POORUNDUR.

POORUNDUR is the loftiest part of a range of hills about twenty miles to the south-east of Poona. From the Sayhadri mountains, which run in an irregular line nearly parallel with the coast of Western India, several long spurs shoot off to the eastward, sinking gradually into the plains of the Deccan. One of these leaves the great range of the Ghauts near the Khoomba Pass, and, pursuing an easterly direction for about eighty miles, terminates in a cluster of low hills near Patus. From the southern slopes of this great spur, another juts out in a more southerly direction, from a point near the Katruj Pass, and merges in the plains of the Mootamoola and Neera near their junction, in another cluster of hills, of which the principal is that crowned by the many gates and temples of Kunderao at Jejuri.

six or eight mile canter, he begins to ascend the side of the range of hills whieh bound the Poona horizon on the south. The road is pleasant, though steep, and made for times, which indeed seem returning on us, when wheels were exceptional in every sense, and either a palkee, or the saddle, carried the lords of India over the country.

On turning a sharp angle, the traveller may moralise on the ebbs and flows of road-making "progress," or he may picture in his mind's eye the bullock-cart laden with treasure, which some time ago came down this turn too fast, and rushed, incontinently, over into the khud below. He may thank goodness that he was not then sitting on the cart, sick, and anxious with responsibility in charge of the treasure. The poor man who was, barely escaped with life and limb. On arriving at the top of the hill, a beautiful view of the plain of Poona extends itself before the eyes of the traveller. Far away, the rugged outline of the Sayhadri mountains, more or less clear

Poorundur is now a favourite sanitarium, and has become increasingly popular since the facilities of access, afforded by the railway, have opened up its beauties and advantages to the inhabitants of Bombay.

Medical observers are yearly accumulating, with conscientious diligence, statistics proving the great importance to Anglo-Indians of frequently resorting to more elevated atmospheres. Sensible people are therefore yearly beginning to inquire concerning the relative values and advantages of hill-climates; and perhaps many of our readers may be glad to hear something of so promising a locality as Poorundur.

Having arrived at Poona, the traveller sends his pony to a village ten miles on, called Beuree, and mounting a second at Poona, in the early dawn, follows the road towards the hills, which leads to a pass denominated the Bapdeo Ghaut. After a

year, and of the day; and, consequently, according to the state of the atmospheric medium. Nearer, the winding river, peeping out here and there from between its thick groves and worn banks; and nearer still, the Mahratta capital, almost hidden in thousands of mangoe, palm, plantain, neemb, and baubool trees-the pinnacle of a temple here, the gutchee of a palace therejust distinguishable above the lines of foliage, which conceal even the roofs of most of the houses.

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To the right of the city may be descried the "Sungum," or junction" of the Moota with the Moola, near the point where the Moota is spanned by its two bridges; beyond is Kirkee; and still further to the right, the roofs of the bungalows of Poona Camp, the wide plain of its grand parade-ground, the long lines of barracks, arsenal, cells, patcherries, hospitals, and churches, extending over an area fifteen miles in circumference. Away to the eastward, the rivers, having (like the Queen's and Company's armies) amalgamated, pursue a devious course, marked by lines of overhanging woods, and the stream is at length lost in the

misty plain which stretches away to the

horizon.

Turning from the view of this interesting valley, round to the south-east, there the great mass of Poorundur lifts its purple ridge against the sky, ten miles off on the other side of the shallow valleys into which the road leads down.

The rich valley we now cross is that of the Kurra River. The source of the river is in the hills around, and, after washing the walls of the temples of Sassoor,-to be seen amid the trees about ten miles below,-it joins the Neera beyond Jejuri, and flows onward nearly to Baramuttee, where it falls into the Beema, about twenty miles from Punderpore. The Beema then, falling into the Kistua, in the Hyderabad territory, seeks the Bay of Bengal near Masulipatam.

