our spare lumber in
his wake, while you toil upward and ever upwards--gasping--until with your
last available breath you murmur "Asti," and sink upon the nearest stone a
limp, perspiring worm!

5.30 P.M.--That bear has taken a sleeping draught!

I am now perched on a lonely rock, my hard taskmaster having routed me out
of a very comfortable place under a blue pine, whose discarded needles
afforded me a really agreeable resting-place, and dragged me away down
again through the pine forest and jungle; hurried me across a roaring
torrent on a fallen tree trunk; personally conducted me hastily up a place
like the roof of a house; and finally, explaining that the bear, when
disturbed, must inevitably come close past me, has departed with his staff
(the chota shikari, the tiffin coolie, and a baboon-faced native) to wake
up the bear and send him along.

After the first flurry of feeling all alone in the world, with only a
probable bear for society, and having loaded all my guns, clasped my visor
on my head and my Bessemer hug-proof strait-waistcoat round my "tummy," I
felt calm enough to await events with equanimity.

6.15 P.M.--A large and solemn monkey is sitting on the top of a thick and
squat yew tree regarding me with unfeigned interest. The torrent is
roaring away in the cleft below. Nothing else seems alive, and I am
becoming bored----What? A bear? No! The shikari, thank goodness!

"Well, shikari--Baloo dekho hai?" No, it is passing strange, but he has
_not_ seen a bear. "All right! Pick up the blunderbuss, and let us make
tracks for the ship."

_Wednesday, May_ 10.--Beguiled by legends of many bears, detailed to me
with apparently heartfelt sincerity by Ahmed Bot, I have been pursuing
these phantoms industriously.

On Monday we quitted our boat, and started upon a trip into the Lolab
Valley. The views, as the path wound up the green and flower-spangled
slope, were very beautiful, and, when we had ascended about 1500 feet and
were about opposite to the supposed haunt of Saturday's bear, we
determined to camp and enjoy the scenery, not omitting an evening
expedition in search of our shy friend.

Jane joining me, we had a most charming ramble down a narrow track to the
bed of the stream which rushes down from the snow-covered ridge guarding
the Lolab. Here we crossed into a splendid belt of gaunt silver firs, the
first I have seen here; whitish yellow marsh-marigolds and a most vivid
"smalt" blue forget-me-not w