ments to which she and Dilkushee were to retire, taking care, of course, that they should be in the close vicinity of the secret staircase: all day long, the two girls sate behind the purdah, conversing freely with their visitors, for they had both become objects of the greatest interest to their friends and relatives. The Syud's daughters, the religious ladies before mentioned, willing to take some credit to themselves upon the occasion, confirmed the prognostics of Dilkushee, and dwelled at great length upon the danger of disregarding so awful a warning. They ventured also to predict that Chunchul, who was no favourite with them, would run the greater risk, as they feared there would be more difficulty in her keeping a resolution formed in a moment of terror, nor did they feel quite certain that she would particularly object to a jin, and the person thus devoted determined that they should be right in their conjectures, as her disappearance must be accounted for in some way or other.

Between the deserted buildings, in which Chunchul's researches had been so successful, and the inhabited portion of the zenana, there was a long hall, having a range of deep and doorless arches in front, opening into the garden; there were small apartments on either side, and in the suite nearest the outlet at the staircase, the bride and her companion now entirely resided. This hall being reserved for the celebration of feasts and festivals, the wedding guests would of course assemble in it. After the slight ceremony which takes place upon such occasions, it is customary for the bridegroom, who stands, until then, outside the purdah, to enter the hall, all the female guests having retreated to the side rooms, the mother-in-law and the bride, with their female servants, being alone privileged to be present. He takes care not to raise his eyes when he is admitted, but, being conducted to the cushion on which the bride is seated, a mirror is brought, and it is considered essential that he should first see the face of his betrothed reflected in this glass. Now, as Chunchul was to personate the bride, it was necessary that this part of the ceremony should not take place, and in order to restrain the impatience of Shums-ool-Omrah, and to prevent him from insisting upon it, she hit upon a very ingenious device, which she was enabled to execute, with the assistance of her gratefully devoted friend Dost Mohammed.

Nothing could exceed the courtesy of the reception of his intended son-inlaw by Abdul Hamed, while Shums-ool-Omrah evinced the generosity of his disposition by the splendid presents he despatched every morning to his betrothed. One night, after he had been smoking a hookah of unusual fragrance, he fell asleep in his palanquin ; and upon awaking, some hours after, or rather half-awaking (for the potent effects of the drug he had imbibed had not worn off), he found himself lying on a couch of crimson satin, fringed with gold, in a bower literally of roses, every single twig of the overhanging trees being clustered with that beautiful flower; while the whole was enveloped in rose-coloured light, by a profusion of lamps ingeniously concealed from view. While wondering at the vision, for such it seemed, a strain of delicious music stole upon his ear; the boughs parted in front, revealing a vista of gold, resplendent with the brightest illuminations, and down this, a venerable figure in a flowing beard advanced. Approaching the couch where the young man reclined, in half-stupified amazement, the sage addressed him in mystical sentences, which, after a time, became more plain to his comprehension. From this harangue, Shums-ool-Omrah gathered, that the good and evil genii, who, as by the Moslem creed he had been taught to believe had attended him from his birth, were at this moment engaged in an active struggle; the one being desirous to work his ruin, the other to render him the happiest of mankind:

the present revelation being made for the purpose of shewing the necessity of his compliance with the stipulations of his betrothed, whose veil must not be lifted from her face by human hand until she was a day's journey from Lucknow. The sage then proceeded to state the direful consequences which would ensue from a rash refusal on the part of the bridegroom, and holding up a large polished plate, in a silver frame-work, richly chased, exclaimed, “behold the bride you would lose." The young man opened his eyes, gazed steadfastly on the mirror, and was struck by the beauty of the countenance which it presented. Chunchul had, of course, taken care to display her charms to the greatest advantage; she smiled enchantingly, as she looked at herself in a glass, which, by an ingenious device, was made to reflect her image on the polished plate held up by her confederate. Shums-ool-Omrah turned round, expecting to see the lady behind him; but, as no one was visible, he entreated to be allowed another glance, and the same beautiful face appeared, radiant with youth and health, and, above all, illumined by an expression of kind-heartedness which could not be mistaken. Under the exciting influence of this vision, the youth promised every thing. The sage placed his hand upon his forehead, and with it a powerful narcotic, which speedily buried him in profound sleep; and when he awoke again, he found himself in the house which he had engaged for his abode during his residence at Lucknow. Strange to say, the whole of his establishment, although they had been dreamless, had slept as long as he had done.

