Each serai has its establishment of attendants, _bunyahs_ (shopkeepers), _bhistees_ and _mehturs_ (water-carriers and sweepers), who ply their several occupations, and administer to the traveller’s wants. What a motley and picturesque assemblage do these serais sometimes exhibit! In one part saunters a group of fair and athletic Afghans from Cabul or Peshawur, proceeding with horses, greyhounds, dried fruits, and the like, to sell in the south; their fearless bearing and deep voices proclaim them natives of a more invigorating climate. In another, a drove of bunjarra bullocks repose amongst piled sacks of grain, and quietly munch the cud, whilst their nomade drivers smoke or snore around. Under the shade of yon drooping tamarind-tree, on a branch of which his sword and shield are suspended, a Mahomedan traveller has spread his carpet, and with his face towards Mecca (his _kibla_), his head hanging on his breast, and his arms reverentially folded, he offers up his evening’s devotions; near him, on the little clay terrace, is to be seen the high-caste bramin, his body marked with ochres and pigments, and, surrounded by his religious apparatus of conch, flowers, and little brazen gods, he blows his shell, tinkles his bell, and goes through all his little mummeries, with the full conviction that he is fulfilling the high behests of Heaven. Groups of camels, tatoos, or the gaunt steed of some roaming cavalier—some Dugald Dalgetty of the East, seeking employment for his jaws and sword, or rather for his sword and jaws, for such is the order—serve to fill up the little picture I have been describing, and which in my griffinish days, and since, I have contemplated with pleasure. In a day or two we reached Allyghur, where my good friend the missionary and I were destined to part, his route lying to the southward towards Agra, mine in a more northerly direction to Delhi. Here I received a few lines from Marpeet, saying that he was looking for my arrival with great pleasure. “You had better push on as fast as you can, my dear Gernon, for your commandant, who is a crusty old fellow, and a very tight hand, has been heard to express his surprise at your not having long since made your appearance.” This letter rather damped the buoyancy of my spirits. The following morning I took leave of my good friend the missionary; his eyes filled with tears as he clasped my hands in both of his, and whilst pressing them to his bosom, pronounced a prayer and a blessing over me. If it indeed be true, and we have no reason to doubt it, that the prayer of the righteous man “availeth much,” that prayer was deeply to be valued. Short as was the time of our acquaintance, I felt as if I had known him all my life, and was, consequently, much affected at parting. Half-choking as he rode off, I waved him a sorrowful, and what has proved a last, adieu. CHAPTER XXV.