On the 11th of April I reached the fort of Dras. For the last ten miles the snow lay continuously, and two or three feet deep, but there was always a clear path. The temperature being much above the freezing-point, the thaw proceeded rapidly. A good deal of Prangos, which is evidently a common wild plant (as it is also in many parts of Kashmir), was seen; the withered inflorescence projecting through the snow. I observed it also very abundantly in the hay, which is preserved in the villages, and seems to consist of all the plants of the meadows cut indiscriminately, and not of Prangos alone, as I had erroneously imagined.

My former journey having terminated at Dras, the road in advance was new to me; but the whole country being still covered with snow, I could see little of the nature of the surface. The fort of Dras is about 10,000 feet above the sea: it is situated in an open, nearly level plain of some width, skirted by low hills. The higher mountains, which are several miles distant on both sides, are very steep. Several villages are scattered over the plain, at some distance from the fort, which stands alone, on the bank of a little stream, just before it joins the Dras river. Beyond Dras, the road to the pass having scarcely been used, there was no beaten path. In the morning the snow was hard and firm, and even in the afternoon, notwithstanding the warmth of the midday sun, the foot did not sink more than three or four inches. The depth of snow increased rapidly as I advanced. Two miles above the fort the plain contracts into a narrow valley, and the channel of the river becomes very rocky; the stream is also very rapid, and the slope of its bed evidently considerable. The valley again expands around the village of Pain Dras. Immediately beyond this I crossed the river on a bridge of snow, at least forty feet thick, which covered the river for more than a hundred yards. This snow-bed, which was continuous with the general level of the surface, was to all appearance quite solid. After a march of ten miles I encamped at Maten, the last village of Dras, a small group of stone huts half a mile from the river on its eastern bank, and immediately at the base of a very steep scarped mountain, which rises in precipices several thousand feet above the village. Maten I estimated, from the boiling-point of water, to be 10,700 feet above the sea.

On the 13th of April I crossed the pass into Kashmir, starting, as the distance was said to be considerable, at about half-past two o'clock in the morning. The evening before had been dull, with irregular squalls of wind, so that the weather did not promise very favourably. It was very dark and quite calm at two A.M., and when I started it snowed slightly, but not enough to induce me to stop, as I hoped it would cease with daylight. Unfortunately, on the contrary, it increased rapidly, and by four o'clock was snowing heavily, and continued to do so till the afternoon. There was no wind, and the air was very mild, so that I suffered no inconvenience from cold. The surface of the snow, even in the morning, was a little soft, the cloudy night having prevented it from freezing. After four o'clock it snowed so heavily that the accumulation of fresh snow soon amounted to several feet, and we sank above the knee at every step. There was scarcely any slope, the road appearing quite horizontal. Before daylight my guides managed to lose their way, and we wandered for more than half an hour puzzled by our own footsteps. The compass was of no use, as I did not know the direction in which we ought to proceed, nor was it till after dawn that we recovered the road.

After daylight there was no improvement in any respect, as the heavy snow completely obscured the view. The leaders of the party, however, seemed to recognize the outlines of the hills, as they held their course without hesitation. The valley was quite full of snow, which completely covered all irregularities of surface. The river was often quite covered by the mass of snow for distances of more than a furlong without interruption. Our path often crossed it; and, latterly, for several miles before gaining the crest of the pass, the stream was completely concealed.

About noon the snow fell more lightly, and we could see around. The width of the valley was from half a mile to a mile, and steep mountains rose on both sides to a considerable height, the peaks being, I should think, at least 16,000 feet. Patches of willow and juniper were seen on the sides of the hills. Still the road was to appearance quite level. The valley made several bends, and we turned finally to the right, before gaining the crest of the pass, to which there was a barely perceptible rise.

The descent was at first gradual, but soon became very steep, down a bank of snow, which filled the whole of a narrow ravine. The rocky walls on either side were at first bare, but soon became sprinkled with birch and pine. For two thousand feet below the summit of the pass the descent was uninterrupted, till I reached the banks of the Sind river, which flows through the northernmost valley of Kashmir, and is separated from the main valley by a lofty range of mountains. Here, on a level space separated by a little stream from pine-forest, I found a log-hut buried up to the roof in snow, which was heaped up round the building, probably from having been thrown off the roof. The snow at Baltal—for so this first halting-place on the Kashmir side of the Zoji pass is called—was not deep, probably little more than what had fallen during the day.

