COUNTRY SCENERY 83 



foot you pass little irrigated squares covered with 

 all imaginable crops. Maize and millet, tobacco, 

 cabbage, rice, two or three varieties of bean, the 

 beautiful little indigo shrub, rowan-like pepper, 

 chillis, cabbages, with here and there the grey stone 

 arch of a piloh or some memorial tablet. A walled 

 village, in a sad state of disrepair — the inhabitants 

 took more trouble fifty years back, when the 

 Mohammedans carried fire and sword through the 

 country — raises sunbaked walls, and in the fields 

 around foot-bound women, each with her little 

 stool, pick at the ground like tired but industrious 

 birds. A broad-leaved mulberry gives welcome 

 shade, and round the glossy date trees cluster little 

 rings of cornflowers. There are but few flowers 

 in the plain, but the apple-trees are laden with 

 hard little pink-cheeked fruit, and from the per- 

 simmons hang great bunches of mistletoe. 



A temple stands at the base. Just behind it a 

 deep ravine plunges into the bowels of the range, 

 holding the grateful coolness of a deep, shaded 

 well. 



There are some who say that after a year or so 

 on the plains the great empty horizon grips them 

 so that they cannot bear to lose it ; but such as 

 these can never have loved the mountains. After 

 the loess gullies, the long, dusty road, the parching 

 thirst, and the sibilant whisper of the mosquitoes, 

 the grey rocks, the firs, and even tlie grasses, gave 

 me the welcome of an old friend. AVild thyme, 

 and sweet-scented, starlike jasmine perfumed the 

 air, and on the emerald banks little scarlet lilies 

 made crimson splashes. Indian pinks nestled by 

 the pathway, and over all lay the solemn, inspiring 



