he sacked. This fairy creation, as Fergusson justly styles it—for it seems like an Aladdin's palace in its dainty, dreamlike beauty—is a great contrast to the massive granite fortress of Datiyā. Still, it is easy to see that it belongs to the same school of building. In it the Hindu master-builder has combined exquisite taste with sound common sense, so admirably is it designed for coolness and comfort and for the satisfaction of the sense of beauty.
Of the double cornice (Pl. XXXVIII) which crowns the whole building with wonderful effect, the upper part provides an extension of the terraced roof, much used as a promenade or resting-place after sunset; the lower part, with its deep shadow, screens the outer walls from the heat and glare of the sun. The arched openings are spaced with a fine sense of rhythm and proportion: in construction they follow the Hindu bracket system, each arch being made of two slabs of red sandstone meeting at the crown.
Pl. XXXVIII, b, shows the front facing the garden, which is laid out in the formal Indian fashion with stone terraces, water-courses, and fountains. The combined scheme of palace and garden is co-ordinated with rare skill, and if the cunning of the Hindu gardener equalled that of the master-builder, this garden-palace in the days of Surāj-Mall must have been as enchanting as any of those in which that prince of gardeners, Bābur, held his jovial wine parties.
The Grand Canal of Venice can show nothing more festively harmonious than the water-front of the palace, facing the artificial lake, with its elegant balconies and arcaded verandahs and bathing pavilions. The stone roofs of the latter are borrowed from the thatched roofs of Bengal, which, with their pointed eaves, are scientifically adapted for throwing off the
