A Pavilion, Agra.

A Marble Screen.

Nothing in India is more pathetic than her burial-place. Having seen the hollowness of royal luxury, she begged, when on her death-bed, that grass and flowers should be her only covering. Her wish has been respected. It is true an alabaster screen now forms a frame-work for her couch of death, but the space thus enclosed is covered merely with green turf. Upon the marble headstone are inscribed these words: "Let no rich canopy adorn my grave. These simple flowers are most appropriate for one who was poor in spirit, though the daughter of Shah Jehan."

Tomb Of Jehanara.

A Portion Of The Palace At Agra-.

The pavilion in which the Mogul sovereign was imprisoned was, like all the restofthepalace, replete with luxury and beauty; yet its inmate was a broken-hearted man. He had enjoyed unlimited power: it was his no more. He had erected buildings which even to-day astonish and delight the world: this he could do no longer. He had so dearly loved his wife, that when she died he reared for her the fairest mausoleum which this earth has ever seen; yet when it was completed he could not enter it to weep beside her grave. Worse than all, the man who had thus robbed him of his throne, his wealth, his occupation, and his liberty, besides murdering his three remaining sons, was his own child by the woman he had so adored!

The Prison Of Shah Jehan.

Himalayan Scenery.

In realizing these facts, one naturally asks: "Was not this Mogul emperor a Mohammedan, and do not Moslems usually regard their wives as pretty toys, - mere creatures of a day, who have not even souls to insure them immortality?' Undoubtedly; and this, indeed, is the mystery and marvel of it all, that such a man (the sovereign of an Eastern court, with all material pleasures open to his choice) should have so idolized his lawful wife that when she died he vowed to build for her the grandest tomb that man could frame, and kept his promise, too, although the work required twenty years. Yet this woman, who was the joy and light of his life, was no young bride, whose early death had made her seem to him an ideal character. She was the mother of his children; and when at last she died in his arms, he had been wedded to her fourteen years.

Audience Hall And Terrace, Agra.

We stood with reverence beside the window of his room, and saw in the distance, as he so often did, the peerless monument of love he reared to her, - the Taj Mahal. Toward those white domes, whose soft reflection lay like pearls within the adjacent stream, his dying eyes were turned as over them crept the film of death. Within that wonderful edifice he is buried with the one he loved. For, far more merciful in death than he had been in life, his son allowed the body of the deposed emperor to be borne thither to repose beside that wife whom this majestic structure will make famous to the end of time.

The Entrance To The Garden Of The Taj.

Leaving the Mogul palace, we drove along the river to the beautiful park of forty acres that surrounds the Taj. This garden, which is to the Taj what the setting is to the jewel, is entirely enclosed by a lofty wall. Grandeur and beauty here go hand in hand, for the gateway to this area is no less than one hundred and forty feet in height and a hundred feet in breadth, and its red sandstone frame is exquisitely decorated with mosaic in white marble. Impatient, however, to behold a still greater treasure, we passed beneath this portal and gazed upon the Taj itself. It was still distant. Between us and its pure white form we saw a garden of great beauty. Down through the centre led a stately avenue with marble pavement white as snow. Beside it was a canal of water, from which at times a score of fountains rose like silver trees. Within its limpid flood a thousand goldfish gleamed like jewels in the sunlight. On the right and left stood rows of cypress trees, like funeral plumes; while farther still were groves of palms and orange trees, whose foliage is swayed by breezes fragrant with the breath of flowers. Thousands of roses bloom here during the entire year, sacred to death and to a deathless love. Speechless, as in a dream, we walked on through this flowery paradise, and drew still nearer to the Taj. Letting our gaze move slowly from its base to its summit, two hundred and ninety-six feet, above our heads, we noted, first, a massive platform of red sandstone, measuring on each side a thousand feet. From this a marble terrace rises to serve as a pedestal for the Taj itself. As for the structure in the centre, the first bewildering glance revealed what seemed to be a delicately sculptured mountain of pure alabaster, supporting on its crest a sparkling dome, light as a radiant bubble, which might at any moment float away and vanish into air. After one rapturous look at its sublime proportions the last doubt was dispelled forever. The conquest was complete; and I became a worshiper of the Taj, like all the millions who had gone before me. The fundamental secret of this charm, like that of most things that are truly great, is its simplicity. It is not complicated in design. It has the purity and simple majesty of the Jung-frau. It is to Saracenic, what the Athenian Parthenon was to Grecian art. The mind can grasp it without effort. Its perfect harmony recalls the phrase of Madame de Stael, that "architecture is frozen music." One part balances another, the platform is proportioned to the pedestal, the smaller domes to the great central one, and the minarets to the entire structure. It is the one completely faultless edifice that man has reared. Passing slowly around it, we viewed the Taj from the bank of the river Jumna. At each of the four corners of its pedestal a marble minaret springs heavenward, like a silver arrow, piercing the air one hundred and forty feet above the pavement, and on the eastern as well as on the western side of the huge platform stands a graceful mosque. No doubt these mosques and minarets were deemed essential, lest this majestic edifice should turn men's thoughts from heaven. At all events, from one of these four marble shafts, uplifted toward the sky, there floats out on the air, five times a day, the muezzin's musical reminder of the only God.