Nature and Art, December 1, 1866.] 
REVIEWS. 
251 
blinds, and to the first-class carriages frequently sun-shades 
besides ; ventilation is also specially and very necessarily 
provided for : indeed, as far as is possible, the carriages are 
built for the climate. But what avail double roof, Venetian 
blinds, or sun-shade, against the terrible sun of an Indian 
summer ! Then the carriages become, as it were, red-hot ; 
and entering one is like going into a heated furnace. You 
soon assume a listless, half wrung-out appearance, and keep 
yourself amused by mopping up the perspiration, as it freely 
pours from you. The very seat is hot to the touch ; and 
you refrain from leaning back, lest your coat stick to the 
varnished panel. If, as is devoutly to be wished, no ladies 
are present, you relapse into the free-and-easy, take off the 
boots from your swollen feet, denude yourself of coat and 
waistcoat, unfasten your soaked collar, and hang it up to 
dry, put your feet at a comfortable angle on the opposite 
cushion, elevated, if possible, to a level with your nose, 
light your cheroot, and, stimulated by a ‘peg’ (which is 
brcm&y-sfotab and belatee-panee), dreamily subside into a 
patient endurance of the miseries of a long' Indian summer 
railway journey.” 
Having traversed, in this fashion, the plains of lower 
Bengal, with their rice-fields and fantastic tropical vegeta- 
tion— broad-leaved plantains, fan-like palms, and graceful 
cocoa-nut trees — we cross the sacred Ganges by a bridge of 
boats, and reach Benares, the most holy city of the Hindoos, 
with its well-known ghauts, or flights of steps, rising from 
the river and thronged with bathing, praying, and sleeping 
devotees, and the Great Mosque of Aurungzebe towering 
above the Hindoo temples and dense piles of buildings. 
Thence, by Allahabad, at the confluence of the Ganges and 
Jumna — also considered especially sacred — to Cawnpore of 
sad memories, where we pause to contemplate the handsome 
memorial erected over the well down which our murdered 
countrywomen and children were thrown. Then to Luck- 
now, the theatre of so much display of British valour, with 
its immense yet fairy-like palaces, terraced tombs, and 
“ world-renowned Residency— which stands now in its 
solemn ruin, a monument alike of the bravery and devotion 
of that handful of heroes who held it for five months suc- 
cessfully against overwhelming numbers, and of the self- 
denying heroism of the women and children who died un- 
complainingly in its cellars.” 
From Lucknow we reach Agra, celebrated for its Taj 
Mahal,* the most splendid and most beautiful mausoleum in 
the world. Passing under a mosque-shaped gateway of red 
sandstone, and walking down a pathway ornamented by 
alternate basins of water and parterres of flowers, and 
shaded by rows of dark cypress trees, we find ourselves in 
front of an edifice of pure white marble, surmounted by a 
dome of the most graceful form, with a gilded crescent at 
its summit. We enter this, the loveliest conceivable hall 
of death, and can realize the intention of its founder to 
imitate the abodes of bliss in Paradise. In the centre, sur- 
rounded by a screen of marble trellis-work, are the tombs of 
the Emperor Shah Jehan and his consort, Arjunand Banoo, 
side by side. Walls, screen, and tombs are all inlaid 
with precious stones— cornelian, lapis lazuli, agate, and the 
like — in the most exquisite workmanship. The slightest 
whisper uttered there is re-echoed in the mighty dome above 
with marvellous effect. Our author observes : “ I see it 
stated in a Persian translation of a description of the Taj, 
that even unimaginative persons have been known to burst 
into tears on entering the building.” From Agra we arrive 
at Delhi, “ the famed capital of the Moslem kings,” situated 
in the midst of the ruins of old Delhi, which “ extend some 
ten miles to the south-east and south-west. More or less 
over this large extent of ground lie scattered the wrecks of 
palaces, forts, graveyards, and tombs : .... as each suc- 
cessive conqueror came, he seems to have sought to excel 
his predecessors in works of grandeur and majesty.” The 
seat of the Grand Moguls in the late rebellion has shared 
their fate, though its remains still attest their former lavish- 
ness and sense of beauty. 
