New kingdoms were established, and new dynasties grasped at sovereign power, till the eleventh century of the Christian era found Mahmud, the son of Sebektegin, seated upon the throne of Gházni, and prepared to carry out the bold but unfinished attempts of his father to add the plains of Hindustán to his dominions. Burning with the lust of conquest, he assumed the cloak of religion, and started forth on an expedition to plunder and convert. Twelve times did he, with different degrees of success, pour his hordes into India; and on several occasions over the plains of Sarhind did he carry fire and sword, breathing vengeance against kings and idolaters, seeking and destroying cities, defacing and polluting shrines. At Thanésar, then the seat of a rich and powerful kingdom, and a place of resort to the pious Hindu from all quarters, was fought by one of his successors a great and bloody battle, and not one only, for a partial defeat of the invader was merely the forerunner of a more complete victory, which laid open to him the road to Delhi and the other kingdoms of India. Still, Mahmud was but the rod, his descendants and successors were the destroying serpents. A Pathán monarchy was established at Delhi, and thence ramified over India. But as one dynasty succeeded or rather destroyed the other, as the Ghorians, the Slave Kings, the Lodis struggled for conquest, on each, on every, occasion the plains of Sarhind were scoured and ravaged, as the Pathán born in the mountains descended with a fresh horde of needy adventurers to demand his share of the common prey from his more effeminate brethren of Hindustán.

But the success, which had attended the irruptions of Mahmúd and his successors, the vast and incalculable wealth in specie and jewels, with which the kingdom of Gházni had been enriched, attracted the attention and excited the avarice of a needy and warlike race of warriors, with whom the countries beyond the Oxus were teeming. The first irruption of this people under Jenghis Khan swept like a mighty tempest along the borders of India, and overspread Asia from the Pacific to the Caspian; but although the mountains of Kábul fell an easy prey to the invader, the rich provinces of India were spared, and the court of the emperor of Delhi became the refuge of kings and princes, over whose dominions the tempest had burst. When, however, in the succeeding century, a fresh storm gathered from beyond the Oxus, and the invincible Timúr was commencing his career of victory, which was destined to embrace the Celestial empire on the east and the Sublime Porte on the west, India was his first and most coveted prey. Nor were there the means of resistance, either in the people of the country or their degenerate rulers, to stem the tide of this new invasion. The institutes of Timúr would represent him as possessed of every virtue his acts stamp him as the perpetrator of every crime, human

licensed plunder and slaughter of unresisting citizens, can hold up the name of any conqueror to the execration of posterity, that conqueror is Timúr, whose course from the Indus to the Ganges was literally marked by carnage and devastation. Content with having displayed his vast powers as the scourge of the Almighty, Timúr made no attempt to establish his dynasty in Delhi, but, satiated with the blood and wealth of India, he recrossed the Indus, and entered upon the grand expedition which, stupendous as it was, he executed, that of planting his standard on the farther shore of the Bosphorus. India was left to the government, or rather the misgovernment, of the remnant of the Pathán dynasties, till, in the person of Baber, his lineal descendant, arose the star of the imperial house of Delhi, miscalled the house of the Moghals. Baber's own pen has left us an interesting account of his adventures and his wanderings, and we can follow him from the time, when he was an exile from his paternal heritage, when he seemed the butt of fortune, and, though often defeated, was never known to despair. We accompany him to the battle of Sarhind and Panipat, where he accomplished the downfall of the house of Lodi, and established his own family at Delhi. Scarcely, however, had the energetic founder of the dynasty, which so long occupied the pageant throne of Delhi, breathed his last, ere the sceptre was snatched from the hands of his less-gifted son, who was driven into exile across the Indus. Thence returning with recruited strength, the plains of Sarhind again became the theatre of the struggle for empire, and the road by which the hardy but undisciplined sons of the north plundered their way to the capital of Hindustán. The field of Panipat a second time decided the fate of India, and the struggles of the Pathan and the Tartar ceased finally under the able rule of Akbar. This, however, did not bring rest to these devoted regions. Armies were incessantly pouring across them to reduce rebellious provinces, or more completely to bring into subjection half-subdued districts. Sometimes they proceeded to victory, sometimes to disaster.

