AUGUST 17th.—To Kookur Nag, twelve miles. I am now convinced I came the wrong road from Atchibul to Nowboog, as I had to march back over a great portion of it this morning; however, with the exception of a mile or two, it was all down hill, and as I knew when I started that I had twelve miles to go, I was not tired. Stopped at the village on the way where there are iron works, and saw them smelting the ore which is obtained from the neighbouring mountains, this ore is a yellow powder, and appears to be almost pure oxide. Their method of working is very rude; a small furnace, such as a blacksmith uses at home, supplied with a pair of leather bellows constitutes the whole of the foundry, and is of course, only capable of smelting a very small quantity of ore at a time. Kookur Nag is the name of some springs about two miles from the village I have encamped at, and I walked over this afternoon to see them. It was scarcely worth the trouble. There are a great number of them close together and they issue from the ground, as usual, at the foot of a prettily wooded hill. The water is very pure and cold, and of sufficient quantity to form immediately a large and rapid stream. This place lies near the mouth of a wide gorge or valley which leads right up to the snows, and down which there must have been at one time, either a mighty rush of water or a vast glacier, as the ground is thickly strewn with huge boulders. The stratification of one mountain against which it is evident the flood impinged—is very clearly and beautifully shown.

AUGUST 18th.—To Vernag, ten miles, crossing a range of hills, the descent being the steepest I have experienced. From the top of the range there was a fine view of the two valleys of Kookur Nag and Vernag. They are very similar and down the middle of each is a layer of loose rounded stones. The springs of Vernag occupy the same position in the valley as those of Kookur Nag do in the other, but around them is a good sized village, and their point of exit has been converted into a large and very deep octagonal tank, which is perfectly crowded with sacred fish. Surrounding the tank is a series of arches, and on the side from which the stream escapes is a bungalow for the use of visitors. Six days ago a Hindoo was drowned here, and his body has not been recovered—so deep is the water, it is probable that ere this the fish have removed all but his bones, one hundred yards below the tank is another spring, which is the finest I believe in Kashmir. It comes straight up on level ground, and forms a mound of water eighteen inches high, and more than a foot in diameter. The morning cloudy and very gloomy on account of the eclipse of the sun of which I saw nothing. This is my birthday and my thoughts have been running over my past life and speculating upon the future before me. "But fear not dear reader!" I will not bore you with all my musings over those twenty-nine unfruitful, if not absolutely mis-spent evil years, or show you how my "talent" lies carefully folded up and hidden away, in order that I may have it to return to its "owner". "Oh! fool, fool that I am." Knowing better things and with a half a lifetime gone, "I find myself still plodding along the old road paved with good intentions." The springs of grace indeed surround me, but I am in the shallows and the water is muddy. The very "Tree of Life" is by my side, but it is a dwarfed and stunted shrub, whose shoots wither before they put forth leaves. When will this change? Will my resolutions ever become deeds? "Will grace abound: or will faith ever give such impetus to my "Tree of Life," that it may grow up into heaven?" I put to myself the question that was asked Ezekiel. "Can these dry bones live," and have no other answer than his to make. These are some of my birthday thoughts. Pray, forgive, excuse me if I have wearied you.

AUGUST 19th.—Back to Atchibul, twelve miles, the road for the most part level, but there was one mile of very hard work, over the ridge I crossed yesterday. I approached Atchibul from the hill I mentioned as standing at the head of the garden, and from the top of it a very pretty view of the place is obtained. I found the pavilion unoccupied, and again took possession of it, set the fountains playing, and imagined myself the Great Mogul. Just out of Vernag, I caught a small black and yellow bird, which my boatman calls a "bulbul" (though I think he is wrong in the name) and says it sings very well. I have had a cage made for it, and it is now feeding at my side, and is apparently very happy. I'll try and take it to England. I believe it is only one of the shrike family, but it is too young to identify at present. However, it is my fancy to keep it, so why should I not. The old gardener here is very attentive, constantly bringing me fruit. Shall I do him injustice, by saying that he probably has expectation of a reward? I think not indeed, is it not the same expectation or its allied motive, the desire to escape punishment, which prompts the actions of all of us? We do good, I fear, more for the sake of the promised recompense, than for any love of the thing itself. Light rain has fallen all day.

AUGUST 20th.—I halt at Atchibul. I have now completed my wanderings in Kashmir, and have seen all I intended except one portion, which I shall visit on my road home. My next move will be to ——, but as I do not care to spend more than seven or eight days there, I am in no hurry to get back. My bird died in the night, and by its death has put an end to a rather violent controversy between my Bheistie and boatman. The boatman stoutly maintained his opinion of its value and the Bheistie with a more correct appreciation, and while explaining to me that it was a jungle bird and would never sing, appeared to look upon my conduct with a mixture of compassion and disgust, and then they quarrelled over it. Was my fancy a foolish one? Some men will spend years in the pursuit and classification of butterflies, while others go into ecstasy over a farthing of the reign of Queen Anne. My common jungle bird was a pretty one, and if I had got it home and put it in a gilt cage, it would surely have possessed some value for its antecedents, even if it had proved as mute as a fish, or as discordant as a Hindoo festival.

AUGUST 21st.—Marched back to Kunbul, seven miles, and took up my quarters again on board the boat, fifteen or twenty other boats are here, a good many visitors having recently arrived in this part of Kashmir. I remained at Kunbul all day waiting for the completion of a pair of chuplus which I ordered of a shoemaker ten days ago. I have occupied the time by reading Marryat's "Newton Forster" (one of Hewson's gifts) and I find that when I read I can't write, so that must be my excuse for the shortness of my notes. My head is full of ships, sea fights, and love making to the exclusion of everything else. I heard you—you said it was a good job, as it prevented me writing more nonsense.

