old means of advance: the camels, mules, and ponies, which have been time-honoured carriers since the days of Alexander; and we have them in such small numbers, that the loss of even 100 is a serious matter. We feed them as the old warriors fed their beasts of burden—on such corn and forage as we can get; but whereas they appropriated every maund that was to be found, and asked no questions, we pay exorbitant prices, dealing as traders, and not as conquerors, with the people. Civilization has done this much, that it has shown there are ways by which forage for a month can be carried in so small a compass that it is but little encumbrance; but we reap no benefit from the discovery, and are thrown into a by-no-means fertile country to do as best we can with such supplies as may be forthcoming. The very hackeries which ply along the road from Jhelum to Jumrood groan out reproaches against the civilization which permits them to linger out their lives; and every grass-cutter’s pony, half hidden by his huge bundle of worthless straw, or burnt-up grass, kicks against the absurd pricks which force him to do as his ancestors did—fetch and carry bulky loads of which he himself eats nearly half. We could do mighty deeds, and march mighty distances, were it not that our transport equipment is usually _x_—an unknown quantity, which can never be relied upon. In the morning x may equal the equivalent of 10,000 camels; in the evening it may be 9,500; after six months’ campaigning it may be 500. We have not merely to forage for the chargers of our fighting men—we have to feed the very animals which carry the forage, and carry it often in its bulkiest form. If we had merely to do the latter, we might trust to the country, especially where the local baggage animals are used for carriage. A Cavalry Brigade that could carry its own forage—and such a brigade could be created if advantage were taken of the principle which reduces bulk to one-twentieth or even less—would be so powerful an aid to an advancing force, that delays would be almost unknown. There would be no question, as there is now, of sending back regiments to pasturing-grounds; there would be the means of sustaining them always at hand. A pony that now carries a load which a horse can eat in a day, could carry food for twenty days. A trooper could strap his forage to his saddle as he now does his gram-bag. We might take many a hint from the nomads of Central Asia—perhaps the horsemen who can travel long distances, and keep their horses always equal to the work, better than any other race in the world. The Turcoman carries with him, in the ingenious shape of small balls of food, such concentrated nourishment, that his horse never flags in a sixty-mile ride; and if he can do this in his own rude way, and be independent of passing supplies, we, with elaborate hay-presses and chemical processes, might surely put ourselves at least on his level. I