no THE MARKHOR 



these weather-beaten trees glisten with sundrops 

 and wait patiently for Spring. 



Rugged rocks, still more dignified, still more 

 motionless, keep them company, guarding the secret 

 of their own lives within invisible, fast- closed inner 

 chambers. But even they develop, breathe, grow. 

 The eternal law of progress has brought them into 

 existence, helped them to increase up here amongst 

 the highest points of the Himalayas. What a marvel- 

 lous process of Nature ! 



Millions of snow-pearls drop in rhythmical 

 regularity from the rocky cliffs. They have a long 

 way before them to reach the ocean ; and many a 

 yarn will they spin on their return. They will tell 

 how they licked the stones, played with the pebbles, 

 fought with the rocks, tore up trees by their roots, 

 watered meadows, gave refreshment to man and 

 beast, turned mill-wheels, washed away villages, bore 

 mighty vessels on their bosoms, devoured them in 

 their wrath, veiled the face of the sun, brought 

 fertility and blessing, misery and destruction, and as 

 white snow-flakes allowed children to play with them, 

 buried human beings, covered whole mountains and 

 suffocated Nature wholesale ! 



I wonder how they will treat me when I reach 

 their icy realms ? 



My men have no time for such dreamy reflections ; 

 they think only of to-day, and with their stomachs. 

 Shikaris and coolies are all busy collecting dead 