AUGUST 22nd.—Slowly drifting all day down the stream towards Sreenuggur. Past Bijbehara with its fine bridge, stopping there a short time to procure milk and eggs for breakfast. Past Awuntipoor—the former capital—but now only a very small village, where stands on the rivers bank the ruins of two ancient Hindoo temples, square blocks, built indeed of enormous stones, but without sufficient architectural embellishment to require a closer inspection than I obtained from the boat. Another of those charming lazy days on the water, nothing to think about, but the time for meals, nothing to do, but to eat them when prepared. The eastern part of Kashmir is covered with high isolated mounds called Kuraywahs, composed of Alluvium, presenting perfectly flat summits and precipitous sides. The top of these was doubtless the original bed of the lake at the time when the whole valley was submerged, and the present channels between them (though now dry land) were cut by the rush of the water, when the Jhelum burst through the opening at Baramula and drained the valley. This rush then is shown to have been impetuous (and the high banks of the river also bear evidence to it) but it seems to me that the mere breaking through of the stream sixty or seventy miles away is not enough to account for it. No doubt that occurrence was attended, I may say produced by violent subterranean phenomena; and I imagine that this portion of the vale—which is much higher than the western half—then underwent a sudden upheaval, the result of which if only a few feet would be to throw its waters with terrific force into the lower portion and afford an easy explanation of the formation of both the Kuraqwahs and the Jhelum. I noticed in my course up the Jhelum, that it appeared to have originally consisted of a chain of small lakes, this would be the the natural effect of such a cause as I have supposed. The bulk of water, at first, would only have been sufficient to produce a few of them, perhaps only the large one between Gingle and Baramula. But as its quantity and measure continually increased by the flow from the higher level so would lake after lake have been formed among the crowded hills until the plains were reached. Then the drainage of these small lakes would follow as a matter of course, and the channel of the river be reduced to a size proportionate to its constant supply. Dear reader, you are very difficult to please. My descriptions you call slow, my imaginings frivolous, science dry. Jokes are feeble and personalities tedious morality is stale, religion is cant. What, how can I write? You have had a taste of all and if you are not content the fault is—well, let me be on the safe side—either yours or mine.

AUGUST 23rd, Sunday.—We continued to progress last night by moonlight long after the sun had set, and started again very early this morning, so that the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Soloman's Throne) and Fort are now visible, and I expect to reach Sreenuggur before noon. It is faster work floating down the current than towing against it. At Sreenuggur I found several letters waiting for me, and amongst them a large "Official," which I tore open with eager haste; thinking it might be a reply to my application to be sent home. It was ——. Well, you will never guess—an urgent enquiry as to what language I could speak and write fluently beside English. I have answered this question some half dozen times since I have been in the service, but they never get tired of asking it. The date of my arrival in India is another favourite and constantly recurring enquiry, and this might lead me to give you a dissertation upon the theory and practice of Red-tapeism, with a special consideration of the amount of stationery thereby wasted, and its probable cost to the Government. It would perhaps, be very interesting to you, but to any one who is at all connected with it, the subject is only one of weariness and disgust—weariness at the unproductive labour entailed—disgust at the utter folly of the proceedings. So I pass it by, leaving some one who is willing to sacrifice his feelings, or more probably some one who knows nothing whatever about it to furnish the much needed expose; it is customary to cry it down but it is an acknowledged evil, the custom has never been fully and fairly explained to outsiders or it must have given way before the burst of public indignation which such an explanation would have created. I have again encamped in the Chinar Bugh, but not quite in the old position as a better place was unoccupied. Indeed I had my pick of the whole, for there is now nobody here but myself. I received news (in my letters) that a field force had left Pindee to operate against some of the hill tribes between Peshawur and Abbottabad—ruffians who are always giving trouble, and who occasioned the inglorious Umbeylla campaign a few years ago. I informed my "boy" that there was going to be some hard fighting, and his reply was "With our troops, Sir?" Our troops! good heavens! a black man speaking to me of "our troops." It is customary I know to call these Asiatics our fellow subjects, but I never before had the fact so forcibly brought before me.