My whole party took possession of the log-hut; but not liking the smoke which, in an instant, filled it, so that there was no seeing across its width, I had a space cleared for my tent. It rained smartly in the evening, but soon after dark it again began to snow, and long before morning I was awoke by the cracking of the ridge-pole of my tent, which had given way under the pressure of a foot and a half of snow. Had it fallen at once I should probably have been buried till morning, as I was too distant to make myself heard, and had to rise to summon assistance, to move my bed into the log-hut.

All day on the 14th it snowed unceasingly, and my people would not continue the journey; but on the 15th it was fair, and I gladly made a move, as the log-hut of Baltal was a most uncomfortable resting-place. The road lay along the Sind river, which ran to the south-west, through a deep but rather open valley, only partially wooded. The forest consists partly of pines, partly of deciduous-leaved trees. Of these I could recognize birch, poplar, and willow, which formed the mass of the woods, but there were no doubt many others. The pines were principally Pinus excelsa; silver fir and spruce also occurred, but I saw no deodar nor Gerard's pine. The trees grew in well defined masses of forest, separated by much open ground, in the level plain which skirted the river on the south side of the valley; on this side they also rose high on the mountains, but the slopes on the north side were bare.

Seven or eight miles from Baltal, I found an uninhabited house, at a place called Sonamarg[17], where a bridge crosses the Sind river. Snow had been continuous all the way, diminishing in depth as we descended the river. A mile or two before reaching Sonamarg, the stream approaches close to the mountains on the north side of the valley, barely leaving a passage for the road, which for some distance skirted the base of steep cliffs. In one of the ravines which here furrowed the mountain slopes, I had an opportunity of seeing the descent of an avalanche. While crossing the ravine I was warned by the sound that a snow-slip was approaching, but had abundance of time to retreat to a place of safety before it came near. When the avalanche came into sight, the ravine, which was narrow and deep, was completely filled by balls of snow of various dimensions, which continued to flow past for several minutes. The snow-slip terminated in the river, which was speedily blocked up for two-thirds of its width with an immense accumulation of snow.

At Sonamarg the Sind river bends abruptly towards the south, and enters a rocky gorge, down which its stream advances with great rapidity, over a steeply inclined bed, very rocky and much interrupted by rapids. Leaving Sonamarg on the morning of the 16th of April, I crossed the river, and after a mile and a half of level ground bare of trees, still covered with snow, I entered a thin forest of pine and silver fir, which continued to the entrance of the gorge. The silver fir (Picea Webbiana) was a fine straight tree, with short horizontal or drooping branches, and its leaves were very variable in length.

When I had fairly entered the narrow gorge of the river, I found that it was in many places still blocked up with snow, which had descended in avalanches down the narrow ravines, and had accumulated in the bed of the stream. We crossed the river three times on snow-beds. From the rapidity of the descent, however, the climate changed rapidly. After four or five miles there was no snow, except in ravines, where it had accumulated in avalanches, and at last even these had almost entirely melted away. Still snow lay in patches on the right bank of the river, in the village of Gagangir, at which I halted for the day; and on the left bank, which faced the north, and was therefore in shade, snow still covered the whole surface down to the bank of the river.

At the village of Gagangir the Sind river resumes its south-westerly direction, and its valley becomes more open, and the descent of its bed less abrupt. The elevation of the village is about 7900 feet above the level of the sea, so that the descent from Sonamarg is probably not less than a thousand feet in a distance of nine miles—a very considerable fall. On the latter part of the day's journey, a very considerable change was observable in the aspect of the vegetation. Birch and willow continued common throughout, but were mixed latterly with many other trees and shrubs, all of which were beginning to show symptoms of vitality. The hazel (Corylus lacera) and a species of Viburnum were in full flower, both still devoid of leaves; a few herbaceous plants were also in flower in open places, the most abundant of which were a species of Colchicum, remarkable for its bright orange-coloured flowers, and a pretty little rose-purple Corydalis, very closely allied to, if not the same as, a species of eastern Europe. Still the general aspect of the country was very wintry, as there were few pines, and the forest was therefore quite bare of leaves, while the signs of progress, though evident on a near inspection, did not attract attention in the general view.

