SEPTEMBER 7th.--Got up at daybreak and marched on Chikar, distance ten miles. For three miles the road continued along the valley of the Jhelum, and then turned to the south, and crossed several ranges of hills, each range rising higher than the one before, very hard work it was, the ascents being so steep and long--I can't keep my breath going up hill; it is far more fatiguing than any roughness of road. Chikar is a good sized village with a fort and is situated on the summit of a mountain at least two thousand feet above the Jhelum. There is a fine view of the surrounding hills from the Barahduree. Shortly after our arrival it began to rain, and has turned out a wet day. I had half my crockery broken by the coolie dropping the basket instead of putting it carefully down at the conclusion of the march.
SEPTEMBER 8th.--To Meira, seven and a half miles, a toilsome hill for half the distance, and then a descent the rest of the way. Scenery very pretty, the valleys being much larger and the mountains higher. The Murree ridge is now visible. From this bungalow we can see the next halting place, half way up a hill on the opposite side of an extensive valley deeply cut by ravines. The view is really very grand--much the finest on this road--in some parts it slightly resembles the scenery around Darjeeling with, of course, pine trees taking the place of magnolias and rhododendrons. The mere mention of those trees--magnolias and rhododendrons I mean--will only give you a misconception of the Sikin forests, because your ideas will be turned to the stunted shrubs of our northern latitudes. The magnolias and rhododendrons I speak of, are huge towering trees, taller than the largest oaks. How well I remember the magnificent spectacle they presented when in blossom! I have never seen mountains or forests that could compare in grandeur with those of the eastern Himalayas. Can you imagine Kishun-gunga twenty-nine thousand feet high? No! it is impossible; it is a sight that produces the most intense awe, and when I first looked upon it I did not know how to contain my feelings; but enough, or I shall be giving you a chapter quite irrevelant to my journey from Kashmir. By the side of this bungalow stands a large cypress; a very beautiful and by no means a common tree. There is something peculiarly rich in its dark green foliage, and withal, melancholy look, but that is doubtless owing to its tomb--stone associations. Ince in his "Guide," calls it a _sycamore_. He could hardly have named a tree more widely different.