a scorching gale is blowing by noon, and the air is filled with dust. "Yes, it is a bit chilly sitting in the garden so long, these days," he said, "and the tourists do bother a bit, you know; looking over one's shoulder and asking one if it is hard to do." When we hurried from dinner the next night for a second moonlight view, the artist said: "Oh, I say! You Americans have such a notion for seeing the Taj by moonlight. There were some American ladies here last month at the full of the moon, and they went down there after dinner, too."
"Have n't you seen it by moonlight yet?"
"Oh, dear, no! I am there all day, you know."
"But are you not going to-night?" we asked in amazement.
"No, I think not. I will go sometime, though. It might be nice to paint a moonlight Taj," and he went on eating cheese!
"With the round silver moon shining high in the vault of the intense, indigo-blue sky, the Taj Mahal was the frost-palace of one's dreams, and from the dark arch of the entrance gateway it seemed fairly to shine and flash in the strong light poured full on its eastern face. There was silence in the enchanted garden, and as we walked toward the luminous white palace only the far murmur of running water and the scent of violets and mignonette told upon the other senses. We had the place to ourselves for one hour of silence and charm, sitting in the shadows of the Response. Then the chatter, clatter of the tourist contingent was heard at the gateway and down the path. "Ach, Wunderschön!
