Sunbul was the place they selected, and there we breakfasted under the shade of some wides-preading sycamores. There was little variety in our food. We carried with us tea, and a few tins of soup, which we only used on the march. Besides these, my wife had a small store of dainties, which only saw light on special occasions. We trusted for the rest to the fowls and eggs of the country. Potatoes and bread, which were always plentiful, we had to send for to Srinagur. Milk was abundant; but beef we never saw. Bulls and cows being sacred, we might have answered, as the Irishman did, when asked to dinner by Dan O’Connell: ‘Come to dinner, a quiet dinner. Ye’ll get nothing but potatoes and beef.’ ‘Bedad,’ answered Paddy, ‘I’ll come. It’s the same dinner I have every day--_barrin’ the beef_.’ After a two hours’ halt, we proceeded on to Manusbul Lake, passing through a narrow canal, and under a very ancient one-arched bridge. The canal is about a mile long, and then you emerge into the clearest water of this most picturesque lake. In the shallow parts the lotus abounds, the leaves of which are very long and of great diameter. We saw on our left an elevated table-land, at the foot of which is the village of Manusbul. Near this hamlet are the ruins of Bádsháh Bágh, an old palace built by Jehángir for his wife, the lovely Nourmahal. On the right, a low range of hills extends from high mountains. We landed and paid a visit to the guardian of the lake, a very holy fakeer, with a gentle, good expression of face, who is spending his life digging himself a grave. When we were there, he had tunnelled out some fifty feet, and as he was then a man in the prime of life, if he is still alive, he must have burrowed a long way in. Whatever fruit happens to be in season in the valley at the time of a visitor’s advent, this holy man will give it in greater perfection than it can be procured anywhere else.