all sides, whether perpetual, glacial, or only the October
fall, I could not te ll; the guide declared it to be
perpetual, though now deepened by the very heavy
October fall j the path was cut some three feet through
it. Enormous boulders cumbered the gorge, which
gradually widened as we approached its summit; and
rugged masses of black and red rock pierced the snow,
and stood out in dismal relief. For four miles continuously
we proceeded over snow; which was much
honey-combed on the surface, and treacherous from
the icy streams which it covered, and into which we
every now and then stumbled: there was scarcely a
trace of vegetation, and the cold was excessive.
Towards the summit of the pass we followed the
course of a small stream which cut through the snow,
which was breast high on each side; we here overtook'
a small party going to Tibet, with yaks laden with
planks. All the party appeared alike overcome by
lassitude, difficulty of breathing, a sense of weight on
the stomach, giddiness and headache.
Just below the summit was a complete bay of snow,
girdled with two sharp peaks of red schists and gneiss,
strangely contorted, and permeated with veins of
granite. The top itself, or boundary between Nepal
and Tibet, was a low saddle between two rugged ridges,
with a cairn built on it, adorned with bits of stick and
rag covered with Tibetan inscriptions. The view into
Tibet was not at all distant, and was entirely of snowy
mountains, piled ridge over ridge; three spurs must,
it is said, be crossed before any descent can be made
to the Chomachoo river (as the Arun is called in
Tibet), on which is the frontier fort of the Tibetans,
and which is reached in two or three days. There is
no level ground of any kind before reaching that river,
of which the valley is said to be wide and flat.
We started at 10 a .m ., but did not reach the top
till 3£ p.m. ; we had halted nowhere, but the last
few miles had been most laborious, and the three
of us who gained the summit were utterly knocked up.
Fortunately I carried my own barometer; it indicated
16-206 inches, giving by comparative observations with
Calcutta 16,764 feet, and with Dorjiling, 16,748 feet as
the height of the pass. The thermometer stood at 18°,
and the sun being now hidden behind rocks, the southeast
wind was bitterly cold. Hitherto the sun had
appeared as a clearly defined sparkling globe against
the dark blue sky; but the depth of the azure was not
so striking as I had been led to suppose it would b e ,
by the accounts of previous travellers in very lofty
regions. The plants gathered near the top of the pass
were species of Composite, grass, and Arenaria; the
most curious was the Saussurea gossypina, which forms
great clubs of the softest white wool, six inches to a
foot high, its flowers and leaves seeming clothed with
the warmest fur that nature can devise. Generally
speaking, the Alpine plants of the Himalaya are quite
unprovided with any special protection of this kind ; it
is the conspicuous nature of the exceptions that misleads,
and induces the careless observer to generalise
hastily.
We descended to the foot of the pass in about two
hours, darkness overtaking us by the way; the