1839.] Journal of a trip through Kunawur. 943 



it for two or three days' journey, save the usual sickly looking poplars, 

 which are planted on the banks of rivulets and streams ; thus they 

 are deprived of all manure both animal and vegetable, and their lands 

 will in consequence go on dwindling from bad to worse until the place 

 shall become barren and deserted. 



The lands which are now under cultivation are coaxed to yield a 

 scanty crop, by the annual small quantity of wheat and barley straws 

 which are ploughed in, and by the addition of the small portion of 

 dung which is obtained from a few goats and cows which graze on the 

 edges of the fields, where grass and a yellow flowering lucerne spring 

 up abundantly along the banks of the little rills, with which the fields 

 are irrigated. 



On the 13th of June, I again proceeded towards Spiti by a road 

 which led us up the heights above Chungo. Many places on this day's 

 march indicated the former existence of a deep water over the hills, at 

 a height of 2,500 and 3,000 feet above the present channel of the 

 river, which winds along beneath. Here the road stretches along the 

 sides of hills shelving gradually towards the stream, along whose 

 banks are wide and extensive level plains of several miles in area, 

 and the hills receding on either side form a wide valley, bare of 

 every sign of vegetation save the furze, the dog-rose, and the wil- 

 low, with here and there a few dwarf bushes of the cedar. Trees 

 there are none, and villages are now not seen for many days. All 

 ! around seems cold and cheerless ; not a living thing to break the deep 

 silent melancholy which pervades the scene, and the traveller feels 

 chilled, and his spirits flag, he knows not why, as he wanders on 

 through the dreary and barren waste. 



How marked a contrast does the scene present to the rich and 

 wooded regions of Kunawur; here all is black and charred, and a 

 mournful silence reigns around, unbroken save by the hoarse roar of the 

 mountain stream, or the shrill whistle of the Bhair among the snows. 



Journeying onwards from our last encampment, we came suddenly 

 upon a deep rent or chasm in the rocks, through which at some depth 

 below ran a rapid stream. Over this, from rock to rock a few loosely 

 twisted ropes or withes of willow twigs were stretched to answer for 

 the purpose of a bridge, and on these were placed large flat slabs 

 of mica slate, apparently sufficient by their own weight alone to break 

 through their frail support. Over this we walked, and though some- 

 what springy and unsteady to the tread, it was nevertheless perfectly 

 strong, and is the only bridge for passengers and cattle. At a little 

 I distance from where we crossed, alarmed by the noise we made, up 



