Mr. Taylor was delighted beyond measure by a visit to the tomb of the Empress Noor-Jehan, wife of the Shah Jehan. Moore uses her romantic history in his “Lalla Rookh,” for verily she was “The Light of the Harem.” Shah Jehan, “Selim,” erected that marvellously beautiful building, with its lofty dome, and slender minarets, its inlaid jewels wherein the walls are made to hold a copy, in Arabic, of the whole Koran. Beautiful as Eastern songs represent Noor-Jehan to be, the tomb in which she lies must surpass her in whiteness and delicacy of outline. Never, in harem of Cashmere, nor in garden of Mogul, were there more delicious odors than those which still fill the air about her tomb. No brighter, more various, or more odorous flowers bloomed in Mahomet’s Paradise, than now bewilder the visitor to that hallowed spot. It was fortunate for Mr. Taylor that he had seen the boasted palaces and temples of Europe and Western Asia, before he visited that enchanted spot. Dreams of Aladdin became literal there. In towers, arches, domes, colonnades, ceilings of pearl and precious stones, pillars wrought with the skilful jeweller’s art, inlaid floors in which no crease appears, in diamond-like foundations, and in the unity of its unbroken sculptures, the temples of Agra and of its suburbs, excel those of Venice and Florence, as the exquisite and angelic echoes in the dome of Queen Noor’s tomb excel, in length and sweetness, those of the Baptistry at Pisa. From Agra, he rode over the wide highway, one hundred and fifteen miles, to Delhi, the former capital of the Moguls, and which, at that time, boasted the presence, in his palace, of Akbar II. There he was treated with the same hospitality as he had been in other cities, and kind-hearted residents guided him about the streets of the modern city, and accompanied him to the magnificent ruins in various quarters of the plain whereon stood the old city. Pile on pile of massive columns lay in ragged majesty about him, and bewildered his senses with their unnumbered towers. Ruins, ruins, ruins, as far as the eye can trace the broken plain. Palaces, fortresses, temples, mosques, harems, tombs, obelisks, and massive battlements lie hurled together in undistinguished profusion, while here and there the porch of some lofty building, or some imposing arch, still breaks the line of the horizon. One pillar stands in the plain, whose summit is two hundred and forty feet above the ground. Near this gigantic shaft are the ruins of the palace of Aladdin. But the stone that cumber the plain, and the stable platform, once the floor, do not suggest the palace of diamonds, emeralds, pearls, gold, and ivory of which we have read; and the beholder is tempted to believe that there was a mistake of location, and that Agra instead of Delhi, was the place after all. But Mr. Taylor, whose time was limited, could not linger long, nor hope to solve all the riddles which such an inexhaustible