perished in the endless roll of ages; tales of the future when heaven and earth shall have passed away amid the dread terror of the great tribulation.  Aye, and one more tale, a tale of love, mercy, and forgiveness; the tale of an Asiatic—­who, not far from here, was once “bruised for our transgressions,” who took upon Himself the iniquities of us all and made up for us a mighty deliverance, and to this tale there is a refrain that echoes from hill to hill, and spreads along the plain in endless repetition, “believe only and thou shalt be saved,” but though the command is so simple, its eager passionate tone as it swells around me, and an earnest mournful cadence as it dies away in the distance, seems to imply that it is neither easily nor commonly obeyed.

SEPTEMBER 2nd.—­Awoke early and found myself in the broad waters of the lake, the full moon shining brightly in the west, and yet unpaled by the rosy dawn that was rapidly illuminating the east.  Stopped at Sopoor for breakfast, and Macnamara, surgeon of the 60th Rifles, and his wife, arrived soon after me, also bound for Murree.  Macnamara was at Peshawur with me, and was one of the committee that sent me away.  We passed the morning in conversation, and at mid-day continued our journey to Baramula.  He told me that he had heard that I was going home this winter with troops; but I do not know whether his information is reliable.  I trust it may prove to be so, but it has not raised my hopes to a certainty.  It is a good rule never to reckon confidently upon the achievement of our desires.  It never assists to realise them and only renders the disappointment more bitter in case of failure.  I have a great hope, but I do not forget that obstacles may arise, that while man proposes God disposes, and often find myself forming plans for next year under the supposition that I shall still remain in India.  I have written the dedication of this volume and have written it as if I had already returned to England, and this may appear to indicate that I rely strongly upon the fulfilment of my expectation.  But not so, I can alter or destroy it if need be, and shall do so with regret indeed, but without despair.  About halfway between Sopoor and Baramula the wind increased to a gale and obliged me to take refuge under the bank.  I dined with Macnamara and his wife at 8 o’clock, the weather moderated and we proceeded to Baramula.

SEPTEMBER 3rd.—­At sunrise I obtained coolies, and turned my back on the happy valley for ever.  It was a beautiful morning with a golden haze rising from the ground, the mountains appearing blue and purple against the eastern halo; but before I had gone a mile a dark cloud gathered around me, and wept passionate rain.  I marched to Naoshera, ten miles, followed in an hour by Dr. and Mrs. Macnamara who will be my fellow travellers as far as Murree.  The Rohale ferry is re-opened and I am returning by the direct road on the left bank of the Jhelum.  There is a barahduree at every stage, so I sold my tent at Sreenuggur to render my baggage lighter.  I am travelling with only six coolies.  The river is much lower and less rapid than when I came up it, the excess of water caused by the melting of the snow during the summer having been carried off.  It is still however a noisy turbulent torrent.