Sturt left me on the 29th, being anxious to get back to Cabul; but as I had three days to spare, and my taste for wandering was still unabated, I joined Capt. Westmacott, of the 37th Native Infantry, in a flying excursion into the valley of Charrik[=a]r, which the Affgh[=a]ns consider as the garden of Cabul. The first day we rode from Oorgundee to Shukkur Durra, or "the sugar valley," so called, not from growing that useful article of grocery, but from its fertile orchards and extensive vineyards. After a few miles' ride we crossed a low range of hills, and came upon the flourishing district of Be-tout,--literally, "without mulberries." The sagacious reader will justly infer that mulberry trees were in profusion every where else; indeed so plentiful are they in general that many of the natives live almost exclusively in winter upon the fruit, which is dried and reduced to a powder, and after being mixed with a little milk, or even water, forms a palatable and nutritious food. The view from the crest of the low range of hills was really enchanting, and strongly contrasted with the wild and craggy mountains amongst which we had of late been struggling. An extensive plain, bounded by high mountains, and again crowned by the snowy peaks of those more distant, lay before us, its whole surface dotted with a multitude of white forts surrounded by a belt of the most vivid green, the barrenness of the uncultivated spots acting as a foil to the rich vegetation which springs under the foot of the Affgh[=a]n husbandman wherever he can introduce the fertilizing stream. We rode leisurely on through this wilderness of gardens, till on approaching the village of Be-tout the loud wail of women hired to pour forth their lamentations for some misfortune assailed our ears, and on enquiring we learnt that one of the inhabitants had been murdered the preceding night under the following circumstances.