arise, as British Columbia has not as yet accorded to her Indians the same rights in relation to land as the other provinces of the Dominion. Both justice and expediency point to an amendment of the present laws, and a nearer approach to the fair method of dealing with the tribes in force in the older provinces. The influence of public opinion, and the enlarged ideas of the people of a great country, will doubtless have their effect on the local government, inducing them to consider, before troubles arise, this really important question.

With reference to the great exponent of public opinion, the press, there is still something to be desired. The newspapers are of a far higher tone than the generality of those of the United States; but they are still too personal in their attacks on public men, and their articles are sometimes written in language which is more forcible than elegant. Some of the leading papers, indeed, stand deservedly high in the estimation of the more educated of their readers; but the bane of the press is the multitude of papers. Each town, and even each village, aspires to at least two daily papers, and consequently the circulation is limited, and the funds necessary to pay for high talent are wanting. Efforts have been made by patriotic and wealthy men to correct this evil, by supplementing from their own means the income of certain of the more important newspapers; and the fruit is shown in the greater power of their leading articles. One magazine of high merit is published monthly at Toronto, and possesses a considerable circulation; but it has to vie with the English and American periodicals,

and has had a hard struggle for existence. Many of its articles from the pen of Canadian writers would compare very favourably with those of the best of the English magazines, and it is to be hoped that it will receive the encouragement which its merits deserve.

Canada is worthy of an accurate and thoughtful chronicle of her yearly history; she is making rapid strides in all that pertains to national advancement. The rocks that threatened the safety of the young Dominion have been avoided, and are being left behind, and her present course appears to lie in smooth waters, where firm and consistent purpose, fair and honest dealing, and a belief in the future on the part of those who aspire to direct it, will guide her to the haven which every great colony must aspire to reach.

With ten millions of inhabitants, with railway communication from Cape Breton to Vancouver, with a united and vigorous population imbued with English feelings, and retaining the good whilst rejecting the evils of European society, Canada will be the home of a nation whose youth and energy will add strength to the parent stock, and whose moderation and sound sense will be a useful counterpoise to the almost extravagant talent and restlessness of the neighbouring population of the American Union. For such a future Canada will be content to wait, satisfied with her present position, and remembering that the slowest growth and gradual progress are ever the surest, and that the northern nations, whilst less rapid than others in maturing their history, have in the long-run exercised a preponderating influence in the destinies of the world.

BEFORE leaving Kashmir I must devote a paragraph to its two most famous sheets of water, the Manasbal and the Wúlar Lake. They are both on the usual way out from Srinagar, which is also the usual way to it, and are seen by most visitors to the valley.

The Manasbal is called the most beautiful, but is rather the most picturesque, lake in Kashmir. It lies close to the Jhelam, on the north-west, and is connected with that river by a canal only about a mile long, through which boats can pass. This little lake is not much larger than Grasmere, being scarcely three miles long by one broad; but its shores are singularly suggestive of peacefulness and solitude. Picturesque mountains stand round a considerable portion of it, and at one point near they rise to the height of 10,000 feet, while snowy summits are visible beyond. In its clear deep-green water the surrounding scenery is seen most beautifully imaged. There being so little wind in Kashmir, and the surrounding trees and mountains being so high, this is one of the most charming features of its placid lakes. Wordsworth has assigned the occasional calmness of its waters as one of the reasons why he claims that the Lake country of England is more beautiful than Switzerland, where the lakes are seldom seen in an unruffled state; but in this respect the Valley of Roses far surpasses our English district, for its lakes are habitually calm for hours at a time they present an almost absolute stillness; they are beautifully clear, and the mountains around them are not only of great height and picturesque shape, but, except

in the height of summer, are half covered with snow; the clouds are of a more dazzling whiteness than in England, and the sky is of a deeper blue. There, most emphatically, if I may be allowed slightly to alter Wordsworth's lines,

"The visible scene May enter unawares into the mind, With all its solemn imagery, its woods, Its snow, and that divinest heaven received Into the bosom of the placid lake."

