start by sunset. The tradesman has only one regret, that he could not catch a glance from the lady of his heart. The thirsty doctor has kept away from grog for a period, which he does not remember to have ever done since the dawn of his senses. The lawyer has not one feeling of regret to quit a land in which money has to be expended and not made-in which love-suits take the place of law-suits. The scholar was full of rhymes and farewells in his head for the Vrij-bashees and fair Vrijbashinees. Three ruths and as many carts had come to take us away and our baggage. Before the door of our lodge had gathered a large crowd of Pandas and beggars. The scene of leave-taking was as full of stir as it had been in the days of Krishna and Buldeo-though, like them, we had not to leave behind us a single Vrij-bashinee to pine after us. It was nearly an hour after gloaming, and as we were mounting the ruths, to turn our backs against Brindabun, a policeman came up, and repeating his stories of robberies on the way, warned us to abandon the idea of travelling in the night. He said that the country was in a distracted state, that scarcity of food was driving men to desperation, and that our heavy train of baggage might tempt hungry people to break through the restraints of law. Indeed, the country now bore a rather suspicious character, and we had no mind of trusting ourselves to the tender mercies of a Jaut bandit. But we were unwilling to turn aside from the path in which we had fairly started, and arranging ourselves to go in a compact party mustering twelve people in number, we did not think it would be fool

hardy to proceed in the teeth of the advice we received. Two of the Pandas volunteered to reach us half way to Muttra. It was past ten when we got safe into that city-making, perhaps, after all, a lucky escape from the perils on the road-to sit with a hearty appetite to the supper prepared by our medical friend, and to take his leave that very night to return to Agra.

121

CHAPTER III.

November 5th, 1866.-THE tale of our journey has now arrived at a point where the thread of further narrative must be resumed exactly six years afterwards. The indulgent reader, who, like Dinarzade, may be anxious to know what befell us next, must prepare himself for a leap over the space of time intervening between the years 1860 and 1866. Happily the month. and date happen to agree by a most singular coincidence -the month being the same in the calendar, and the date exactly following the one at which we have broken off. The scene, with which the present chapter has to commence, opens at Toondla Junction,-with the high road to Delhi lying spread before the view in all its length. In the interval of time which has elapsed, the great pathway that was making has been completed and thrown open to the public. Through that pathway men now travel with a speed and safety, defying all the marauding tribes of India. From Toondla then let us start, turning our face to the quarter towards which the fiery-footed steeds of Phoebus gallop apace with his car. Scarcely less fast speeds on our earthly courser, making his track in minutes and hours through

regions, each of which in days gone by had formed the separate territory of an independent chief, but which have been now all consolidated into a vast unity under one supreme head.

By a bountiful Providence have the seasons been so regulated this year, as trebly to compensate for the scarcity of that which has just gone by. The country on our tract spreads mile after mile in smiling fields, with cultivation up to the road-side. Literally, it is one vast garden from the sea to the mountains.

The first place of note on the route is Hatras-distant about six miles from the station. From a den of robbers and thugs, it has now become one of the busiest and most thriving places in Upper Hindoostan, and a principal mart for the cotton and indigo of the neighbouring districts. The old fortress of Dyaram Thakoor is now all in ruins. In 1817, that stronghold had a ditch ninety feet wide, and seventy-five feet deep. There had been collected within its ramparts no less than five hundred pieces of ordnance. The Jaut chief, who from a petty zemindar under Scindia rose to be an independent prince, had strengthened his defences in imitation of the English fort at Allyghurh, with all the latest means and appliances of war. To reduce his castle, the British had to muster the most tremendous artillery which had till then been employed in India, and to burn an enormous quantity of powder. Old Dyaram, finding the place too hot for him, made his escape in the darkness of night, and kept himself in concealment for three years. He was at last compelled by

hunger to seek the protection of the English, and dying a stipendiary, bequeathed his pension to the descendant who is rusting in oblivion at Brindabun.

From Hatras to Coel-Allygurh, the journey by rail now takes less than an hour. Coel must be one of the most ancient places on the map of India, as its name indicates it to have been derived from the aboriginal Coels or Coles of the ante-Aryan period. In the days of the Mahabarat, Jarasindh had led up an army and encamped on this spot, to revenge the death of his son-in-law, Kunsa, by an invasion of the territories of Krishna. No doubt exists of its importance in the twelfth century, when it had a fortress that was captured by the Mussulmans. The country around is a level plain, but the town appears to be built upon an elevation,—a fine road leading up to it from the station, with a gradual ascent. The town seems to be considerable and populous, but has little attractions or antique curiosities for the traveller. He is here again more among brick-houses than of stones, which have to be brought from a great way off. The finest feature is a mosque, the domes and minarets of which rise in prominence to break the monotony of a prospect, tame and vacant in the highest degree. This mosque is remarkable as an ancient and noble specimen of Patan architecture. It being the season of Derrallee, there is a rubbing and scrubbing and washing and painting of all the Hindoo houses in the town. Dancing-girls, abounding in numbers exceeding all expectation, are all busy in preparing themselves for the occasion. In one small lane,