July 8th.—­A long tedious march of nearly fifteen miles to Mansera, put down in the guide as a level plain road, but having a good many ups and downs.  One of my sandals broke, and I was obliged to ride in the dandy about half way.  Some difficulty occurred in getting my baggage off as the Coolies did not come.  Left my boy to manage it, he came in about noon with two ponies, I shall not pay for them yet, and then they will come on with me.  A warmer day than yesterday.  Mountains rising up in front, which I shall begin to ascend to-morrow if I make the whole march of twenty miles.  Snow visible above all.  The real work of the trip will now soon commence.  The marches hitherto have been child’s play compared with those to come.  Mansera is only a native village, but there is a Dak Bungalow, in which I am now.  Met Captain Ellis, of the 4th Hussars, returning from Kashmir, and had a talk with him.  There are two routes open to me, he advises the one which yesterday I was warned against by the other fellows.  They have been over both roads, yet do not agree as to which is the best.  Ellis was disappointed with Kashmir, but he has only been a few months in India, and has not yet forgotten England, for I expect that Kashmir after all, is only so very pleasant, by contrast with the plains of India.

July 9th.—­Started an hour before sunrise and did the whole march to Ghuri, distance nineteen miles.  Walked the greater part of the way in sandals and socks, which I find the most comfortable way of getting on.  First half of the march along the level to the foot of the hill, then an undulating road through a pine forest, the latter half easy walking owing to the ground being covered with fallen fir leaves which made it as soft as a carpet.  A fine view from the top of hill, looking down to Ghuri.  The river Ghuri, a mountain torrent seen for a long distance rushing with a great roar over its rocky bed, bounded on each side by high hills, and above by mountains covered with snow, from the melting of which it arises.  The water is consequently icy cold, and my tub at the end of the march was highly invigorating.  Put up at the Dak Bungalow, a neat, clean, furnished building, standing on the right bank of the river, which is crossed just in front by a very fair suspension bridge.  I can trace my route for to-morrow, for several miles, and I look at it with dismay as it ascends a terribly steep hill.  There are two other men in the Bungalow, but I do not know who they are.  I have not mentioned my equipment.  It is so simple that a few lines will tell all.  Two suits of old clothes, three flannel shirts, two warm under flannels, two pair of boots, “a light pair and a heavy pair of ammunitions,” socks, handkerchiefs, &c., Mackintosh, warm bedding, a small tent called a “shildaree,” a two-rolled ridge tent, about eight feet square, a dressing bag containing toilet requisites, a metal basin, salted tongues and humps, potatoes, tea, sugar, flour, mustard,