feet are dangling over a precipice, it is difficult for a candid mind to avoid concluding that the bearers would be quite justified in throwing the whole concern over, and so getting rid of their unwelcome and painful task. But when the path is covered with pieces of rock, as usually happens to be the case, and the coolies are not well up to their work, which they almost never are, the man in the dandi is not allowed much leisure for meditations of any kind, or even for admiring the scenery around; for, unless he confines his attention pretty closely to the rocks with which he is liable to come into collision, he will soon have all the breath knocked out of his body. On consulting a Continental savan, who had been in the inner Himálaya, as to whether I could get people there to carry me in a dandi, he said, "Zey vill carry you, no doubt; but zey vill bomp you.' And bump me they did, until they bumped me out of adherence to that mode of travel. Indeed they hated and feared having to carry me so much, that I often wondered at their never adopting the precipice alternative. But in the Himalayan states the villagers have to furnish the traveller, and especially the English traveller, with the carriage which he requires, and at a certain fixed rate. This is what is called the right of bigár, and without the exercise of it, travelling would be almost impossible among the mountains. I also had a special purwannah, which would have entitled me, in case of necessity, to seize what I required; but this I kept in the background.

The stages from Simla to Pangay, along the cut bridle-path, are as follows, according to miles :—

This road, however, has four great divisions, each with marked characteristics of its own. To Narkanda it winds along the sides of not very interesting mountains, and about the same level as Simla, till at the Narkanda Ghaut it rises nearly to 9000 feet, and affords a gloomy view into the Sutlej valley, and a splendid view of the snowy ranges beyond. In the second division it descends into the burning Sutlej valley, and follows near to the course of that river, on the left bank, until, after passing Rampúr, the capital of the state of Bussahir, it rises on the mountain-sides again up to Gaura. Thirdly, it continues along the mountainsides, for the most part between 6000 and 7000 feet high, and through the most magnificent forests of deodar, till it descends again to the Sutlej, crosses that river at Wangtú Bridge, and ascends to Oorni. Lastly, it runs from Oorni to Pangay, at a height of nearly 9000 feet, on the right bank of the Sutlej, and sheltered from the Indian monsoon by the 20,000 feet high snowy peaks of the Kailas, which rise abruptly on the opposite side of the river.

The view of the mountains from Narkanda is wonderful indeed, and well there might the spirit

"Take flight ;-inherit

Alps or Andes-they are thine!
With the morning's roseate spirit
Sweep the length of snowy line."

There is a large bungalow at this Ghaut; but all the rooms are apt to be occupied, as it is a terminus for parties from Simla who go out to see the snowy ranges. No one can claim to occupy a room for more than three days, if any one else requires it; but some people, after staying the allotted time at this place, go down to Kotgarh for a night, and so establish a claim for other three days. Narkanda is nearly 9000 feet high, so that it is cold even in the hot season; and from the peak of Hatto beside it, which is more than 2000 feet higher, and has a peak-like surface on the top covered with magnificent trees, there is a splendid view extending up to the Kailas. The road down to Kotgarh, which is only 6700 feet high, passes through a fine forest of deodar and other trees, through the branches of which the snowy mountains of Kúlú are visible. A road takes off it, on the right, which keeps along at a high level, and meets the Hindústhan and Tibet road near Serahan; but, when I passed up the Sutlej, this road was out of repair, and was declared wholly impassable at certain points. When it can be used at all, it is a great advantage to the traveller, as it saves him from descending, for two days' journey, into the burning valley of the Sutlej.

Kotgarh is usually called Grúkot by the hillmen, which means the residence of the Gúrú, or saint, and affords a good instance of a transposition of letters not uncommon in some parts of India. There is a station. of the Church Mission there under charge of the Rev. W. Rebsch. This Mission was founded in 1840, with the view of affecting all the surrounding country; but missionary operations do not seem to have been commenced till 1843, shortly after which they were con

ducted for long by Mr Rebsch's father-in-law, the Rev. Dr Prochnow. The native Christian community, when I visited Kotgarh, consisted of forty-six members; but many more persons were believed to be favourably disposed towards Christianity, though afraid to make any open avowal of it. Industrial operations are carried on by the converts; and, besides the schools at Kotgarh itself, a number of schools have been established at various places in the surrounding country. Medicine also is largely distributed by Mr Rebsch, accompanied by medical advice, and the intellectual activity of the torpid people around is stimulated. Besides Mr Rebsch, the Mission employed Mr Beutel a European teacher, a native Christian teacher, and three native Scripture readers. The native congregation consisted of 46 persons, 24 of whom were communicants; and during that and the preceding two years, there had been 18 baptisms, 6 of which were of adults.

The view down into the valley of the Sutlej, both from Narkanda and Kotgarh, is exceedingly gloomy and oppressive; and on seeing it, I could not help thinking of "the valley of the shadow of death." The same idea had struck Lieut.-Colonel Moore, the interpreter to the Commander-in-Chief, whom I met at Kotgarh, a little lower down, along with Captain De Roebeck, one of the Governor-General's aides-de-camp. No description could give an adequate idea of the tattered, dilapidated, sun-burnt, and woe-begone appearance of these two officers as they rode up to Kotgarh after their experience of the snows of Spiti. Colonel Moore's appearance, especially, would have made his fortune on the stage. There was nothing woful, however, in his spirit, and he kept me up half the night

laughing at his most humorous accounts of Spiti, its animals and its ponies; but even this genial officer's sense of enjoyment seemed to desert him when he spoke of his experience of the hot Sutlej valley from Gaura to Kotgarh, and he said, emphatically, "It is the valley of the shadow of death." I was struck by this coincidence with my own idea, because it was essential for me to get up into high regions of pure air, and, ill as I was, I could not but dread the journey up the Sutlej valley, with its vegetation, its confined atmosphere, its rock-heat, and its gloomy gorges. I had a sort of precognition that some special danger was before me, and was even alarmed by an old man, whose parting benediction to us was, "Take care of the bridges beyond Nachar." This was something like, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch," and I began to have gloomy doubts about my capacity for getting high enough. Mr Rebsch, the amiable and talented head of the Kotgarh Mission, gave me all the encouragement which could be derived from his earnest prayers for my safety among the hohe Gebirge. There were two clever German young ladies, too, visiting at Kotgarh, who seemed to think it was quite unnecessary for me to go up into the high mountains; so that, altogether, I began to wish that I was out of the valley before I had got well into it, and to feel something like a fated pilgrim who was going to some unknown doom. Excelsior, however, was my unalterable motto, as I immediately endeavoured to prove by descending some thousand feet into the hot Sutlej valley, in spite of all the attractions of Kotgarh.