ide. It is a gorgeous tropical
afternoon, the bits of sky we can see through the feathery-leaved trees
are of the deepest blue, and we are resting, because it seems too hot to
move a limb. In front of us there stretches a sheet of limpid water
which might be a lake except that it is surrounded by a raised bund, or
bank, artificially made, with hewn granite slabs as steps going down at
one end. We are glad of the shade of the trees falling across the short
turfy grass, and we are seated on some broken blocks of granite,
keeping a sharp look out for snakes. They will hardly be likely to
trouble us here, but in that jungly bit behind it wouldn't be at all
safe to rest like this. Even to sit on the short grass might be
unpleasant, as there are all sorts of unknown insects here which bite
and sting and stab, but we are safely raised on stones and are wearing
thick boots. Examine that slab of granite there beside you; do you see
that it has a most wonderfully carved snake upon it--a cobra with seven
heads? It is so clear-cut it might have been done yesterday, yet it is
part of the ruins of a mighty city, a city as large as London, which
once stretched its busy streets over this quiet glade. The cobra was a
sacred beast to the Hindus, and a seven-headed one was peculiarly so,
seven being a mystic number.

What a glorious butterfly! Its body is as big as a small bird, and its
great velvety wings are the sharpest black and white. No, I don't for a
moment suppose you'll catch it, so it is no use getting hot! I'm glad
you can't, for we have no proper apparatus here, and it would only be a
crushed mass to take home. Don't go headlong into the tank, though, in
your frantic efforts; it might be awkward. No, I don't think there are
any crocodiles, only a few sacred tortoises perhaps. Look! there is a
tiny one--that small yellow thing that is walking away with the
melancholy dignity of a retired general. Pick it up if you like
certainly, see it wag its head and legs helplessly. I wish we could take
it home. As you replace it, it continues its grave walk in the same
direction as if it had never been rudely interrupted. At that instant a
hare darts across an open glade and disappears in the thick undergrowth.
What a country! AEsop's Fables in real life, where hares and tortoises
live together!

"Was this city here at the same time as Rameses II. was living?"

No. Egypt was past its best days before this city, which was called
Anuradha