Rawul Pindee is one of the loveliest places that I had as yet seen; it is just at the foot of the snow-capped Himalayas, which rise majestically in the distance. We remained there for one summer, and were then sent off to Peshawur, then the extreme frontier station. Here we had a rough lot to deal with, for we found ourselves in the midst of thieves and murderers. These gents go about at night, armed with daggers, almost in a state of nudity, with their bodies well greased from head to foot, so that if anyone got hold of them they would slip out of his grasp like an eel, and he might look out for the dagger, for he was bound to have it. Our people, therefore, often fired first, and then challenged "Who comes there?" I must say these fellows proved themselves the most expert thieves I have ever met, for nothing was too hot or too heavy for them. If they could creep up to a sentinel, it was all over with him; he would be stabbed to the heart, and then the assassin would walk off with his rifle and accoutrements. At other times they would creep or crawl into the barracks, and walk off with rifles, accoutrements, men's clothing, or anything that they could lay their hands upon, such as the company's copper-cooking utensils, &c., and if anyone stood in the way, he was at once murdered. Some hundreds of medals were, in 1860, stolen off the coats of the 93rd Highlanders, whilst they were on parade in undress uniform. The only way to catch these gents was to shoot them; and our people, the Highlanders, and Rifles, pretty well thinned them. Peshawur is one of the prettiest stations we have on the plains, but it is also one of the most deadly; it is excessively hot in summer, and very cold in winter. It is almost surrounded with snow-capped hills; and one can there see snow all the year round, yet, in the summer, the heat is enough to roast one. Regiments were sometimes brought so low with continual fever that companies 120 strong could not furnish three men for duty--all being down with the fever and ague. We were right glad to get out of it. In 1862 we marched to Ferozepore, on the banks of the Sutlej. We found this place very hot, and often experienced what it is noted for--"sand-storms." Reader, if ever you witness a good sand-storm, you will be ready to think it's all up with you. It comes rolling along like huge mountains, the wind blowing a perfect hurricane, until you are completely enveloped; a few drops of rain will often follow, succeeded by a perfect calm. THE AFGHAN CAMPAIGN OF 1863.