t 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
a rather violent controversy between my Bheistie and boatman. The
boatman stoutly maintained his opinion of its value and the Bheistie
with a more correct appreciation, and while explaining to me that it
was a jungle bird and would never sing, appeared to look upon my conduct
with a mixture of compassion and disgust, and then they quarrelled over
it. Was my fancy a foolish one? Some men will spend years in the pursuit
and classification of butterflies, while others go into ecstasy over a
farthing of the reign of Queen Anne. My common jungle bird was a pretty
one, and if I had got it home and put it in a gilt cage, it would surely
have possessed some value for its antecedents, even if it had proved as
mute as a fish, or as discordant as a Hindoo festival.

AUGUST 21st.--Marched back to Kunbul, seven miles, and took up my
quarters again on board the boat, fifteen or twenty other boats are
here, a good many visitors having recently arrived in this part of
Kashmir. I remained at Kunbul all day waiting for the completion of a
pair of chuplus which I ordered of a shoemaker ten days ago. I have
occupied the time by reading Marryat's "Newton Forster" (one of Hewson's
gifts) and I find that when I read I can't write, so that must be my
excuse for the shortness of my notes. My head is full of ships, sea
fights, and love making to the exclusion of everything else. I heard
you--you said it was a good job, as it prevented me writing more
nonsense.

AUGUST 22nd.--Slowly drifting all day dow