hill is a ruined terrace built of bricks, with arches and alcoves crumbling to pieces.  There is also an arch over the canal, between the second and third tanks.  The whole garden was originally laid out in several terraces faced with masonry, and having wide flights of stone steps from one to the other; but all is now much decayed, and the garden itself is quite uncultivated, except a small portion, and is but a wilderness of fruit trees and fine chenars.  On the left of it is the old Human or bath, a series of domed and arched rooms containing baths and marble seats.  The interior is in a fair state of preservation, and the various pipes which conveyed the water to it still exist.  The whole ground is enclosed by a wall, and if it was properly looked after, might be converted into a very pleasant retreat.  In the afternoon Walker and Verschoyle, rode over from Islamabad and sat some time with me, after a few hours five other pipes began to squirt—­rendered patulous I suppose by the pressure of the water—­so that three only now remain occluded.  I had a great loss last night; the dogs broke open the basket containing my provisions, and carried away half a large sized cake, and a hump of beef that had been cooked but was uncut.

AUGUST 15th.—­Marched to Nowboog, fifteen miles, this long march was quite unexpected as Ince in his book puts it down eight miles.  It was up hill nearly all the way—­this combined with the sun’s heat—­for I did not start so early as I would have done if I had known the distance—­and the vexation of having to go on, long after I considered the march ought to have been finished, made it very fatiguing.  Nowboog is situated in a small and pretty valley separated by hills from the rest of Kashmir.  I intend to halt here to-morrow, so will reserve further description until I feel fresh again.  It was one or two o’clock before I arrived, and I have worn a hole in my left heel which will, I fear, render the next marches painful.  Umjoo—­the boatman—­is now shampooing my legs and feet.  This process consists of violent squeezes and pinches which make me inclined to cry out, but I am bearing it bravely without flinching and endeavouring to look happy, and to persuade myself that it is pleasant—­now my toes are being pulled with a strength fit to tear them off.  Oh! ——.  There’s a cry on paper.  He does not hear that, and it is some sort of relief.

AUGUST 16th, Sunday.—­The valley of Nowboog is small but very picturesque.  The surrounding hills are comparatively low, and are covered with pasture on the open places, while the deodar and many other trees occupy the ravines and gullies.  The large amount of grass and the grouping of the trees give it a park-like appearance, and the gentle slopes of the verdant mountains remove all wildness from the scene.  It is a pleasant spot to halt at.  A little nook which while it charms the eye, only suggests peaceful laziness.  My coolies sit at a short distance, singing through their noses Kashmirian