July 20th.—­I halt at Salpore, awaiting the arrival of my Sirdar dandy coolie, an intelligent, useful, Kashmiree man, whom I engaged to continue with me as a servant at Baramula, and gave him four days leave to visit his home, arranging that he should rejoin me here.  I lie under the shade of the wide spreading walnut trees, inhaling the fragrant breeze, and enjoying perfect quietude and repose.  All is so grand and peaceful, that my heart swells with holy thoughts of praise and gratitude to the Almighty Creator, and while gazing on one of the fairest portions of his great work I find myself unconsciously repeating the glorious psalm “O come let us sing unto the Lord.”  It would indeed be a hard heart and a dull spirit that did not rejoice in the scene, and acknowledge the power and magnificence of its maker.  I see around me this garden of Kashmir where every tree bears fruit for the use of man, and every shrub, bright flowers for his enjoyment.  Enclosed and guarded by “the strength of the hills” (a noble sentence which never never before so forcibly impressed me) and covered by the purest of blue skies.  All nature seems to say to me “To-day if ye hear his voice, harden not your hearts,” and surely the “still small voice” is speaking, and can be heard by those who will heed it, and have the heart to feel and the soul to rejoice in the strength of their salvation.  The memory of the beautiful duett in “Haydn’s Creation,” when newly made Adam and Eve unite in praising God and extolling his wonderful works comes freshly before me.  Now, something akin to this must have crossed the mental vision of the grand old Maestro when he wrote; and its calm glorious music well accords with my present state of mind.

July 21st.—­A pleasant stroll of ten miles before breakfast to Koomerial along the level valley, through shady groves of apple, pear, green-gage, peach, and mulberry trees, and forests of cherry trees drooping with the weight of their golden blushing fruit.  I have not seen any vines in the Solab.  Koomerial is a very small place, and I had a little difficulty in getting supplies.  I ought to have gone three miles further to a large village; but I’ll go there to-morrow, and then return to Alsoo in two marches.  A native came to me with the toothache, begging assistance, but the tooth required extracting and I could do nothing for him.  Pitched under a walnut tope—­the climate delicious, like a warm English summer, but it is rather hot in my small tent in the middle of the day; so I have my Charpoy put outside in the shade and lie there smoking my pipe and thinking.  I have spoken of the beauties and pleasures of the Solab, but I must not omit mention of its annoyances, flies and mosquitoes, by day the flies abound and cause much irritation to any exposed part of the body.  I do hate tame flies, flies that though driven away twenty times elude capture, and will pertinaciously return to the same spot—­say your nose—­until