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DEAN MAHOMET.
53
where we had a river to croſs, which retarded us three days, on account of our numbers. As the weather was very warm, we advanced ſlowly, and found it exceedingly pleaſant to travel along the roads ſhaded with the ſpreading branches of fruit—bearing trees, bending under their luſcious burthens of bannas, mangoes, and tamarinds. Beneath the trees, were many cool ſprings and wells of the fineſt water in the univerſe, with which the whole country of Indoſtan abounds: a ſtriking inſtance of the wiſdom of Providence, that tempers "the bleak wind to the ſhorn lamb," and the ſcorching heat of the torrid zone to the way-worn traveller.
The
