the shape of ruins and tombs.

One's eyes, however, are drawn away from the contemplation of the
picturesque life below, and from the prospect of grove and garden and
crumbling tombs, by the mesmerism, of the crowning glory of all Indian
architectural triumphs, the famous Taj. This matchless mausoleum rests on
the right-hand bank of the Jumna, about a mile down stream. The Taj, with
its marvellous beauty and snowy whiteness, seems to cast a spell over the
beholder, from the first; one can no more keep his eyes off it, when it
is within one's range of vision, than he can keep from breathing. It
draws one's attention to itself as irresistibly as though its magnetism
were a living and breathing force exerted directly to that end. It is the
subtlety of its unapproachable loveliness, commanding homage from all
beholders, whether they will or no.

We turn away from it awhile, however, and find ample scope for admiration
close at hand. We tread the marble aisles of the Pearl Mosque, considered
the most perfect gem of its kind in existence. One stands in its
court-yard and finds himself in the chaste and exclusive companionship of
snowy marble and blue sky. One feels almost ill at ease, as though
conscious of being an imperfect thing, marring perfection by his
presence. "Quiet as a nun, breathless with adoration," one enthusiastic
visitor exclaims, in an effort to put his sentiments and impressions of
the Moti Mesjid into words. Like this adoring traveller, the average
visitor will rest content to be carried away by the contemplation of its
chaste beauty, without prying around for possible defects in the details
of the particular school of architecture it graces. He will have little
patience with carping critics who point to the beautiful screens, of
floriated marble tracery, and say: "Nuns should not wear collars of point
lace."

From the Moti Mesjid, we visit the Shish Mahal, or mirrored bath-rooms.
The chambers and passages here remind me of the mirrored rooms of Persia;
here, as there, thousands of tiny mirrors are used in working out various
intricate designs. My three uniformed companions at once reflect not less
than half a regiment of British soldiers therein.

From the fort we drive in a native gharri to the Taj, a mile-drive
through suburban scenery, plantain-gardens, groves, and ruins. In
approaching the garden of the Taj, one passes through a bazaar, where the
skilful Hindoo artisans are busy making beautiful in