of the Corps of Guides. It is shady and agreeable, though
terribly hot in the summer months. It boasts an excellent polo ground
and a comfortable rest-house. The passer-by should pause to see the
Guides' cemetery, perhaps the only regimental cemetery in the world. To
this last resting-place under the palm trees, close to the fields where
they have played, and the barracks in which they lived, have been borne
the bodies of successive generations of these wardens of the marches,
killed in action across the frontier line. It is a green and pleasant
spot. Nor is there any place in the world where a soldier might lie in
braver company.

After Mardan the road becomes more dusty, and the surrounding country
barren and arid. [This description applies to the autumn season. In the
winter and spring the country for a time is green and the air cold.]
The mountains are approached, and as the tonga advances their shapes and
colours are more distinctly seen. A few knolls and ridges rising
from the level plain, mark the outposts of that great array of hills.
Crossing a shallow stream--a tributary of the Cabul River, Jalala, the
second stage is reached. In peace time a small mud fort is the
only indication, but this is expanded by the proximity of war to a
considerable camp, with an entrenchment around it. Stopping only to
change ponies, for it is a forsaken spot, the journey is resumed. The
avenue of trees on either side has ceased. The road is seen simply as
a white streak stretching towards the mountains. It is traversed in a
sweltering heat and choking dust. All around the country is red, sterile
and burnt up. In front the great wall of hills rises dark and ominous.
At length Dargai at the foot of the pass is reached. It is another
mud fort, swelled during the operations into an entrenched camp, and
surrounded by a network of barbed wire entanglement. The Malakand Pass
can now be seen--a great cleft in the line of mountains--and far up the
gorge, the outline of the fort that guards it, is distinguishable.

The graded road winds up, with many a turn, the long ascent from Dargai
to the top of the pass. The driver flogs the wretched, sore-backed
ponies tirelessly. At length the summit is neared. The view is one worth
stopping to look at. Behind and below, under the haze of the heat, is
the wide expanse of open country--smooth, level, stretching away to the
dim horizon. The tonga turns the corner and enters a new world. A
cooler breez