of the city. Here the heads of the condemned are struck off, after the death-warrant has been thrice made out and signed by the king. This is a custom peculiar to Oude, and wisely adopted to prevent the ruler from shedding blood without due reflection. The first and second orders which the executioner receives are disregarded, and the culprit is not slain until the command is repeated for the third time.

We return through the Choke, the main street of the old city, after having penetrated for two miles into its depths. There is a crush of elephants, but the street has a tolerable breadth, and no accidents happen. We are now on a level with the second-storey balconies, which are now tenanted (as those in the Chandney Choke of Delhi) by the women of scarlet, arrayed in their flaunting finery. We see now and then an individual of another class, which I should name if I dared-but there are some aspects of human nature, which, from a regard for the character of the race, are tacitly kept secret. But see! we have again emerged into the broad street and begin to descend the slope towards the river. The sun is setting, and the noises of the great city are subdued for the moment. The deep-green gardens lie in shadow, but all around us, far and near, the gilded domes are blazing in the yellow glow. The scene is lovely as the outer court of Paradise, yet what deception, what crime, what unutterable moral degradation fester beneath its surface!

Since the above was written, the East India Company have, as already stated, taken possession of the territory of Oude and agreed to allow its princes a certain large annual sum in lieu of their sovereign rights.

CHAPTER XI.

ALLAHABAD, AND BENARES.

I LEFT Lucknow at nine o'clock on the evening of the 11th, in the garree for Cawnpore. I was unable to sleep, and was lying with shut eyes, longing for the dawn, when there was a jar that gave me a violent thump on the head, and one side of the garree was heaved into the air, but after a pause righted itself. The horse started off at full speed, dragging the wreck after him, but was soon stopped, and I jumped out, to find the spring broken, and the hind wheels so much injured that we were obliged to leave the vehicle in the road. The driver had no doubt fallen asleep, and the horse, going at his usual rapid rate, had hurled the garree against a tree. Leaving the groom to take charge of the remains, the driver took the mail-bag on his head, my carpet-bag in his hand, and led the

horse towards Cawnpore. I followed him, and we trudged silently forwards for an hour-and-a-half, when we reached the Ganges, at daybreak. It was lucky that the accident happened so near the end of the journey.

The same afternoon I left Cawnpore for Allahabad, in a garree, as usual. Still the same interminable plains, though the landscape became richer as I proceeded southward, except when the road. approached the Ganges, where there are frequent belts of sandy soil, worn into deep gullies by the rain. The fields of barley were in full head, the mustard in blossom, and the flowers of the mangotree were beginning to open. The afternoon was warm and the road very dusty. I passed the town of Futtehpore at dusk, but experienced an hour's delay during the night, which I was at a loss to account for until I found the next morning that the driver had taken two natives on the roof of the garree, as passengers to Allahabad. They were pilgrims to the Festival, and were thus depriving themselves of the greatest merit of the pilgrimage, which consists in making the journey on foot. There is now quite a sharp discussion going on among the learned pundits, as to whether the merit of a religious pilgrimage will be destroyed by the introduction of railroads. That railroads will be built in the course of time, is equally certain; that thousands of pilgrims will then make use of them, is equally certain; a prospect which fills the old and orthodox Brahmins with great alarm.

I passed a dreary night, martyred by the toothache. When the sun rose I saw the Ganges in the distance, and the richness and beauty of the scenery betokened my approach to Allahabad. The plain was covered with a deluge of the richest grain, fast shooting into head, and dotted with magnificent groves of neem and mango trees. The road was thronged with pilgrims, returning from the Festival, and the most of them, women as well as men, carried large earthen jars of Ganges water suspended to the ends of a pole which rested on their shoulders. In spite of the toils of the journey and the privations they must have undergone, they all had a composed, contented look, as if the great object of their lives had been accomplished.

