pugnacious of which are the musk-deer. We passed that night under an overhanging piece of rock. Throughout the 19th we kept on facing north-west, proceeding through many similar scenes of nature, which grew, however, more fascinating in their picturesque grandeur as we came nearer to the great peak of Dhavalagiri. We had just reached the head of a slope of the great snow-clad mountain called Tashila, when — not only affected by the cold atmosphere, but as the result of general exhaustion — I became so weak that only by transferring my share of the luggage to the shoulders of my guide-carrier, in addition to his own, was I able to proceed slowly. I was thoroughly fatigued, but the sublime beauty of the scenery was so inspiring that I could not help standing still, lost in extatic admiration, and fancying that I saw in the variously shaped elevations the forms of giant deities of the Buḍḍhist mythology, sitting in solemn mid-air conclave. I was only aroused from my reverie by the warning of my guide that any further delay would kill me — because of the atmospheric conditions — and, allowing him to help me on by taking hold of one of my hands, we thence made a descent of about ten miles, and once more spent the night under a sheltering rock.
On the 20th of June we began our journey with a climb up another steep mountain, and in the valleys below I saw a species of deer, locally called nah, ruminating in herds of two or three hundred. Further up the mountain I came upon a number of wild yaks at short distances, while on the far-off mountain sides I occasionally discerned animals which, my guide told me, were snow-leopards, or changku (mountain dogs), both ferocious beasts that feed on their fellow-creatures, including man. Scattered here and there on our way I frequently noticed whitened bones of animals, most likely victims of these brutes. At some places the thawing snow revealed the bleached remains of human beings, probably frozen to death. The curious thing
