on the table at which he is writing, lie a rifle and a pistol, loaded. He has been warned by one whose word he cannot doubt, that Mir Wali is seeking his life that night, and he knows that from among those dark trees men are eagerly watching for a moment of unwariness on his part to rush forward across that patch of light-illumined ground and seize him. All night he has been writing to keep himself from a sleep which he knows would be fatal; but as the first rays of dawn appear over the eternal snows, exhausted nature gives way; his eyes close, and his head sinks-only for a moment; but in that moment his ever-watchful and crafty enemies rush forward, and before he can seize his weapons and defend himself, he is a prisoner, and is dragged forth to death. He makes one request-it is to be allowed to ascend a low mound, and take one last glance at the earth and sky he will never look upon again. His prayer is granted; he is unbound, and as he stands up there, tall against the morning sky, with the rising sun lighting up his fair hair as a glory, he is beautiful to look upon. He glances at the sky, at those lofty snow-clad peaks and mighty glaciers reaching down into the very valley, at the valley itself, with its straggling hamlets half-hidden among the willow groves, whence rises the smoke of newly kindled fires; he hears the noise of life beginning again, the voices of women, and the laugh of happy children, and then with firm step he comes down, back to his savage foes, and calmly says, "I am ready." He is instantly cut down by one of Mir Wali's men, and as he falls he receives his death-stroke from the sword of his treacherous friend, whose honoured guest he had so lately been.1 Mir Wali was subsequently killed by order of Aman-ul-Mulk, who was anxious to ingratiate himself with the British authorities. One of the actual 1 This scene has been made the subject of a poem by Sir H. Newbolt in the publication entitled Admirals All. murderers was always believed to be Mohammed Rafi Khan, who, at the time of my visit to the frontier, was, in spite of his many iniquities, still Hakim or Governor of the Laspur district in Chitral. Six months later, when the rebellion broke out, and the British force was beleaguered in Chitral Fort, the old scoundrel justified both his reputation and his career by openly joining the enemy. Meanwhile the brave young Hayward sleeps under the orchard trees at Gilgit, a type of British pluck and an inspiration to his successors. II FROM GILGIT TO THE PAMIRS On every side now rose Rocks, which, in unimaginable forms, In the light of evening, and, its precipice 'Mid toppling stones, black gulfs, and yawning caves, SHELLEY, Alastor. FROM Gilgit two routes are available to the extreme confines of the Indian Empire and the passes of the Hindu Kush. In a country which consists perhaps of the most stupendous mountain network that anywhere exists, it is not surprising to learn that the only avenues of exit or entrance are provided by the river gorges, which are hewn like deep, irregular gashes in the heart of the mountainous mass. On the eastern side the Hunza River, furrowing a rugged channel down the Hunza-Nagar Valley, opens up such a passage to the western extremity of the Mustagh or Ice-range the physical prolongation of the Karakoram Mountains-which at this point, abutting on the Taghdumbash Pamir, merges in the main range of the Hindu Kush. On the west the |