At Gagangir, which is the first village of Kashmir by the route along which I was travelling, I was enabled to relieve my Dras porters, who had accompanied me so far. The discharge and payment of these men occupied me a great part of the 17th of April; and as the day was rainy I did not leave Gagangir till the 18th, when I marched to Gond, seven miles. The road still followed the course of the Sind river, which I crossed twice during the day. The width of the valley was considerable all along, with much arable land, and a good many villages in ruins on both sides. The mountains on the right hand were uniformly bare of trees, and often rocky; on the left they were well wooded to the summit, the forest being most dense above. Early in the day several of the ravines were still full of snow; and on the shady side a good deal lay in patches. Further on, the snow in the valley had quite disappeared, but on the mountain slopes there was still plenty. As I advanced the cultivated land increased in extent, and the appearance of the valley became exceedingly picturesque, the centre being occupied by a broad belt of fields and orchards, while the hills on both sides rose abruptly to a great elevation. The fruit-trees were principally walnuts, apples, and apricots. Groves of poplar occurred occasionally along the river, but I saw no birch during the day. Many more spring plants were in flower than on the previous day; Cruciferæ were the prevailing family, but I also collected species of Nepeta and Gagea, and a pretty little tulip. On the latter part of the march, a small shrubby species of Amygdalus was very abundant; and Fothergilla involucrata of Falconer, a plant of the natural order Hamamelideæ, which was just bursting into flower, formed a dense coppice on the hills on the north bank of the river. Though the greater part of the plants was new to me, still I recognized a number of species which occur in the valley of the Indus. Juniperus excelsa was common in rocky places, and the Ribes and rose were the same as those common at Iskardo.

On the 19th, the road still followed the course of the Sind river, now a rapid torrent, much swollen by the heavy rains, flowing through an open valley. A good deal of level ground was interposed between the mountains and the stream, and was laid out in terraced fields evidently adapted for rice cultivation, but now quite bare. I met with many very interesting plants. Tussilago Farfara was abundant, growing in gravelly places along the river. In shady woods a species of Hepatica, with a small white flower, first discovered by Dr. Falconer, was common. In more sunny places a Primula and Androsace were in full flower. On open sandy soil a species of the curious Siberian genus Ceratocephalus was a very striking novelty. On the higher hills there was still dense forest of Pinus excelsa, spruce, silver fir, and deodar, mixed with yew and Juniperus excelsa, and with many deciduous-leaved trees, few of which were recognizable. After travelling twelve miles I encamped at Gangan, which is elevated about 6000 feet.

Next day I remained stationary; but on the 21st I continued my journey to Ganderbal, nine miles further and close to the point where the Sind valley expands into the open plain of Kashmir. As I advanced, the valley gradually widened, and turned more to the south. There were several platforms, or steppes, as it were, of nearly level arable land, one above another, and below them the river flowed through a wide stony plain. The mountains on the right, high and snow-topped, receded to a considerable distance; those on the left gradually diminished in elevation, became less covered with forest, and at last terminated in low ranges of hills covered only with brush-wood. The road was extremely pretty. At first it lay along the right bank of the river, through fine underwood, and among beautiful meadows, which skirted the bank of the stream; it then crossed to the left bank, and, ascending the lower hills, entered a fine wood, in which apricot, pear, and cherry trees, all bursting into flower, were common, and to all appearance wild, though they had probably spread into these woods from the neighbouring villages. Latterly we emerged upon a somewhat elevated platform sloping to the south, covered with bushes and many fruit-trees, with here and there a village, and a great deal of cultivated ground. Where the Sind valley joined the plain of Kashmir, it was several miles in width, and evidently richly cultivated. The expanse of the plain of Kashmir was much greater than I had anticipated; the mountains on its south side, which were still covered with snow, were in sight, but at a considerable distance.

Above Gond the valley of the Sind river is very poorly inhabited, and deserted villages and abandoned cultivation showed that the population is diminishing. The lower part of the valley, however, is very populous. The villages are numerous and large, and the houses good: they are usually built entirely or partially of wood, with high sloping roofs, which are either thatched or covered with wood. The cultivated lands all rest upon platforms or banks of alluvium, which are probably analogous to those of the Tibetan valleys, though, as they are generally faced by sloping banks covered with bush-jungle, their structure is not so easily determined as that of the platforms of that more barren country.

