Up this long, steep pathway to the Buddhist temples on the
summit, multitudes of Chinese pilgrims toil each year, firmly
believing that the journey will bring them merit. We reflected
with a feeling of awe that


``The path by which we ascended has been trodden by the feet of men for
more than four thousand years. One hundred and fifty generations have
come and gone since the great Shun here offered up his yearly sacrifice to
heaven. Fifteen hundred years before the bard of Greece composed his
Epic, nearly one thousand years before Moses stood on Pisgah's mount
and gazed over into the promised land, far back through the centuries
when the world was young and humanity yet in its cradle, did the children
of men ascend the vast shaggy sides of this same mountain, probably
by this same path, and always to worship.''[15]


[15] The Rev. Dr. Paul D. Bergen, pamphlet.


After a night at Hsia-chang, we resumed our journey a little
after daylight. The early morning air was delightfully cool
and bracing, but the sun's rays became fierce as we entered the
dry, sandy bed of the Wen River. By the time we reached the
broad, shallow stream itself, I envied the two mules and the
donkey that managed to fall into a hole, though I would have
been happier if they had been thoughtful enough to discard my
spare clothes and my food box before they tumbled into the
muddy water. The whole day was unusually hot so that by