AUGUST 24th.—I got up early this morning and have spent half the day on the "Dul" or "City Lake"—a large sheet of water which lies at the foot of the hill behind Sreenuggur. Besides the excessive beauty of the lake itself there are many objects of interest to be seen on its banks. I visited in succession the Mussul Bagh, Rupa Lank or Silver Isle, Shaliman Bagh, Suetoo Causeway, Nishat Bagh, Souee Lank or Golden Isle, and floating gardens. A word or two of description for each. The Mussul Bagh is a large grove of fine chenars planted in lines so as to form avenues at right angles to each other. There must be several hundred of these noble trees upon the ground, I do not mean fallen but erect and vigorous. The Shaliman Bagh is an extensive and well cultivated pleasure garden with pavilions, tanks, canals and fountains, in true oriental style. The upper pavilion is especially worthy of notice having a verandah built of magnificent black marble veined with quartz containing gold. It is surrounded by a large tank possessing one hundred and fifty-nine fountains, and its exterior is grandly if not artistically painted. The Nishat Bagh is smaller but scarcely less attractive. It is arranged in a series of fifteen terraces, from which a splendid view is obtained of the lake and adjacent country. Down its centre runs a canal, expanding at intervals into tanks and having a waterfall for each terrace, with a single straight row of fountains numbering more than one hundred and sixty. Grand hills rise immediately above it. It contains pavilions of fruit trees, and as a flower garden, is superior to the Shaliman Bagh. The Suetoo Causeway, is a series of old bridges and embankments which formerly crossed the lake, and was two or three miles long, but only portions of it now remain. The two islands are small and covered with trees, having no interest of themselves, but adding greatly to the appearance of the lake. They are I believe artificially constructed. The celebrated floating gardens are very curious; they were formed by dividing the stalks of the water weeds near their roots, and sprinkling the surface of them with earth, which sinking a little way was entangled in the fibres and retained; Fresh soil was then added, until the whole was consolidated, and capable of bearing a considerable weight. The ground is now about nine inches thick, floating upon the surface of the water, and the stalks of the weeds below it having disappeared. It is exceedingly porous and is used for the cultivation of water melons, when walking upon it a peculiar elasticity is perceived, accompanied with a tremulous or jelly like motion. It is divided into long stripes pierced by a stake at each end, which secures them in their position and allows of their rising or falling with the height of the water. An unlucky day for Silly. In the first place he was sea-sick. The use of the broad paddle in a small boat caused a good deal of shaking, and every stroke is attended with a sharp jerk forwards—secondly, he mistook a collection of weeds for dry land and jumped out into the water. This puzzled him immensely, and after he was recovered he sat for a long time gazing with a bewildered air upon the surface of the lake. Paid a visit in the afternoon to Sumnud Shah for the purpose of replenishing my exchequer, but found his shop better calculated to exhaust it. I'll not go there again.

AUGUST 25th.—Lying down inside my tent I just now heard two crows chuckling and laughing in their way and saying to one another "here's a joke" or caws to that effect. You need not laugh at this statement or think that my mind has suddenly become deranged, I merely state a fact. The language of animals—dumb creatures as fools call them—is far more expressive than you imagine, and if you had spent the same time and the same attention that I have in listening to birds notes, you would be able to understand much of their meaning. Here a conversation carried on in a foreign tongue, one to which you a perfect stranger, will you be able to distinguish words? No! you will only hear a confusion of sounds possessing apparently but little variety. But as you become accustomed to it the words and syllables will start out into clear relief; so with birds songs—at first they will appear to you to be always the same, but they have really different tones and meanings, which you may learn to appreciate by studying them in connection with their acts. However I heard the crows say "here's a joke" and guessing I was to be the victim of it, I immediately jumped up and rushed out. They flew away loudly exulting and I found my match box,—which I had left on the table broken to pieces and the matches carefully distributed so as to cover as large a space of ground as possible; there is a crow's joke for you—there is not much in it as a joke,—but I introduce it principally to show that birds talk and that I (clever I) can understand them. I wrote the foregoing to eke out my notes for the day, not having anything particular to record. When the Baboo called upon me with the startling intelligence, all officers from the Peshawur division ordered immediately to rejoin their respective regiments; this has taken away the greater number of the visitors and very few are now left in Kashmir. Why don't I pack up and start? Well, I forgot to mention a short sentence in the order "except those on medical certificate" which saves me the trouble and annoyance of hurrying back before the expiration of my leave. It is on account, I suppose, of the little war we have entered on with those hill tribes, and I may be missing honour and glory, wounds and death, neither of which I care to earn from barbarians on the black mountains. I am sorry for the affair as I fear that from the inaccessibility of the country the best result will barely escape disaster. This is a strange day. You see me, one moment trifling with my thoughts for the sake of occupation and then having matters and subjects for the deepest consideration suddenly thrust upon me. Ought I to rejoin? I am indeed protected from the necessity of doing so, but my health is now fully established and such being the case, is it my duty to waive my right and return to my regiment. I think not, for the reason it is not likely that they will weaken the garrison at Peshawur by sending any of its troops into the field. Its strength is maintained for the purpose of defence against the Cabulese and other powerful Pathan tribes immediately surrounding it, who are deadly enemies, and would be eager to avail themselves of any opportunity for offence. Therefore I imagine that my regiment will remain in quarter, and do just as well without me as with me; and therefore have I determined to adhere to my original plans.

AUGUST 26th.—There was a great fire in the town last night; three hundred houses have been destroyed. I went early to the scene of the disaster, which is on the left bank of the river adjoining the first bridge. The embers were still smouldering, and among the ruins the heat was intense, owing to the houses having been built almost entirely of wood, little but ashes and charred logs remained of them. Here and there a few hot bricks retained the semblance of a wall, but the destruction has been as complete as it is excessive. The bridge has also suffered, the bank pier having been attacked by the flames, and half the railing on either side of the foot-way has been torn off and precipitated into the water. The latter injury was caused I imagine, by the rush of the crowd over it at the time of the fire. No lives lost I believe.

