Ir was about two o'clock in the afternoon when our boat anchored off Ráj Ghát, the landing-place just below Benares. The city rose before us, stretching along the left bank of the Ganges, which here makes a picturesque bend, and is crossed by a bridge of boats. The sun was too hot to allow us to land in comfort, and we sat contemplating the distant houses and temples, with two tall minarets rising above all. Soon after four, we landed; carriages were waiting for us, and we drove along a very dusty road to cantonments, where we were to stay at a friend's house. We at once noticed two points of contrast between the north-west provinces and Bengal. There, from the dampness of the soil, the country was as green as England; to-day, all was parched, brown, and grassless. On the other hand, the bright, gay colours in which the Hindustanis dress, are more picturesque than the unvaried white clothing of the Bengalis.

Every Anglo-Indian town is divided into at least two parts-the city, where the natives live, with its narrow streets, bazaars, mosques, and temples; and the station, in which the English are settled, with its white bungalows, dusty gardens, government buildings, and (generally very ugly) church or churches. The city and station are often three or four miles apart; and the station is further divided into civil lines, where the commissioner, judge, magistrate, and other officials reside, and cantonments, with barracks, hospitals, and officers' bungalows, usually stuck down, without order or symmetry, over a dusty maidan, or plain. Sometimes, too, there is a mission station, with a neat church, schools, missionaries' houses, and generally a native Christian village. On the outskirts of cantonments there are, or used to be, the sepoy lines, rows of native huts; but now, in most places, these are

At Benares, the mission settlement is between the dreary English station and the picturesque native city. Of the station we shall say no more: let it rest in its ugliness. To the missionaries we shall presently return. But now we had better step into our friend's carriage, and drive off to the city, where elephants are waiting to take us through the streets, and where the Rája of Benares (just rewarded and panegyrised by the Viceroy for loyalty and good service) has lent us his boat, that we may see the view from the river. And, truly, this is a sight worth seeing. The ground on which the city is built rises gradually from the water's edge; and so its crest affords a splendid position for the great mosque, built by Aurungzíb on the ruins of a temple of Vishnu. But though this mosque (except for its lofty minarets a worthless structure) has appropriated to itself this commanding site, it was soon plain, as we rowed down the river, that the city is not Mussulman, but Hindu ; and not only Hindu, but the very headquarters and sanctum sanctorum of Hinduism. The temples are countless; their pyramidal tops tower in the background above the houses, like the spires in the city of London, or appear in front, flanking the magnificent ghâts, which rise from the river with their lofty flights of stone steps, relieved from monotony by small projections, often crowned by kiosks. These ghâts are crowded in early morning by swarthy figures, coming down to wash away their bodily and spiritual pollutions in the holy Ganges, or to fill with its water their bright brazen vessels, sparkling in the first rays of the rising sun. All these effects are greatly enhanced by the fortunate bend in the river, round which the houses and temples group in the shape of a crescent, and by the solid appearance of the buildings, fashioned as they are of good stone from the neighbouring quar

cities of Bengal, mere masses of brick and plaster, green, black, and crumbling from the effect of the periodical rains.

But we must land at one of these ghâts. Most of them have been built by Rájas, or other powerful natives, who hope to be brought here in old age or sickness, that they may breathe their last close to the heaven-sprung river, in a city of such sanctity, that even a Christian dying in it may look for admission to Paradise, if he have added to this topographical virtue the merit of giving money liberally to Brahmans. Hence each ghât is provided with one or more temples, and with buildings to accommodate its owner and his family. The ghât by which we are returning to the city was the property of Nana Sahib; and no doubt, if his conscience smote him in that supreme hour, amidst the jungle of Nepál, he was assured by his spiritual guides that the merit of its erection could not be washed out even by the blood of Cawnpore. We enter the temple which he built close to his ghât, and find it thronged by discordantly-shrieking worshippers. It is unlike the generality of Hindu temples; for the actual place of worship is on the third story of the building, and is a large hall, supported by richly-carved wooden arches, with a sanctuary at the end, containing an idol of the usual ugliness, resplendent with gold and silver, before which are scattered tasteful bouquets and garlands of flowers. But the characteristic specimen of modern Hindu temples, or at least of the temples of North India-for those in the South are much larger and more imposing-is the famous one of Vishveshwara (a name of Shiva), which we visit after leaving Nana Sahib's ghât. Indeed, this is one of the holiest buildings in Hindustan. It is, however, only about a hundred years old; and its architecture, as usual with Hindu buildings after the establishment of the Mogul dynasty, is much affected by Mohammedan influences. Thus, it has a dome and an arcade, which are purely Mohammedan features, but are here assimilated to the Hindu

