Kashmir 159 



it was a land of pastures and woods below, of snow, 

 rocks, and ice above. The hillsides were covered with 

 blue, yellow, and purple blossoms, tossing their heads 

 in the breeze ; higher still, above the tree-zone, 

 glittering glaciers were wedged between the barren 

 crags, and the long, gaunt ribs of the mountains 

 sustained fields of snow. 



Our tents were soon up, at the edge of this mountain- 

 locked merg ; our unpacking quickly done. Having 

 probably found our set of teacups in my long boots, 

 a cake of soap hidden in a coat-sleeve, and my collars 

 wrapped round a cream cheese which we got in 

 Gulmerg (such were the vagaries of Sala Bux), we 

 had guns often to look to, perhaps something to sketch, 

 always diaries to be written up, while we lounged in 

 the shade those lazy afternoons. . . . Home letters 

 had to be written "Home," which 'plays such a 

 large part out in India, and is the final goal of every 

 Englishman's hopes and plans. Even we idle globe- 

 trotters could not forget, and could realise a little 

 that it might be possible to write 



Oh the toil that knows no breaking ! 



Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless aching ! 



Oh the black dividing sea and alien plain! 



As soon as the servants had it ready, we dined on 

 our camp-table under the trees, and afterwards strolled 

 about, watching the sun sink behind the desolate ridges 

 outlined by a long, thin saw-edge of black fir-tree. 

 For a brief half-hour the cold snows were crimsoned, 



