language, had done so little, Mr. Fair- | was immense. I believe, however, he fax's dreams were vain indeed. was kind-hearted, for he certainly used Was this the faith that moved moun- to be very good to poor little Janie, the tains, or only the blind self-confidence sickly small girl, and he lent his deckthat leads men to their own de-chair to Mrs. Fairfax, as well as several struction? His wife showed me his tracts and ponderous volumes of serphotograph one morning, a fine, broad- mons. shouldered man with deep-set, dreamy | her, I believe. Besides, as I have eyes and an obstinate chin. "It was mentioned before, she was a very taken when we married," she remarked, pretty woman still in her way. as she wiped the glass carefully, "and it is a bit faded, but is still very like him."

He had really compassion on

She looked much stronger by the time we were in sight of England. I was struck by her improved looks It was a peculiar face, not without when I said good-bye to her, for I was charm, but with a mixture of strength landing at Plymouth, and the Fairfax and weakness in it; outlines that family, in common with most other seemed somehow to explain his char-passengers, were going on to Southacter better than pages of description.

ampton.

said, as I gave her my address that she
had begged me for.

A cloud came over her face.
"I shall never go back," she said
"I've quite made up my

mind about that."

After this I saw very little of Mrs. "You are getting on so well that Fairfax, for at Barbadoes several Bap- perhaps we shall go back together next tist families came on board, includ-year. You might let me know," I ing two Baptist ministers, and they at once foregathered with Mrs. Fairfaxfor her husband had been sufficiently known as a preacher in England for her to be quite a person of considera-shortly. tion among her own sect. They did not appear to me to possess great attractions, but they seemed to suit the poor little woman, and she was a great deal with them. I heard her pouring out her woes, much as she had done to me, to the Rev. Abel Clavering one morning, and he was listening with great attention and sympathy.

"Mr. Clavering is a really kind man," she confided to me next day. "He says he's going to write to Mr. Fairfax and tell him it's his positive duty to come back. Mr. Clavering says he's just come back himself from three months in the West Indies, and he would not take a wife out to any of them on any account."

I looked at Mr. Clavering with some attention next time he passed. He was a short, stout man, with an air of being much oppressed by his white clerical tie.

"But your husband?"

My husband must make up his mind, too, and choose between Haiti and me -and us," she said in a dogged voice. "If he thinks his call' comes before us, well and good, but the children and I go there no more; besides, Mr. Clavering says

But I had no time to listen to Mr. Clavering's views, and so we parted, and gradually she and her story faded away from my memory in the delight of being once more at home again.

It was quite a year afterwards that I received a letter in an unknown cramped hand with a very deep black border.

It was from Mrs. Fairfax, and enclosed another epistle written in French on thin foreign paper, and stamped with the characteristic Haitian stamp in this, as in greater things, a burlesque Otherwise he was most uninteresting | imitation of its French prototype. and unremarkable, save at meal times, The first letter was from Mrs. Fairwhen he was given to lengthy "bless-fax, briefly informing me that her husings" before meat. I suppose he pro- band was dead. He had died in Haiti portioned them to his appetite, which a month before. So much she knew

he had set himself, and with the knowledge came the overwhelming sense of his own helplessness to deal with it. How he had gone at last on a pilgrimage to the inland town of Jeremie, trusting he might meet with a better reception there, and how the journey had ended in yet another disappointment.

through the English consul at Port au | turn, and how his eyes were opened Prince. He had sent her the enclosed gradually to the magnitude of the task letter from Père André, who happened to be with her husband during his last illness. She was glad, she said, to think he was not alone, although she did not expect Mr. Fairfax would care to have such a one as he by him at the end. It was no more, though, than he had a right to expect, tempting Providence as he had done by his conduct. Would I, could I, translate Père André's letter? She remembered I knew French, and she did not like to send it to a stranger.

How he lost heart, and after looking like a ghost for weeks he finally broke down and became so ill he could not move, for even his powerful physique was not proof against repeated attacks of fever.

How at last Père André, hearing of his sad plight, determined to go and see him, hoping that this time he might not be repulsed.

