too old and dour as she pounded away at the grain with
her pestle and mortar. In such a country life would
not have been possible without surroundings in keeping
—bright, pretty, cheerful. Several other boats were
examined, an ever-increasing horde followed asking
questions, suggesting perpetually. Choice was
becoming more and more difficult. “ I want,” I
announced distinctly, “ a good boat; one large enough
for myself and my box ”—I indicated vaguely the proportion
of an Egyptian funeral ornament—“ clean; I
do not wish for other passengers, three or more legged;
above all, I want a boat with a good appearance.” I
really meant, but dared not say, “ crew ” instead of
“ boat.” Strange to say, my speech in laborious Hindustani
was seemingly understood, for from the mob
there emerged two pleasant-smiling youths, who
salaamed, and bent almost double in their efforts to
attract my notice. I went over the boat, tried the chair,
admired the purdah, noticed a very pretty woman in
charge of the steering paddle—the woman’s work in
Kashmir—and a nice brown baby in shirt and scarlet
cap, glanced at some chits, as satisfactory as all the
others, and decided to employ the brothers (so the
two called themselves) Assiza and Sandhoo. Assiza
was a fixed quantity, but Sandhoo, I found later, had
a curiously shifting personality, for sometimes it was
the young boy I had originally been introduced to,*
sometimes an older man, but however much my brothers
varied, they were one in suavity and smilingness, and
served me with excellent sense. Pleasant, human
creatures I found them, ready to rejoice in my moods
of rejoicing, and as ready to be vaguely- obscure when
there was a cloud on my urbanity.
The joys of possession were not to be entered upon
immediately by me, for I wished to reach Srinagar
quickly, to get my letters, and subdue my barking,
and by road the journey could be accomplished in five
hours. So the “ doonga ” engaged, I departed once
more in a tonga to accomplish the remaining thirty-five
miles of my route. I had seemingly reached a land of
comparatively tame animals, and my ponies started
with little more than joyous friskings and curvettings.
The road lies rather apart from the river, and the whole
valley widens out till the mountains that had closely
kept us in on the right were little more than a distant
white cloud. The sun was brilliantly hot, and lighted
the long rows of poplars, planted on either side of many
of the roads, and showing up like vast marks of interjection
among the generally rounded tree forms, and
glittered on the snow like masses of fruit blossom, and
the tiny blue iris growing in thick, serried masses on
every side, till they, too, shone like brilliant jewels, and
filled the air, as primroses do, with a perfume compounded
of spring freshness and the damp of thick
greenery. A virginal world of blue and white we
passed through—blue skies and white clouds, blue hills
crowned with snows, blue iris shadowed by white fruit
blossom. “Kochwan,” I said, addressing the silent
figure beside me, “ what do you think of your blue iris? ”
“ They feed well the sheep,” he answered without further
comment. I t is an unsympathising world!
Srinagar was approached through vast avenues of
poplars that led first to the market-place, where a
chattering, pleasant-faced crowd laughed and talked
and brawled incessantly, then across the bridge among
pleasant gardens of gay English flowers, and soon after