The year before I visited Lhasa, a Chinese soldier had a dispute with a lama about the right to pass the bridge without paying toll. The lama was the bridge-keeper, and refused to let him pass–pushed him back, perhaps. A scuffle ensued. The Chinaman drew his sword and stabbed the lama, so that he died of his wounds. Now, to kill a lama is heinous in Tibet. Murmurs and discontent arose; and one evening a very large body of lamas (who were joined by others) proceeded to a street where lived a number of Chinese shopkeepers, broke down and dismantled about forty shops, and laying hold of one unfortunate Chinaman, who for some cause or another had neglected to get out of the way, stoned him to death. The matter was now serious indeed. The murder of a Chinaman by a Tibetan might call down heavy vengeance from the Chinese government. The Tibet mandarins dreaded having the affair represented to the Emperor. They exerted themselves to bribe the great mandarins to hush it up. They succeeded with the three principal ones–with the Tatar, with the afterwards crazy mandarin, and with another since deposed and degraded–but failed with the fourth. This fourth, according to the Chinamen, had an excellent character; was the only upright mandarin in Lhasa. He was, they say, a really learned man, and was raised to his rank solely by his merit.