ment. This almost trifling detail of decoration marks the decline of Hindu architecture from the profuse but grand and massive carving of the great rockcut temples and other more ancient buildings. In this temple, it is impossible to avoid admiring, in a measure, pillars, arches, and spires, absolutely covered with minute sculpture; but, as the whole building is only fifty-one feet high, and forty-seven feet long, the general effect is puny, and reminded us somewhat of a drawing-room ornament kept under a glass case. From the narrow street in which the temple stands, we entered a small court, in the centre of which rises the actual sanctuary, with the dome in the middle, and a spire or pyramid on each side; the colour of the whole being a rich dark red. The dome and one pyramid are covered with gilding, or, according to the Brahmans, are actually of gold; this being the only place in which, by the permission of the gods, the true splendour of Benares is revealed to sinful man. For, in truth, the city is entirely golden; every temple, house, ghât, and pavement is of the same precious material, though to our impure vision they appear mere stone and wood. Within the temple, the principal objects of worship are the ordinary symbol of Shiva, and an image of his wife, Parvati. But even the elegant prettiness of the Vishveshwara is sadly deformed by dirt; and the pleasure of seeing it was diminished by the need of forcing a passage through the filthy worshippers; among whom was a great Brahmin bull, several of whose divine brethren we had seen strolling about the bazaars at perfect liberty, eating what they liked in the vegetable stalls, butting whom they chose, and, in fact, leading lives of entire enjoyment, which would certainly terminate in a green old age, but for the risk of being decoyed to the slaughter-house of a Mussulman butcher, who has no religious scruples to prevent his turning any one of them into commissariat beef for the English soldiers. The whole worship is so noisy, dirty, and devoid of all elements

Ir was about two o'clock in the afternoon when our boat anchored off Ráj Ghát, the landing-place just below Benares. The city rose before us, stretching along the left bank of the Ganges, which here makes a picturesque bend, and is crossed by a bridge of boats. The Isun was too hot to allow us to land in comfort, and we sat contemplating the distant houses and temples, with two tall minarets rising above all. Soon after four, we landed; carriages were waiting for us, and we drove along a very dusty road to cantonments, where we were to stay at a friend's house. We at once noticed two points of contrast between the north-west provinces and Bengal. There, from the dampness of the soil, the country was as green as England; to-day, all was parched, brown, and grassless. On the other hand, the bright, gay colours in which the Hindustanis dress, are more picturesque than the unvaried white clothing of the Bengalis.

Every Anglo-Indian town is divided into at least two parts-the city, where the natives live, with its narrow streets, bazaars, mosques, and temples; and the station, in which the English are settled, with its white bungalows, dusty gardens, government buildings, and (generally very ugly) church or churches. The city and station are often three or four miles apart; and the station is further divided into civil lines, where the commissioner, judge, magistrate, and other officials reside, and cantonments, with barracks, hospitals, and officers' bungalows, usually stuck down, without order or symmetry, over a dusty maidan, or plain. Sometimes, too, there is a mission station, with a neat church, schools, missionaries' houses, and generally a native Christian village. On the outskirts of cantonments there are, or used to be, the sepoy lines, rows of native huts; but now, in most places, these are

