Beneath the great dome of his marble-paved hall is a priceless ivory throne, for the carved ivory work of Moorshedabad is famous ; and on the river float pleasure boats of fantastic forms, one of which is shaped like a gigantic peacock, gorgeously coloured and gilt. On gala days these are draped with rich and brilliant hangings, well in keeping with the gay dresses of the dusky beauties within.

Among the ruins of the ancient city, stand a few arches and pillars of a once magnificent palace of black marble, built by Sooraj-oo-Dowlah, who brought the materials thereof from the famous ancient Buddhist city of Gour, which is not far distant. It was once the capital of Bengal, but is now only a wondrous heap of ruins, wave after wave of change having swept over it First the Brahmins overwhelmed the Buddhists, and appropriated their temples. These were next used as quarries by the Mohammedans, under whose rule the city waxed great and stately, and of exceeding wealth. It was twenty miles in circumference and was surrounded by a wall sixty feet high. Here beautiful enamelled bricks were manufactured, and from the clumps of dark foliage rose stately domes, whose covering of highly-glazed green or bronze-coloured tiles, glittered in the sunlight. On every side were great fortifications and mosques, and fantastic towers and turrets, while on the sacred river-the Ganges-amid boats innumerable of every size and form, there were constructed floating gardens, bright with all that oriental imagination could devise of luxury and loveliness. On the great festivals these were illuminated with myriads of coloured lights, and must in truth have seemed as a dream of fairyland.

But three hundred years ago, an awful pestilence broke out. Thousands died daily, burial became impossible-Hindoo and Mohammedan, were alike thrown into the river, and the contagion spread far and near. Then the city was deserted-rank weed overspread the palaces—a thick forest has sprung up in the streets where the wars of conflicting faiths once raged. Now, you can scarcely force your way through this wilderness of deserted halls,

by reason of the mass of tangled creepers and twisted roots of great trees-an uncared for jungle, wherein tigers and wild beasts roam unmolested. The brilliant river festivals are things of an almost unforgotten past; only at the feast of Beira, the Hindoo maidens stili float their tiny lamps in cocoa-nut shells adorned with a few flowers, and watch the fortune of their love.

In almost those same words, I might describe many another once stately Indian city, to several of which we found our way, spending weeks of delight in exploring tombs, temples, and palaces, once centres of busy life, but now all over-grown with tropical forest, yet retaining the picturesque beauty of their exquisite marble carvings and richly coloured tiles, their sculptured columns and grotesque imagery, rendered all the more striking from contrast with the desolation which now reigns around them.

To the artist, the archæologist and the student of strange mythologies, these deserted cities, so fascinating in their ruin, offer an inexhaustible store of interest, while the sportsman and the naturalist find a rich field, wherein to follow their own bent. For many shy and beautiful creatures, birds, beasts and reptiles, now make their homes in forsaken palaces, or wander at large in the gardens, where veiled and jewelled ladies held their dazzling festivals, and life was one long dream of Oriental splendour and intrigue.

One of the perpetually recurring aggravations of travelling in India, is the impossibility of getting definite information as to what things and places are really best worth seeing. It is so very exceptional to find any one, who takes the smallest interest in anything native, unless it has reference to coining rupees. Consequently the majority of our countrymen generally assert that a city is, or is not, worth visiting, according to their recollections of its commissariat, or the weather, or something equally irrelevant. Thus I have constantly been assured, that there was literally nothing to see at such a place, and yet, have found there materials of beauty and of interest, that have afforded me a perfect feast of delight.

FACILITIES OF MODERN TRAVEL.

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Some of the old native cities are, however, so very beautiful, both as regards their architecture and the surrounding scenery, that even the most casual observer cannot withhold his meed of praise. Such are the cities of Jeypore, Ajmeer, and Oodeypore. The fact, however, that these cities lie a short distance from the line of rail, adds so much to the difficulty of reaching them, that I was compelled to give up all thoughts of seeing these and many like them, and to be content on this northward journey with visiting such places of interest as lie within easy reach of the railway. Even from these, I very quickly gathered such a store of varied impressions, as few Anglo-Indians of the last generation had a chance of accumulating in a long life-time.

CHAPTER III.

MID-WINTER ON THE GANGES.

The Bhagirathi-Tomb of Sooraj-oo-Dowlah-Sacred Jackals-Suicides in Wells-Camp in the Forest-Destruction of Wild Beasts-Pig-sticking— Allahabad-Station Life-The Old Fort-Asoka's Pillar-Ancient Hindoo Temple-Railway Bridges-Probyn's Horse-Truth-compelling

Trees-Horseshoes.

It was nearly midnight ere we reached the town of Berhampore, where kind friends welcomed us to their pleasant home in the English settlement, and we did such justice to our new quarters that the sun was up, and our host miles away, pursuing his morning work, before we awoke to share the charming chota házeri, the Indian "little breakfast," of coffee and fragrant fruits.

Then, looking out, we saw signs of military life, which reminded us that this station is said to have been the cradle of mischief, which resulted in the massacre of Meerut, and the terrible story of 1857. Here it was that the 19th Bengal Native Infantry, having been found guilty of mutinous conduct, was disarmed and disbanded. Strange to say, however, no further evil resulted in this place.

And very calm and peaceful it all seemed now as I sat in the pleasant verandah, sketching some fine old Indian-rubber trees in the garden. They have the same growth of stem as the banyan, i.e. very much divided into small stems round one parent mass; the leaves thick and glossy. Then we adjourned to an open summer-house, looking down on the broad, blue river, the Bhagirathi (a stream held by millions of Hindoos to be the embodiment of all holiness), whereon floated boats of all shapes

ON THE SACRED RIVER.

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and sizes; some with huge square sails all tattered and torn, the boat itself square at bow and stern, with a bamboo framework projecting on either side, to allow more room for the cargo of cotton bales. Wild-looking brown men in the lightest of raiment were floating timber rafts from the up-country jungles, guiding their course with long bamboos; most of these rafts carry small red

flags to propitiate some spirit of wind or water.

Each is escorted

by a small canoe, formed of a rudely hollowed tree, to enable the men to land when they wish, but they sleep on their raft, beneath a small thatched shelter. The weather was perfect, like a calm English summer, scarcely a leaf quivering in the still, sunlit air.

After a while we started to explore some of the tombs and temples whose domes appeared at intervals along the wooded