ave much to be desired, both in design and execution.

The broad, clean main streets were a perfect kaleidoscope of colour and
movement. Men in pink pugarees--in lemon-coloured--in emerald green; women
in blood-red saris, bearing shining brass pots upon their heads, all
talking, shouting, jostling--a large family of monkeys on a neighbouring
roof added their quota of conversation--calm oxen, often with red-painted
horns and pink-streaked bodies, camels, asses, horses, strolled about or
pushed their way through the throng. No Hindu cow would ever dream of
making way for anybody. Yes, though! Here comes an elephant rolling along,
and the holy ones with humps discreetly retire aside, covering their
retreat before a _force majeure_ by stepping up to the nearest
greengrocer's stall and abstracting a generous mouthful of the most
succulent of his wares.

Rising in the midst of a lovely garden, just outside the city, is the
Albert Hall, a remarkably fine structure, built in accordance with the
best traditions of Mohammedan architecture adapted to modern requirements
by our host, the designer. It contains both a museum of the products of
Rajputana, and also an instructive collection of objects of art and
science, gathered together for the edification of the intelligent native.

We would willingly have spent hours examining the pottery and brass work
for which Jaipur is famous, or in making friends with the denizens of the
great aviary in the garden, but time is short, and even the baby panther
could only claim a few minutes of our devotion.

The Palace of the Maharajah is neither particularly interesting nor
beautiful, and we did not visit it further than to inspect the ancient
observatory built by Jey Singh, with its huge sundial, whose gnomon stands
80 feet above the ground! What we are pleased to call a superstitious
attention to times lucky or unlucky has given to astronomical observations
in the East an unscientific importance which they have not had for
centuries in Europe.[3] A slight attack of fever prevented me from going
to Amber; so I stayed at home, peacefully absorbing quinine, subsequently
extracting the following from Jane's diary:--

"'Tea ready, mem-sahib.' The familiar and somewhat
plaintive sound of Sabz Ali's voice roused me,
as it so often has in tent, forest hut, or matted dounga;"

but this time I was really puzzled for a moment, on awaking, to find
myself in a real comfortable spring bed