rush and fury that would befall him lower down, and by-and-by we emerged
from the dark and forest-covered gorge into a wide basin where the river,
now smooth and oily, reflected tall poplars and the red shoots of young
dogwood.

Through a village, round a sweep to the left, over a tract said to be much
frequented by serpents, and then in the deepening and chilly dusk we made
out Baramula, lying engirdled by a belt of poplars about a mile away.

Glad were we, and probably gladder still our weary horses, to draw up
before the uninviting-looking dâk bungalow, knowing that only thirty-five
miles of level and open road lay now between us and Srinagar.

The dâk bungalow of Baramula is, upon the whole, the worst we have yet
sampled. No fire seemed able to impart any cheerfulness to the gloomy den
we were shown into, and the dinner finally produced by the
khansamah-kitmaghar-chowkidar (for a single tawny-bearded ruffian
represented all these functionaries when the morning tip fell due) was not
of an exhilarating nature. Strolling out to have a look at the town of
Baramula, I shivered to see a heap of snow piled up against the wall. It
snowed here, heavily, three days ago, I am told.

We have not been, so far, altogether lucky in the weather. Bitter cold in
Europe, cold at Port Saïd and Suez, chilly in the Red Sea, and wet at Aden!
Distinctly chilly in India, excepting during the day; we seem to have hit
off the most backward spring known here for many years. The Murree route,
which was closed to us by snow, should have been clear a month earlier,
and spring here seems not yet to have begun.

_April_ 5.--We crept shivering to our beds last night, to be awakened at 6