see the splendid and impressive tomb of Mohammed Ghaus, a Moslem saint of Akbar's time, who rests in an immense domed hall shut in by sandstone lattices of exquisite and intricate design. Next came the tomb of Tansen, a musician, sheltered by a tamarind-tree whose leaves, if chewed prayerfully, will secure one a sweet voice. The dancing-girls come to worship at this tomb, and tree after tree has been stripped of leaves and killed, so that seedling descendants are kept at hand to replace them.
"Memsahib," said the bearer, excitedly, "there will be fight this day with lion, unicorn, and elephant. Will memsahib see?" Learning that the unicorn was a rhinoceros, we were ready to see the fray which is the national pastime, as in Akbar's day. A British major from Rawal Pindi cantonment, showing India by winter to a visiting niece and nephew, and staying at the Mussaffirkhana, implored us so earnestly not to go that we deferred to his advice—and have regretted it ever since, wondering how much of local color and national character we missed in not seeing Sindhia's subjects at their favorite sport, to which bull-fighting must be child's play.
The bazaars were brilliant enough when crowded with white-clad Mahratta men in their fantastic turbans, and Mahratta women in full, bunchy skirts of every hue, swinging and tilting past, clashing and jangling their anklets; but when a part of the raja's body-guard, preceding the maharani on her way to worship, paraded down a street of white houses, the stage pageant was complete. Horsemen in gay
