scouted. I never myself eat any mahseer, or other Indian river fish, anything like it.

My two guests chatted away at dinner, a glass or two of ale being highly appropriate on the occasion of this huge success. We parted at nine, early hours being essential, they intending to proceed onwards at dawn, I to stop and try my luck again.

25th April. Rijaori. I tried the upper pool above the town, a beautiful and most promising-looking pool: but, after trying every persuasive and seducing attitude, failed to move an admirer, and being chilled returned to camp and breakfast, when I regaled upon the morsel I have above described.

I passed the day reading, and anxious for the shades of evening to permit my further attempts on the fishes, but to cut short this evening's proceeding need only say that I fastened to another leviathan in the same pool, after many indecisive offers had been made; but, woe is me! he at once, after feeling himself fast and trying rod and line, bored straight down, and cutting my bottom-line over a stone got clear off with my set of spinning tackle. Let me draw a veil over my misery, nor again awake memory to the bitterness of my disappointment.

26th April. To Thanna. The road still running in company with the river, the courses only being reversed. This day's march was much pleasanter than any previous one, there being but little up and down comparatively, and the pathway in many places lying under shady wooded slopes, its sides fringed with numbers of sweet-smelling shrubs.

The approach to Thanna presents a lovely view of the Rattan Panjal range in front; and on the left-hand is a well-wooded range of hills, beneath which are undulating slopes, whereon is a good deal of cultivation which is in some parts carried in terraces to the tops of the hills. There is an old fort-like building, formerly the habitation of some ruffian of a rajah, I presume. The camp was pitched close to a small village on the road to the Rattan Pir. At this place Suleiman had an attentive audience of some ten or twelve respectable natives, who listened to his account of our religion with pleasure, and were glad to accept some Gospels and tracts, never having, they said, obtained any accurate idea before of what the Christian Faith consisted.

I have omitted to note the effect produced by Suleiman at the different stations, so will retrace my steps for that purpose.

At Rijaori, the first day, he was not only repulsed, but threatened. On the second day, however, he had listeners, and distributed some books.

At Nowshera, favourable results—being listened to calmly and attentively, some enquiries and discussions entered into, and some Gospels and tracts received. There was here a teacher in a school, who had been educated in the mission school of Lahore, and he it was whose influence operated favourably. He took some books for his school.

I forgot to mention an occurrence at Bhimber. I had noticed in the day a man lying near the 'baraduri,' who was apparently suffering, and continually uttered cries and moans from the same spot. I called Suleiman, and with a light proceeded to make enquiries; when it appeared that this unfortunate man had fallen from a mulberry tree close by, and had disabled himself so much that he could not proceed on his way home to Cashmere. So there he was left to shift for himself, dependent on the charity of passers by, wholly unable to raise himself from the ground. I sent for the havildar of the guard, and giving the disabled man five rupees, which I understood to be ample for the purpose, ordered him to be removed to a house, to be cared for, and sent to his home when recovered.

Thinking this a good opportunity, I called the attention of some thirty people, who were looking on, to the fact that the Christian religion thus enjoined its professors to obey their Lord's commands, and that the religion of Jesus Christ was love. Not being sufficiently fluent myself, I requested Suleiman to use this living text, and he addressed the assemblage, who seemed much impressed, and expressed their entire concurrence in the sentiments and principles uttered. But this is often the case without any further consequences.

27th April. From Thanna across the Rattin Pir pass to Byramgullah.

This is a stiff pull, but not precipitous. The path winds about, taking advantage of the slopes of the mountain to gain the summit gradually. There is a faquir's establishment on the top, and the view on either side is very fine. That looking down over the plain past Rijaori and Nowshera—over the several wave-like lines of inferior hills into the plains of the Punjab of limitless extent, lost only in vapour and distance—is grand from its great extent, and beautiful in its varied features as in its colouring.

The other side presents the masses of the Pir Panjal, covered with snow. This range is of bold massive proportions, and affords the traveller a truly sublime picture of mountain scenery.

The descent to Byramgullah is steep and rugged, and altogether wearisome. But, when accomplished, one is amply compensated for one's toils. The road from the foot of the mountain crosses a bridge over a picturesque torrent, clear and rapid, rushing in roaring cascades below. There is here every component part of a beautiful landscape, but space. The valley is confined, there being but just room for the river and a small bit of level on an elevated bank. This is shut in by lofty hills, some entirely clothed with a rich mantle of foliage, others having intervals of grassy slopes. But the whole is singularly beautiful.

There is a fort on an isolated hill, of curious structure, only capable of defence against bows and arrows, I should think; but it is a picturesque object, of a Swiss character as to architectural appearance.

28th April. Along the bed of the torrent to Possianah, crossing some thirty-five bridges (so called), very awkward for riding, but, on the whole, an easy march, the scenery of a romantic character.

Possianah is a singularly built village, on the precipitous side of a mountain which is the vis-a-vis of the redoubtable Pir Panjal; which here, lifting his snowy summit to the clouds, frowns down upon you in all his majesty and grandeur, looking by no means affable to approach, and promising an arduous struggle to get the better of.

The village is at this time more miserable than ever, its ordinary inhabitants having deserted it to escape the rigours of the winter; there remained or had returned only two or three. Many houses, being most inappropriately built with flat roofs, had fallen in, and altogether the place had anything but a cheerful aspect.

Here, however, I must pass two days, the 29th being Sunday. So I had the hovel, used as a baraduri, cleaned out, and there ensconced myself and traps, and had nothing whatever to complain of,—the most magnificent scenery around me, a delightful climate (the wind, perhaps, a little too chill here), and no scarcity of creature comforts.

29th April. Sunday. I halted at Possianah. When at Byramgullah, I heard the Pir was not passable for tattoos, so left mine there to await orders, intending to leave them to come on in a few days, when the road would probably be open. But from a near reconnoitre of the mountain as to snow, and from information acquired, I determined to run the risk, and sent for my ponies.

As I was at breakfast a saheb was announced, and a stout party made his appearance, a M. Olive, a French merchant in the shawl trade, who passes the winter season at Amritsir, returning to Cashmere, when the passes open, for business.

The Maharajah does not permit Europeans to reside in the valley during the winter; perhaps, from jealousy of their