On the morning of the 22nd of April, after following the base of the low hills for half a mile, till the last projecting point had been rounded, I entered the valley of Kashmir. This "celebrated valley" did not at all come up to the expectations which I had formed from previous descriptions, and from the appearance of the termination of the valley of the Sind river. The first impression was one of considerable disappointment. It was by no means well wooded, and the centre of the valley along the river, being very low, had an unpleasant swampy appearance. The road to the town, which is about ten miles from Ganderbal, led over an elevated platform. There were several villages, and plane, willow, and fruit trees were scattered here and there, though far from abundantly. The platform was in general covered with a carpet of green, now spangled with myriads of dandelions and other spring flowers. The mountains on the left, which at first were very low, gradually rose in elevation, and were throughout rugged and bare. As I approached the town I mounted an elephant, which formed a part of the cortège sent, according to the usual oriental etiquette, to receive an expected visitor; and I consequently saw the town to much better advantage than I should have done had I ridden through it on my little Ladak pony. Passing completely through the city, I was conducted to the Sheikh Bagh, a garden on the banks of the Jelam, at its eastern extremity, in a pavilion in the centre of which I took up my quarters.

The town of Kashmir is apparently of great extent, and seems very densely populated. Its length is much greater than its width, as it is hemmed in between the Jelam on the south and a lake on the north. The principal part of the town is on the north side of the Jelam, but a large suburb occupies the opposite bank, surrounding the Sher-Garhi, or fortified palace of the ruler of the country. The streets are in general so narrow, that there are but few through which an elephant can pass; and the houses, which have mostly several stories, are built with a wooden frame-work, the lower story of stone and those above of brick. There are no buildings of any great note; and the elaborate account of Moorcroft renders it unnecessary to enter into any detail. The river is crossed by many bridges, all built of deodar-wood.

The province or country of Kashmir consists of an extensive plain, surrounded on all sides by lofty mountains. It is the valley of the river Behat, or Jelam, which is separated from that of the Chenab on the south, by rugged and often snowy ranges, and from the basin of the Indus on the north, by the main axis of the Western Himalaya, which, originating in the peaks of Kailas, separates the basins of the Sutlej and the Chenab from that of the Indus. The mountains which surround the plain of Kashmir are very lofty. Those on the north are for the most part bare and rugged on their southern face, while those which lie to the south appear from the plain to be magnificently wooded with forests of pines and deciduous-leaved trees, descending almost to their base. On both sides of the valley the mountains rise above the level of perpetual snow, but those on the north side are considerably more lofty than the others. Numerous transverse valleys penetrate into these mountains, which are well cultivated in their lower parts, and, higher up, present superb mountain scenery. On the south side of the valley, many passes, varying in elevation from 10,000 to 14,000 feet, lead across the main chain to the Chenab valley and the plains of India. To the north there are only two frequented routes, that by the Garys pass towards Hasora and Deotsu, and that by the valley of the Sind river towards Dras. At the eastern end of the valley a high pass leads across the mountains to the valley of Wardwan, from which travellers can reach Kargil and the Indus on the left, and Kishtwar in the valley of the Chenab on the right.

The flat country or alluvial plain of Kashmir, which is 5300 feet above the sea, is about fifty miles in length, and not more than ten or twelve miles wide. It commences close to Islamabad, where the last spurs of the mountains at the east end of the valley disappear; and terminates at Baramula, where the ranges, branches of the opposite mountain chains, again advance close to the bank of the river. It is traversed in its whole length by the river Jelam, which rises at the east end of the valley, and winds from one side of the plain to the other, at one time washing the base of the northern hills, at another receding to a considerable distance from them. The Jelam flows with a tranquil stream, and, being navigable throughout the whole of the level country as far up as Islamabad, for boats of considerable burden, is the great highway for the traffic of the country, in which, notwithstanding its being perfectly level, wheel-carriages are unknown. At Islamabad it is a very small stream, but it gradually enlarges, by additions from both sides, as it descends. Near the town of Kashmir it is from fifty to a hundred yards wide, often very deep, and in few places fordable, even at the driest season.

The plain of Kashmir has evidently at one time been the bed of a lake, a deposit of fine clayey and sandy strata, more rarely partially indurated into a soft sandstone rock, occupying a great part of the surface. Soft pebbly conglomerate is also occasionally met with, and an indurated conglomerate, containing water-worn pebbles, occurs in many places in the lower course of the Sind river. This lacustrine formation forms elevated platforms, which are from fifty to one hundred and fifty feet or more above the level of the river. In many places, both on the Jelam and along the lateral streams which descend from the mountains to join it, the beds of clay have been removed by aqueous action. In such places the plain has a lower level, often very little above the surface of the river, and is covered with rice-fields or with marshy lands, undrained and not under cultivation.