In two hours I reached the Allahabad Cantonments, but failing to find the residence of Mr. Owen, a Missionary, I directed the driver to take me to the hotel. On the way we passed through the native town, which abounds in temples and shrines. Flags were flyings in all directions, drums beating, and several processions could be discovered marching over the broad plain which intervenes between the town and the fort. The day was gloriously clear and balmy, and the foliage of the superb neem and tamarind trees that shade the streets, sparkled in the light. I remembered the story of the Mohammedan Conquerors, who were so enchanted with the beauty of the country, and so well satisfied with the mild and

peaceable demeanour of the inhabitants, who gave up the place without striking a blow, that they named it Allahabad-the city of God. Its original name was Priàg, a Hindoo word signifying "the Junction,' on account of the confluence of the Ganges and

the Jumna.

The first face I saw at the hotel was that of a fellow-traveller across the Desert, whom I had last seen at Suez. He had just come up from Calcutta, on his way to Lahore. I saw but little of him, as Mr. Owen insisted on my taking a room at his house. I have rarely passed a day more agreeably than in his pleasant family circle, which was enlarged in the evening by the presence of his colleagues, the Rev. Messrs. Shaw and Hay. The Missionaries in India, wherever I have met them, were to me what the Latin monks in Palestine were, but not, like the latter, with a latent hope of reward. They are all earnest, zealous and laborious men, and some of them are ripe scholars in the Oriental languages and literature.

Mr. Owen had an appointment to preach to the natives in the afternoon, and I accompanied him to the scene of the festival, on the banks of the Ganges. The climax of the occasion was past, and the great body of the pilgrims had departed for their homes, but there were still several thousands encamped in and around the town. On the plain, near the Ganges, stood an extempore town, consisting of streets of booths, kept by the native merchants, who took care of their temporal and spiritual welfare at the same time, with a dexterity which would have done credit to a Yankee. Upon mounting a dyke which had been erected to restrain the water of the Ganges during inundations, I again beheld the Holy River and its sandy and desolate shores. It was indeed a cheerless prospect-a turbid flood in the midst, and a hot, dreary glare of white sand on either side. The bank of the river, from the point where we stood to its junction with the Jumna-a distance of nearly half-a-mile-was covered with shrines, flags, and the tents of the fakeers, which consisted merely of a cotton cloth thrown over a piece of bamboo. There were hundreds of so-called holy men, naked, except a single cotton rag, and with their bodies covered with ashes or a yellow powder, which gave them an appearance truly hideous. Their hair was long and matted, and there was a wild gleam in their eyes which satisfied me that their fanatical character was not assumed. Many of them were young men, with keen, spirited faces, but the same token of incipient monomania in their eyes. Some few were seated on the ground, or in the shade of their rude tents, rapt in holy abstraction, but the most of them walked about in a listless way, displaying their disgusting figures to the multitude.

The shrines, of which there were great numbers, were tawdry affairs of tinsel and coloured paper, with coarse figures of Mahadeo, Ganeish, Hanuman, and other deities. Many were adorned with

flowers, and had been recently refreshed with the water of the Ganges. I was struck with the figure of an old grey-bearded saint, who was expounding the Vedas to a Brahmin, who, seated crosslegged under a large umbrella, read sentence after sentence of the sacred writing. The old fellow showed so much apparent sincerity and satisfaction, and was so fluent in his explanations, that I was quite delighted with him. Indeed, there was not the slightest approach to levity manifested by any one presnt.

