80 AFOOT THROUGH THE 



hidden in a wealth of fruit trees, the vast green canopies 

 of the walnuts and the brimij (Celtis australis) pro- 

 ducing a charming coolness. Some six miles beyond 

 my starting-point the road crossed the Sind, here a 

 wide-spreading, brawling mountain torrent, the whole 

 valley widened, the mountains standing back on either 

 side. It was a " world of roses." Maybe people at home 

 think they know what this means. I am sorry for 

 them ; they are mistaken. I have seen wild and garden 

 roses in many places, as I thought, in vast quantities, 

 but a land clothed in roses I did not know. They were 

 in millions, the mingling of hues white, blush pink, 

 deepest blood red producing a mosaic of colour 

 amazing in richness, in variety. The grey rocks were 

 hidden under the clinging bushes, the air was full of 

 their perfume, they were as much the universal garb 

 of the earth as grass and daisies in less-favoured 

 regions. At intervals a heavier perfume told of the 

 presence of bushes of the great yellow jessamine, with 

 its bunches of handsome, luscious flowers. Impossible 

 to hurry, it was difficult to keep to a progressive pace, 

 when every instant the eye was arrested by some fresh 

 object of interest. 



Fifteen miles under such conditions did not seem a 

 long walk, and it was only with a pleasant sense of 

 enjoyment of the quiet restfulness that I reached the 

 pretty camping-ground at Kangan, under a group of 

 walnuts whose branches were plentifully decorated 

 with mistletoe, a parasite that I found exceedingly 

 thriving all up this valley. A long afternoon 

 of reading and writing I spent in a shady nook 

 above the streams, seated in a willow stump that 

 stretched out over the water. The spot was wonderfully 