The poet just quoted has tried to explain the singular effect upon the mind of such mirrored scenes by saying, that "the imagination by their aid is carried into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable." And he goes on to explain that the reason for this is, that "the heavens are not only brought down into the bosom of the earth, but that the earth is mainly looked at and thought of through the medium of a purer element. The happiest time is when the equinoctial gales have departed; but their fury may probably be called to mind by the sight of a few shattered boughs, whose leaves do not differ in colour from the faded foliage of the stately oaks from which these relics of the storm depend all else speaks of tranquillity; not a breath of air, no restlessness of insects, and not a moving object perceptible, except the clouds gliding in the depths of the lake, or the traveller passing along, an inverted image, whose motion seems governed by the quiet of a time to which its archetype, the living person, is perhaps insensible or it may happen that the figure of one of the larger birds, a raven or a heron, is crossing silently among the reflected clouds, while the noise of the real bird, from the element aloft, gently

awakens in the spectator the recollection of appetites and instincts, pursuits and occupations, that deform and agitate the world, yet have no power to prevent nature from putting on an aspect capable of satisfying the most intense cravings for the tranquil, the lovely, and the perfect, to which man, the noblest of her creatures, is subject." But the reasons thus suggested, rather than explicitly pointed out, are scarcely sufficient to explain the singular charm of a beautiful upland and cloudland scene reflected in a deep, calm, clear lake. Its most powerful suggestion is that of an under-world into which all things beautiful must pass, and where there is reserved for them a tranquillity and permanence unknown on earth. We seem to look into that under-world; the beauty of the earth appears under other conditions than those of our upper world; and we seem to catch a glimpse of the abiding forms of life, and of a more spiritual existence into which we ourselves may pass, yet one that will not be altogether strange to us. Some of our latest speculators have attempted to prove the existence of such a world even from the admitted facts of physical science; and in all ages it has been the dream of poetry and the hope of religion that beyond the grave, and perhaps beyond countless ages of phenomenal existence, or separated from us only by the veil of mortality, there is another and more perfect form of life-"the pure, eternal, and unchangeable" of Plato as well as of Christianity. No argument can be drawn in favour of such views from the under-world of a plaeid lake; but the contemplation of it is suggestive, and is favourable to that mood of mind in which we long and hope for a land where

"Ever pure and mirror-bright and even, Life amidst the immortals glides away;

Moons are waning, generations chang-
ing,

Their celestial life blooms everlasting,
Changeless 'mid a ruined world's decay."

The Wular is the largest remnant of that great lake which once filled the vale of Kashmir, and it too must disappear ere any long period of time elapses. Captain Bates says correctly that it "is a lake simply because its bottom is lower than the bed of the Jhelam; it will disappear by degrees as the bed of the pass at Baramúla becomes more worn away by the river; its extent is perceptibly becoming more circumscribed by the deposition of soil and detritus on its margin." This is not at all unlikely, as the average depth is only about twelve feet. Its greatest length is twelve miles, and its greatest breadth ten, so that it is by no means so grand a sheet of water as that of Geneva; but there is something in its character which reminds one of Lake Leman, and arises probably from the stretch of water which it presents, and the combined softness and grandeur of the scenery around. Lofty mountains rise almost immediately from its northern and eastern sides; but there is room all round the lake for the innumerable villages which enliven its shore. Calm as it usually is, furious storms often play upon its surface, and in one of these Ranjit Singh lost 300 of the boats carrying his retinue and effects. In the beginning of spring some of the wild-fowl of this and the other lakes of Kashmir take flight to the distant valleys of Yarkand and Kashgar; and, in connection with that migration, the Kashmiris have a very curious story. They say that the birds, being aware of the difficulty of finding food in the streams of Tibet, which have only stony banks and beds, take with them a supply of the singhara, or water-nut of Kashmir,

for food on their journey. Such forethought is rare among the lower creation. I once, however, had a large dog which, when it saw me ready to start on a journey, would try and get hold of a bone or something of the kind, and take that down with it to the railway, in order to relieve the tedium of confinement in the dog-box; and, of course, animals bring food to their young.

At Baramúla I took leave of the great valley of Kashmir. From that town a path leads up to the mountain-down of Gulmarg, the most favourite of the sanitariums of Kashmir, and from whence a splendid view may be obtained of the wonderful 26,000-feet peak of Nangha Parbat, which rises about a hundred miles to the north, between the districts of Chilas and Astor. Immediately below Baramúla, and after leaving the great valley, the Jhelam changes its character, and becomes a swift, furious river, on which boats cannot be used at all, except at one or two calmer places, where they are used for ferries, being attached by ropes to the bank. Along these are paths on both sides of the river, but that on the left or southern bank is much preferable, both because the bridle-road is better, and it is much more shaded. Seven easy marches took me to the town of Mozafarabad, and I did not enjoy that part of my journey the less that I have almost nothing to say about it. The scenery is most beautiful, and fills the mind with a sense of calm pleasure. Though the valley is narrow it is thickly wooded, and the dark forest glades spread out, here and there, into more open spaces, with green meadows. Great black precipices alternate with wooded slopes; there are beautiful haltingplaces under immense trees, and the path often descends into dark cool gorges, where there are picturesque