The platforms of lacustrine clay are called, in Kashmir, "karewah." They are often quite dry, and generally uncultivated, but where water is procurable they are highly cultivated, yielding luxuriant crops of wheat and barley. A proper application of artificial irrigation would, I believe, make the whole of these more elevated parts of the plain fertile, as the soil is everywhere well adapted for the growth of corn. These karewahs generally run parallel to the lateral streams which join the Jelam, and extend from the base of the mountains till they are cut off by the river. There are, however, in the upper part of the valley, several isolated patches, all horizontally stratified, from which I infer that they had originally been continuous. One of these, near Bijbeara, forms a table-topped hill of considerable extent, surrounded on all sides by low land. Several low hills near Islamabad, also, are evidently outlying patches of the same formation. The sands and sandy clays of these platforms are usually quite non-fossiliferous; but I determined the lacustrine nature of the strata by finding, on the flanks of Takht-i-Suleiman, a hill near the town of Kashmir, and close to the city lake, but at least thirty feet above its level, a bed of clay, which contained, abundantly, shells of the genera Lymnæa and Paludina.

The main chain of the Himalaya, north of Kashmir, consists, where I crossed it, by the Zoji pass north of Baltal, of metamorphic schist; and all its branches, which descend towards the plain of Kashmir, seem to be formed of the same rock. Along the north side of the valley, however, a series of hills of trap rise, almost isolated, out of the plain. Ahathung, near the Wulur lake, is, I believe, the most westerly of these, but I did not visit it, and only infer its structure from its conical shape and from its similarity in appearance to those further east. Near the town of Kashmir there are two of these isolated hills, composed of an amygdaloidal trap: these are Hari-Parbat, which is fortified, and Takht-i-Suleiman, which rises about eight hundred feet above the plain. The former lies to the north-west, and the latter on the north-east side of the town.

The lake or Dal of Kashmir lies to the north of the town, stretching from the base of these two hills to the more lofty mountain range which bounds the valley on the north. It is nearly circular and four or five miles in diameter, but is only open in its northern half, the end nearest the town being occupied by large islands, with narrow channels between them, in some of which there is a good deal of current. Its waters are discharged into the Jelam by a considerable stream, which, flowing from its south-east corner, runs to the westward in a course nearly parallel to the southern margin of the lake for nearly a mile, when it turns abruptly south to enter the Jelam in the middle of the town of Kashmir. This stream is evidently an artificial canal, and the embankment by which it is separated from the lake appears to have been constructed in order to keep the surface of the latter higher than it would naturally be. The stream at its point of exit from the lake flows through a narrow canal of masonry, and has, when the Jelam is low, a fall of several feet. A pair of flood-gates prevent the return of the stream in times of flood, when the waters of the river are higher than those of the lake.

The Wulur lake, below the junction of the Sind river with the Jelam, appears to be similar in appearance to that close to the town, and, like it, to owe its extent in part to artificial means. Its dimensions are, however, much greater. There are several large marshy tracts in different parts of the plain, which, by a little engineering, might also be converted into lakes: one in particular, near Avantipura, is quite under water in spring, though in summer and autumn it is only a swamp.

The climate of Kashmir is the same as that of the interior valleys of the Himalaya, but modified by its extreme western position, which brings it within the influence of the spring rains which prevail in Affghanistan and the countries on the lower mountain course of the Indus. There are at least four months of winter; and in general a good deal of snow falls. March and April are very rainy; the summer months mostly dry and fine. The periodical rains of India cannot be said to extend into Kashmir; but in July and August showers and thunder-storms are said to be frequent. The spring and autumn are unhealthy seasons. In the former, the cold rainy weather affects those who have already suffered from the malaria produced by the action of a powerful sun on neglected swamps. The abandonment of cultivation, in consequence of the long oppression of the country under a foreign government, has been the cause of the increase of marshy ground. The river in seasons of flood rises higher than the level of the lowest portion of the alluvial land, and is only excluded (as in Holland) by means of artificial works along the course of the river. By the omission to repair these bunds, or dykes, a large extent of country which might be under cultivation is left in a state of swamp.

There is no natural forest on any part of the open plain of Kashmir, and the cultivated trees are not numerous; the plane, poplar, and willow are all common, with numerous fruit-trees, chiefly walnuts, apples, apricots, cherries, and quinces. A mulberry is also common, the dried specimens of which are in no way distinguishable from those of the common white mulberry of Europe, with which I have compared it. The vines are trained up the poplar-trees, rising to their very tops, and hanging down from their summits. A species of Celtis, which is commonly planted around the town, is, I think, the most tropical of all the Kashmirian trees, being common in the warmer valleys of the outer Himalayas; it is, however, I think, Celtis australis, L., a species which is a native of western Asia and eastern Europe, and appears to find its eastern limit in the Himalaya.