The rising importance of Poorundur as a sanitarium has made it necessary to construct a new road to it, for the convenience of visitors from Poona. This makes the distance now just twenty miles. As it was the favourite resort of Lord Frederick FitzClarence, we may wonder that better communication had not long before been opened. The new road has, however, just been sanctioned, and completed, under the orders of Sir William Mansfield; who, with Lady Mansfield, has recently spent a month or six weeks on the hill.

The foot of the mountain may now be reached without difficulty in two hours from Poona; and an immediate rise in the rents of the houses showed how materially benefitted the Native landlords considered themselves by the improvement.

This first effect of the increased value of house-property will, however, soon rectify itself: more houses are being built; and with the necessary combination between tenants, to meet and defeat that between landlords, a scale of very moderate rents will eventually be secured. We here venture to remark, that one of the most important duties with which the superintendents of sanitaria and hill stations (indeed of all stations) should charge themselves, is that of organising combinations to resist those combinations, the value of which, to our cost, the

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Natives of this country so completely understand. Any combined attempt permanently to raise rents, &c. should be met by a combined determination to provide other accommodation. With the first symptom of such resistance on the part of the "Sahib log" to Native extortion, the many and varied tyrannies under which we now groan would be abandoned, and an Indian station would again become a place in which it would be possible to live. At Poorundur, the presence of a captainsuperintendent who thoroughly understands both his own duties to European residents, and the tendency to combine against them on the part of Natives, will to a great extent, as long as he remains, prevent any serious extortion. Since he assumed command, no less than six or seven additional residences have been erected, or made habitable, by his advice and exertions; and each year, consequently, sees a larger number of visitors during the season, on the hill, who are not, as usual, half ruined by excessive rents. But this is a digression.

At

The Poorundur hill stands nearly east and west, and rises with a gentle but increasingly precipitous sweep from the plains on its north and south. a level of about 1,000 feet above the plain of Sassoor, immediately below, and about 4,000 feet above the sea, the sanitarium is situated upon a sort of ledge on the mountain's northern slope. Above it rises the Bala-kila, or upper fort, some 300 or 400 feet higher; culminating in a series of peaks, on the highest of which stands a small temple "Mahadew-Kedareshwur," at an elevation of 4,472 feet, which is about the same with that of most of the houses at Malcolmpeth. Other observations have estimated the height of Poorundur temple at 4,571 feet; and Colonel Sykes, using as his test the point of boiling water, found it to be 2,566 feet above the level of "Hay Cottage,"

to

the pile against either the attacks of time, or the fury of the elements. Very beautiful, under whatever circumstances it is seen, is old Poorundur: whether basking in the midday heats of May, its black scarp casting down "the shadow of a great rock in a weary land," and lifting its cool crest above the hot blasts and simmering vapours of the plain; or whether standing out in sharp relief against the black and lowering sky, when, early in June, the rains are approaching, and it seems defiantly to dare the storm to break upon its head; when vultures and hawks, uttering peculiar screams, sweep into their clefts in the rock, and swallows, flying low, twitter fearfully, till just before the squall breaks, when they disappear altogether; or more lovely still if seen in the rainy months themselves, when misty clouds drive circling round the hill, and often hide its green and mossy summit in a fleecy shroud; when from every cranny of its black precipices streams are trickling, or fountains playing, and the sounds of many waterfalls, mingling together, murmur louder or softer as the wind rises and falls-when every here and there, bright sunlight rays stream down between the fast

flying clouds, checquering the steep and scored sides of the mountain with a waving tapestry,-lighting up the fresh green foliage, and wet glittering rocks, and painting, with almost supernaturally vivid colours, each delicate frond of the fern, and petal of the balsam,— leaping from ridge to ridge in a moment to brighten every leaf and flower in turn, and flashing, like a dream of diamonds, through the clustering raindrops.

Very beautiful indeed is Poorundur on such a July morning-at least to one whose mind is properly in tune with nature-who is reverently listening for the whispered utterances in which she conveys her secrets to her lovers, and by which she leads them ever upwards, even to her Author Himself.

