The occupation that followed these meditations, was certainly not of a mystical character; it was, however, a most necessary one, and not without its attractions. Each of us threw a bag over his shoulder, and set out in different directions in quest of argols. Those who have never led a roving life will scarcely believe that such an occupation can be productive of enjoyment; and yet, when one of us had the good fortune to discover, hidden among the grass, an argol remarkable for its size and siccity, he felt at his heart a thrill of pleasure, a sudden emotion, that gave a moment's happiness. The delight caused by the discovery of a fine argol may be compared to that of a sportsman finding the trace of his game--of a child contemplating the long sought for bird's nest--of an angler, who sees a fish quivering at the end of his line; or, if we may be allowed to liken great things to small, we would compare it to the enthusiasm of a Leverrier finding a planet at the tip of his pen.
We are not at liberty, unfortunately, to dwell as we would on these details of Tartar life, however humorously related, for we must reserve space for those descriptions of Buddhistic customs in which the chief interest of these volumes consists. It suffices to say that, during the eighteen months of incredible fatigue and privations, which elapsed before the travellers reached Lha-Ssa, their courage never flagged, nor did their good-humored and hopeful resignation ever forsake them. Every morning the tent was struck, and the encampment of the previous night, however well situated, abandoned without regret. Indeed, as long as the missionaries remained in the plains of Mongolia, surrounded by friendly tribes, they seem, to a certain degree, to have enjoyed this roving life. On one occasion, after an unusually protracted stay of two days, M. Huc writes:
We quitted this encampment without regret, as we had left the others, with this difference, that in the spot where we had spread our tent, there was a greater quantity of ashes than usual, and that the surrounding grass was more trodden down.
This is the true spirit for Tartar travelling, which it is not given to every one to possess in the same degree. In the choice of their attendant, too, the missionaries appear to have been fortunate. "On the countenance of Samdadchiemba," says M. Huc, "one could not trace the sly cunning of the Chinese, nor the good-natured frankness of the Tartar, nor the courageous energy of the native of Thibet, but there was a mixture of all three. He was a Dchiahour." His countenance appears to have been a faithful index to his character. Such as he was, Samdadchiemba is what would be termed, in a work of fiction, an excellent character. In this truthful narrative, he forms an admirable portrait. He was a convert of M. Gabet, and had imbibed a sort of hazy notion of Christianity, which was often curiously mingled with reminiscences of his early creed. Strange scruples would sometimes assail him; as on one occasion, when his "spiritual fathers" had, to their great satisfaction, succeeded in getting some fish: