of the Old World. 185 



way ; I was encamped outside the village of Nandeir, 

 being en route from Hydrabad to Seetabuldee, and 

 tired and overcome with lassitude, having ridden 

 from Mudnoor, a distance of fifty-two miles, in the 

 heat of the day ; I was lounging on a carpet stretched 

 in front of my tent, enjoying the soothing fragrance 

 of my hookah, and amusing myself with talking to 

 some handsome Mussulmauni damsels who constantly 

 passed to and fro, as they went to draw water from a 

 ghaut on the Godavery river, when a venerable-look- 

 ing old man with a huge silver beard rolling down 

 his chest, and clad in a fakeer's or dervish's garb, 

 came up leading a chestnut mare, and accosting me 

 with the usual salutation, begged "Allah ka nain se " 

 (in the name of Allah) that I would assist him. He 

 evidently took me to be one of the " Faithful," for 

 besides speaking the language fluently, I wore a 

 native dress, consisting of a muslin ungreka, em- 

 broidered silk long-drawers and turban, and my natu- 

 rally dark complexion was considerably deepened by 

 constant exposure to the sun. He told me that he 

 had given up the world, i.e. his wives, and family, 

 and had devoted the remainder of his days to the 

 service of Mahomed, but that lately " dark clouds 

 had been hanging over the garden of his fate, and the 

 blossoms of hope were almost withered." He was en 

 route from Boregaum on the Wurdah river to Hy- 

 drabad, in order to be present at the Mohruin festival 



