Boondi that, on the occasion of the Queen’s Jubilee, they said proudly that their ruler had reigned for sixty years, and he was a man. They saw nothing astonishing in the fact of a woman having reigned for fifty. History does not say whether they jubilated; for there are no Englishmen in Boondi to write accounts of demonstrations and foundation-stones laying to the daily newspapers, and then Boondi is very, very small. In the early morning you may see a man being pantingly chased out of the city by another man with a naked sword. This is the dak and the dak guard; and the effect is as though runner and swordsman lay under a doom--the one to fly with the fear of death always before him, as men fly in dreams, and the other to perpetually fail of his revenge. But this leaves us still in the swallow nest balcony. The warden unlocked more doors and led the Englishman still higher, but into a garden--a heavily timbered garden with a tank for gold fish in the midst! For once the impassive following smiled when they saw that the Englishman was impressed. “This,” said they, “is the Rang Bilas.” “But who made it?” “Who knows? It was made long ago.” The Englishman looked over the garden-wall, a foot high parapet, and shuddered. There was only the flat side of the Palace, and a drop on to the stones of the zigzags scores of feet below. Above him was the riven hillside and the decaying wall of Taragarh, and behind him this fair garden, hung like Mahomet’s coffin, full of the noise of birds and the talking of the wind in the branches. The warden entered into a lengthy explanation of the nature of the delusion, showing how--but he was stopped before he had finished. His listener did not want to know “how the trick was done.” Here was the garden, and there were three or four storeys climbed to reach to it. _Bus._ At one end of the garden was a small room, under treatment by native artists who were painting the panels with historical pictures, in distemper. Theirs was florid polychromatic art, but skirting the floor was a series of frescoes in red, black and white, of combats with elephants, bold and temperate as good German work. They were worn and defaced in places; but the hand of some bye-gone limner, who did not know how to waste a line, showed under the bruises and scratches, and put the newer work to shame.