THE KUTAB.

51 drifted away from the line of its predecessor. The habit of beginning everything new and never concluding what your fathers began contributed to this habit of spreading over a large space, which might have been more compactly built. On our way to the Kutab we passed the monument of a daughter of Shah Tehan, whose memory is cherished as that of a good and wise princess. The epitaph, as translated by Mr. Russell, is worthy of preservation :—

"Let no rich canopy cover my grave.

The grass is the best covering for the poor in spirit.

The humble, transitory Tehanara, the disciple of the holy men of Cheest, The daughter of the Emperor Shah Tehan."

The Kutab, or tower, was for a long time looming over the horizon before we came to its base. This tower ranks among the wonders of India. It is two hundred and thirty-eight feet high, sloping from the base, which is forty-seven feet in diameter, to the summit, which is nine feet. It is composed of five sections or stories, and with each story there is a change in the design. The lower section has twenty-four sides, in the form of convex flutings, alternately semicircular and rectangular. In the second section they are circular, the third angular, the fourth a plain cylinder, the fifth partly fluted and partly plain. At each basement is a balcony. On the lower sections are inscriptions in scroll-work, reciting in Arabic characters the glory of God, verses from the Koran, and the name and achievements of the conqueror who built the tower. It is believed that when really complete, with the cupola, it must have been twenty feet higher. The work goes back to the fourteenth century, and with the exception of the cupola, which, we think, some British government might restore, it is in a good state of preservation. Everything in the neighborhood is a ruin. But the town itself seems so well built as to defy time. Another interest which attaches to the Kutab is that it is the site of one of the most ancient periods in the history of India. It is believed that there was a city here at the beginning of the Christian era, and one of the monuments is the iron pillar which was set up fifteen hundred years ago.

The pillar is a

round iron column, twenty-two feet high, with some inscription in Sanskrit character. There are several legends associated with the column, which have grown into the literature and religion of the Hindoo race. The contrast between the modest, simple iron pillar and the stupendous, overshadowing mass of stone at its side might be said to typify the two races which once

and looked at the old inscriptions, and admired many fine bits of the ancient splendor which have survived time and war, we drove back to the city.

It was early in the morning and the stars were out when we drove to the Agra station to take the train for Delhi. There is something very pleasant in an Indian morning, and

the cool hours between the going of the stars and the coming of the sun are always welcome to Englishmen as hours for bathing and recreation. There is no hardship in seeing the sun rise, as I am afraid would be the case in America. The cool morning breezes were welcome as we drove down to our station and heard the word of command and the music, and saw the troops in line, the dropping of the colors and the glistening of the steel as the arms came to a present. All our Agra friends were there to bid us good-speed, and as the train rolled out of the station the thunder of the cannon came from the fort. Our ride to Delhi was like all the rides we have had in India during the day-severe, enervating, almost distressing. You cannot sleep, nor rest, nor read, and there is nothing in the landscape to attract. It is not until after you pass Delhi and go up into the hill regions toward the Himalayas that you begin to note the magnificence of Indian scenery, of which I have read and heard so much but as yet have not seen. We came into Delhi early in the afternoon, in a worn-out, fagged condition. There was a reception by troops, and the General, with Mrs. Grant, drove to Ludlow Castle, the home of Gordon Young, the chief officer. The others found quarters in a comfortable hotel-comfortable for India-near the railway station.

The first impression Delhi makes upon you is that it is a beautiful town. But I am afraid that the word town, as we understand it at home, will give you no idea of a town in India. We think of houses built closely together, of avenues and streets, and people living as neighbors and friends. In India, a town is built for the air. The natives in some of the native sections, in the bazaars, live closely together, huddle into small cubby-holes of houses or rude caves, in huts of mud and straw; but natives of wealth and Englishmen build their houses where they may have space. A drive through Delhi is like a drive through the lower part of Westchester County or any of our country suburbs. The officials have their bungalows in the finest localities, near wood and water when possible, surrounded by gardens. What strikes you in India is the excellence of the

roads and the beauty of the gardens. This was especially true of Delhi. As you drove from the dusty station, with the strains of welcoming music and the clang of presenting arms in your ears, you passed through a section that might have been an English country town with gentlemen's seats all around. This accounts for what you read of the great size of the Indian cities that they are so many miles long and so many broad. It is just as if we took Bay Ridge or Riverdale and drew lines around them, and, calling them towns, spoke of their magnitude. This is worthy of remembering also in recalling the sieges of the Indian towns during the mutiny. There is no town that I have seen that could stand a siege like one of our compactly built English or American towns. They are too large. Delhi, for instance, was never invested during the mutiny. The provisions came in every day, and the soldiers could have left any time, just as they left Lucknow when Colin Campbell came in. The defense of a city meant the defense of the fort or the palace.

There are few cities in the world which have had a more varied and more splendid career than Delhi. It is the Rome of India, and the history of India centers around Delhi. It has no such place as Benares in the religion of the people, but to the Indians it is what Rome in the ancient days was to the Roman empire. One of its authentic monuments goes back to the fourth century before Christ. Its splendor began with the rise of the Mogul empire, and as you ride around the suburbs you see the splendor of the Moguls in what they built and the severity of their creed in what they destroyed. After you pass from the English section a ride through Delhi is sad. You go through miles of ruins-the ruins of many wars and dynasties, from what was destroyed by the Turk in the twelfth century to what was destroyed by the Englishman in the nineteenth. The suburbs of Jerusalem are sad enough, but there you have only the memories, the words of prophecy, and the history of destruction. Time has covered or dispersed the ruins. But Time has not been able to do so with the ruins of Delhi. From the Cashmere gate to the Kutab, a ride of eleven

THE RUINS OF DELHI.

55 miles, your road is through monumental ruins. Tombs, temples, mausoleums, mosques in all directions. The horizon is studded with minarets and domes, all abandoned and many in ruins. In some of them Hindoo or Moslem families live, or, I may say, burrow. Over others the government keeps a kind of supervision; but to supervise or protect all would be beyond the revenues of any government. I was shown one ruin-an arched way, beautiful in design and of architectural value

which it was proposed to restore; but the cost was beyond the resources of the Delhi treasury. I have no doubt of the best disposition of the rulers of India toward the monuments and all that reminds the Hindoo of his earlier history. But these monuments were built when labor was cheap, when workmen were compelled to be content with a handful of corn, and when the will of the ruler was a warrant for anything that pleased him. So that even to a rich and generous government, conducted on English principles, the restoration of the monuments would be an enormous tax. The English, however, are not