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,