At the time of my arrival in Kashmir, the fruit-trees were in full blossom; the wild vegetation had, however, made very little progress, only the earliest plants being in flower. The spring flora was eminently European in character; not only the genera, but many of the species, being identical with those of our own island. Cruciferæ were the most abundant natural order; and, among many others, I collected Draba verna, Capsella, Erysimum, Alliaria, Turritis glabra, and European species of Lepidium, Thlaspi, Alyssum, and Sisymbrium. Other common forms were Lycopsis arvensis, Lithospermum arvense, Myosotis collina, Scandix Pecten, Ranunculus Philonotis, Anagallis arvensis, Euphorbia Helioscopia, and several species of Veronica. None of the annual plants were Indian forms, though a few of them were such as occur commonly in the plains in the cold season. The shrubby vegetation was very limited: a Juniper (J. communis), a Cotoneaster, Rubus, Rosa Webbiana, Zizyphus, Elæagnus, Daphne, and two species of Berberis, were the most common. A few straggling trees of Pinus excelsa, which grew on the northern face of the low hill called Solomon's Throne, were the only pines which I saw in any part of the open valley.

CHAPTER X.

Environs of Kashmir—City lake—Gardens of Shalimar and Dilawer Khan—Pampur—Avantipura—Platforms of lacustrine clay—Mountain of Wasterwan—Ancient city—Clay, with shells and fragments of pottery—Ancient temple imbedded in clay—Lakes caused by subsidence—Islamabad—Shahabad—Vegetation—Vernag—Banahal Pass—Valley of Banahal—Tropical vegetation—Pass above Chenab Valley—Nasmon—Jhula, or Swing-bridge—Balota—Ladhe ke Dhar—Katti—Fort of Landar—Mir—Kirmichi—Tertiary sandstones—Dhuns—Seda—Jamu.

During my stay in Kashmir, besides the necessary ceremonial of complimentary visits, my chief occupation was visiting the principal places in the vicinity. From my residence in the Sheikh Bagh I had easy access to the river, as well as to the canal by which it communicates with the lake. A broad road, three-quarters of a mile in length, shaded on both sides by very fine poplar-trees, runs from the eastern end of the town, parallel to this canal, as far as the hill called the Takht, at the foot of which is situated the passage by which the lake discharges its waters into the canal. The weather was very favourable, the spring rains having terminated a day or two before my arrival. The Kashmiris are accomplished boatmen, a great part of the population living upon the water; and as most of the conspicuous objects around the town are only accessible by water, I gave pretty constant employment to a boat's crew whom I hired during my stay.

My first visit was to the lake, and to the celebrated gardens on its northern shore, which were the delight of the emperors who made Kashmir their retreat from the heat and cares of Delhi and Lahore. The southern part of the lake is very shallow, and I sailed along narrow channels, which separated large patches of tall reeds, among which a very narrow-leaved Typha and an Arundo were the commonest plants. Three or four species of Potamogeton were abundant in the lake, just coming into flower, but most of the water-plants were only beginning to vegetate. I saw three or four flowers of a water-lily (Nymphæa alba), and could just recognize Villarsia nymphæoides, Menyanthes trifoliata, and Trapa, all of which had been recorded by previous travellers as natives of Kashmir. I looked anxiously for Nelumbium, but saw no signs of it, except the withered capsules of the previous year, many of which I observed floating on the lake.

The gardens of Shalimar and of Dilawer Khan rise in a succession of terraces from the margin of the lake. They are laid out in a stiff formal style, straight walks crossing one another at right angles, and are irrigated by means of straight water-courses, branching from a long canal which passes down the centre, through a succession of ponds well built in masonry, and provided with artificial fountains, which are made to play on festivals and holidays. Pavilions of fine marble occupy the intersections of the principal walks. Magnificent plane-trees form the chief ornament of these gardens, which are now much neglected; straggling bushes and a wilderness of weeds occupying all the less conspicuous parts, while the main avenues alone are kept a little neat.

