Everything
is all at cross purposes.
However, although I lost my way from Manyueen to Man Hsien, I got my
photographs of Kachins, those people whose appearance is that they have
no one to care for them body or soul. Their thick, uncombed locks, so
long and lank as to resemble deck swabs, overlapped roofwise the ugliest
aboriginal faces I ever saw in Asia or America, and their eyes under
shaggy brows looked out with diabolical fire.
So much information is to be obtained from the
about the Kachins that it is needless for me to write much here,
especially as I can add nothing. But I feel I should like to say just a
word of praise of the remarkable work of the American Baptist Mission,
which has its headquarters at Bhamo, among this tribe in Burma. At the
time I arrived in the city the annual festival was being conducted at
the Baptist Church, and hundreds of Kachins were assembled in the
splendid premises of this mission. They had come from many miles around;
and to one who at previous times in his residence in the Far East had
written disparagingly about missionaries and their work, there came some
little personal shame as he looked upon the extremely creditable work of
the American missionaries in this district.
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