cturesquely crenellated, and with imposing gateways
and a deep, broad moat, Complete a work of stupendous dimensions. One is
overcome with a sense of grandeur upon first beholding these Indian
palace-forts, after seeing nothing more imposing than mud walls in Persia
and Afghanistan; they are magnificent looking structures. The contrast,
too, of the red sandstone walls and gates and ramparts, with the white
marble buildings of the royal quarters, is very striking. The domes of
the latter, seen at a distance, seem like snow-white bubbles resting ever
so lightly and airily upon the darker mass; one almost expects to see
them rise up and float away on the passing zephyrs like balloons.

Passing inside over a drawbridge and through the massive Delhi Gate, we
proceed into the interior of the fort, traversing a broad ascent of
sandstone pavement. Everything around us shows evidence of unstinted
outlay in design, execution, and completion of detail in the carrying out
of a stupendous undertaking. Everywhere the spirit of Akbar the
Magnificent seems to hover amid his creations. One emerges from the
covered gateway and the walled corrugated causeway, upon the parade
ground. Crenellated walls, a park of artillery, and roomy English
barracks greet the vision. Sentinels--Sepoy sentinels in huge
turbans, and English sentinels in white sun-helmets--are pacing
their beats. But not on these does the gaze of the visitor rest. Straight
ahead of him there rises, above the red sandstone walls and the bare
parade ground, three marble domes, white as newly-fallen snow, and just
beyond are seen the gilt pinnacles of Akbar's palace.

We wander among the beautiful marble creations, gaze in wonder at the
snowy domes supported on marble pillars, mosaiced with jasper, agate,
blood-stone, lapis-lazuli, and other rare stones. We stand on the white
marble balustrades, carved so exquisitely as to resemble lace-work, and
we look out upon the yellow waters of the Jumna, flowing sluggishly along
seventy feet below. Here is where the Grand Mogul, Akbar, used to sit and
watch elephant fights and boat races. There are none of these to be seen
now; but that does not mean that the prospect is either tame or
uninteresting. The banks of the Jumna are alive with hundreds of dusky
natives engaged in washing clothes and spreading linen out in the sun to
bleach. The prospect beyond is a revelation of vegetable luxuriance and
wealth, and of historical reminiscence in