* Supposed to have been designed and built by a French- 
man, Austin de Bordeux, 1630 — 1647 ; and to have cost 
.£3,000,000. 
At Delhi the traveller must betake himself to a dak 
gharry, and, after a fatiguing journey of 138 miles, will be 
invigorated by breathing the fresh air of the hills ; leaving 
“ the interminable dreary level of the plain, seen lying like 
a mirage far away in the distance below,” and gradually 
rising among “ rocky ravines, bright sparkling waterfalls,” 
“smiling green-clad slopes,” towards the snowy range 
beyond, of which he will enjoy occasional glimpses. 
Our author concludes with some lively notes on Simla, 
the queen of Indian sanitaria, which he reached in the dead 
of winter, but where “ balls, picnics, archery, amateur 
theatricals, and professional concerts follow each other, in 
the season, in quick succession where chalet-like dwellings 
are “dotted about on crags or half-buried in redundant 
foliage;” where “lofty ranges of mountains tower in the 
far distance, covered with eternal ice;” where “romantic 
steeps” and “ deep green valleys” charm the exhausted 
fugitive from the torrid lowlapds. 
Eight coloured illustrations and a map add to the value 
of this well-conceived and well-written handbook ; and we 
think that the reader who follows the “ Old Indian” through 
his journeyings and sight-seeing will obtain an excellent 
idea of the most interesting portions of our Eastern 
dominions. 
Travelling in Spain in the Present Day. By Henry 
Blackburn. (Sampson Low, Son, & Marston, 1866.) 
We owe Mr. Blackburn’s experiences of Spanish travel 
to the charming of the Franco-Hispano billsticker — one 
of the very newest we should imagine, of the cosas de 
Dspaha — who inveigled him and his party across the 
Pyrenees from Biarritz. Their tour — made as rapidly as 
villainous transport, and as uncomfortably as worse com- 
missariat and continuous imposition could insure — lasted 
three months, and cost them fifteen shillings per head per 
day. Beyond the very useful wrinkle, that those who 
seek Spain in autumn should take winter clothing, and 
some valuable hints for travellers in his appendix, the 
author has added little to our store of knowledge ; and, to 
do him justice, he makes no such pretence. We are not of 
those who believe there are deep-seated mysteries and 
beauties in Spanish land and Spanish character. On the 
contrary, we believe that what is worth knowing about that 
most untempting country has been known for some time; 
and that what is worth seeing has been seen, thoroughly 
studied and exhaustively described by generations of 
writers, among the most recent of whom are Lady Tenison, 
Mr. Owen Jones, Mr. Ford, Mr. O’Shea, and that sketcher 
of sketchers, Mr. George Sala. We agree with Mr. Black- 
burn that Spain is in no state of transition at all (unless 
there be such a thing as transition backwards), and that 
centuries may elapse before sufficient material for a new 
book of travels will have accumulated within her borders ; 
and while we admit also the argument in his preface, that 
his own was, from a publisher’s point of view, superfluous, 
we must congratulate him on having so fairly escaped from 
a false position. 
The tour — a regular Britannic scamper — took in, on its 
southward direction, Burgos, Madrid, Cordova, Seville, and 
Cadiz ; thence, touching at Malaga and Yalencia, the home- 
ward course was shaped through Saragossa and Barcelona. 
It were singular, indeed, if each of these points had not 
afforded an opening for literary as well as for artistic 
sketching ; and of these the party availed themselves. We 
have a Madrid bull-fight, as might be expected, with a 
reprint of a “correct card of the ring-,” which, to the best 
of our memory, is a novelty. Toledo, Cordova, Granada, 
and Seville, all offer occasion for brief and modest gossip, 
currente “ cicerone,” on Christian and Moresque art ; while 
the morning, noon, and night of every day, are pregnant 
with reflections on the seediness and seemingly gradual de- 
civilization of Spain and the Spaniards, which, despite the 
protestations of the Salamancas, the Pereiras, and the Petos 
shows no symptom of being arrested by stock-jobbing or 
railway-making. The following bit of character, which 
reminds us forcibly of Mr. Sala (whose Spanish studies are 
