that point is in an excavation several feet below the surface of 

 the ground, and, owing to percolation from an irrigation ditch 

 in the vicinity, the lower segments of these quadrants are im- 

 mersed in water and the time of the mid-day hours cannot now 

 be read upon their face. 



The shadow of this huge gnomon, falling at the lines graved 

 upon the quadrants, shows the local time in hours, minutes and 

 even seconds, and, watching this shadow as it slowly crept down- 

 ward at the West quadrant, I noted the time to be ten hours and 

 thirtv minutes, or half after ten o'clock A. M. From the top of 

 this huge structure a panorama of desolation, disintegration and 

 degeneration is presented. 



Ten miles South from this Sun-dial are the ruins of what was 

 once the noble Kuw^at-ul-Islam Mosque, and such portions of it 

 as remain intact disclose the original magnificence of this old 

 Palace for worship. Nowhere in the world, outside the limits of 

 India, is to be found in the construction of buildings architectural 

 work so elaborate, so intricate, so delicate, so beautiful in its 

 character and so exquisite in its design and execution as can be 

 seen today upon what remains of this and other Temples and 

 Palaces. 



Matthew Arnold wrote of that wonderful East that "What- 

 ever airs of superiority Europe generally gives itself, all our re- 

 ligion has come and religion of some sort or other has still an 

 empire over men's feelings such as it has nowhere else." 



No thoughtful observer of those religious structures and the 

 devout honor and reverence paid by these so-called heathens m 

 their worship of what they accept as an over-ruling, super-natural 

 Providence, cannot but be most profoundly impressed with the 

 truth of what Arnold learned from his long experience in India. 



A native architect said of the red sandstone: ''Clever work- 

 men chisel it so skilfully as no turner could do with wood, and 

 their works vie with the picture books of Maui"— a legendary 

 Persian artist. • t\t u i 



The marble pierced screens under the Dome of the Taj Mahal 

 which, at a short distance, look like fine lace, and the carvings on 

 the tomb of the beloved wife do not equal in delicacy the work of 

 the red sandstone seen in the Palaces and Mosques of Agra, Fati- 

 pur-sikri, Delhi. Amber, Udaipur and other places. From the 

 tessellated floors up and over the ceilings, elaborate stone tracery 

 runs riot over the fluted columns, cornices and niches of the in- 

 terior. There are flowers and fruits, leaves, garlands, vines and 

 grapes, men, women, animals and birds, gods and goddesses, gem, 

 nymphs, griffins, dragons and chimerae of innumerable designs. 

 Such miracles of fairyland, and brackets so fantastically twisted, 

 were never wrought from unyielding marble, and it is difficult to 

 realize that anything could induce so complete an architectural 

 paradise built of stone, ivory and inlaid mosaic work. 



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