X IN THE SHEEP COUNTRY 189 



The hills have between them a valley through which rushes 

 a mountain torrent, passing close to my feet, and having 

 its source in a glacier situated some two miles away, which 

 now scintillates in the bright sunshine with all colours of a 

 rainbow. 



" A feeling of restfulness pervades in this Arcadia, with its 

 vast panorama of magnificent scenery, and a great stillness is 

 all around, save only for the splashing of the stream as it 

 rushes onwards down its rocky course. 



" The presence of several butterflies flitting midst the few 

 remaining summer flowers, and the buzzing of numerous blue- 

 bottle flies, tend strongly to remind me of a perfect English 

 summer day. If further evidence of the general warmth and 

 abundance of insect life is required, it is forthcoming, since 

 one of my natives rushes up to where I sit, pursued by a 

 swarm of wasps, and holding his face where he has been stung 

 by one of his tormentors, after incautiously treading in their 

 nest. His look of terror is comical to behold, and it takes 

 some assurances on my part, and a plentiful application of 

 Homocea ointment, to induce him to believe that the sting 

 of a wasp is not fatal. The episode affords my other native, 

 Pitka, some amusement, as he is likewise a spectator, and in 

 his best style of English as he had heard it spoken, he 

 confided to me the following statement. ' Me no like them 

 flies. One time me find 'um little nest in tree. Me no 

 savey what 'um is. My brother there, he savey, he say, 

 " You catch 'um that." Me catch 'um alright. By 'um by 

 lots of fly come round. Me fall down quick, no can get up 

 for two minutes. All time fly he bite like hell. Next day, 

 you bet you, my face big all same as mumps. That fly no 

 good, no, sir.' " 



And yet, with all its various attractions, this valley of 



