sewer, filled with the drainage of the city. Here the heads of the condemned are struck off, after the deathwarrant 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 on a level with the second-story 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!

CHAPTER XVII 1.

ALLAHABAD, AND A HINDOO

FESTIVAL.

Beturn to Cawnpore-An Accident-The Road to Allahabad-Sensible Pilgrims Morning-Beauty of Allahabad-The American Missionaries-The Hindoo Festival -The Banks of the Ganges-Hindoo Devotees-Expounding the Vedas-The Place of Hair-A Pilgrim Shorn and Fleeced-The Place of Flags-Venality of the Brahmins Story of the Contract for Grass-Junction of the Ganges and Jumna-Bathing of the Pilgrims-A Sermon-The Mission-Subterranean Temple-The Fort of Allahabad.

I LEFT Lucknow at nine o'clock on the evening of the 11th, in the garree for Cawnpore. I was unable to sleep, from

shut eyes, longing for the

toothache, and was lying with 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 car pet-bag in his hand, and led the horse toward Cawnpore. 1

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 fre quent 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 mango-tree 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 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

BEAUTY OF ALLAHRABAD.

231

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.

On

In two hours I reached the Allahabad Cantonments, but failing to find the residence of Mr. Owen, of the American Mission, I directed the driver to take me to the hotel. the way we passed through the native town, which abounds in temples and shrines. Flags were flying 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 demeanor 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 fellowtraveller 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, where I was again on American soil, on the banks of the Jumna. I have rarely passed a day more agree

ably 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 American 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, among whom I may mention Mr. Owen, and Mr. Warren, of Agra, 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 de parted 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. 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 sin gle cotton rag, and with their bodies covered with ashes or a

The bank of the