parts than the northern. Sirufza belongs to the Kharotee tribe of Ghiljies, as does the southern part of the plain of Oorghoon, under the name of Seroba. Oorghoon itself belongs to the Fermoollees, a Persian tribe. Wauneh belongs to an Afghaun tribe called Dumtaunny. To the west of Wauneh, beyond a range of hills, is the mountainous country of Mummye, the slope of which is east towards the Gomul. Mummye is divided on the west, by the same branch which passes to the west of Sirufza, from the bason of -the Aubistaudeh.

In the mountains to the south of Mummye, are the valleys of Oozdeh, Coondoor, &c. and the plains of Docheena, Turrukghuz, &c. all sloping east to the Gomul.

To the west of these is a high table land, sloping west, supported on the north-west by the range of Khojeh Amraun, and containing Cauferchauh, Sauleh Yesoon, Seeoona * Daug, and Toba. The valley of Burshore descends from this table land into Pisheen, which also lies south of Toba. Burshore is a fertile valley, watered by the Lora. Pisheen is low, but higher than Candahar. It is a plain not remarkably fertile. To the south of Pisheen is Shawl, divided from it by the range of Tukkatoo. It is higher than Pisheen, but lower than Moos

* Daug is the Pushtoo for a plain, Seeoona is the name of a tribe of Caukers who inhabit this space.

toong, a plain to the west of it, under the table land of Kelaut. Shawl and Moostoong both belong to the Beloche Prince of Kelaut, though the former is chiefly inhabited by Afghauns. Both are fertile, but from Shawl the land rises gradually to Khurlukkee, and gets more dry and barren as it approaches that range; a proof that the range is not high, though it rises so much above Seweestaun on the south.

The barren country between Khurlukkee and Shawl, is called the Dushti Bedowleh, or The Unhappy Plain.

To the east of it and Shawl, are the mountains which I suppose to form a continued range from Khurlukkee, by Tsupper and Chirry, to Kund. East of those mountains, I have described different ranges of hills, as running east towards the range of Solimaun. The most southerly of these bounds Afghaunistaun on the south. Between that range and the next, lie the valley of Zawura and the plain of Tul and Chooteeallee. The latter places are in one plain of considerable extent, of hard clay like that of the Indus. Zawura is much narrower than Tul-Chooteeallee, but both are fertile, and inhabited by Speen Tereens, a division of the Afghaun tribe that possesses Pisheen.

To the north of these, and divided from them by hills, is Boree, a more extensive plain than

Other hills, some of which appear to be a continuation of Tukkatoo, bound Boree on the north, and separate it from other districts less level and less fertile.

North of this tract is Zhobe, so called from the river which waters it. It is a diversified country, but the whole is ill cultivated: some parts are hilly; in others are open plains; and on the river are plains covered with Tamarisk trees and bushes. To the north-west of Zhobe is Khyssore, which seems to be a valley under the hills which support the table land of Seeoona Daug: on the north-east Zhobe opens on the valley of the Gomul, and on the east it has the hilly countries under the range of Solimaun, the most northerly of which belong to the Hurrepaul division of the Sheeraunees, to the south of whom are a division of the Bauboors, and then Caukers, in some places mixed with Beloches. I conceive Boree and Tull-Chooteeallee to be about as high as Candahar: from Boree the country rises to the northward, as far as the borders of Zhobe; and then descends towards the Gomul. The narrow valley of the Gomul, though sunk among the surrounding hills, is much more elevated than the plain of the Indus, and probably even than Candahar; the parts near the mountains, to the east and west, are higher than those in the centre, but the greatest elevation is towards the west.

203

CHAP. V.

OF THE CLIMATE OF AFGHAUNISTAUN..

S

-RAINS.

As the occasional showers which fall through

out the year in England are unknown in most Asiatic countries, the first particular to attend to in examining their climate, is the season and the quantity of the periodical rains. It is this which regulates husbandry, and on which in many countries the temperature and succession of the seasons in a great measure depend.

The most remarkable rainy season, is that called in India the south-west monsoon. It extends from Africa to the Mala peninsula, and deluges all the intermediate countries within certain lines of latitude, for four months in the In the south of India this monsoon comyear. mences about the beginning of June, but it gets later as we advance towards the north. Its approach is announced by vast masses of clouds that rise from the Indian ocean, and advance towards the north-east, gathering and thicken, ing as they approach the land. approach the land. After some threatening days, the sky assumes a troubled appearance in the evenings, and the monsoon in

with such a thunder-storm as can scarcely be imagined by those who have only seen that phenomenon in a temperate climate. It generally begins with violent blasts of wind, which are succeeded by floods of rain. For some hours lightning is seen almost without intermission, sometimes it only illuminates the sky, and shows the clouds, near the horizon; at others, it discovers the distant hills, and again leaves all in darkness, when in an instant it reappears in vivid and successive flashes, and exhibits the nearest objects in all the brightness of day. During all this time the distant thunder never ceases to roll, and is only silenced by some nearer peal, which bursts on the ear with such a sudden and tremendous crash as can scarcely fail to strike the most insensible heart with awe.* At length the thunder ceases, and nothing is heard but the continued pouring of the rain, and the rushing of the rising streams. The next day presents a gloomy spectacle: the rain still descends in torrents, and scarcely allows a view of the blackened fields: the rivers

* To persons who have long resided in India, these storms lose much of their grandeur, yet they sometimes rise to such a pitch, as to make an impression on those most habituated to them. I have been told by a gentleman who had been for some time in Malabar, the province most distinguished for the violence of the monsoon, that he there heard a clap of thunder which produced a silence of a minute in a large party of officers, and made a great part of the company turn pale.