JULY 16th.--Left Gingle with the earliest streak of dawn for Baramula,
an eighteen mile march. Road very much more level, never ascending high
above the river whose erratic course we continued to follow. Passed
through groves of hazel overrun by wild vines, but both grapes and nuts
as yet green. The plateaus become gradually larger and almost
continuous, and the hills separated and diminished in size, those on the
right being covered with the lank deodar, while those on the left
possessed only a bright green mantle of grass, far away in front they
altogether ended, and the open sky above the valley was alone visible.
And now an unusual occurrence presented itself. We were following the
stream upwards towards its source, yet at every mile it increased in
width and became more placid, till at length its surface was unbroken,
and it assumed the form of a magnificent river, wider than the Thames at
Richmond. The hills continued provokingly to overlap one another as
though anxious to shut in and hide the happy valley from sight. But at
length I discerned a far distant white cloud which I guessed betokened
the summit of a mountain, and a few yards further revealed a faint
glistening opaque line which the inexperienced eye would have certainly
taken for a portion of the cloud, but which could not be mistaken by one
who had before seen the snows.
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