through the thick underwood, beating with their sticks in order to drive away the Iguana Lizards, which they call the “bis cobra” and hold in deadly fear, believing its bite to be most surely fatal.  This belief is universal among the natives of India, but there is no proof of its truth, and I need hardly say that the dental arrangement of Bactrachian reptiles is incompatible with the possession of poisonous qualities.  But though science will not admit it, it is strange that the idea is so widely spread, especially as the natives do not fear any other species of lizard, while they believe that every snake is armed with the fatal fang.

AUGUST 3rd.—­Heavy rain prevented my departure from Wangut, at the usual early hour, but about 9 o’clock it cleared up, and I marched on Arric eight miles distant down a path on the right bank of the river, (I ascended the valley on the other side.) The rain has made it very slippery, and it was a fatiguing walk the road not being good, and occasionally dangerous; one part fairly beat me, I was expected to pass round a smooth rock by means of several ledges one inch wide and four or five long, cut on its surface.  The precipice below was deep, and when I had taken one step, and found myself hanging over it; I determined to go back and try another way.  The other way is bad enough, but all I object to is having my safety depending upon a single foothold.  I like to have at least one chance of recovering myself if I slip.  My walnut tree to-day is covered with mistletoe and my mind is directed to Christmas time, and all its (to us) sad associations.  Three Christmases have I spent away from England, and a fourth is now approaching, one of them on the ocean, and two in the tented field, the next will I fancy also find me under canvass, but I trust on my way homewards.  Westward Ho! is my cry; let the gorgeous East with its money bags, its luxuries, and its many hours of idleness, remain for those who are content to exchange home-ties and the enjoyment of life for dreary exile and too often untimely death, who will sell their minds and bodies for the price of rupees.

AUGUST 4th.—­Marched back to Ganderbul, nine miles.  Ganderbul is a very small place, and the only object of interest I noticed, was a very old bridge built of rough stones, standing now upon dry land, for the Scind has left its former channel and runs one hundred yards to to the south of it, three of the arches remain entire and connected, and at least twelve others are either decayed or destroyed.  This bridge is evidently of very ancient date.  On emerging from the Scind valley, I got a better view of the vale than I have before had.  It was a clear but cloudy morning—­one of those grey days when rays abound, and photographic efforts are most successful—­and every distant object was seen with great distinctness.  The snowy Pin Punjaul range, in its southern boundary looked magnificent, rising abruptly from the level and beautiful plain.