Of the sick man's astonishment when he saw who his helper was, and of how he, being then “weak as a child," made no remonstrance, but let himself be nursed back into a tremulous life.

I unfolded the letter. It was closely written. I read it carefully through twice, and I translated it, so I rememher its purport perfectly, although it has long ago been returned to its rightful owner. Sometimes I ask myself if it did not make perhaps more impression on me than on the widow for whom it was intended. It began very formally, but gradually Père André forgot his old-fashioned sentences of sympathy, and to describe the impression "He was docile as a little child, and that " ce grand Monsieur Fairfax" had said nothing. I think even he grew to made on him from the first; how will-love me as a child loves its nurse," ingly he would have advised and befriended him, but how he saw that all his efforts had been mistaken. "No one knew better than I did all he would have to pass through, his discouragements, his hardships. He was, it is true, not of the faith, but it was refreshing to see any Christian take an interest in this poor neglected island, and I am old enough not to laugh at enthusiasm, however misguided. God knows there is little enough of it left in the world nowadays. To look at this tall Englishman brought back my own young days and the faith and hope I had then. I still have faith, thanks be to God, but it is of another kind—the faith that comes of patience and wears her grey robes, but hope, save in a life beyond, has passed away from me."

The old man went on to tell how, when Fairfax's wife and children had left him, he had worked harder than ever, but all to no avail. He recounted with pitying detail how the Englishman had been cheated and taken in at every

wrote the kind old man. "He used to lie quite still for hours without a word passing his lips; but he had the little pictures of his wife and children, and letters near him, many, many letters, and those he looked at often. I used to laugh at him and call them his toys, and then tell him he must make haste and get well and go back, but he only shook his head and looked sad at my words.

"I had brought him his letters as usual from the post-office when the fortnightly mail came in. He had some from England as usual, and I hoped they would give him pleasure. He read them at once, and then he said in his weak, puzzled voice, 'I do not understand; she is well they tell me, but she is not coming back, so I shall not see her again.' He seemed very

sad and quiet afterwards. I tried to make him take food, but he would not, but turned his face to the wall. At midnight he died.

"I was not surprised, I hardly ex

pected him to live, but I did not think |isfactory, literature has grown up round

he would die so quickly.

the Pamir question. The country to "He made mistakes. He made a the south of the eastern Hindu Kush is great one when he came out to Haiti in not so well known generally, although the way he did; but I felt sure he was it has been exhaustively explored. It a truly good man, and I wept as for a is about this portion of the Hindu Kush friend when he died. region, included in the limits of the "The negroes could not comprehend Gilgit Agency, directly under its influmy grief, for they knew Monsieur Fair-ence, or indirectly connected with it, fax had not loved me. that I shall treat. For detailed infor"I had him buried beside his little mation I would refer any one who child, so neither of them now lies alone." Then followed a brief inventory of his clothes and effects, a very scanty one, and with a few more general assurances of sympathy, the letter ended.

The last news I heard from Mrs. Fairfax was that she was going to marry Mr. Clavering.

I think this time she may be tolerably sure at least that her second husband is not likely to have inconvenient "calls."

cares to pursue the subject further to my predecessor in Gilglt, Major Biddulph's exhaustive work, "The Tribes of the Hindu Kush," and to my friend Mr. Knight's most interesting book of travel," Where Three Empires Meet." I must premise my remarks by pointing out that of course it is impossible for me to euter into the discussion of military and political questions.

To the region in question, which embraces Chitral on the west, including Yasin, the Gilgit valley from Gakuch in Punyal to the Indus at Bunji, Hunza and Nagar to the north, the Shin republic of the Indus valley as far as Sazin to the south, the Kohistan i Ma

I believe she is right when she says she feels it will be a good thing for the children to have some one to look after them. She will attend to her hus-lazai, and a portion of the Indus valley, band's shirt collars, and he will take care that none of his family stir out of the beaten track.

What puzzles me, however, is what manner of man was her first husband. Was he simply, as his wife believed, the mistaken victim of a whim? or was he, unluckily for his belongings, really in some measure a martyr and a hero? I have thought over it often, and as yet can find no answer to my mind! I am puzzling over it still.