bridges over the foaming mountain streams. It must be delightful to come on this Jhelam valley in April or May from the burned-up plains of India, and it might revive even a dying man. Among the trees there were flocks of monkeys, which drove my Tibetan dogs frantic; and bears are to be found in the wild mountain valleys which branch off from this larger valley. The rest-houses erected by the Maharaja of Kashmir were not free from insects, especially fleas, and the bridle-path went up and down more than was strictly necessary; but I hear better houses have been erected, or are in course of erection, and the road is being improved. As no charge was made for stopping in the rest-houses, one could not complain of them; but the new houses are to be charged for like travellers' bungalows in British India. At one of the wildest parts of the river, a Kashmiri said to me, "Decco," or, "Look here, Sahib!" and plunged from a high rock into the foaming stream. The most obvious conclusion was that he had found life and the Maharaja's officers too much for him; but he reappeared a long way down, tossed about by the river, and displayed the most wonderful swimming I have ever seen.

Mozafarabad is in the corner of the junction between the Jhelam and the Kishen Ganga, or the river of Krishna. The valley of the latter stream is, for the most part, a mere chasm among the mountains, and some of its scenery is said to be exceedingly wild and beautiful. Mozafarabad is an important town, with about twelve hundred families, and a large fort, and stands on the last and lowest ridge of the mountains which form the watershed between the two rivers. Here I left the road, which takes on to the hillstation of Mari and to the Panjáb plains at Rawal Pindi, and crossed

the Kishen Ganga, as well as the Jhelam, in order to proceed to Abbotabad and the Afghan border.

Thus I have now to enter upon an entirely different district of country from any I have yet described in these papers. We have to go along the base of the Hindú Kúsh, below mountains into which the English traveller is not allowed to enter, and which are peopled by hardy warlike mountaineers, very different in character from the placid Tibetans and effeminate Kashmiris. The first district through which I have to pass is called the Hazara, and extends from near Mozafarabad to the Indus where it issues from the Hindú Kúsh; the second is the Yusufzai district, which occupies the triangle formed by the Indus, the Kaubul river, and the mountains just referred to; and beyond these districts I have only to speak of Peshawar, and of an excursion a short way up the famous Khyber Pass. All that border has seen a great deal of fighting by British troops-and fighting without end before any British appeared on the scene, or even existed; and even before Alexander the Great took the rock-fortress of Aornos, which we have to visit under guard of Afghan chiefs and horsemen in chain armour.

Mozafarabad is only 2470 feet high, and a steep mountain ridge separates it from the more elevated valley of the Kúnhar river, which is inhabited by Afghans who are under the dominion of Great Britain. On passing from the Kashmir to the English border I found an excellent path, on which mountainguns might easily be carried, and descended on the village of Gurhi Hubli, where large-bodied, often fair-complexioned, Afghans filled the streets. This place is too close to the border of Afghanistan to be altogether a safe retreat; but there

are a large number of armed policemen about it. Scorn me not, romantic reader, if my chief association connected with it is that of the intense pleasure of finding myself in a travellers' bungalow once more.

Our estimate of these muchabused edifices depends very much on the side we take them from. After having snow for the carpet of your tent, and visits at night from huge Tibetan bears, there is some satisfaction in finding yourself quite safe from everything except some contemptible rat or a (comparatively) harmless grey scorpion. There is also comfort in being free from the insects of the Kashmir rest-houses. People who have never lived in anything but houses must lose half the pleasure of living in a house. How the first man who made a dwelling for himself must have gloated over his wretched contrivance until some stronger man came and took possession of it! But the bungalows of the Hazara district are particularly well built and luxurious, just as if distinguished travellers were constantly in the habit of visiting that extremely outof-the-way part of the world; and their lofty rooms afforded most grateful coolness and shade; while my wearied servants were delighted to remit the business of cooking for me to the Government khansamah, while reserving to themselves the right and pleasure of severely criticising his operations and tendering to him any amount of advice.

The next day took me along a beautiful road over another but a low mountain pass, and winding among hills which were thickly covered with pines and cedars. The forest here was truly magnificent, and perfect stillness reigned under its shade. Emerging from that, I came down on the broad Pukli valley, on the other side of which, but at some distance, were visible the