They dress their hair in a peculiar manner.  It is plaited in a number of small plaits joining two larger ones which fall over the shoulders and unite in the middle of the back to form a long tail terminating with a tassel.  The larger plaits are mixed with wool, this adds to their bulk, and increase the length of the tail, which often extends below the knees.  They wear a single loose gown, reaching in ample folds nearly to the feet.  On the head a small red skull cap, over which is thrown the white (too often dirty) “chudder”—­a light cloth which hangs down the back and is used for veiling the face.  The boatwomen are renowned for their beauty.  I have seen but little of it.  The Punditanees are said to be more beautiful than the boatwomen.  I consider them even less so.  But among the Nautch girls I have seen both grace and beauty, and as a class, I certainly think far better looking than the others.  Respect to age is a noble feeling—­though one that is unfortunately at a low ebb now-a-days—­but truth, compels me and I must pronounce all the elderly women to be positively ugly, and a woman is elderly in Kashmir when in England she still might be called young.  The men are a fine race, regular features, broad shouldered and muscular, wearing their bushy black beards on their faces, but shaving the head, which is covered with a small coloured skull cap and white turban.  Two other men have pitched their tents under this tope.  To-morrow I shall leave them in undisturbed possession of the whole.  They are friends and have been travelling in Kashmir.  I have had a conversation with one of them, but I don’t like strangers and am glad they did not come before.

SEPTEMBER 1st.—­Up and away, taking a last look at the town and bridges, a last look at the Tukh-t-i-Suliman while floating down the river.  I am on my way to Baramula, having given up my intended visit to Gulmurg, so that I may get a week at Murree, and see more of the place than I did when I was last there.  Adieu to Sreenuggur, adieu to the Scind, adieu to Manusbul; gently onwards we go towards lake Wulloor.  It is a bright clear day, one of the brightest among the many bright ones, and the valley seems smiling upon me an affectionate farewell in order that the last recollections and parting scene may be a joyful memory to me in days and years to come.  I thank thee for it.  When I am gone let rain-tears fall and clouds of care bewail my absence, but gladden my departing moments with the full radiance of thy glorious countenance.  Oh!  Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of gratitude, I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength, I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things, I was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature’s grandeur and my own littleness.  With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has heard the unuttered words.  Tales of the creation when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy; tales of man and his works