THE AUTHOR OF

"A STUDY IN COLOR."

From The Contemporary Review. THE EASTERN HINDU KUSH. PUBLIC attention has of late years been turned very frequently to the eastern Hindu Kush region, numerous expeditions have crossed and re-crossed the great table-lands and valleys to the north of the main range, and a voluminous, if occasionally sketchy and unsat

Kohistan, has been applied the name of Dardistan. A misleading title, for there is no such country as Dardistan, and there is no one united race to which the name of Dard could be applied. It is said that the people living on the left bank of the Kandia River are called Dards by their neighbors, but after five years of residence in the country, and repeated journeys from one end of it to the other, I can safely say that I have never heard the term used. What were the exact limits of the country inhabited by the Dards of the ancient geographers it is probably impossible to say; the name was most likely applied to the races occupying the Indus valley from Ladakh to the Punjab. At present the name has no scientific value.

Many languages and dialects are spoken throughout this region, and many castes exist in it, of which only the most important can be mentioned. Their distribution seems to point to successive waves of conquest. The races are one and all believed to be

Aryan, the people of Hunza and Nagar | passes from the Shimshal on the east presenting a strikingly pure type. Bu- to the Dorah on the west lead into it rishki, the language of the Yeshkuns, over the great mountain barrier, and is spoken in the inaccessible Hunza, from it roads run to India through the Nagar, and Yasin valleys; Shina Kunar and Indus valleys, and to Kashthroughout Astor, Gilgit, Punyal, and mir by Astor and the Gurais valley, the lower part of the Ghizr valley; roads along which centuries ago flowed from the Indus valley through Gilgit to the great tide of Buddhist pilgrimage, Ghizr the proportion of Shins varies and caravans of the merchandise of from ninety to thirty-five per cent. of central Asia. The region may be the population; off the main line of roughly divided into two main wateradvance in Astor, Hunza, Nagar, and systems-that of the Chitral River, Yasin, the proportion is reversed, and which, uniting the waters from the the Yeshkuns preponderate, driven | Baroghil, Arkari, and Dorah valleys back by the advancing tide. The falls into the Kabul River close to northern portion of the Hunza valley, Jelalabad, and joins the Indus above called Gujhal, is inhabited by immi- Attock-and that of the Gilgit River, grants from Wakhan to the north of the Hindu Kush. In Chitral, as Biddulph says, the population is a curious and intricate ethnological puzzle. The bulk of the people appear to belong to an aboriginal race speaking Khowar; the ruling class, the Adamzada, would seem to be drawn from tribes which held Badakshan, Shignan, Wakhan, and Roshan. These ethnological questions, however, are too intricate to enter into here.

which, after receiving the waters of the Yasin, Ishkúman, and Hunza valleys, falls into the Indus at Bunji. The Indus drains the whole region. The water-parting between these two systems is the range joining the Hindu Kush to the Hindu Raj, the latter being the northern watershed of the Indus valley, between Bunji and Chitral.

It is difficult for any one who has not traversed the country to realize what a road in the heart of the Hindu Kush means. When I first visited Gilgit, five years ago, there was not a yard of what we should call a road in the whole region, and only one permanent bridge, that over the Chitral River at Chitral itself. Narrow paths, so narrow that often while the rider's boot on one side brushed the cliff, his outer foot overhung a precipice, followed the course of the streams. Often in the course of one short march the path ascends a thousand feet or more to avoid crossing some precipitous cliff, and the repeated ascents and descents render riding a weariness to the flesh. Frequently the path is carried across

