These extracts are merely fragments gleaned from my husband's letters, and written to me by him during his journey through India ; they were often written amidst great difficulties, and in no case were any of them intended for publication.
Woola Lake,
July 10, 1895.
We have had a rare time, driving from Rawal Pindi to Baramula. The tongas are queer little two-wheeled low carts, with delightfully easy springs. For the first fifty miles there are relays of horses every three or four miles, and you go at a tremendous pace.
We did one or two miles, coming down from Murree to the Jehlam Valley, in three minutes; horses galloping like fury.
We got a good deal delayed, as the monsoon broke just as we got to Murree, and the rain came down in thick sheets, so that a good deal of earth and stuff got washed on to the road and one bridge was broken.
Thanks to the labours of numerous coolies, our tongas were hauled over bodily, but it quite spoilt the pace.
We met heaps of English people—in fact, on no road in the Alps have I seen so many travellers.
At Murree I called on the General, and found him very jolly.
He is going to send us two Ghurkas, and is in-
