OVER THE GREAT CHAIN 231 



and did not like it. They said they supposed the 

 EngHsh took tea less frequently than did their nation, 

 if the drink tasted anything like our brew. 



Then — the voice of the charmer, Ali Ghirik, bidding 

 us come out at once and see what was going on upon 

 the mountain. The transformation had begun. He 

 had the makings of a born " conductor," our hench- 

 man, and was never so happy as when introducing 

 us to novelties. If he could but put the hands of the 

 clock back a few years, or find that wonderful weU of 

 youth Rabelais told us of, there would be no end to his 

 energies. 



The mist was rolling upwards, crushing its foamy 

 banks into a solid compact mass. The lower slopes 

 revealed themselves, dull-toned, and uninteresting in 

 bareness, quite ugly in their grey desolation. 



Then, as we watched, almost as though a magician's 

 wand touched it, the panorama of snow covering the 

 mountain three-quarters of the way down took on a 

 rainbow of tints. Up, up rose the vaporous shroud 

 until at last the solemn grand bulk stood in clear-cut 

 majesty. 



Much of the charm and elusive allurement of 

 mighty Kasbek lies in its enveloping mystery, its 

 ancient mythical history. Caucasian folk-lore peoples 

 its dark severe slopes with weird animals, countless 

 gnomes and giants, and brooding eagles whose feathers 

 are an armoured network of golden scales. It is a 

 fairyland. Spirits of all kinds haunt the summit, and 

 here Abraham sought the simple life ! 



To us the whisper of the wind in the vast hollows. 