AUGUST 27th.—At six o'clock this morning a Jemindar or military officer made his appearance, sent by the Baboo, for the purpose of conducting me over the fort. A row of a mile down the river, and half a mile walk through the narrow rough crowded and stinking streets of the town brought us to the outworks, at the foot of the hill on which it is built. This hill is very steep and several hundred feet high, (I do not know the exact height, but I think it is between six and seven hundred feet) and the climb up it was fatiguing. From the top there is an extensive view, but the morning was misty and the greater part of the valley indiscernible. In front lies the town, intersected by the Jhelum; a great desert of mud-covered roofs presenting anything but the green carpet-like appearance described in books. On the left long lines of poplars, enclosing the Moonshi Bagh and the various encamping grounds, with the Tukh-t-i-Suliman rising high above them. Behind, the Dul, spread out like a sheet of silver with the back ground of mountains, and many canals radiating and glistening in the sun-light. Of the fort I have but little to say. From below, its position renders it imposing, but a nearer inspection dispels the illusion. Inside it there is a Hindoo temple, two or three tanks filled with green, slimy water, and some wretched hovels for the occupation of the garrison. The ramparts though high are weak and a few shells dropped within them would blow the whole place to pieces. The ordnance consists of four ancient brass guns; two of them about 9-pounders and the others 32-pounders, but I did not see a spot from which either of them could be safely fired; and even if there were bastions strong enough, I doubt if cannon could be depressed sufficiently to sweep the precipitous sides of the hill. On my way back to the boat, I turned aside to visit the Jumma Musjid, or chief Mosque, a large quadrangular wooden building, the roof of which is supported by deodar columns of great height, each pillar being cut out of a single tree, but I cannot waste more time over it, the name recalls to my memory the magnificent Jumma Musjid of Delhi—but comparisons are odious. When parting with my attendant I felt uncertain whether or no he would be offended by the offer of a remuneration for his trouble, so I left him to ask for it, as natives usually do not scruple to request "bucksheesh" for the most trifling service, but either his orders or his dignity prevented him from soliciting it, and he went away unrewarded and I doubt not dissatisfied. After noon I went and selected a lot of papier mache articles, and gave monograms to be painted upon them. Their papier mache is fairly made, elaborately painted and moderate in price. At this shop they prepared some ladak tea for me, a most delicious beverage possessing a delicate flavour such as I have never before tasted in any tea. It was sweetened with a sort of sweet-meat in lieu of plain sugar.

AUGUST 28th.—A blank day, I have done nothing but fish and only caught one of moderate size. Early in the morning there was a storm attended with high wind and heavy rain; it cleared up before sun-rise, but its effect has been to make the day very pleasantly cool.

AUGUST 29th.—Went up to the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Solomon's Throne) before breakfast. It stands one thousand one hundred feet above the town, and the ascent is effected by means of unhewn stones arranged in the form of a rough flight of steps built by the Gins, I should fancy for their own private use and without any consideration for the puny race of mankind that was destined to follow them. I am a tall man and gifted with a considerable length of understanding but the strides I was obliged to take—sometimes almost bounds—if calculated to improve my muscles, were certainly very trying to my wind. However all things have an end, and so had that long flight of steps, and at the summit I had leisure to recover my breath and enjoy the magnificent view. I took care to have a clear day for this excursion, and the whole valley was seen stretched out like a map, and spreading far away to the feet of its stupendous mountain boundaries. The lakes like huge mirrors reflecting a dazzling radiance. The Jhelum twisting like a "gilded snake" and forming at the foot of the hill the original of the well-known shawl pattern; miles upon miles of bright and verdant fields, divided and marked out by the banks and hedges; clumps and groves of lofty trees diminished by distance to the appearance of mere dark green bushy excrescences; the poplar avenue looking like two long and paralleled lines drawn upon the ground; the fort and hill but a pigmy now; the city of sombre colour, with its houses closely huddled together and presenting an expanse of mud—unworthy stone for such a setting! The high and rugged mountains on every side piercing the clouds, out of which the everlasting snow and ice rock regions untrod by mortal foot gleam and glisten coldly in the scene below; these are the constituent parts of a view which taken altogether ranks among the finest (if indeed it be not itself the finest) in the world. But I have no description for it as a whole, words would fail me if I attempted to reproduce it on paper, so you must take the items and arrange them to your own satisfaction, and wish you had the opportunity of seeing the glorious original. I am no antiquarian, but I believe the building itself possesses great interest for those who indulge in that musty study, on account of its vast antiquity and uncertain history. To me it is only a Hindoo temple of quaint architecture and unwholesome smell. Inside it is a small marble idol in the form of a pillar with a snake carved round it.

AUGUST 30th, Sunday.—The beginning of a fresh week which will at its conclusion find me on my way homewards, my back turned on the lovely valley and all the beauties that I have witnessed existing only in my memory like a pleasant dream that has passed. So wags the world, joys giving place to sorrows, and sorrows in their turn effaced by fresh happiness or oblivion. For a little while each one of us plays his ever varying part in the great drama of life. Now bewailing with bursting heart, and scalding tears the light affliction which is but for a moment; now with ringing laugh and reckless gaiety he enjoys the present, forgetful alike of past and future, now with stormy passions raging he "like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep;" and then is his short act over, then the curtain falls and then will he be called before it to receive approbation? Who can tell, I judge not one individually; but I may generalize and say, that while as a rule we give a terrible earnestness to the performance of the business connected with our parts, we too often fail to appreciate and interpret the spirit of the character, without which it is of course but a sorry exhibition and one that will be deservedly damned. As I sit under the shade of the chenars writing, a young native swell is passing along the opposite bank of the canal—a mere boy, with gold turban, lofty plume and embroidered clothing, riding a horse led by two grooms, followed by attendants also mounted, but sitting two on a horse and preceded by a band consisting only of some six drummers. He is playing his part doubtless very much to his own satisfaction, and little thinking that there is one "taking notes" and laughing at his proceedings. But so it is, we can always see, and ridicule the faults and foibles of others, would to God we could as easily perceive and weep over those of our own. The Baboo Mohes Chund called to pay his farewell visit to me and shortly afterwards sent a second edition of "russud" including as before—a live sheep.