To the west of Chitral lies Kafiristan, of which I cannot speak. Soon I trust that my friend, Mr. G. S. Robertson, will give to the world the wonderful story of his successful exploration of a great part of that fascinating country. For the best part of a year he lived amongst the Kafirs; he is the only European who has ever penetrated the mountain fastnesses of that most interesting race, the only white man who has crossed the Mandal (or Minjan) pass, has traversed the country from the Hindu Kush to the Kunar valley, and who has visited Veran, the most important village in the heart of this hitherto unexplored country. Putting aside Kafiristan, the region of which I the face of a cliff on roughly conam speaking is still of great interest. It is some two hundred miles in width from the Dorah pass, leading from Chitral into Badakshan to the Indus at Bunji, and one hundred and fifty miles in depth from the crest of the Hindu Kush to Sazin, where the Indus takes its great bend to the south. Numerous

structed galleries, upheld by shaky timbers jammed into interstices in the rock. In many of the valleys, when the summer sun melts the accumulations of snow, and the mighty glaciers pour down their flooded torrents, the lower paths become impassable for animals. For months at a time all animal

traffic is suspended, and men on foot | the view of the great mountains behind. alone, following giddy tracks skirting From Gilgit itself the great Rakapushi, gigantic precipices, can with difficulty twenty-five thousand feet high though find their way from valley to valley. it is, and distant but a few miles, is Three years ago, for instance, when an invisible, and only three peaks of lesser impending attack by the Hunza Nagar importance, "three silent pinnacles of tribesmen on Chalt, our frontier out- aged snow," relieve the monotony of post thirty miles north of Gilgit, forced the view. To one accustomed to the me to move troops to the frontier, it comparatively pigmy hills of Europe, was impossible for me to take a mule and to the beauty of outline and exbattery through with the infantry.quisite variety of coloring of the Swiss The road runs along the Hunza River, and Italian mountains, this portion of through one of the wildest gorges in the Hindu Kush at first causes a feelthe Hindu Kush, great cliffs rise sheer ing almost of disappointment. The out of the water, and tower thousands Kashmir mountains, through which the of feet above you. The heat in June, traveller passes on his way north, are when we passed through the gorge, is clothed in grand fir forests, are covered terrific; it always seemed to me a with vegetation, and are generally soft fitting approach to the gate of hell. of outline, compared to the mountains Eight times in one march had the bordering the Indus. The traveller, mules to be unladen, and guns, ammu- after leaving Kashmir, each day gets nition, and baggage carried across cliffs into a more barren region, till at last, by the men. One cliff presented such with the exception of the patches of difficulties that even unladen mules cultivation in the valleys, and the scatcould not cross it, and we were forced tered forests which begin at an elevato swim them over the river below it, tion of seven thousand feet, no sign of and to re-cross them above it. Again vegetation meets the eye. On all sides in March last, when moving reinforce- rise bare, precipitous mountains, wild ments to Chilas in the Indus valley, two marches were impassable to unladen mules, and I was obliged to move down the guns on coolies. Such were the roads all through this region five years ago. Now a good mountain road is complete to Gilgit, the Indus is bridged at Bunji, a passable road leads to Chilas, and the communications generally are improving.

But if the roads are wild and unpleasant for riders troubled with nerves, the scenery to which they give access surpasses in grandeur any that it has been my lot to admire. Gilgit is in the heart of the region where the mountains attain perhaps the greatest average height in the world. Within seventy miles are eight mountains with an elevation of from twenty-four thousand to twenty-six thousand feet, while range after range averages from eighteen thousand to twenty thousand feet. As a rule, however, the wonderful panorama is hidden from sight, for the valleys in which the roads run are very narrow, and the lower hills shut out

in outline, depressing in coloring, repeating with a deadly monotony the same tones of dull grey and yellow, darkening to browns and purples in the shadow. It is only on the rare occasions when rain falls that the coloring, which is obliterated by bright sunlight, shows out. Then the mountain-sides are clothed in delicate reds and browns and soft shades of green, and, through the light veil of falling rain, range after range stretches away with exquisitely softened outlines; and, when the dark storm-clouds in spring sweep down the valleys, lurid reds and great washes of purple glorify the silent hills.

Gradually the feeling of vastness gains upon one, as the eye almost tires from ever following from base to crest the severe lines of the enclosing hills, above which occasionally a solitary peak of snow rises majestically into the blue. Splendid panoramas unfold themselves to the traveller crossing some high pass, such as the Banok La, sixteen thousand feet high, over which the road from Astor to Skardu passes,