270 THE LESGHIAN MOUNTAINS. 



where trees took weird shapes, like those in Dore's 

 pictures ; where all was dank, and dark, and chill, 

 so that a half wonder grew upon us as to whether 

 anywhere down beneath a bright lire, cushions, and 

 comfort could be waiting for us. 



At last the house iires glimmered from below 

 like stars through a night of fog, and hurrying on. 

 slipping and stumbling over the wet grass, sliding 

 off our greasy leather stockings to bump along for 

 twenty yards or so on our aching shoulders, we 

 reached our Lesghian house, and had soon forgotten 

 (except when the hateful clamps caught our eye) 

 all the petty tribulations which had interfered 

 with our appreciation of the magnificent mountain 

 scenery. 



These Lesghians lead a happy life, though (or 

 perhaps, because) a simple one. A flock of goats 

 find shepherd's work for the hardy handsome 

 boys to do. A field of corn just above the house 

 on a little table-land keeps the family in bread. A 

 tree which grows in the crannies of the rock, in 

 appearance like a small sloe-bush, supplies a decoc- 

 tion made from its root, and leaves so like tea as to 

 have deceived me into believing that it was what 

 it seemed. The industry of the women strews the 

 floor with a superfluity of carpets, cushions, and 

 mats ; makes slippers for the men, cloth for such 

 clothes as are not made of sheepskin, and a de- 

 Jicious drink from the medlars that Tow on the 



