est of the two other divines cast his eyes upon the berth suspended above me. Allowing for the exaggeration which panic always paints for itself, I am still quite sure that the chains groaned and the bed trembled, while my own heart beat. These sounds, however, soon subsided into long-noted snoring, and somewhat before we arrived at Delhi the carriage was safely delivered of the three. Happy was I when the creakings of the descent subsided. As the sword of Damocles never fell, so was I not crushed by divinity.

Arriving safe at early morning, I was driven to the Northbrook Hotel, which I at once declined to patronize, and sought shelter in "The Grand," well situated, and very fairly conducted. But what strikes me in all these Indian cities, as regards the European quarters (so to call them), is the distance that lies between the various buildings-the native quarters being all so crowded. Every shop, for example, occupies a separate house, and between the tailor and the draper there is a long drive. Though I mention this here, I do not know that Delhi thus struck me more than other places; for the observation is of general application.

The historical associations with Delhi are indeed fearful. Carry your memory back to the days of Nadir Shah, and then bring it back quickly to 1857. Speaking of this latter date, surely we may say it needs not fields of hundreds of thousands to make a war of giants. My first visit was to the Ridge, where all is quiet now. But the Mutiny Memorial is there, mute but speaking. Read as much of its

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inscriptions as you please, and ascend it for the view, and fancy all that was going on while we were at home in quiet. From the middle of May til the middle of September the storm and tempest of siege and assault were raging, and mutinous. Delhi at last succumbed to British valour. The scene is very striking from the Ridge, and the drive occupies a very pleasant afternoon.

The next day I devoted to visiting that strange towering individuality called the Kutb or Kutab (both of which appeared to be corruptions) Minar— which word is, of course, the large of Minaret. A more extraordinary structure than this, or so extraordinary a one as this, it would be difficult to conceive of. If it is not a physical incorporation of the spirit of pride, what is it? And a yet larger one, for the mere purpose of out-topping it, was begun, but the builder was not able to finish. I could not divest myself, while gazing on it, of something of the sentiment of the ridiculous. This much said, the structure must be appreciated. It stands 238 or 242 feet high, and tapers from a diameter of some forty-seven or forty-eight feet at its base, to scarcely nine feet at the top, and it consists of five storeys. According to Fergusson it was even once some twenty feet higher. Each storey is ornamented with a balcony that protrudes very handsomely. The depth and outlines of the moulding show how well the builders understood the effects of light and shade and of variety, and, in its own character, this Minar is held to stand alone in our small world.

The Iron Pillar, dilated on by Fergusson, must not be overlooked, nor is very likely to be so; nor indeed, is the Mosque-an evident converted Jain temple. Mark also the large arch, reminding one of Ajmir. Various tombs are visited on the way back, some worth seeing and some not, but all somewhat causing confusion of memory and impression.

The whole of the next day I devoted to the Fort and the Jumma (Friday) Musjid. With this latter. I was not so much impressed as I was with others. But as regards the Palace in the Fort, as it was originally built by the renowned Shah Jahan, it is difficult to understand that everything you now see belonged once to that Unity. There is now a total want of connection, and instead of finding yourself passing through and through corridors and courts from one great feature to another, all this effect has been destroyed, and you pass to mere separate structures. In his volume there is an admirable general plan of what Fergusson calls "perhaps the most magnificent palace in the world," among the features of which figures the fantastic Moti Musjid, very small in proportion to the other arrangements, but probably intended (as in more modern instances) for exclusive Royal worship. But among all the buildings that which most drew my attention, and most rests on my memory, was the Diwan-i-Khas, or Private Hall of Audience. This Diwan-i-Khas is erected on its own marble base, some eight feet high, and consists of a large oblong assembly room, all in white marble, and formerly intensely adorned; and instead of being walled in, it is marked out by a

double row of integral peculiar-shaped pillars, verging into arches on the roof, so that as you stand in the centre you look through and through a wonderful perspective of pillars on all sides.

With this much said, I leave you, if you go there, to wander about as you will, and meanwhile to accompany me to see the Golden Temple at Amritsar. But there is a distance of 316 miles, and starting at noon on Friday, the 15th of March, I arrived at seven the next morning, having in the daytime passed through vast streets of the most beautifully growing wheat. Will it tempt you to make the journey if I tell you that strawberries were offered at the Delhi Station?