e civil" at Mandalay or
Pekin.

We drove through the native town and bazaar. It seemed half empty; a
native villa there might be had for one line of an old song. The Plague
had been knocking at many doors a little while ago, and now they swing
loosely on the hinges and the roofs are fallen in, or have been pulled
down rather, by the sahibs, to let the sun in and the evil plague spirit
out.

We came to the high mosque, Allah Musjid one of the most beautiful
buildings I have ever seen; its proportions are so big and simple. It
was the favourite place of worship of Hyder Ali Khan and his son,
Tippoo. You go up to it through porticoes, and up a rough white stair,
with innumerable swallows in nests of feathers protruding from a level
line of holes in, the hot, sun-lit wall just above your head on the
right hand; and past little rest rooms for worshippers on the left, of
plain whitewashed stone, and earth floors, all in shadow. Up the steps
you come on a paved court with a balcony of white stone, and in front
there is the moorish arcade of the mosque, and at either end a very high
minaret, built possibly of stone white-washed, but much like weathered
marble. The design is big and simple, finer in conception than anything
we have seen so far. You have to lean your head very far back to follow
up the minarets with your eyes to the top; each is octagonal and tapers
slightly to two balconies. Pigeon-holes follow the slightly sloping
sides in a spiral direction, and under each hole there is a little
carved ledge, and on these and hovering near are many pigeons. There is
colour--marble-white, weathered to yellow, dazzling in the sun and cool
violet in shade, blue rock pigeons everywhere, and at the very top of
each spire a golden ball burns against the unfathomable blue.

The hot air is slightly scented with incense and sandalwood, and there
is a musical droning from a few worshippers who repeat verses from the
Koran in the cool white interior mingled with the cooing of innumerable
pigeons, and the faint "kiree, kiree" of a kite a mile above, in the
blue zenith.

We may not enter the mosque with boots on, and will not enter with them
off, so we admire from the outside the half Indian, half Saracenic
plaster-work in the interior of the arcade--the stalactite domes,
diapers, groins, modellings _in situ_, and wish the authority on plaster
work, Mr William Millar, was here to enjoy the skill and beauty of the
work.

Next show--t