At Benares, the mission settlement is between the dreary English station and the picturesque native city. Of the station we shall say no more: let it rest in its ugliness. To the missionaries we shall presently return. But now we had better step into our friend's carriage, and drive off to the city, where elephants are waiting to take us through the streets, and where the Rája of Benares (just rewarded and panegyrised by the Viceroy for loyalty and good service) has lent us his boat, that we may see the view from the river. And, truly, this is a sight worth seeing. The ground on which the city is built rises gradually from the water's edge; and so its crest affords a splendid position for the great mosque, built by Aurungzíb on the ruins of a temple of Vishnu. But though this mosque (except for its lofty minarets a worthless structure) has appropriated to itself this commanding site, it was soon plain, as we rowed down the river, that the city is not Mussulman, but Hindu ; and not only Hindu, but the very headquarters and sanctum sanctorum of Hinduism. The temples are countless; their pyramidal tops tower in the background above the houses, like the spires in the city of London, or appear in front, flanking the magnificent ghâts, which rise from the river with their lofty flights of stone steps, relieved from monotony by small projections, often crowned by kiosks. These ghâts are crowded in early morning by swarthy figures, coming down to wash away their bodily and spiritual pollutions in the holy Ganges, or to fill with its water their bright brazen vessels, sparkling in the first rays of the rising sun. All these effects are greatly enhanced by the fortunate bend in the river, round which the houses and temples group in the shape of a crescent, and by the solid appearance of the buildings, fashioned as they are of good stone from the neighbouring quar

cities of Bengal, mere masses of brick and plaster, green, black, and crumbling from the effect of the periodical rains.

But we must land at one of these ghâts. Most of them have been built by Rájas, or other powerful natives, who hope to be brought here in old age or sickness, that they may breathe their last close to the heaven-sprung river, in a city of such sanctity, that even a Christian dying in it may look for admission to Paradise, if he have added to this topographical virtue the merit of giving money liberally to Brahmans. Hence each ghât is provided with one or more temples, and with buildings to accommodate its owner and his family. The ghât by which we are returning to the city was the property of Nana Sahib; and no doubt, if his conscience smote him in that supreme hour, amidst the jungle of Nepál, he was assured by his spiritual guides that the merit of its erection could not be washed out even by the blood of Cawnpore. We enter the temple which he built close to his ghât, and find it thronged by discordantly-shrieking worshippers. It is unlike the generality of Hindu temples; for the actual place of worship is on the third story of the building, and is a large hall, supported by richly-carved wooden arches, with a sanctuary at the end, containing an idol of the usual ugliness, resplendent with gold and silver, before which are scattered tasteful bouquets and garlands of flowers. But the characteristic specimen of modern Hindu temples, or at least of the temples of North India-for those in the South are much larger and more imposing-is the famous one of Vishveshwara (a name of Shiva), which we visit after leaving Nana Sahib's ghât. Indeed, this is one of the holiest buildings in Hindustan. It is, however, only about a hundred years old; and its architecture, as usual with Hindu buildings after the establishment of the Mogul dynasty, is much affected by Mohammedan influences. Thus, it has a dome and an arcade, which are purely Mohammedan features, but are here assimilated to the Hindu

ment. This almost trifling detail of decoration marks the decline of Hindu architecture from the profuse but grand and massive carving of the great rockcut temples and other more ancient buildings. In this temple, it is impossible to avoid admiring, in a measure, pillars, arches, and spires, absolutely covered with minute sculpture; but, as the whole building is only fifty-one feet high, and forty-seven feet long, the general effect is puny, and reminded us somewhat of a drawing-room ornament kept under a glass case. From the narrow street in which the temple stands, we entered a small court, in the centre of which rises the actual sanctuary, with the dome in the middle, and a spire or pyramid on each side; the colour of the whole being a rich dark red. The dome and one pyramid are covered with gilding, or, according to the Brahmans, are actually of gold; this being the only place in which, by the permission of the gods, the true splendour of Benares is revealed to sinful man. For, in truth, the city is entirely golden; every temple, house, ghât, and pavement is of the same precious material, though to our impure vision they appear mere stone and wood. Within the temple, the principal objects of worship are the ordinary symbol of Shiva, and an image of his wife, Parvati. But even the elegant prettiness of the Vishveshwara is sadly deformed by dirt; and the pleasure of seeing it was diminished by the need of forcing a passage through the filthy worshippers; among whom was a great Brahmin bull, several of whose divine brethren we had seen strolling about the bazaars at perfect liberty, eating what they liked in the vegetable stalls, butting whom they chose, and, in fact, leading lives of entire enjoyment, which would certainly terminate in a green old age, but for the risk of being decoyed to the slaughter-house of a Mussulman butcher, who has no religious scruples to prevent his turning any one of them into commissariat beef for the English soldiers. The whole worship is so noisy, dirty, and devoid of all elements