We threaded the crowd of ghastly Jogees, Gosains, and other ashy fakeers, to the Place of Hair-Cutting an enclosed spot, containing about an acre-and-a-half of ground. Here the heads and beards of the pilgrims are shorn, a million of years in Paradise being given by the gods for their hair so offered up. The ground within the enclosure was carpeted with hair, and I am told that on great occasions it is literally knee-deep. There were only two persons undergoing the operation, and as I wished to inspect it more closely, I entered the enclosure. When the repugnance which the Hindoos have toward destroying animal life is understood, the reader will comprehend that I did not venture among so much hair without some hesitation. A fellow with a head of thick black locks and a bushy beard had just seated himself on the earth. We asked him who he was, and whence he came. He was a Brahmin from Futtehpore, who had made a pilgrimage from Hurdwar, where he had filled a vessel with Ganges water, which he was now taking to pour upon the shrine of Byzanth, beyond Benares. In reward for this, a Brahmin who was standing near assured us that he would be born a Brahmin the next time that his soul visited the earth. The barber took hold of a tuft on the top of his head, which he spared, and rapidly peeled off flake after flake of the bushy locks. In less than five minutes the man's head and face were smooth as an infant's, and he was booked for fifty thousand million years in Paradise. But the change thereby wrought upon his countenance was most remarkable. Instead of being a bold, dashing, handsome fellow, as he at first appeared, his physiognomy was mean, spiritless, and calculated to inspire distrust. I should not want better evidence that Nature gave men beards to be worn, and not to be shaven.

As soon as the shearing was finished, three Brahmins who had been hovering around carried the subject off to be fleeced. They were sharp fellows, those Brahmins, and I warrant they bled him to the last pice. The Brahmins of Allahabad are not to be surpassed for their dexterity in obtaining perquisites. They have apportioned India into districts, and adjoining the Place of Hair they have their Place of Flags, where there are upwards of two hundred flags streaming from high poles. The devices on these flags represent the different districts. The pilgrim seeks the flag of his district, and there he finds the Bralumin licensed to take

charge of him. There is no fixed fee, but every man is taxed to the extent of his purse. One of the Rajahs of Oude, who had been shorn a short time previous to my arrival, gave the fraternity six elephants, and the weight of a fat infant son in Cashmere shawls and silver.

In justice to the Brahmin caste, I should remark that those who serve as priests in the temples are not to be confounded with the secular Brahmins, many of whom are fine scholars, and enlightened and liberal-minded men. But the priesthood is perhaps more corrupt than any similar class in the world. They do not even make a pretence of honesty. An acquaintance of mine bargained with some Allahabad Brahmins to supply him with grass for thatching his house. They showed him a satisfactory sample, and he agreed to pay them a certain price. But when the grass came it was much worse than the sample, and he refused to pay them full price. The matter was referred for arbitration to three other Brahmins, who decided in the gentleman's favour. But the contractors declared they would have the full price. Why do you not bring me good grass, then?" said the gentleman. "Because we have it not," they answered. "Why then did you send me such a sample?" "To make you contract with us," was the cool reply. "You may take the quarrel into Court, for I shall not pay you," declared the gentleman. "We shall not go to Court, for we shall certainly lose the cause," said they; but we will have the money." Thereupon they went to the rarpenter who was building the house, and who was a Hindoo, celated the case, and called upon him to make up the full sum. The astonished victim declared that it was no affair of his. matter," said they, "if you don't pay it, one of us will commit suicide, and his blood will be upon your head"—this being the most terrible threat which can be used against a Hindoo. The carpenter still held out, but when the oldest of the Brahmins had decided to kill himself, and was uncovering his body for the purpose, the victim was obliged to yield, and went off in tears to borrow the money. Truly, this thing of caste is the curse of India.

"No

Passing the Place of Flags, where the streamers were of all imaginable colours and devices, we descended to the holiest spot, the junction of the Ganges and Jumna. According to the Hindoos, three rivers meet here, the third being the Seriswattee, which has its source in Paradise, and thence flows subterraneously to the Ganges. There were a number of bamboo platforms extending like steps to the point where the muddy waters of the Ganges touched the clear blue tide of the Jumna. In this union of a clear and a muddy stream, forming one great river, there is a curious resemblance to the Mississippi and Missouri, and to the Blue and White Niles. Several boats, containing flower-decked shrines,