With the exception of these expeditions, the countries between the Indus and the Jamná enjoyed comparative repose during the reign of Akbar and his three illustrious successors. It was then that the arts of peace were cultivated, that the stately serai sprung into existence, as it were by the wand of the enchanter, in the centre of the desert plain; it was then that the magnificent cities were erected with their mosques, their tombs, their garden houses, and all the accompaniments of luxury and grandeur, which still in their ruins excite feelings of astonishment and admiration. The plains of Sarhind then became the route, along which the court of Jahangir and Shah Jahan travelled in luxurious pomp from Delhi

scientific Bernier give us an accurate and amusing picture of such imperial progresses, and the multitude of miseries and discomforts which attended them. Any traveller in the North-West Provinces can sympathise with him in his woful description of the waters, much troubled by the drinking of cattle and washing of followers; we can feel for him in the dire necessity of eating the filthy bread of the bazaar, and having his whole day consumed in pitching and striking tents, in knocking in pegs and abusing servants, in being suffocated with dust, and so shut in on all sides by ropes and canvas-screens as neither to be able to advance nor retreat. His picturesque descriptions speak for themselves, and show that the habits of the people of India are still unchanged. These periodical processions of the emperors must have been splendid and stately affairs, but bringing with them devastation and ruin to the villages on the line of march. Even in our own days, with all the system and arrangement of our district-jurisdictions, the passage of a governor-general or commander-in-chief is like that of a destroying spirit. The great man is himself only dimly seen in the early morning march, but the camp-followers plunder the whole day, verifying the Persian proverb, that, if one egg be required for the prince, one thousand chickens are spitted by his servants. Redress is vain, as before the morrow's dawn the camp itself, and the means of identifying the parties, are gone: if such exists even now, what must have been the state of things in the days of the Mahometan empire? The Kos-Minárs still mark the royal way from Agra to Lahore, and many of the halting-places are still distinguishable by the remains of gardens and buildings devoted to the temporary accommodation of the court in its transit. A perusal of the autobiography of Jehángír gives some more particulars of such journeys, as they appeared to royalty itself, and supply us with an amusing anecdote of truly Oriental justice, which took place by order of the emperor in the gardens of Sarhind. The death of Aurangzeb again brought war and confusion, intrigue and assassination, into the north of Hindustán. During the years immediately succeeding, we read of armies advancing to and from Lahore, of the empire being sold for money or purchased by blood. We find the petty district authorities availing themselves of the times to assist their independence, and Pathán, Moghal, and Hindu each seizing what they could lay hold of, and rendering the countries between the Satlaj and the Jamná a scene of anarchy and confusion.

But the attention of all was suddenly directed from objects of selfish aggrandisement, and the instinct of common danger united all once more upon the unexpected arrival of the terrible Nádir, king of Persia. Once more the countries beyond the snowy mountains, which bound India on the north-west, had sent forth an iron

