A Traveling Jumbo.

Moreover, as their cushioned feet give forth no sound, most of these elephants wore rows of tinkling bells about their necks, in order to give warning to people in the streets.

A sudden desire seized us to mount one of these beasts and take a ride; but to climb to the high-perched seat, even while the elephant stood still for a moment, seemed quite as difficult as for a pilot to ascend the rope-ladder at the side of an ocean steamer.

Seeing our perplexity, the driver uttered a command, and the intelligent monster gradually knelt until his back came within reasonable distance. Then, clambering up the steps, we took our seats. The earthquake shock which followed, as the ungainly pachyderm rose to his feet with two convulsive efforts, fore and aft, will always be connected in my memory with a storm at sea.

Waiting For Passengers.

A love for elephant-riding must be an acquired taste. Until I rode upon the back of one, I never knew that when these huge beasts walk, they move both legs on one side at the same time. Seen from the ground, this seems a trifle; but on that undulating hill-top such a gait communicates itself without delay to the nerve-centres of your inmost being. While, therefore, I am glad to have added this to a long list of curious sensations, I shall be satisfied henceforth to see some other man enjoy it.

The architecture of Jeypore appears as strange as the bright waves of Oriental life which flow between its walls. One singular structure filled me with astonishment. It is well named the "Hall of the Winds," for, in respect to architectural design, no one could tell "whence it cometh and whither it goeth." It is a wild, fantastic edifice, nine stories high, covered with pink and cream-colored stucco. One might compare it to a huge shell-cameo, beautifully tinted and delicately carved. I thought at first that it was ornamented here and there with bits of special color, but in reality what looked like points of emerald and pearl were living paroquets and pigeons, their brilliant plumage literally dovetailed into all the dainty pinnacles.

The Hall Of The Winds.

The Maharajah's palace also, though not remarkably substantial, is, nevertheless, exceedingly brilliant in appearance. In this respect it harmonizes with the situation of the man who lives in it. His so-called "power" is quite as showy and ephemeral as this painted stucco, and his entire kingdom is only about as large as the State of Massachusetts. England has various ways of dealing with these Indian potentates. If they resist and show themselves ungrateful for her gifts of civilization and Christianity, she quietly dethrones and pensions them. If they are quiet and appreciative, she sometimes let them play at royalty. There is always at their courts, however, an English resident, who acts as an " adviser."

Nevertheless, this kind of government has been of great advantage to Jeypore; for this bright town is as Oriental as an Asiatic prince would be, who, though retaining Eastern dress, had nevertheless been educated in Europe and had adopted many of its customs. Thus, all these streets, thronged with Arab horses, elephants, and camels, are lighted now by electricity.

The Maharajah's Palace.

Jeypore has also nearly fifty schools, in three of which eight hundred girls receive instruction, - a wonderful fact in native India. The Museum of Jeypore, which would do honor to any capital of Europe, stands in a public garden, seventy acres in extent. On this the Maharajah annually expends about fifteen thousand dollars. I saw no modern structure in the entire East which pleased me more; for its style of architecture is symmetrical and beautiful, and, after seeing so many stuccoed buildings, this noble edifice, constructed of variegated marble, delighted me with its solidity and genuine worth. Moreover, its treasures are of priceless value, portraying as they do most of the famous industries of India, from the brass-work of Benares to the shawls of Cash-mere.

On leaving the Museum, our attention was directed to the Maharajah's fort, far up on the hill. There seemed to be a large inscription cut upon the cliff below its wall. By means of a field-glass, I found that this consisted of the one word "Welcome," - a pretty compliment paid to one of the sons of Queen Victoria during a recent visit. But, being chis-eled in the solid rock, the word remains there like a per-petual invitation. I wondered, therefore, whether, if some other conqueror should ever come, with promises to all these Maharajahs of a partial restoration of their territory, they would help him to drive the English out of India, and, if so, whether the inviting legend on the cliff would still read as it does today? Would such a conqueror be really " welcome?" Many in India answer "No," but others whisper "Yes."