AUGUST 31st.—My last day in Sreenuggur—and now let me make a few observations on a topic which I dare say you are surprised has not been mentioned before, I mean the women; the far-famed beauties of Kashmir. I am not ungallant, while I have been silent, I have been observing, and have delayed my remarks in order that they might have the benefit of the largest experience I could command. I did this the more willingly, because to tell the truth, I was disappointed at first, and I hoped that by waiting I might eventually have reason to change my unfavourable opinion. This however has not been the case, and while I intend to do full justice to their charms I must commence by saying that they have been grossly exaggerated. I do not of course allude to the higher classes. They are invisible; they may be very beautiful, but are never seen by Europeans. But the middle and lower classes go about with the face uncovered, exposing themselves to the criticism of some and the admiration of others, and it is of them I speak. The slim elegant figure of the Hindoo is seldom seen; they are large, plump, round women. Their complexion has been absurdly compared to that of our brunettes (may they feel complimented thereby) but veracity compels me to say that they are very dark. Fair indeed by comparison with the Hindoos, but actually and unmistakeably copper-coloured not to say black. In their features we find a great improvement; a well-shaped nose replaces the expanded nostrils, compressed lips, the thick pouting ones, their teeth are of marvellous whiteness and regularity as are those of all Asiatics. Their cheeks may sometimes have a tinge of pink, but this is usually veiled by the darker tint of the "rete mucosum." Their eyes—oh! their eyes!—here lies their beauty, almond-shaped eyes, that when not in anger cannot help throwing the sweetest and most captivating glances. None of your trained disciplined eyes, taught to express feelings that do not exist; but still eyes that equally deceive, eyes that nature in some strange freak determined should ever look love. Unconsciously and unintentionally they dart upon you the brightest, the most tender, nay, even passionate glances. When looking at a young face, you only see the eyes; eyes so voluptuous, so maddening, that you exclaim "good heavens what a beautiful creature," and unless you are a calm and cool analyst like myself, you may not discover that there is really no beauty save in them. They dress their hair in a peculiar manner. It is plaited in a number of small plaits joining two larger ones which fall over the shoulders and unite in the middle of the back to form a long tail terminating with a tassel. The larger plaits are mixed with wool, this adds to their bulk, and increase the length of the tail, which often extends below the knees. They wear a single loose gown, reaching in ample folds nearly to the feet. On the head a small red skull cap, over which is thrown the white (too often dirty) "chudder"—a light cloth which hangs down the back and is used for veiling the face. The boatwomen are renowned for their beauty. I have seen but little of it. The Punditanees are said to be more beautiful than the boatwomen. I consider them even less so. But among the Nautch girls I have seen both grace and beauty, and as a class, I certainly think far better looking than the others. Respect to age is a noble feeling—though one that is unfortunately at a low ebb now-a-days—but truth, compels me and I must pronounce all the elderly women to be positively ugly, and a woman is elderly in Kashmir when in England she still might be called young. The men are a fine race, regular features, broad shouldered and muscular, wearing their bushy black beards on their faces, but shaving the head, which is covered with a small coloured skull cap and white turban. Two other men have pitched their tents under this tope. To-morrow I shall leave them in undisturbed possession of the whole. They are friends and have been travelling in Kashmir. I have had a conversation with one of them, but I don't like strangers and am glad they did not come before.

SEPTEMBER 1st.—Up and away, taking a last look at the town and bridges, a last look at the Tukh-t-i-Suliman while floating down the river. I am on my way to Baramula, having given up my intended visit to Gulmurg, so that I may get a week at Murree, and see more of the place than I did when I was last there. Adieu to Sreenuggur, adieu to the Scind, adieu to Manusbul; gently onwards we go towards lake Wulloor. It is a bright clear day, one of the brightest among the many bright ones, and the valley seems smiling upon me an affectionate farewell in order that the last recollections and parting scene may be a joyful memory to me in days and years to come. I thank thee for it. When I am gone let rain-tears fall and clouds of care bewail my absence, but gladden my departing moments with the full radiance of thy glorious countenance. Oh! Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of gratitude, I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength, I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things, I was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature's grandeur and my own littleness. With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has heard the unuttered words. Tales of the creation when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy; tales of man and his works perished in the endless roll of ages; tales of the future when heaven and earth shall have passed away amid the dread terror of the great tribulation. Aye, and one more tale, a tale of love, mercy, and forgiveness; the tale of an Asiatic—who, not far from here, was once "bruised for our transgressions," who took upon Himself the iniquities of us all and made up for us a mighty deliverance, and to this tale there is a refrain that echoes from hill to hill, and spreads along the plain in endless repetition, "believe only and thou shalt be saved," but though the command is so simple, its eager passionate tone as it swells around me, and an earnest mournful cadence as it dies away in the distance, seems to imply that it is neither easily nor commonly obeyed.

SEPTEMBER 2nd.—Awoke early and found myself in the broad waters of the lake, the full moon shining brightly in the west, and yet unpaled by the rosy dawn that was rapidly illuminating the east. Stopped at Sopoor for breakfast, and Macnamara, surgeon of the 60th Rifles, and his wife, arrived soon after me, also bound for Murree. Macnamara was at Peshawur with me, and was one of the committee that sent me away. We passed the morning in conversation, and at mid-day continued our journey to Baramula. He told me that he had heard that I was going home this winter with troops; but I do not know whether his information is reliable. I trust it may prove to be so, but it has not raised my hopes to a certainty. It is a good rule never to reckon confidently upon the achievement of our desires. It never assists to realise them and only renders the disappointment more bitter in case of failure. I have a great hope, but I do not forget that obstacles may arise, that while man proposes God disposes, and often find myself forming plans for next year under the supposition that I shall still remain in India. I have written the dedication of this volume and have written it as if I had already returned to England, and this may appear to indicate that I rely strongly upon the fulfilment of my expectation. But not so, I can alter or destroy it if need be, and shall do so with regret indeed, but without despair. About halfway between Sopoor and Baramula the wind increased to a gale and obliged me to take refuge under the bank. I dined with Macnamara and his wife at 8 o'clock, the weather moderated and we proceeded to Baramula.