Upon arriving at the Ameer's mansion, he was told that his betrothed had also been favoured with a vision, in which, it seems, he had made his appearance in propriâ personâ, as she had described him so accurately in the morning, that there could be no doubt upon the subject. Up to this period, Shums-oolOmrah had cared very little about the lady who was to become his wife; it was a suitable marriage in every respect, and if she did not hit his fancy, be could easily supply himself with beauty from every eastern clime. His ideas had now, however, experienced an extraordinary revolution; he should be happy or miserable, according as he could propitiate the gentle being who had smiled upon him from the mirror, and every day he indited the most passionate epistles, which he placed between purses filled with gold mohurs, so that Chunchul, before her marriage, found herself possessed of an ample dowry, to say nothing of shawls, jewels, and rich stuffs of every kind. In the mean time, Dost Mohammed was not idle; though his bride would bring nothing with her save her beauty, amiable disposition, and the gems which adorned her in her father's house (the splendid wedding ornaments provided for her marriage becoming, of course, the property of her representative), he did not on that account limit his preparations, rather adding to them by some very magnificent presents, which are usually supplied by the family of the bride. He procured a contract of marriage to be drawn out in proper form, and despatched messengers to his own residence in Moorshedabad, to have every thing in readiness for the bride whom he was about to bring home; and all the preliminaries being adjusted, he awaited impatiently for the day which was to make Dilkushee his own for ever. Shums-ool-Omrah, not less anxious, counted the hours which were to elapse before he could be a day's journey from Lucknow; and the two friends, though regretting the necessity of a separation from each other, were too happy, the one in the prospect held out by love, and the other in that afforded by ambition, to allow their sorrow to overcome the more blissful feeling. Chunchul had determined to hold sovereign sway in the zenana, in which she resolved to reign every inch a queen, enduring no rivals in the favour of her husband; while the notion of a rival never once entered the imagination of

Dilkushee, whose confiding tenderness assured her that she would be every thing to the man, who must ever prove the whole world to her.

The day, at length, arrived. The bride, though secluded from the wedding guests, is always decked for the ceremony by her female relations; in consequence, however, of the wholesome fear instilled into their minds upon this occasion, the duties of the toilette devolved upon Chunchul, who, with great satisfaction, adorned her own pretty person with the bridal ornaments. Having a splendid veil of silver tissue, richly embroidered with pearls, upon her head, she entered the hall, accompanied by Dilkushee, who was also richly dressed and closely veiled. The clang of trumpets and the din of drums immediately afterwards announced the approach of the bridegroom. The moolvee in attendance commenced the ceremony by calling the young maiden by name, and inquiring whether the marriage now taking place was celebrated with her own consent. The bride answered in the affirmative, emitting, in low and tremulous accents, the response which, upon such an occasion, would have been given by her friend. The moolvee then proceeded to explain the law of the Prophet relative to wedlock, and having read a chapter from the Koran, appointed for the purpose, turned to the bridegroom, and demanded of him the amount of the sum which he proposed to give as the dowry of his wife: a precaution in case he should desire a divorce, in which event he is obliged to make over to her the sum he has himself named, on the day of the nuptials. Shums-ool-Omrah, transported at the opportunity thus offered to display his love, generosity, and confidence, instantly exclaimed, “two hundred lacs of rupees ;" and a murmur of applause ran through the zenana at this extraordinary liberality. After a short prayer, his companions retired, and Shums-oolOmrah, introduced into the hall, went up to the bride and took her hand, but did not attempt to lift the veil. The constitutional apathy of Mobarak Begum prevented her from feeling any real regret at not being allowed to look upon her daughter's face before she parted from her for ever; however, she affected sufficient sorrow to call all the people present around her; and when Chunchul stepped into the palkee in waiting, Dilkushee slipped into the adjoining building, and was in another minute in the arms of her lover, and soon afterwards far away from the place of her birth. Shums-ool-Omrah also made no delay upon the road, and it was not until the following morning that Chunchul was missed. Upon inquiry, it was ascertained that she had been out in the garden, gathering flowers, an evening or two before, and that one of the gardeners at a little distance had seen her raise her veil for the purpose of securing some particularly fine blossoms growing upon a high branch; at the same moment, the gardener was scared by a most horrible apparition, which appeared and disappeared almost immediately. After hearing this account, there could be no doubt that she had fallen into the power of the threatened jin, and as, at the death of her own mother, nobody had cared much about her, excepting Dilkushee, the catastrophe formed the subject of a nine days' wonder, and was then forgotten.

ACCOUNT OF SINDE.

BY LIEUT. ALEXANDER BURNES.

MUCH has been said upon Sinde; and I have perused most of that which has been published, as well as written. I purpose, therefore, to state, concisely, the result of my reading and observations. I do not record my authorities, and I leave others to find out the points on which I differ from preceding writers. It is, however, due to Mr. Nathan Crow, of the Bombay civil service, to state that his "Account of the Country of Sinde" appears, as far as I can judge, to have been the text-book of all succeeding writers. It is a finished essay; and, though written so far back as the year 1800, remains to this day a model which, I think, will seldom be surpassed. It may then be asked, what leads me to write on Sinde? I do so, because we have had many and later opportunities of increasing our information. In my printed work, too, I have rather confined myself to the river Indus than the country through which it flows. It must be borne in mind, however, by all who peruse this paper, that it is one of results.

The country watered by the Indus is called Sinde. This is also the name given to that river itself by the inhabitants. The designation is ancient, since Arrian mentions Sindomana. To speak generally, that country, from the ocean to the confluence of the Punjab rivers with the Indus, bears the name of Sinde; that is, from the latitude of about 23° to 29° N. and from 67° to 71°. E. long. The banks of the Indus, however, as high as Sungur, which is in about 30° N., are sometimes called Sinde. Without this addition, the area of the country includes about 100,000 square miles. On the South, it has for its boundaries the province of Cutch and the ocean. On the East, it has Rajwarra, or the country of the Rajpoots, as also the Dooadpootras. On the North, it has the Punjab and Cutch Gundaya. On the West, lies Beloochistan, from which it is separated by the lofty mountains of Hala.

