The towers at the corners rise in tiers, crowned with the most elegant of cupolas. They are many of them enamelled, and the number of the principal towers is fourteen, to correspond with the fourteen soubahs of Akber's empire. They are said to have had a name each bestowed upon them, after the soubah they were meant to represent. Under this view, the mausoleum furnishes to posterity a miniature of the court and empire of Akber. The first and farthest towers stand for the remote soubahs of Bengal, Cashmere, Guzerat, and Scinde. The next higher ones are those that were in a closer proximity to Agra. The terrace itself represents the seat of the Emperor. It takes a delightful hold on the imagination to view the building in this light-that we were told to do by the Mussulman attendants acting as our ciceroni. In death, as in life, Akber is scen to hold his state. There, by a stretch of the fancy, may you see in those graceful towers,which are meant for the soubahs, and the soubahs for their soubahdars,-Aziz, the Khani Khanan, the Rajah Maun Sing, the Rajah Toder Mull, and the other lieutenants of the empire, to surround their royal master, each in his respective grade-while, on the terrace above, as on his throne, sits Akber presiding over them all. Herein lies the secret charm of this superb tomb. The works of art are perfect only when to them is imparted a meaning-when upon them is imprinted the reflex of an object to speak itself in a mute eloquence to the spectators. The imperial sepulchre designed by Akber, and completed by Jehangeer, is admirably con

structed to perpetuate a durbar-scene of the Great Mogul.

The slab

The square terrace on the top has the most princely magnificence. Nothing but beautiful white marbles enter into its composition. The sides are built up in walls of light and exquisite lattice-screens of the same material. Through their apertures, the meandering Jumna breaks in upon the sight. The inscriptions which run all round the frieze are panegyrical transcripts from the Akbernameh of Abul Fazil. In the middle of the terrace is the Emperor's cenotaph of polished white marble, carved with elegant flower-wreaths, and the name and titles of Akber in Arabic. is also beautifully inscribed with the Now Nubbey Nam'-the ninety names or attributes of God from the Koran. Formerly, the terrace was hung over with a gorgeous awning embroidered with gold and jewels. It was too rich a temptation for the Jaut, who took it away in the days of his ascendancy. Since then, the terrace has remained open, communicating with the overhanging firmament, and letting in the light of its luminaries. It is as if the eye of the Divinity looks down upon the man, whose reign was a blessing to mankind.

Inside the galleries and cloisters, the gloss of the plastering is so excellent as to vie with the polish of marbles. In places it is defaced with scratches of names by those who have been too fond of recording their visit. There was one name which had been written in huge English, with charcoal. The characters

had become faint and illegible-so the poor man, who had thought fit to attach himself to a mighty body and plough with him the vast ocean of time, like barnacles on the hull of the Great Eastern,' has been at last doomed to that very oblivion from which he was so anxious to have himself rescued.

Through a long narrow passage, gradually inclining towards a deep vault under the centre, lies the way to the actual tombstone which covers the remains of the mighty dead. The subterranean chamber is dimly lighted, and filled with that 'silence, how profound,' in which the least noise startles echo to break forth into the most solemn reverberations. The tomb is of the finest white marble, plain and unadorned, as all true greatness loves to be, and as Akber was wont to appear in life amidst surrounding splendour. It exactly corresponds in position with the cenotaph that is on the terrace above. There appears on the unornamented slab no other inscription than that of the name and titles of the Emperor. The large massy sarcophagus measures the length of the tall and stalwart man that Akber had been. One feels the hallowed spot as impregnate with the spirit of his departed majesty,-and no man can approach and stand by his grave without a respectful homage to his manes, and solemn reflections on the ultimatum of human greatness. Considering all the circumstance of time and place,' says Sleeman, Akber has always appeared to me among sovereigns what Shakespeare was among poets; and feeling as a citizen of the world, I reverenced the marble slab that covers his

bones more, perhaps, than I should that over any sovereign with whose history I am acquainted.'

Lord Bacon thought Julius Cæsar to be the most complete character in all history. Had he lived in our age, it is likely that he would have expressed that opinion in favour of Akber, one of those prodigies of nature which appear on the earth at the interval of many centuries. The Judishthira of Hindoo history has been immortalized rather as the ideal of a philosophical prince, than an actual model king for the imitation of sovereigns. The fame of Akber recalls to mind the pod of musk which his father broke and distributed among his followers, to make the customary presents on the birth of a son, with the fond wish of a parent that the boy's fame might be diffused through the world like the odour of that perfume. In the language of the poet, his thoughts were heard in heaven,' and his wishes fulfilled beyond the utmost expectations.

Only two old Mussulmans now attend upon the monarch, at whose behest a hundred thousand swords had often leapt into the air from their scabbards. The duty of these men is to read the daily prayers over the dead and to show the cheragh at night-to light the lamps in a sepulchre.' Their grey beards are well suited to the gravity of their task, and, as ciceroni of the place, they possess the necessary fund of intelligence.

In the outer verandah are two small sepulchres, of Akber's two grandsons, who died in their infancy. They seem to keep company with their grandfather, who was so very fond of children. Beyond the quad

rangle lie the tombs of omrahs and officers, who, serving in life, at last gathered themselves to sleep round their beloved sovereign.

In 1805, two British dragoons found comfortable lodgings in this immense mausoleum. The horses used to be tethered in the splendid garden. The troopers ate, and slept, and pursued their sports among the tombs. Could the mighty men of old have started into life, they would have been amazed to hear sounds and behold sights most strange and marvellous to their ears and eyes—they would have wondered to see the descendants of those who had danced attendance upon them with bribes of diamonds for the favour of a firman to erect a little factory turned into masters of the land, and arbiters of the fate of their own descendants. It is but justice, however, to the men, that though they were rough dragoons, unused to the mood of relishing or reverencing works of art, they had the English feeling of respect for the dead, and offered no violence to the sanctity of the tomb-leaving the marble slabs and ornamented niches, the carvings and mosaic pavements, and the cupolas and minarets, uninjured and entire.

Three days ago, there had come hither a party of gentlemen to amuse themselves in exercises upon a subject fully worth photographing. The Secundra, by which name the tomb is commonly known, does not receive from travellers the same justice that is often done to the Taj. No doubt, the latter has by far a decided superiority, but not so as to throw the other entirely into the shade. The two have their own re