other answer than his to make. These are some of my birthday thoughts.
Pray, forgive, excuse me if I have wearied you.


AUGUST 19th.--Back to Atchibul, twelve miles, the road for the most part
level, but there was one mile of very hard work, over the ridge I
crossed yesterday. I approached Atchibul from the hill I mentioned as
standing at the head of the garden, and from the top of it a very pretty
view of the place is obtained. I found the pavilion unoccupied, and
again took possession of it, set the fountains playing, and imagined
myself the Great Mogul. Just out of Vernag, I caught a small black and
yellow bird, which my boatman calls a "bulbul" (though I think he is
wrong in the name) and says it sings very well. I have had a cage made
for it, and it is now feeding at my side, and is apparently very happy.
I'll try and take it to England. I believe it is only one of the shrike
family, but it is too young to identify at present. However, it is my
fancy to keep it, so why should I not. The old gardener here is very
attentive, constantly bringing me fruit. Shall I do him injustice, by
saying that he probably has expectation of a reward? I think not indeed,
is it not the same expectation or its allied motive, the desire to
escape punishment, which prompts the actions of all of us? We do good, I
fear, more for the sake of the promised recompense, than for any love
of the thing itself. Light rain has fallen all day.


AUGUST 20th.--I halt at Atchibul. I have now completed my wanderings in
Kashmir, and have seen all I intended except one portion, which I shall
visit on my road home. My next move will be to ----, but as I do not
care to spend more than seven or eight days there, I am in no hurry to
get back. My bird died in the night, and by its death has put an end to