, invit- ing one to pleasant wanderings.
 The Tent Dwellers.
 We were now we'll up in fresh, un- trammeled land. There were no fields, no houses, no villages. only an occa- sional encampment of black Mongol tc xxrith itc r6 of nomad's land.
 The black Mongol tents are made of layers of felt stretched on a collapsi- ble wicket of wood about four feet high, from which spokes of wood ex- tend to meet above at the top, the whole corded with stout ropes. There are no windows and the entrance con- sists of one low door, Against the walls of the tent stand bright chests of clothing, brass cooking vessels, rows of cheeses, barrel of intoxi- cant made from sour milk, and a small Buddhist shrine. Felt and fur rugs cover the earth floor and the low dais at the back which adds Turkish look. On center brazier tea sinners from morning till night, tea drunk copious- ly with butter and salt and handful of millet The whole is overhung with an indescribable odor, Siberian but more so skins, cheese. smoke, horses, dogs, sheep, cows. tobacco, sour milk, incense to the gods and unwashed hu- manity, combination into which the odors of Cairo might be carried as a perfume.
 The Mongol is darker in color than his Chinese neighbor, high-cheeked, squat, weather-beaten, almost protec- tive in coloring. Rarely, if ever, on a Mongol face is seen that fine intelli- gence which stamps the Chinese; the fact that he has produced no arts, no crafts, that he is worker in no me dium, is writ large in the crudity of his expression As a Buddhist, he refus- es to till the soil lest he take life-kill a beetle, for instance. Sheep he may kill, however, since that may be accom- plished without Buddha's cognizance back of the tent. Flocks have another advantage, too, over fields; fiocks he may carry with him. And the Mongol knows no shades of a prison house Give Mongol sheep and horse and he will feed, clothe, house himself and roam the plain. Add COW and he can get drunk. Life has nothing more to offer.