THE VALLEY OF THE GLACIEK. 59 



glacier to look for burrell. I killed a 

 very fine male, whose spoils now adorn my 

 brother's hall in Westmoreland, m company 

 with scores of other Himalayan trophies. 

 Leaving the glacier, we penetrated two or 

 three miles up the valley : trees were want- 

 ing, and the vegetation scanty, stunted 

 juniper bushes were all that could be found 

 for firewood. Anxious as we were to go on, 

 and much as we should have liked to have 

 done so, time would not allow us, and re- 

 tracing our footsteps, we reached our shanty 

 before dusk. A roaring fire, which blazed 

 and crackled merrily in the clear frosty air, 

 set the cold during dinner at defiance, and a 

 good blanket-coat — a relic of Canada — with 

 a blanket over all, kept me comfortably 

 warm during the night ; but my com- 

 panions complained much of the excessive 

 cold. 



Considering the short time we had spent 

 in their haunts, we had been tolerably suc- 

 cessful for a first essay in burrell-shooting. 

 The only variety of wild sheep found on this 



