We asked for milk, and one of our Cashmerian retainers proceeded a short distance, and, facing the valley, shouted our wants in a loud and prolonged call. The answer came, weird-like, from a long way off, and, in due course, rich milk was brought to us in abundance. It was very pleasant on that cool mountain side after the heat of the plains, and we soon retired to our Swiss cottage tent to seek the repose we had honestly earned. It was strange to awake and find ourselves encamped on the hills in Cashmere; and, when M’Kay brought us our morning cups of tea, we were ready to begin another day’s march. The tents were struck and sent away, and the final orders given. My wife, as usual, faced the brae on foot, and I rode Silver Tail till I found it impossible. So I handed him over to my syce, greatly to the knowing one’s internal satisfaction. As the morning advanced, the sun’s bright rays tinged with golden tints the surrounding scenery. The loving calls of the black partridges sounded sweet and home-like. The early breeze was laden with the perfume of mountain flowers. It was charming, but the climb was terrible. We were glad when we reached the plateau which overlooked Dunna, and were enabled to mount our nags once more. As we halted at the refuge built by the Maharajah of Cashmere, we were very thankful to take possession of the queer habitation which he has dedicated to the use of travellers. These refuges are called barradurries, and have no claim to beauty of architecture. A mud wall surrounds a double-storied mud house. The ground floor is uninhabitable, but a rickety stair leads to the upper floor and into a narrow passage, on each side of which there are empty rooms. The passage ends in a covered verandah in front of the rooms. The doors are rough planks of deodar, without any attempt at fastening. The window shutters are the same, with no glass. Many plans had to be adopted to keep the doors and windows closed. My wife and M’Kay made these wretched places most comfortable with gaily-striped purdahs, and many a pleasant hour have we passed in the numerous barradurries scattered over the land of Cashmere. On the right hand, as we entered the enclosure at Dunna, a tomb is erected to the memory of a young cavalry officer, who broke a blood-vessel after walking up the steep ascent by which we had come. How sad are these graves scattered over India! As the road into Cashmere no longer passes over Dunna, that memento is very lonely now. Few travellers pause to read the record of that young life’s untimely end.