flower offerings, that it is hard to understand how it keeps its hold upon the people's minds.

Though this is the only important temple in Benares itself, yet a few miles from the town there is a much older sacred building, and one which by all means deserves a special visit. This is a Buddhist tope, rising among the ruins of the ancient city of Sarnáth. Without entering now into the vexed questions connected with the history of Buddhism, we may say, generally, that it probably arose from a reaction against the strict Brahmanish system, and especially against caste; and was either invented or revived by Gautama, or Sakya-muni, a prince of one of the Gangetic kingdoms, who died B. C. 543. It became the state religion in the time of king Asoca, B. C. 250, whose capital was Palibothra (Patna), and who, though he "put to death one hundred brothers," to secure the throne to himself, is described by the priesthood, whom he elevated to supreme power, as "a prince of piety and supernatural wisdom." "1 With his reign the architectural history of India begins, as no building has been discovered of earlier date than his accession.2 A tope (from the Sanscrit sthupa, a mound) is generally a bell-shaped tumulus, erected to contain a relic, or to mark the site of some occurrence in the history of Gautama, who, after his absorption into nirwána, a state of blissful unconsciousness not distinguishable from annihilation, was called Buddha. The great tope of Sarnáth is comparatively modern, not earlier than the fifth century A. D., for we possess the works of certain Chinese pilgrims, who travelled into India, to visit the sacred scenes of Buddha's earthly life, and to collect memorials of his religion. Now, in the year 405 A. D. one of these, Fa Hian, visited Sarnáth, and has in his description omitted this tope; whereas, in the seventh century, Hiouen Thsang wrote an accurate account of it. Between these two dates, therefore, it was

1 Sir Emerson Tennent's Ceylon, vol. i. pt. iv. ch. x.

erected. It is about a hundred feet high, of brick, cased with stone, at least in its lower part, for the top is a ruin. It has eight faces, each containing a niche for a sitting statue of Buddha, whose form is still traceable, with his curly hair and large ears, in the usual cross-legged position. The stone-work is further adorned with beautiful carvings of flowers, espe cially the lotus, and most graceful patterns, formed sometimes with straight, sometimes with curved lines. Near it are other ruins; one fallen tope is at the top of a high artificial mound, and bricks are strewn about in all directions.

3

But Sarnáth is a digression from Benares, inserted here to complete the sketch of the religious buildings in or near the town, but not of course to be included in the same excursion as that to the Vishveshwara. To the city itself we must now return, and pass from its theological to its scientific remains, for as Niebuhr says of the ancient Borsippa in Chaldæa, it was the chosen abode of the mathematics as well as the religion of the Hindus. The present observatory, indeed, was built by Jey Singh, a Hindu Rája, employed by the emperor Mohammed Shah (A.D. 1550) to reform the calendar, but it was probably the restoration or enlargement of a more ancient institution. The building is close to the river, and is adorned by some beautiful oriel windows and balconies in the same mixed Hindu and Mohammedan style as the Vishveshwara, but on a larger scale, and much more effective. The strange old instruments are marvellous to behold. There is a huge sundial in the shape of an inverted arch, with a gnomon twenty feet high, containing a long steep flight of steps, the whole fitter for giants than men to measure time by, and occupying a large portion of the roof of the observatory. Besides other dials of less colossal dimensions, there is an extraordinary stone model of the earth-a circle, with the sea flowing round it like Homer's ὠκεανοιο ῥέεθρα, Mount Meru in the middle, and four openings for the four cardinal points. We stood in the