Although the chief beauty of the valley of Kashmir is undoubtedly the magnificent girdle of snowy mountains by which it is surrounded, the orchards and gardens, which are still numerous in the neighbourhood of the capital, are charming spots, and the more so from the contrast which they present with the barrenness of the surrounding country, and the absolute ugliness of the swamps in the centre of the valley. Nor should it be forgotten, when we compare the accounts given by early travellers with the impressions made upon us by the present appearance of the valley, that Kashmir is no longer in the same state as it was in the days of the emperors; a long continuance of misrule, under a succession of governors, whose only interest it has been to extract as much revenue as possible from the unfortunate inhabitants, having produced the only conceivable result, in abandoned cultivation, a diminished revenue, and an impoverished people.

On the 2nd of May I left the town of Kashmir, taking the route by the Banahal pass, towards Jamu and the plains of India. As my road lay for several days' journey along the course of the Jelam (or Behat, as it is always called in Kashmir), I engaged boats for the transport of my servants and baggage as far as Islamabad, travelling myself, however, generally by land and on foot, in order to see the country. My first halting-place was Pampur, seven miles from the town of Kashmir. After traversing the magnificent avenue of poplars, which runs north-west from the town, the road winds round the base of the Takht, the eastern face of which is only separated from the Jelam by a low swampy tract, a few hundred yards in breadth. East of the Takht a succession of rugged trap hills skirt the road, but beyond these the more distant mountains are evidently stratified. The road was grassy and quite level, and passed through much cultivation, the young wheat and barley being dripping with a heavy dew which had fallen during the night. A scarlet poppy and Adonis were common weeds among the corn.

Next day I travelled to Avantipura, seven miles further. The lacustrine formations, which had made their appearance on the bank of the river a little west of Pampur, continued to occur more or less constantly as we proceeded eastward, and the road traversed for some miles an elevated plain, quite bare of trees, and only partially cultivated, while the remainder was covered with grass. The surface of this plain was eroded by wide transverse valleys, formed by little streams which ran towards the Jelam: these were flat, and well cultivated, some of the wheat being already in ear. On the highest parts of the platform the cultivation of saffron is carried on, in beds four or five feet square, separated by deep ditches or furrows from one another. The plant, which flowers in autumn, was now in full leaf.

Behind Avantipura lies a high mountain, called Wasterwan, rising to a height of 10,000 feet above the sea by the determination of Jacquemont, or 4700 feet above the plain. It projects forward in an almost isolated manner, though it is connected by a narrow ridge behind with the general mass of the range on the north side of the valley. On the 4th of May I ascended to the summit of this mountain, which I found to be entirely formed of trap, partly homogeneous, and partly amygdaloidal. Several gigantic Umbelliferæ, already in full flower, were abundant in the lower parts of the open valley by which I ascended. One of these was Prangos pabularia, which formed dense thickets four or five feet high. From this open valley I got upon a sharp ridge, grassy below but very rocky above, along which I proceeded almost to the top; but being stopped by a precipice, I was obliged to enter a narrow rocky ravine, by ascending which I managed to gain the summit, which was grassy and rounded, and covered with a few patches of snow. On the northern face of the hill snow still lay in great quantity. The view from the top was very fine, the day being in every respect favourable: the greater part of the valley of Kashmir was seen spread out far below, and a complete circle of snowy mountains bounded the horizon. The mountains to the north were seen to be distinctly stratified.

The commonest plants on the ascent were a beautiful rose-coloured Oxytropis, and a tulip (T. stellata), the flowers of which, when fully expanded, spread out like a star. A few trees of Pinus excelsa were seen on the upper part of the ridge; and in a hollow close to the top there were about a dozen yew-trees. On the summit, though the vegetation was not generally alpine, most of the plants of the middle zone extending to the very top, there were many pretty little spring flowers, which did not extend far down. A Primula, Pedicularis, Gentiana, Leontopodium, Corydalis, and Callianthemum, were all in flower. On the northern slope of the mountain, a wood of deciduous trees, still bare of leaves, commenced a few yards below the summit. At first the trees were all birch, but lower down a cherry and maple were mixed with it; the former with young leaves, and just-formed racemes; the latter only recognizable by the last year's leaves, which strewed the ground. A few horse-chesnut trees were also seen near the top.

The neighbourhood of the village of Avantipura is one of the most interesting places in which the lacustrine strata of the Kashmir valley can be studied, as there is distinct evidence of the existence in that place of deposits much more recent than those which extend over the whole plain, and which were therefore formed when the valley was occupied by a large lake. Avantipura was formerly the site of a very large town, the capital, I believe, of the kingdom; built in the shape of an amphitheatre in a deep semicircular bay, enclosed by two low spurs, which project from the mountain Wasterwan, which rises immediately behind.

