ntains of
Dry-facts and Realities. The clear sunshine played on them, and the tops
were lost in the clouds. At the foot many paths ran up. An exultant cry
burst from the hunter. He chose the straightest and began to climb;
and the rocks and ridges resounded with his song. They had exaggerated;
after all, it was not so high, nor was the road so steep! A few days, a
few weeks, a few months at most, and then the top! Not one feather only
would he pick up; he would gather all that other men had found--weave
the net--capture Truth--hold her fast--touch her with his hands--clasp
her!

"He laughed in the merry sunshine, and sang loud. Victory was very near.
Nevertheless, after a while the path grew steeper. He needed all his
breath for climbing, and the singing died away. On the right and left
rose huge rocks, devoid of lichen or moss, and in the lava-like earth
chasms yawned. Here and there he saw a sheen of white bones. Now too the
path began to grow less and less marked; then it became a mere trace,
with a footmark here and there; then it ceased altogether. He sang no
more, but struck forth a path for himself, until it reached a mighty
wall of rock, smooth and without break, stretching as far as the eye
could see. 'I will rear a stair against it; and, once this wall climbed,
I shall be almost there,' he said bravely; and worked. With his shuttle
of imagination he dug out stones; but half of them would not fit, and
half a month's work would roll down because those below were ill chosen.
But the hunter worked on, saying always to himself, 'Once this wall
climbed, I shall be almost there. This great work ended!'

"At last he came out upon the top, and he looked about him. Far below
rolled the white mist over the valleys of superstition, and above him
towered the mountains. They had seemed low before; they were of an
immeasurable height now, from crown to foundation surrounded by walls of
rock, that rose tier above tier in mighty circles. Upon them played
the eternal sunshine. He uttered a wild cry. He bowed himself on to
the earth, and when he rose his face was white. In absolute silence he
walked on. He was very silent now. In those high regions the rarefied
air is hard to breathe by those born in the valleys; every breath he
drew hurt him, and the blood oozed out from the tips of his fingers.
Before the next wall of rock he began to work. The height of this seemed
infinite, and he said nothing. The sound of his tool rang ni