may believe the story that it was designed by a poet and constructed by
a jeweler. It was built by Shah Jehan as a memorial to his wife and for
centuries it has stood as a token of his great love for her.

When I visited it this year I was surprised to find that Lord Curzon had
placed within the great marble dome a hanging lamp as a memorial to his
own wife. It seemed like a shocking piece of presumption--much as if the
president of France should hang a memorial to one of his own family over
the sarcophagus of Napoleon, or a president of the United States should
do the same at Washington's tomb at Mount Vernon. It seemed like an
inexpensive way of diverting the most beautiful structure of the world
to personal uses.

And yet later I was compelled to modify this opinion when I saw how much
excellent work Lord Curzon did toward restoring the old palaces of Agra
and preserving them for future generations. As a reward for this work,
perhaps, there may have been some justification in placing a memorial
lamp in the dome of the Taj, especially as the lamp is exquisite in
workmanship and adds rather than detracts from the stately beauty of the
interior. But just the same the first verdict of the spectator is that
Lord Curzon displayed a colossal egotism in so doing.

The tourist's beaten track in India was as thronged with American
sightseers as the chateau country in France. Lucknow was crowded,
Benares was crowded, Calcutta was crowded, and the trains that ran in
all directions were crowded. A traveler wore a look of perpetual anxiety
lest he should fail to get hotel or railway accommodations.

The India of one's imagination--the somber land of mystery, of untold
riches, of eastern enchantment, of far-away romance--was gone, buried
under picture post-cards, hustling tourists, and all the commonplaces of
a popular tourist track. It was distinctly disappointing from one point
of view, and yet, I suppose, one should rejoice that his fellow
countrymen have cash and energy enough to travel in distant places, even
though they destroy the romantic charm of those places by so doing.

[Drawing: _Tourists in India_]

The rush of Americans through India was as brisk as was the rush of
Americans through Europe ten years ago. Age was no handicap. There were
old couples, sixty, seventy, and eighty years old, jogging along as
eagerly and excitedly as young bridal couples. The conversation one
encountered was always pretty much the sam