The ruins of the ancient town are still visible, consisting of heaps of stones, some of immense size, indicative of large buildings, but none of them showing the slightest traces by which the shape or structure of the edifices could be determined. These ruins extend all round the deep recess in the mountains, and terminate below quite abruptly, without any apparent cause, in a perfectly horizontal line along the mountain-side. The mountain behind is an isolated peak, furrowed by numerous ravines, which are dry except immediately after rain. The place would therefore appear singularly inappropriate as the site of a large city, were there not, I think, sufficient evidence that a lake existed in front of the town, the surface of which was on a level with the horizontal line by which the ruins are abruptly terminated.

The ruins of the ancient city stand upon the lacustrine clay of the Kashmir plain, and are therefore posterior in age to the period when the valley was occupied by one large lake. Immediately in front of the ancient ruins, between them and the small modern village of Avantipura, which is situated on the banks of the Jelam, there occur beds of fine brown-coloured clay, containing in great quantity fragments of pottery, with here and there small pieces of charcoal and bone. In one place on the bank of a small ravine, which then probably carried a streamlet into the lake, I found the clay to contain, mixed with the broken pottery, numerous shells, some fresh-water and some land species, and all the same as are common at the present day in the river Jelam, or on the grassy hill-sides in the valley. The place where these shells occur is fifty or sixty feet above the river.

The appearance of this evidently very modern deposit is exactly that which would no doubt be exhibited, were the present lake close to the city of Kashmir dried up, and a section of its bed exposed. This lake contains abundance of shells, and in the neighbourhood of the town it is made the receptacle of refuse of every kind, broken pottery being particularly plentiful. In shallow places in the river, close to the town of Bijbehara, a similar deposit is accumulating, valves of a Cyrena being found to some depth in the fine mud, mixed with broken pots, charcoal, bones, and other refuse.

The most remarkable fact connected with this very recent lacustrine deposit is, that the ruins of an ancient temple exist on the plain above the Jelam, a little west of the modern village, partially buried in the clay. The upper parts of two temples, resembling in all respects the ruins on the elevated platform at Martand, near Islamabad, stand on the open plain, not far from the river, but perhaps twenty feet above its level, and certainly far below the level to which the clay containing pottery rises on the hill-sides. One of the temples is quite in ruins, the immense blocks of which it is built being piled confusedly on one another. The beautiful colonnade (exactly like that at Martand) by which it is surrounded, is evidently quite uninjured in any way; but it is entirely buried under the lacustrine clay, except a very small portion, consisting of three pillars, which were exposed by Major Cunningham in 1847. These three pillars may be seen in a cavity under the level of the present surface of the ground, and the clay in which they were imbedded contains fragments of pottery in profusion.

If these temples (the date of which I believe is approximately known to antiquarians) were contemporaneous with the ancient town, they must have been buried in the lacustrine silt at some period not very long subsequent to their erection, if I am right in supposing a lake to have existed at the same time with the town. Probably, therefore, they are anterior in age to the town, as they are imbedded in such masses of pottery as could only have been accumulated in the neighbourhood of a very dense population. Their present appearance, I think, helps to explain the nature and origin of the many lakes or marshy depressions which occur in all parts of the valley. It appears evident that at Avantipura, at some period subsequent to the building of the temples, a subsidence of the ground must have taken place during one of the many earthquakes which are well known to have convulsed the Kashmir valley. This subsidence, which must have been partial, and not co-extensive with the valley, converted the ground on which the temples stood into a lake. A fresh subsidence, or the gradual wearing away of the incoherent clay strata lower down the river, must at last have drained the little lake, and left the country round Avantipura in the state in which we now see it. Even now a marsh partly under water during the spring months extends from Avantipura for several miles up the river.

The occurrence of repeated partial subsidences in various parts of the Kashmir plain appears to me the only way in which the general appearance of the country can be explained. The abrupt, broad, and shallow depressions between the different platforms are seemingly much too extensive to have been formed by the trifling streamlets which now run along them, without the assistance of volcanic action. The lakes, too, are deeper than the present level of the river, a circumstance only explicable in an alluvial country on some such supposition; and as it is well known that violent earthquakes have at intervals convulsed this valley for many centuries, this mode of explaining the phenomena becomes highly probable.