rovided at
every bungalow for the weary travellers to rest upon pending the arrival
of his baggage. These plateaus or table lands exist at intervals all the
way up the valley, sometimes on one side sometimes on the other and
occasionally on both the river in the middle. They are quite flat, very
small, and highly productive, and vary from fifty to three or four
hundred feet in height, above the river. The valley which widens where
they exist, is narrowed again at either extremity. I can only account
for their formation by supposing that at a former time, a chain of lakes
existed, of which they are the beds, and that the water subsequently
burst through and formed the channel of the present Jhelum, leaving
these beds dry as we now see them. Came across a number of large tailed
butterflies of a lovely green and blue metallic lustre. Secured an
un-injured specimen, and for want of a better place stuck it inside my
topee, where I expect to carry it safely until my return to Peshawur.
Another storm came on earlier than yesterday. I have been very lucky
hitherto, not having had a drop of rain while marching. This morning was
cloudy till within a mile or two of Kuthin when the sun shone and made
the last ascent doubly trying. This is a very small village (at Kunda
there was only one hut) but there is a mud fort with bastions at each
corner but no guns. The walls are loop-holed for musketry, but there
does not seem to be any garrison. On making enquiries, I find there is a
garrison of seven men. It is getting dusk and mosquitoes are coming out
by hundreds, they have not annoyed me before, but I think I must use my
net to-night. I lie on my bed after dinner smoking with a lighted candle
by my side. A hornet flies in and settles on my hand, then a large
beetle comes with a buzz and a thud against me, making me start. Sundry
moths, small flies, and beetles, are playing innocently round the flame.
In half an hour I shall be able to make a fair entomological collection
but as I neither (Ha! I've killed the hornet) desire them in my hat
dead, nor in my bed alive, I must put out the light, give up writing,
and smoke in darkness.

JULY 14th.--To Shadera, twelve miles walked all the way. The road worse
than ever, and for the last mile actually dangerous, as it passed along
the edge of a deep precipice, and was only a foot wide and considerably
out of the horizontal, so that a single false step would have been
fatal. Road continued sam