I was surprised to find growing at this height a tiny yellow saxifrage. That evening eight coolies arrived with our long-expected mail, and the rest of the day was spent in reading letters and sorting out papers, for over two hundred letters and papers had arrived for me alone. There was again a sharp frost of 10 deg. that night and the early morning was beautiful, but clouds came quickly drifting up the valley and obscured the fine views we had from the camp of Mount Everest and the rocky peaks to the North of the camp. On September 11, in spite of a warm night, Mallory and Bullock, being very optimistic, left for the upper camp, while Morshead and Wheeler rejoined us from their camp below, not having been able to do any work down there owing to bad weather. Snow fell steadily all the evening to a depth of about 3 inches. Next day was cloudy, but warm, and the snow disappeared again with extraordinary rapidity. I went out with a shotgun to try and shoot some ramchakor, and while after them saw a very fine grey wolf who was also stalking the ramchakor. He came up to within 50 yards of me, so that I was able to have a good look at him. He had a beautiful coat, and it was very unfortunate that I did not have a rifle with me. I wandered some way up a side valley to the foot of a glacier, but saw no signs of birds, as the wolf had evidently been there before me. In the afternoon Mallory and Bullock returned from the upper camp, having been driven down by the bad weather: another 5 inches of snow fell that evening, so that we were kept busy beating our tents to keep the ridge poles from breaking. On September 13, 14 and 15, snow fell on and off the whole time; but in spite of the bad weather I managed to shoot a burhel for food. Their meat is very much better than that of the tame sheep. On September 16 we had at last a fine day with a sharp frost at night. Wheeler at once seized this opportunity and took up a station on a hill-top on the opposite side of the valley, from which he was able to get some useful views. The next day, after 13 deg. of frost in the night, Mallory, Morshead and I started off to climb Kama Changri, a peak to the South of the camp, that overhung the Kama Valley. We left the camp at 2 a.m., by the light of a full moon, which made the going as light as though it were day. We soon reached our view-point of a few days before, where, except for the distant roar of the stream far away below in the valley, there was no other sound, only an intense stillness. Never anywhere have I seen the moon or the stars shine so brightly. To the South, far away from us, there were constant flashes of lightning--the valleys in Tibet, the great gorges of the Arun, the wooded valleys of Nepal all lay buried under a white sea of clouds, out of which emerged the higher mountains like islands out of a fairy sea. In this bright moonlight, mountains like Kanchenjunga--100 miles away--stood out sharp and distinct. Here on