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0170 Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1
Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1 / Page 170 (Grayscale High Resolution Image)

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doi: 10.20676/00000231
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bringing him the Bible, but I could fairly scold the
poor old stupid for putting half a normal load on a
pony having only one-tenth its normal strength, and
no grain at the end of the journey. When men look
at you with the deep, patient eyes that light those
Asiatic faces, and when one's wrath must filter
through Achbar's brain and Achbar's tongue, the
victim still lives when you have finished with
him.
And the morning and the evening were the second
day when I began to read the Bible to Anginieur.
Ere a week had passed, even my orthodox Catholic
friend felt that the early books of slaughter and the
vitriolic prophets left much to be desired as an ele-
vating preparation for probable death. Job, the
patient and Ecclesiastes, struck a more sympathetic
note. The ante-Abraham traditions were suggest-
ive, even absorbing, to the intellect that would in-
quire critically into the history of religion. So,
also, though of far less hold upon one's interest,
the childish babbling of the dream-interpreters,
down to Daniel. Much of all this turns around
life, but the life of a nation rather than of an indi-
vidual. It could enter little into the meditations
of those whose chances of living were down to the
Camp Purgatory measure. Ruth, Esther, and the
Songs of Solomon were read, together with some
torn pages of Childe Harold, which had been hid-
den in our kit; all these spoke to us of the Heaven
of woman's love, from which we seemed to be per-
manently exiled. To the life of Christ, he of
Christian childhood, though long since forced be-
yond the fold, might fancy that he could more con-