Very beautiful, and very invigorating too-for the temperature of the hill, especially during the rains, communicates an energy and life without which the loveliest sights and sounds of nature are neither seen nor heard; but with which, almost all the other ills of life are indeed comparatively insignificant.

(To be continued.)

"Happy Vale."

LINA.

BISMILLAH:

OR

-HAPPY DAYS IN CASHMERE.

CHAPTER I.

Of the many noble Mahomedan families which suffered in the imperial city of Delhi-or Shahjehanabad, as its citizens delight to call it during the eventful year of 1857, there was not one which lost more in dignity, position, and worldly advantages, than that of our heroine. To mention that she belonged to the royal family of Delhi-to state that she was one of the lineal descendants of Timour the Lame, of timeenduring renown-is at once to enlist the sympathy and interest of thousands in her fortunes.

It is not the burden of this story to again revive the never-fading horrors of the scenes which took place at Delhi on the 11th of May, which were continued up to the 14th September, and then again burst upon this devoted city with all the fury of a devouring pestilence. We have to tread on classic ground at a much later date, commencing with the month of May 1860. Delhi has again been re-peopled. Thousands of her citizens perished during the siege, many on the day of its capture by the British force, which was resolved to succeed or perish to a man; numbers, worn out by disease and poverty, expired amongst the various shrines which surround the city, to which in her palmy days thousands of pilgrims used to flock, dressed in their gay holiday attire-the élite of Meerut, Kurnaul, Paneeput, Saharunpoor, Bareilly, and Lucknow. The mention of Shah Murdan, the Kadam Shareef, Nizamoodeen, Khoja Sahib or the Kootub, far-famed for its magnificent pillar, recall at the same time the parties of pleasure, now past, in bright contrast with the dark and gloomy days of 1857 and 1858, so replete with suffering to the Mahomedans of Delhi. Great indeed is the responsibility of that man who fans the slumbering embers of revolt, aims at a crown, and fails he drags thousands down with him to the tomb ;-the pauperised mother, the young and desolate widow, lament their loss in vain.

The city of Delhi was bright and

cheerful on the morning of the 1st of May 1860. The weather was warm, it is true, in the middle of the day the sensitive European had already resorted to his thermantidote, tattees, and punkas; but the dawn of day, and the hours of the morning up to 9 or 10 o'clock, were perfection in the eyes of a citizen of Delhi. "Where shall we travel, or wander, and find such a glorious city!

where such wealth, where such a climate, where such cleanness, and propriety of manners, language, and carriage, where such a palace, where such a Jumma Musjid-the ornament of the world ?" The rebellion has changed Delhi : we miss the bustle of the palace ; its rows of fine large carriages drawn up on the glacis close to it, decked out with their crimson curtains, green checks or blinds, to keep out the flies,for which Delhi is famous,-drawn by fine large Nagore bullocks, ready at a moment's notice for a pleasure trip. The clothing of the dandies of the Silver Street has sadly fallen off: we no longer see the crowds of golden caps, the jaunty air, the fine muslin dress; for in the olden day a man, however poor, loved to keep an embroidered cap and a nice white muslin dress in store, so that he might, after the labours of the day were ended, take a stroll as a gentleman through the fashionable quarters of the city. A lounge through the palace for court news, a chat with a friend in the Silver Street, a sniff or two at the fine perfumes of the farfamed shops of the Dariba, a prayer or so on the fine elevated platform of the Jumma Musjid, a look or two at the crowd of ponies always ready for sale, to suit the convenience of travellers from all and to all parts of the world, at the steps of the Jumma Musjid, a walk into the Chitli Tomb, and then home through the Red Well Street-were the evening recreations of a Delhi man.

Mirza Mogul and the princes might be seen at the large house, on the right hand side of the road, when passing up the Silver Street from the palace, with their retinue of elephants and gaily dressed horsemen and footmen. If Zeenut Begum was tired of the society of the old King, she might be found with her son, Jumna Buksh, at the large house in the Red Well