The great feature of Sinde is the Indus. It traverses the country diagonally, in one trunk, to the latitude of 25° 30', when it begins to throw off branches. Its delta, however, commences below Tatta, in lat. 24° 40', after which it enters the sea by eleven mouths, and presents a face 125 British miles to the ocean. The sources of this great river are hidden. It is certain that it rises in the mountains of Himalaya near Thibet. It is probable that the Syook from Karakorum, and the river of Ladak, from near lake Munsurour, are its principal feeders. From Cashmeer, the Indus is separated by a snowy range. It then receives the Abba Seen, and passes on to Attok, where it is joined by the Lundye, or river of Cabool. One of the sources of this tributary descends from Pamere, and is nearly as remote as the principal branch. From Attok to the sea, the Indus is familiarly known by the name of Sinde, or Attok. Mehran is a name only known to foreigners. Attok signifies 'forbidden,' and it is said to be so called because the Hindoos are forbidden to cross it. Below the Punjab river, it takes the name of Sira down to the Sehwun, and from thence to the sea, that of Lar. These are two Beloochee words for ' north' and 'south.' The local names for different parts of the Indus are various. Those of the branches in the Delta shall be afterwards enumerated.

The face of Sinde is uninteresting. Eastward of the Indus, there is not a rising ground or a stone in the country, excepting the hillocks of Bukkur and

* Read before the Bombay Branch of the Royal Geographical Society, 16th March. Licut. Burnes is now in Cutch.

Hydrabad. It is flat and covered with bushes, till it at last joins the desert of sand-hills which separates Sinde from India. Westward of the river, as low down as Sehwun, the same flatness prevails to the base of the Beloochee mountains. From that town to the sea, the land is rocky and barren. The delta of the Indus does not differ from that of other rivers. It is rich, but it is poorly cultivated. Ten miles from the sea, it is frequently an impervious thicket. Higher up, it is overgrown with tamarisk shrubs, which also thread into each other. The rest presents a naked plain of hard caked clay. Much of the land that is adapted for agriculture, is only used for pasture. Much of it also lies neglected; yet the crop of rice is extensive, and far exceeds the consump tion of the country. It is the staple of Sinde; the inhabitants live on it, the merchants export it. It is more abundantly produced towards the sea; higher up, the other grains-wheat, barley, juwaree, &c.—are cultivated; also indigo, sugar-cane, tobacco, and hemp; both the latter are used as narcotics. There are but few trees in Sinde.

Sinde owes its fertility entirely to the Indus, and more particularly to the annual or periodical swell of the river. The return of the waters is regularthey rise in March, and subside in September; the melting of the snow in the Himalaya is the cause of this phenomenon. The waters are courted by the inhabitants, and distributed by canals far away from the river. The actual swell seldom extends half a-mile on either bank. The immediate banks of the Indus are but partially cultivated. The soil is saline and unfavourable to tillage, as is proved by all its spontaneous productions. Without the Indus, the whole of Sinde would become as perfect a desert as the country lying eastward of it. Encrustations of salt and saltpetre are to be seen every where. The latter is exported. Many of the shrubs yield alkalis, which are used in manufactures. With all these natural disadvantages, the revenue of the country in these days sometimes reaches forty lacs of rupees (£400,000). In the government of the dynasty that preceded the present, it yielded eighty lacs (£800,000). The depreciation arises partly from political causes. The treasure possessed by the rulers is considerable.* In the strict sense of the word, Sinde cannot be considered rich; possessing a resemblance to both Egypt and Bengal, it has not the richness of either. The crops, however, are reaped without labour; the seed is scattered after the inundation, and the harvest is certain.

The history of Sinde is clearer than most Asiatic chronology; the marked feature of the Indus running through it, has contributed to preserve it. Herodotus says, that Darius Hystaspes sent an expedition to explore the Indus, which sailed out of the river. Alexander the Great turned this information to account. He found the country inhabited by Hindoos, and ruled by Brahmins. It was made subject to the ephemeral kingdom of Bactria, but regained its independence, which it preserved till the rise of Islam, when, after various struggles, it became Mahomedan. In the first century of the Hijira, or the 7th of the Christian era, the caliphs overturned the Brahminical dynasty, and ruled by deputies from Bagdad. Duhr bin Chuch was the name of the deposed raja, and Alore, the modern Bukkur, was his capital. Sooltan Mahmood of Ghuzni conquered it in the eleventh century. Altimush, the Ghorian sooltan of Delhi, made it a fief of his crown, which it continued till the 14th century, when the native rajas recovered their ascendancy. The successful tribe was the Soomra, which was settled in the confines of Mukran at the Mahomedan invasion. They did not long retain their power, and were dis

This, however, has been much overrated, and particularly so by myself.