nd time to gain a deep insight
into astronomy, and, by what remains above ground now, we can tell that
whatsoever his eyes desired, he kept not from him. Knowing his own
worth, he deserted the city of Amber founded by Dhola Rae among the
hills, and, six miles further, in the open plain, bade one Vedyadhar,
his architect, build a new city, as seldom Indian city was built
before--with huge streets straight as an arrow, sixty yards broad, and
cross-streets broad and straight. Many years afterward the good people
of America builded their towns after this pattern, but knowing nothing
of Jey Singh, they took all the credit to themselves.

He built himself everything that pleased him, palaces and gardens and
temples, and then died, and was buried under a white marble tomb on a
hill overlooking the city. He was a traitor, if history speak truth, to
his own kin, and he was an accomplished murderer; but he did his best to
check infanticide, he reformed the Mahometan calendar; he piled up a
superb library and he made Jeypore a marvel.

Later on came a successor, educated and enlightened by all the lamps of
British Progress, and converted the city of Jey Singh into a surprise--a
big, bewildering, practical joke. He laid down sumptuous _trottoirs_ of
hewn stone, and central carriage drives, also of hewn stone, in the main
street, he, that is to say, Colonel Jacob, the Superintending Engineer
of the State, devised a water supply for the city and studded the ways
with standpipes. He built gas works, set afoot a School of Art, a
Museum--all the things in fact which are necessary to Western municipal
welfare and comfort, and saw that they were the best of their kind. How
much Colonel Jacob has done, not only for the good of Jeypore city but
for the good of the State at large, will never be known, because the
officer in question is one of the not small class who resolutely refuse
to talk about their own work. The result of the good work is that the
old and the new, the rampantly raw and the sullenly old, stand
cheek-by-jowl in startling contrast. Thus, the Sacred Bull of Shira
trips over the rails of a steel tramway which brings out the city
rubbish; the lacquered and painted cart behind the two little stag-like
trotting bullocks catches its primitive wheels in the cast-iron gas-lamp
post with the brass nozzle atop, and all Rajputana, gayly clad,
small-turbaned swaggering Rajputana, circulates along the magnificent
pavements.

The for