TO THE WURDWAN. 41 



companion ; to whom, to save my character, I revealed 



that it was my birthday, aud repeated my friend D 's 



quaint apology for an unusual extravagance, " Sure, and 

 it isn't every day that Shamus kills a bullock." 



My guest informed me that he had just missed two 

 shots at bara sing near the village, the coolies having 

 given him information of four or five of those animals 

 having crossed their path. He intended going further to 

 day, but I believe has halted for the night. He told me 

 the spot in the Wurdwan he is making for, which my 

 shikarries tell me is out of our beat ; so all is serene, ex- 

 cept the weather a heavy thunder- shower, and more 

 coming the sky unsettled. 



This is a charming bivouac, my camp by a village, on 

 a level spot of turf shaded by walnut trees. Below, in a 

 cultivated valley, runs an inconsiderable river, divided 

 into many channels. The stream runs towards the South, 

 the valley of its formation disappearing in the distance, 

 as shut in gradually by a succession of hills, prolongations 

 of the spurs of the mountains. But a considerable extent 

 of the valley is visible, and forms a lovely landscape. I 

 strolled out after dinner, and remained gazing over its 

 charms, till dusk warned me to return. I then sat out- 

 side reading by the light of my lantern, an honest stable 

 utensil, broken in upon by a consultation with my shikar- 

 ries, who are in good spirits, and anticipate great sport. 



An aspiration to heaven, a thought to home, and my 

 birth-day, my forty-second is ended. What may not 

 happen ere I see another should such be the mil of God ! 



13th May. Sunday. JN"ah-bugh. Rain continued to 

 pour all day. I was visited, however, by the lumbadar 

 of Eish Mackahm whose acquaintance I made last year, 

 and the jolly, lusty-looking individual, hearing of my 

 arrival at Islamabad, had come three days' journey to see 



