CHAPTER IX
What is so sweet and dear
As a prosperous morn in May,
The confident prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing th a t asks for bliss,
Asking aright is denied;
And half of the world a bridegroom is,
And half of the world a bride ?
— W. Watson.
A long, h o t march, m itig ated b y m an y flowers an d mulberries—
I am offered food, m en tal and physical, b y a holy man—
Rice growing, and th e benefits of o o* widowhood—The knife
th a t was lost is found, and my crew rejoice.
A f t e r my easy afternoon at Kangan I was ready to
start extremely early for one of the longest marches
that I accomplished while in Kashmir. I believed that
sixteen miles would have brought me to the Manasbal
Lake, but twenty-two was nearer the correct distance,
and that was the length given by the natives, who seldom
over-estimate marches. The first miles were passed
over rapidly on paths among glorious thickets of the
great yellow jessamine that filled the air with its heavy
sweetness, and bushes of hamamelis, while a rich
undergrowth of myriad-tinted roses scented the air
with their fresh aromatic smell, as different from