SEPTEMBER 3rd.—At sunrise I obtained coolies, and turned my back on the happy valley for ever. It was a beautiful morning with a golden haze rising from the ground, the mountains appearing blue and purple against the eastern halo; but before I had gone a mile a dark cloud gathered around me, and wept passionate rain. I marched to Naoshera, ten miles, followed in an hour by Dr. and Mrs. Macnamara who will be my fellow travellers as far as Murree. The Rohale ferry is re-opened and I am returning by the direct road on the left bank of the Jhelum. There is a barahduree at every stage, so I sold my tent at Sreenuggur to render my baggage lighter. I am travelling with only six coolies. The river is much lower and less rapid than when I came up it, the excess of water caused by the melting of the snow during the summer having been carried off. It is still however a noisy turbulent torrent.

SEPTEMBER 4th.—A long march of fourteen miles to Ooree. The road is becoming very hilly, but is not as yet nearly so rough and difficult as on the other side. Passed two ruins; one of then very similar to those at Wangut, but much smaller.

SEPTEMBER 5th.—To Chukoti, sixteen miles, a severe and fatiguing march, the hills being intersected by ravines—the beds of streams—to all of which there was a steep descent and corresponding ascent. This is the worst march on the Murree road, but though bad, it is much better than five or six that I described on my journey from Abbottabad. These long marches are very detrimental to my diary, for at the conclusion I have no energy either to think or write. I am not using my dandy now, and have to walk every inch of the way.

SEPTEMBER 6th.—Fifteen weary miles to Huttian, low down on a level with the river where I found a number of tents belonging to the Lord Bishop of Calcutta and his Chaplain, who are here with a large retinue of servants, and are on their way into Kashmir. They had very considerately and unlike a certain —— —— left the bungalow empty for the use of other travellers. Macnamara sprained his knee yesterday, and used my dandy to day. One of my coolies stumbled on the road and the Kitta he was carrying—containing my stores and cooking utensils, went over the Rhudd and burst open in the fall. Macnamara was behind fortunately (for me) and superintended the collection of the articles so that my only loss of any moment is that of my big cooking pot, which from its weight probably rolled all the way down to the Jhelum—the long grass growing on the hill, stopped the other things. The six remaining marches are I am glad to say short. The three last have been a severe trial on account of the numerous and rough ups and downs, and for the last mile or two this morning, the soles of my feet were in great pain; Silly too was very exhausted even to the dropping of his tail.

SEPTEMBER 7th.—Got up at daybreak and marched on Chikar, distance ten miles. For three miles the road continued along the valley of the Jhelum, and then turned to the south, and crossed several ranges of hills, each range rising higher than the one before, very hard work it was, the ascents being so steep and long—I can't keep my breath going up hill; it is far more fatiguing than any roughness of road. Chikar is a good sized village with a fort and is situated on the summit of a mountain at least two thousand feet above the Jhelum. There is a fine view of the surrounding hills from the Barahduree. Shortly after our arrival it began to rain, and has turned out a wet day. I had half my crockery broken by the coolie dropping the basket instead of putting it carefully down at the conclusion of the march.

SEPTEMBER 8th.—To Meira, seven and a half miles, a toilsome hill for half the distance, and then a descent the rest of the way. Scenery very pretty, the valleys being much larger and the mountains higher. The Murree ridge is now visible. From this bungalow we can see the next halting place, half way up a hill on the opposite side of an extensive valley deeply cut by ravines. The view is really very grand—much the finest on this road—in some parts it slightly resembles the scenery around Darjeeling with, of course, pine trees taking the place of magnolias and rhododendrons. The mere mention of those trees—magnolias and rhododendrons I mean—will only give you a misconception of the Sikin forests, because your ideas will be turned to the stunted shrubs of our northern latitudes. The magnolias and rhododendrons I speak of, are huge towering trees, taller than the largest oaks. How well I remember the magnificent spectacle they presented when in blossom! I have never seen mountains or forests that could compare in grandeur with those of the eastern Himalayas. Can you imagine Kishun-gunga twenty-nine thousand feet high? No! it is impossible; it is a sight that produces the most intense awe, and when I first looked upon it I did not know how to contain my feelings; but enough, or I shall be giving you a chapter quite irrevelant to my journey from Kashmir. By the side of this bungalow stands a large cypress; a very beautiful and by no means a common tree. There is something peculiarly rich in its dark green foliage, and withal, melancholy look, but that is doubtless owing to its tomb—stone associations. Ince in his "Guide," calls it a sycamore. He could hardly have named a tree more widely different.

SEPTEMBER 9th.—To Dunee, eight and a half miles; first half, down hill, second up: both very steep and rough. A bad fatiguing march. The barahduree here has been lately white-washed and looks quite refreshing after the other dirty ones; but the rooms are ridiculously small. This is the last halt in Kashmirian territory; to-morrow we shall be in a dak bungalow. I had a lesson to-day. The same lesson that the spider taught Bruce—never to cease striving to obtain any desired object; and not despair even if frequent failures attend the attempt. Ever since I left Baramula I have been endeavouring to catch another of the green butterflies, as beetles had eaten my first specimen. But they are very alert on the wing, and I could not get near one. The last two or three marches I had not seen any, having got out of their locality, but to-day a solitary one flew by me and I knocked it down, caught it, and secured it in my toper. Success will eventually crown all constant endeavours, it is a slight peg on which to hang a moral, but let it pass. Life is made up of trifles, and I desire my book to represent my life. A number of people—ladies, men, and children—came into the bungalow at 2 o'clock, having made a double march and overtaken us; so we are very closely packed, even the verandah being occupied.

