KASHMIR VALLEYS 203 



CHAPTER XVII 



There are mirrors of crystal shining, 



Whenever the cloud-wrack breaks, 

 And grass-clad banks are tiering 



A wreath of the fairy lakes, 

 Lakes that are links in an endless chain, 



For the water is out in the swamp again. 



Will Offilne. 



This is the sort of thing that readily begets a personal feeling against 

 nature. Stevenson. 



To escape damp I climb to greater elevations Meet storms and 

 stones Return to the shelter of trees and sing the praises 

 of botany. 



THEN followed a wearisome succession of days spent in 

 wandering forth, receiving the contents of the celestial 

 tanks, and returning to attempt drying in a soaking 

 tent with no more adequate flooring than a boggy soil 

 and a muddy scrap of carpet. There are moments when 

 one would prefer to be the lowest of the sponges than 

 to rank highly in the scale of life and have no means 

 of ridding one's self of superfluous damp. I suffered, 

 struck out new lines of aches and pains, sat sorrowfully 

 watching the slow submersion of the merg as it was 

 reduced to a quaking morass, finally settled that, despite 

 showers and such malignities of the weather deities, I 



