of themselves, and avoid contusion almost without the help of my eyes.  Then I came to a large and rapid river called the Kishun-gunga crossed by a rope bridge.  Let me describe the bridge.  Three or four leather ropes about one inch in diameter tied into a bundle to walk upon, three feet above this, a couple of ropes, two feet apart, the upper ropes connected to the lower one at intervals of four or five yards by stakes.  This formed a V shape, and you walk on the point of the V and hold on by the two sides.  The breadth of the river is sixty yards, and the bridge which is high above the water forms a considerable curve.  The description of the bridge is easy enough, but how shall I describe my feelings, when I had gone a few yards and found myself poised in mid-air like a spider on a web, oscillating, swaying backwards and forwards over a foaming and roaring torrent, the rush of the water if I looked at my feet, made me feel as if I was being violently carried in the opposite direction; the bridge swayed and jumped with the weight of half a dozen natives coming from the opposite side whom I had to pass, the whole thing seemed so weak and the danger so terrible that I turned giddy, lost my head, and cried out to be held.  A firm hand at once grasped me behind and another in front.  I shut my eyes and so proceeded a few yards.  Then those dreadful men had to be passed.  Imagine meeting a man on a rope fifty feet above a torrent and requiring him to “give you the wall.”  However they were passed by a mysterious interlacing of feet; and when half way over I regained confidence, and bid the men “chando” or release me, and so gained the opposite bank, where I sat down and roared with laughter at my “boy” who was then coming over, and who evidently was much more affected than I was.  However he arrived safely with his black face pale, dripping with perspiration and saying he was sick.  What was most amusing was to see him hooking his legs one in front of the other on his way over, but I dare say I was equally laughable to anyone on terra firma.  He told me afterwards “water all go down, and I go up and get sick and giddy.”  Another two miles over a low ridge and I got to Mozufferabad and put up at the Barahduree provided by the Maharajah for the convenience of English travellers free of charge, for we are now in Kashmerian territory.  This is an unfurnished bungalow built of mud and pine logs, and there is one at every stage.  This saves the trouble of pitching a tent, and is of course much better in wet weather.  I have not had a drop of rain though yet.  Met Watson, of Fane’s Horse, at the bungalow going back to Peshawur.  Got Incis’s Guide from him for the day, and made some notes at the other end of this book.  There is a picturesque fort on this bank of the river commanding the bridge, built by the Pathans, apparently of bright red stone or brick.  It was interesting to see mules and ponies swimming across the stream.  Holding on by the tail of each was a man supported by two inflated