SEPTEMBER 10th.—To Kohala, six miles, nearly all the way down a terribly steep and rough hill to the banks of the Jhelum—which river has taken a great bend among the mountains and now runs at right angles to its former course. A ferry boat crosses the torrent at this spot and the passage during the summer is attended with considerable danger, as the stream runs at the rate of twenty miles an hour. I got my baggage in it and landed upon British soil at the other side. The Dak bungalow is just above, but we were very much crowded as all the other people remained for the night. After dinner a great thunderstorm took place accompanied with very heavy rain.

SEPTEMBER 11th.—Marched to Dargwal, twelve miles, up hill all the way, but the road is broad and smooth, so that the march was quickly and easily accomplished. M—— and his wife did not come in till the middle of the day as they could not get coolies in time to start early. There is a good furnished bungalow here, our other fellow travellers have gone on to Murree, so we have the house to ourselves.

SEPTEMBER 12th.—To Murree, ten miles, road the same as yesterday. Went to Woodcot, and found Spurgeon, Gordon, and Egerton, of the 36th; Hensma and Beadnell, 77th; and Dalrymple, 88th. Put up with them sharing Spurgeon's room. Spent a pleasant time at Murree, doing very little—a long rest of ten days after my labours—and on the 22nd, at 1 o'clock, I took my seat in the mail cart with Redan Massy for my companion, and started on my journey to Peshawur. Arrived at Rawul Birder at 6 in the evening, and went on at once by the Government van. Had no time for food. Got to Peshawur at 7 o'clock next morning, and thus ended my three months sick leave. And now I go back to the din and bustle of life, the empty conventionalities of society, the noise and glitter of mess; to the re-pursuit of my profession, and to learn again by the bedside of many a dying man how weak and powerless is that profession to combat the ills that flesh is heir to. I sometimes wish I could exchange my present calling. Terrible thoughts often assail me, after the death of any of my patients. Questions as to whether I am at all responsible for the fatal issue. Whether by lack of knowledge that I should possess or by careless observation during the progress of the disease, I have allowed a man to die who might have been saved, or pushed into the grave one who was only trembling with uncertainty upon its brink. Yet as a set off against these feelings there is the satisfaction experienced when sufferings are relieved or health restored by the interposition of my aid. The profession of medicine is potent for good and evil. For good in the hands of him who makes it his lifelong study; for evil in his hands who adopts it merely as a respectable means of obtaining his livelihood. It is noble in the one case; detestable in the other. You do not know how detestable. If the vail could be raised, if you could see the vast amount of misery and suffering caused, the many hearts broken that God would not have made sad; and the many unprepared souls hurried out of this life into eternity by the ignorance of men who are "licensed to kill," you would cry out against the whole body of the profession with a bitter hatred, that even the army of noble and devoted minds amongst us would be unable to appease. Am I too severe? I fear not. There are charlatans and know nothings in every pursuit, but in mine they effect so seriously the temporal and may be eternal welfare of mankind that their existence is awful to contemplate. Shall I, in conclusion, write an apology for having nothing better than the foregoing to offer for your perusal "devil a bit." If I have written folly and you have read it all, why, you are the greater simpleton. To me it was an occupation when I had nothing better to do, on your part it was a foolish waste of time, which might have been more profitably employed. If I have written folly and you have not read it, what necessity is there for me to apologize to you? If I have written sense and you consider it nonsense, you owe me an apology for your erroneous opinion. But if I have written sense and you have derived pleasure from the perusal of it, then we are both content, and I need neither forefend your criticism nor beg your excuses. Thus then I have proved that though it may possibly be necessary for you to apologize to me, it cannot under any circumstance be needful for me to apologize to you. But there is a small class to whom the above remarks do not apply. I mean those few who I delight to think will read my book diligently and admiringly, merely because I wrote it. Whose judgment is warped by their affection, and who will be unconscious of the weary yawn my pages may often produce. Shall I apologize to them? No! let them read, let them yawn; T'is a labour of love on their part, a labour which love has prepared for them—and for them alone—or mine.

And now farewell. May your shadow never grow less! May you live for a thousand years.

HAZOR SALAAM.

JANUARY 16th, 1869.—If these notes should ever be written out by my relations after my death—for I am now like to die, let me beg that the many mistakes in spelling, consequent upon the hurry and roughness of the writing, may by corrected and not set down to ignorance.



LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

Prince Frederic of Schleswig Holstein. His Excellency Lieut.-General E. Frome, R.E., Governor of Guernsey. Sir P. Stafford Carey, Bailiff of Guernsey. Edgar MacCulloch, Esq., Lieutenant-Bailiff. William Wallace Armstrong, Esq., San Francisco. A.B. Mrs. Boucaut, Guernsey. General Sir George Brooke, K.C.B., R.H.A. Lieut.-Col. H.J. Buchanan, 2-9th Regiment. Major Henry L. Brownrigg, 84th Regiment. Henry S.R. Bagenal, Esq., Control Department. Captain George P. Beamish, 36th Regiment. Mr. George Beedle, Quarter-Master 6th Regiment. A. Brown, Esq., National Provincial Bank of England. J. P. Bainbrigge, Esq., Bank of England, Liverpool. J. Banckes, Esq., Shipwrecked Mariners' Society. Mrs. Crawford, Guernsey. Mrs. Cunnynghame, Edinburgh. W. Collins, Esq., M.D., Scots Fusilier Guards. Mrs. Cave, Hartley Whitney, Hants. Captain G. Collis, 6th Regiment. Colonel Conran, Fitzroy, Melbourne. H. Couling, Esq., Brighton. H. Cuppaidge, Esq. Miss Dugdale, 75, Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park, W. Miss E. Donne, Grove Terrace Highgate. Miss Donne, Salisbury. James D'Altera, Esq., M.D. James Deane, Esq., Queenstown, Cork. W.G. Don, Esq., M.D. Dr. Drewitt, Wimborne, Dorset. Dr. Dudfield, 8, Upper Phillimore Place, Kensington, W. B. De Marylski, Esq., Royal Artillery. Captain P. De Saumarez, Guernsey. Captain D.K. Evans, 6th Regiment. Mrs. W. Foster, 7, Lower Berkeley Street, London. Mrs. E. Foster, 10, Chester Terrace, Regent's Park. Mrs. Feilden, Isle of Herm. Major-Gen. Sampson Freeth, late Royal Engineers. Major-Gen. James H. Freeth, late Royal Engineers. Colonel Foster, late 16th Lancers. The Rev. W. Foran, Guernsey. Walter Freeth Esq., Croydon. Henry Foster Esq., Victoria Road, Kensington. Patterson Foster, Esq. Kingsly, O. Foster, Esq. Mrs. F.W. Gosselin, Guernsey. Rev. F. Giffard, The Vicarage, Hartley Wintney. John C. Guerin, Esq., Guernsey. S.M. Gully, Esq., 9th Regiment. F.L. Grundy, Esq., 6th Regiment. M. Garnier, Guernsey. Mrs. Horridge. Lieut.-Col. Fitzwilliam Hunter, 36th Regiment. T. Holmes, Esq., 18, Great Cumberland Place, Hyde Park. Captain J.B. Hopkins, 6th Regiment. Reginald Hollingworth, Esq., late 77th Regiment. T. Husband, Esq., 34, Argyle Road, Kensington. Charles Hogge, Esq., 6th Regiment.

In Memoriam. Miss B.S.H. Coventry Jeffery. Captain A.H. Josselyn, 9th Regiment. J.W. Jones, Esq., 5th Dragoon Guards. The Rev. Charles Kingsley, M.A. Mr. J. Kenwood, Hartley Wintney. Mrs. Le Marchant Thomas Le Marchant, Guernsey. Miss Lefebvre, Guernsey. Mrs. La Serre, Guernsey. Sir T. Galbraith Logan, K.C.B., Director General. Thomas Lacy, Esq., Guernsey. Major R.B. Lloyd, 36th Regiment. "Library," Officers, 36th Regiment. Mr. Thomas Lenfestey, Guernsey. Mrs. MacPherson, Guernsey. Mrs. Mogg, Clifton. Mrs. Peter Martin, Guernsey. Mrs. Myers, Guernsey. A.D. MacGregor, Esq., Guernsey. Capt. A.E. Morgan, late 71st Highland Lt. Inf. Captain J.W. Massey, 9th Regiment. J.W. Morgan, Esq., 6th Regiment. James E. Macdonnel, Esq., 9th Regiment. W.H. Marriot, Esq., 36th Regiment. S.M. Maxwell, Esq., 36th Regiment. A. Morgan, Esq., Treasurer, S.W. Railway. The Mess, 36th Regiment. W. Moullin, Esq., Clifton. Miss A.M. Newman, Cheltenham. The Rev. E.J. Ozanne, M.A., Guernsey. Captain J. Osmer, 36th Regiment. E.F. O'Leary, Esq., 6th Regiment. Mrs. Joshua Priaulx, Guernsey. Mr. Charles Palmer, Hartley Wintney. Miss M. Pittard Guernsey. Colonel Priaulx, Guernsey. Colonel Lewis Peyton. G. Pollock, Esq., 36, Grosvenor Street, London, W. C.W. Poulton, Esq., 35th Regiment. G. Pound; Esq., Odiham, Hants. Mrs. Ramsay, Isle of Sark. John Roberts, Esq., M.D., Guernsey. George M. Richmond, Esq., 36th Regiment. J.L. Rose, Esq., 36th Regiment. Mrs. Sandes, St. John's Hill, London, S.W. Mrs. R. Smith, Guernsey. Lieut.-Col. R. Scott, Fort George, Aberdeen. Major Charles Stirling, late Royal Artillery. Dr. Fowler Smith, District Recruiting Office, Peterborough. Capt. C. Spurgeon, 36th Regiment. Capt. H. Stopford, 36th Regiment. W. Smail, Esq., 36th Regiment. R.B. Smyth, Esq., M.B. 102d Regiment. Mrs. Threllfall, Ferryside, South Wales. Capt. C. Townsend, Royal Artillery. D. Thorburn, Esq., M.D., 8th Hussars. Mrs. Wren, 3 Paris Square, Bayswater. Charles Williams, Esq., Guernsey. Watkin S. Whylock, Esq., M.D., Assist.-Surgeon. Capt. H. Webb, 36th Regiment. Mr Wetheral, Oak Lodge, Winchfield. Netley Library. And "Others received too late for publication."



LE LIEVRE, PRINTER, STAR-OFFICE, BORDAGE-STREET.

THE END