might have developed something of her ambition and unscrupulousness. But Jehan was a stronger man than his father, and had his ideas of the proper place of woman in politics. He would not let his wife meddle with the Imperial government; but he loved her very dearly, and when she died resolved that she should have the most magnificent tomb in India. Hence the Taj, by common consent The tomb as distinct from all others in the world.

Like the fort, the Taj stands on the banks of the Jumna. Seen from its marble terrace the river, second in sanctity only to the Ganges, presents a strange appearace. Its wide bed is for five-sixths of its extent dry land, the enfeebled current running through a narrow channel on the other side. Under

the walls of the Taj a great field of wheat is growing among the gray sandbanks in the very middle of the river bed. When the rains come in June the newly born river will rush downward in a mighty stream, washing high up the walls of the Taj, and the cornfield will lie some fathoms deep. In the meanwhile the harvest will be garnered in, and when next autumn the river dries up again, a rich bed will be ready to receive the sowing for a new harvest. I suppose there is no other

instance of a river so rich in gifts as thisto give fish at its flood and corn at its ebb.

Like the minarets at Benares, the Taj dominates the city. Its white domes are seen almost from every point of view. It is approached through a magnificent gateway built of red sandstone elaborately carved and eloquent with sentences from the Koran. At the end of an avenue of dark cypress trees the Taj reveals itself. It is built of white marble raised upon a platform of red sandstone, the marble as purely white to-day as when it was polished. The building realizes to a great extent the structure of the New Jerusalem, which John in his dream at Patmos beheld, when the first heaven and the first earth had passed away-the great city whose "foundations were garnished with all manner of precious stones," the first a jasper and the twelfth an amethyst.

The uttermost ends of the earth were put under tribute to furnish building materials to the Taj. Jeypor sent white marble. The rare yellow marble came from the banks of the Nerbudda, and the black from Charkoh. China contributed the crystal; the Punjaub sent jasper, the cornelian came from Bagdad; turquoises from Thibet, and agate from Yeman. Ceylon loaded the Emperor's com

missioners with lapis lazuli; the Red Sea was dragged for coral; Bundelkund sent garnets; Punnah produced its diamonds; Nerbudda sent rock spar; Marcheen yielded its famous philosopher's stone; Gwalior paid tribute in loadstone, Villait in chalcedony, Lunka in sapphires; whilst Persia presented onyx and amethyst to her powerful neighbour.

This rare wealth of precious stones is disposed over the marble with infinite skill and artistic taste. Where the marble ends and the inlaying begins is to be told only by the varied colour. Happily the Taj has escaped the fate of the palaces within the fort. The British soldier, flushed with victory and animated by extra rations of grog and new-born love of art, has not come poking round the walls with point of bayonet; nor has the Jat swooped down on the place, nor the Maharatta overrun it. It is as perfect as when Noor-Jehan was laid here, and, looking upon its perfectness, Shah Jehan conceived the notion of building a similar mausoleum on the other side of the river, connecting the two by a silver bridge.

The grave of the beautiful Noor-Jehan is dug in a vault underneath the level floor by which access is obtained to the cenotaph. A flight of marble steps leads to the solemn

gloom of the chamber, the light falling like dim break of day full on the end of the tomb bearing the inscription of the Empress's name. This is the crowning beauty of the idea of the immortal architect-the chamber all gloom, and only the name of the dead wife illumined by the soft daylight struggling down the staircase.

Whilst we were enjoying the beauty of the inlaid work, easily enough distinguished when the eye grows accustomed to the half light of the chamber, there came bustling down the steps an anna-touting intruder with a lantern, whose vulgar farthing light he shed upon the inscription of the tomb and proposed to carry round the chamber so that we might rub our noses against the masterpieces of the nameless artists. He was a Sepoy, and I confess to finding it difficult to repress the wish that he had died during the mutiny. He and a worthy colleague with another lantern were fluttering round the upper chamber when we arrived, pestering visitors to note this and that, to be seen only with their lantern, and taking all the graciousness out of the place. The authorities, who take such infinite care of the Taj, should confer a last favour upon the public by having these obnoxious pests removed.

Shah Jehan never began his mausoleum on the other side of the river, wanting too early a tomb for himself. He was laid by the side of his lost bride, the tomb being magnificent enough even for emperor. It stands on the left-hand side, leaving Noor-Jehan's undisturbed in the centre, and bears an inscription, of which the following is a rough translation :

"The Magnificent Tomb of the King, Inhabitant of the two Heavens, Ridevun and Khool; the Most Sublime Sitter on the throne in the starry heavens, dweller in Paradise, Shah Jehan Badshah Gazee. Peace to his remains, Heaven is for him. His death took place the 26th day of Rujub, in the year 1076 of the Hijree (A.D. 1665). From this transitory world eternity has marched him off to the next."

Each grave is covered by an immense block of marble exquisitely inlaid. A marble screen carved so delicately that it looks like a web of lace-work encircles the cenotaphs that stand in the centre of the marble hall above the vault. The walls of this larger chamber are inlaid to the roof, which rises in a dome over the cenotaphs. This marble dome possesses amidst other beauties the most melodious echo ever heard. A single

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