Before sunrise next day, we had left our moorings at Sopoor, and, shortly after, entered the Walloor Lake. It is the largest lake in Cashmere, and the Jhellum flows through it. The boatmen are very superstitious about crossing the lake. Offer them any amount of backsheesh, they will not attempt to enter it after the sun has set. The Walloor is often visited by storms and sudden squalls, and the flat-bottomed boats, with their heavy top-hamper, are not suitable for a gale of wind. So we entered the lake after sunrise. The mosquitoes were innumerable. I sat out on the prow of our boat to get a shot at the wild fowl, which crossed and recrossed before our gondola, and the mosquitoes covered my hands with white lumps and blood; for they are easily killed, and are powerful blood-suckers. The lake is choked up in many places by reeds and morass. Where the boats pass on their passage to Srinagur the whole surface of the water is covered with water-lilies. The scene was fairy-like. High towering around us were mountains tipped with snow, while green pastures encircled the lake. In the far distance, in our front, the fort of Srinagur rose proudly on the horizon, like the Acropolis of Athens, while on our left the heights above Manisbul Lake marked the entrance to that lovely spot, and in the hazy distance on our right, could just be seen the glaciers which show where Gulmurg, the ‘Field of Flowers,’ nestles, a green valley among the snow-clad hills. In the evening, we entered Shadipore, ‘The Place of Marriage,’ where the Scind river effects a junction with the Jhellum. A Hindoo temple on a solid block of masonry is shaded by a chenár. Tradition says that this tree, which is situated in the middle of the river, never grows. The boatmen drew up our squadron to leeward of a large barge not laden with violets, so we insisted on being taken to some other place. We were accordingly moved to a fine open space, and moored to a post sunk deep in the mud. My wife’s favourite pug jumped out of M’Kay’s boat at the first place where we halted, and now was nowhere to be seen. A great hunt ensued, and we were beginning to despair of her recovery when the little black-faced beauty made her appearance quite unconcerned. My wife was very fond of this troublesome pet, which had most endearing ways, but, like all her breed, was very selfish and exacting, her mistress often being compelled to sacrifice her own comfort to that of her favourite ‘Polly,’ a name bestowed on her in remembrance of the very kind donor, who was wife of the Commissioner of Peshawur.