The different conquerors of that country have destroyed many a marble palace, burnt many a beautiful city; but all of them, even the furious Sepoys, have left unharmed the Taje Mahal—the jewelled wonder, and it stands to-day in its perfect glory—the monument raised by the love of an Eastern despot to his beautiful wife.
[A NIGHT WITH PAUL BOYTON.]
“TELL me, what was the oddest experience you ever had?” said a friend of mine one day, upon the cars going West.
I had been “spinning yarns” to him, as the sailors say, for the last hundred miles of our journey, concerning a variety of queer happenings met with in the life of a journalistic Free-lance during the past ten years.
“Well, now, that’s a hard question to answer,” said I: “give me five minutes to think. Let’s see—did I ever tell you about my cruise with Paul Boyton?”
Paul Boyton is the man, you know, with the rubber life-saving rig; has rescued lots of people from drowning; floated down most of the rivers of Europe and a good many in this country. My night’s trip with him was about the strangest adventure that I could recall.
I first met Boyton at one of the towns upon the St. John’s river in Florida. We were having a game of billiards together, when some whim prompted me to say:
“Mr. Boyton, I’d like to take a cruise with you sometime.”