1924.

As I have said, the old Delhis are all about the new one. On the Grand
Trunk road out of Delhi proper, which goes to Muttra and Agra, you pass,
very quickly, on the left, the remains of Firozabad, the capital of
Firoz Shah in the later thirteenth century. Two or three miles further
on is Indrapat on its hill overlooking the Jumna, surrounded by lofty
walls. It is as modern as the sixteenth century, but is now in ruins. At
Indrapat reigned Humayun, the son of the mighty Babar (who on his
conquering way to Delhi had swum every river in advance of his army) and
the father of the mighty Akbar. I loitered long within Indrapat's
massive walls, which are now given up to a few attendants and an
occasional visitor, and like all the monuments around Delhi are most
carefully conserved under the Act for that purpose, which was not the
least of Lord Curzon's Viceregal achievements. Among the buildings which
still stand, rising from the turf, is Humayun's library. It was here
that he met his end--one tradition relating that he fell in the dark on
his way to fetch a book, and another that his purpose had been less
intellectually amatory.

Another mile and we come, still just beside the Grand Trunk road, to
Humayun's Tomb, which stands in a vast garden where green parrots
continually chatter and pursue each other. There is something very
charming--a touch of the truest civilisation, if civilisation means the
art of living graciously--in the practice of the old Emperors and
rulers, of building their mausoleums during their lifetime and using
them, until their ultimate destiny was fulfilled, as pleasure resorts.
To this enchanting spot came Humayun and his ladies full of life, to be
insouciant and gay. Then, his hour striking, Humayun's happy retreat
became Humayun's Tomb. He died in 1556, when Queen Mary, in England, was