licensed plunder and slaughter of unresisting citizens, can hold up the name of any conqueror to the execration of posterity, that conqueror is Timúr, whose course from the Indus to the Ganges was literally marked by carnage and devastation. Content with having displayed his vast powers as the scourge of the Almighty, Timúr made no attempt to establish his dynasty in Delhi, but, satiated with the blood and wealth of India, he recrossed the Indus, and entered upon the grand expedition which, stupendous as it was, he executed, that of planting his standard on the farther shore of the Bosphorus. India was left to the government, or rather the misgovernment, of the remnant of the Pathán dynasties, till, in the person of Baber, his lineal descendant, arose the star of the imperial house of Delhi, miscalled the house of the Moghals. Baber's own pen has left us an interesting account of his adventures and his wanderings, and we can follow him from the time, when he was an exile from his paternal heritage, when he seemed the butt of fortune, and, though often defeated, was never known to despair. We accompany him to the battle of Sarhind and Panipat, where he accomplished the downfall of the house of Lodi, and established his own family at Delhi. Scarcely, however, had the energetic founder of the dynasty, which so long occupied the pageant throne of Delhi, breathed his last, ere the sceptre was snatched from the hands of his less-gifted son, who was driven into exile across the Indus. Thence returning with recruited strength, the plains of Sarhind again became the theatre of the struggle for empire, and the road by which the hardy but undisciplined sons of the north plundered their way to the capital of Hindustán. The field of Panipat a second time decided the fate of India, and the struggles of the Pathan and the Tartar ceased finally under the able rule of Akbar. This, however, did not bring rest to these devoted regions. Armies were incessantly pouring across them to reduce rebellious provinces, or more completely to bring into subjection half-subdued districts. Sometimes they proceeded to victory, sometimes to disaster.

With the exception of these expeditions, the countries between the Indus and the Jamná enjoyed comparative repose during the reign of Akbar and his three illustrious successors. It was then that the arts of peace were cultivated, that the stately serai sprung into existence, as it were by the wand of the enchanter, in the centre of the desert plain; it was then that the magnificent cities were erected with their mosques, their tombs, their garden houses, and all the accompaniments of luxury and grandeur, which still in their ruins excite feelings of astonishment and admiration. The plains of Sarhind then became the route, along which the court of Jahangir and Shah Jahan travelled in luxurious pomp from Delhi

scientific Bernier give us an accurate and amusing picture of such imperial progresses, and the multitude of miseries and discomforts which attended them. Any traveller in the North-West Provinces can sympathise with him in his woful description of the waters, much troubled by the drinking of cattle and washing of followers; we can feel for him in the dire necessity of eating the filthy bread of the bazaar, and having his whole day consumed in pitching and striking tents, in knocking in pegs and abusing servants, in being suffocated with dust, and so shut in on all sides by ropes and canvas-screens as neither to be able to advance nor retreat. His picturesque descriptions speak for themselves, and show that the habits of the people of India are still unchanged. These periodical processions of the emperors must have been splendid and stately affairs, but bringing with them devastation and ruin to the villages on the line of march. Even in our own days, with all the system and arrangement of our district-jurisdictions, the passage of a governor-general or commander-in-chief is like that of a destroying spirit. The great man is himself only dimly seen in the early morning march, but the camp-followers plunder the whole day, verifying the Persian proverb, that, if one egg be required for the prince, one thousand chickens are spitted by his servants. Redress is vain, as before the morrow's dawn the camp itself, and the means of identifying the parties, are gone: if such exists even now, what must have been the state of things in the days of the Mahometan empire? The Kos-Minárs still mark the royal way from Agra to Lahore, and many of the halting-places are still distinguishable by the remains of gardens and buildings devoted to the temporary accommodation of the court in its transit. A perusal of the autobiography of Jehangir gives some more particulars of such journeys, as they appeared to royalty itself, and supply us with an amusing anecdote of truly Oriental justice, which took place by order of the emperor in the gardens of Sarhind. The death of Aurangzéb again brought war and confusion, intrigue and assassination, into the north of Hindustán. During the years immediately succeeding, we read of armies advancing to and from Lahore, of the empire being sold for money or purchased by blood. We find the petty district authorities availing themselves of the times to assist their independence, and Pathán, Moghal, and Hindu each seizing what they could lay hold of, and rendering the countries between the Satlaj and the Jamná a scene of anarchy and confusion.

But the attention of all was suddenly directed from objects of selfish aggrandisement, and the instinct of common danger united all once more upon the unexpected arrival of the terrible Nádir, king of Persia. Once more the countries beyond the snowy mountains, which bound India on the north-west, had sent forth an iron