The great white temple was richly yellow in the last beams of the sun, with blue shadows in every recess. Softly rolling white clouds across the Jumna took on rose-lights and were reflected in the river. The Taj flushed rose-pink, and before the golden burst of the afterglow had faded the February moon rose full, round, blood-red in the east. The vision was complete. Fifteen times had we entered the garden of the Taj, and each time the spell of the Taj was stronger.
The next day dragged through with odds and ends of sight-seeing until sunset. We dutifully did the jail, the most populous in India, where often a thousand prisoners are kept, and carpet-weaving is the chief of many industries. Great efforts have been made, by following the best old designs and using only vegetable dyes, to attain a high standard and keep the Agra carpets first in the foreign market. Thirteen rupees a square yard is the average price, and over five thousand yards are woven a year, the jail earning 90,000 rupees a year by its industries. Agra criminals long furnished the best jail carpets in India, but good conduct reduced the time of some and Jubilee benevolence released others of the best long-sentence weavers, and the Agra carpets declined for a time. That afternoon we stayed by the Jasmine Tower and watched the white bubbles on the horizon flush rose-red for a brief moment against a misty gray sky. Then white mists rolled up from the river, and rain-clouds gathered and hid the Taj Mahal forever from our view.
