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there doubly sure-and an answer in the affirmative alone helped to keep up our spirits. The confines of the district were at length gained, and before long was read the Agra Police Thana' written in broad capitals upon a signboard put up at the entrance of Ferozabad.

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The Chandwar of the twelfth century is Ferozabad of the nineteenth. Stop, traveller! Thy tread here is upon an empire's dust.' The fields that you see spread around you form the memorable battle-ground on which was decided the contest between the Hindoo and Mussulman for the sovereignty of India. Six hundred and sixty-six years ago, the Hindoo banner waved here for the last time, and the sun went down witnessing the last day of Hindoo independence. Here fell the heroes Alha and Udal-two brothers, whose memory is still preserved in the songs and traditions of the people amongst the Chandals of Mahoba and the Rahtores and Chandals of the Loab.'* It was here that the last Hindoo Rajah, Jychand of Kanouge, met with the due of his treachery from Mohamed Ghori; and acting the finale of the great Hindoo drama, closed his career by a traitor's leap into the Ganges.

No importance is now possessed by Ferozabad— there is no trace of the wall by which it was formerly surrounded. The present inhabitants dwell in humble cottages. Baber more than once alludes to this place under its ancient name. There exists no clue to trace

* Their disappearance in the forest of Kajaliban, or the Kajali jungle, is a myth.

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the origin of its present denomination. The decayed mosques and tombs scattered about the spot, speak more of the Moslem than of the Hindoo.

Out of Ferozabad, the Grand Trunk Road is shaded on either hand by rows of beautiful neem trees, forming a fitting royal road towards the seat of royalty. The more we now proceeded along, the more did the Islamite peep out from every side of the country.

The Coachee Phaeton was driving fast the car in heaven towards the west, and we in the nether world emulated his example. Our way lay through a country that was little inhabited. Observed a herd of wild antelopes browsing almost by the road-side. Pushed on without rest or respite to reach Agra before sunset. Near Mahmedabad, the road takes a bend to avoid a large piece of shallow water, in the midst of which is seen to stand a beautiful but unknown mausoleum, connected with the main land by a causeway of many arches. The architecture is too superior to be of rural hands, and evidently announced the proximity of the metropolis. But journeying on without end, tantalized hope grew fainter and fainter, as night began to set in, and still there lay before us several miles of ground. Giving up the chase in despair, and slackening our pace, we left the horse to wend slowly on his way. The broad full moon rose in the East with a brightness that is witnessed only on a clear autumn evening in Bengal. In a little time, several straggling lights in the distance caught our eye. The far-off hum of men also came, softly wafted on the air, to break in upon the stillness of the

night. On arrival at the spot, the lights were found to have proceeded from several lamps hung in the front of a row of confectionery shops making a little bazar. Indeed, the grocers and victuallers of a place are sometimes the best exponents of its character to a stranger. 'Tell me,' says Lord Chesterfield, Lord Chesterfield, the name of your company, and I will tell you who you are.' In the same manner-' tell me the kind of food you live upon, and I will tell you how you fare.' The first favourable or unfavourable inference of a people's condition may safely be drawn by a stranger from their victualling shops. The bazar is a great field of statistics to found upon them the most important conclusions. Had there been nobody to tell us the fact of our having gained the purlieus of imperial Agra, it would have transpired of itself from the unmistakable shops that can belong only to an imperial city. 'If nothing else gave a superiority to Hindoostan over Bengal, its cheap and excellent viands would certainly do so,' remarked our worthy tradesman, who has a notable fondness for all kinds of saccharine food.

The immediate approach to Agra lies through a rugged ground broken into deep ravines-the abode of wolves. The Jumna still lay concealed from the view. But before long, that bright and tranquil stream was caught sight of flowing beneath a high precipitous bank with an inaudible murmur. The bosom of the river was spanned by a bridge of boats from shore to shore. The bridge is lighted up after night-fall by lamp-posts at intervals. It is guarded by police. Once every day,

Night Scene on the Jumna.

331 it is opened for the passage of the trading crafts upwards and downwards. The breach thus daily made is daily repaired. But to put our patience to a sore trial, it happened to be left open by an unlucky turn out on the very night of our arrival, and proving a bar to our driving right on into the city, obliged us to put up with the inconvenience of passing the night in our gharries on the bridge. To make the best of our time under the circumstance, we fell to a musing on the scene before us. On our left lay moored many a boat, the tall masts of which stood like gaunt shadowy figures in the air. From their decks gleamed the fitful fires of the cooking dandees. The river was one flood of moon-lit glory. Beyond rose the dark outlines of the city—the pulse of life stood still there.'

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CHAPTER VIII.

October 31st.-AT the break of day, the evil genius of reality dispelled the nocturnal illusion, and the telltale sun disclosed things in their actual condition. The clear blue Jumna, the classic stream of love and song, scarcely meandered its course of sluggish waters through sandbanks spreading most unpoetic wastes to the view. The bridge was not the self-same bridge of life-sized elephants of hollow lead, which had been flung across the stream in the days of Akber. Decking the river, there were no gay royal barges trimmed with flags and pennons waving in the air. Far inland in these shallow waters, there can ever hope to ply only little pleasure-steamers drawing two feet water. The wretched shipping of Agra at once indicates its fallen greatness, its decayed trade, and its diminished opulence. The pontoon, however, affords a scene of great liveliness. There jog on loaded donkeys, horses, camels, and waggons; ekas and dawk-gharries; turbaned Hindoostanees on foot and on horse, garment-wearing Hindoostanee women, and merchants, travellers, and fakirs-all in a continuous stream and motley procession.

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