and then having matters and subjects for the deepest consideration suddenly thrust upon me.  Ought I to rejoin?  I am indeed protected from the necessity of doing so, but my health is now fully established and such being the case, is it my duty to waive my right and return to my regiment.  I think not, for the reason it is not likely that they will weaken the garrison at Peshawur by sending any of its troops into the field.  Its strength is maintained for the purpose of defence against the Cabulese and other powerful Pathan tribes immediately surrounding it, who are deadly enemies, and would be eager to avail themselves of any opportunity for offence.  Therefore I imagine that my regiment will remain in quarter, and do just as well without me as with me; and therefore have I determined to adhere to my original plans.

AUGUST 26th.—­There was a great fire in the town last night; three hundred houses have been destroyed.  I went early to the scene of the disaster, which is on the left bank of the river adjoining the first bridge.  The embers were still smouldering, and among the ruins the heat was intense, owing to the houses having been built almost entirely of wood, little but ashes and charred logs remained of them.  Here and there a few hot bricks retained the semblance of a wall, but the destruction has been as complete as it is excessive.  The bridge has also suffered, the bank pier having been attacked by the flames, and half the railing on either side of the foot-way has been torn off and precipitated into the water.  The latter injury was caused I imagine, by the rush of the crowd over it at the time of the fire.  No lives lost I believe.

AUGUST 27th.—­At six o’clock this morning a Jemindar or military officer made his appearance, sent by the Baboo, for the purpose of conducting me over the fort.  A row of a mile down the river, and half a mile walk through the narrow rough crowded and stinking streets of the town brought us to the outworks, at the foot of the hill on which it is built.  This hill is very steep and several hundred feet high, (I do not know the exact height, but I think it is between six and seven hundred feet) and the climb up it was fatiguing.  From the top there is an extensive view, but the morning was misty and the greater part of the valley indiscernible.  In front lies the town, intersected by the Jhelum; a great desert of mud-covered roofs presenting anything but the green carpet-like appearance described in books.  On the left long lines of poplars, enclosing the Moonshi Bagh and the various encamping grounds, with the Tukh-t-i-Suliman rising high above them.  Behind, the Dul, spread out like a sheet of silver with the back ground of mountains, and many canals radiating and glistening in the sun-light.  Of the fort I have but little to say.  From below, its position renders it imposing, but a nearer inspection dispels the illusion.  Inside it there is a Hindoo temple, two or three tanks filled with green, slimy water, and some wretched