glittering decorations. It stands in massive solitude on a great dirty-brown plain, far removed from the sights and sounds of the camp. It will seat about ten thousand people. In shape it resembles a horse-shoe, and right opposite the entrance is the Viceroy's dais, projected forward into the arena, and surmounted by a cupola. The troops will be drawn up on the plain outside, facing the Amphitheatre, but only those directly before the entrance will be visible to the spectators. Somehow one feels, standing in the middle of the vast empty arena, that though the Durbar may be the most dramatic and impressive incident of this historic gathering, it will not be the most picturesque. The proportions are too great to be effectually visualised. Then, again, the roof which covers the seats will throw a large proportion of the spectators into deep shadow, and so much of the rich colouring will be lost. Moreover, there is something about Delhi in winter which does not accord with one's traditional ideas of Oriental splendour. Elephants alone do not make an Eastern pageant. We want palm trees and the luxuriant green of the tropics, and above all, warmth. And here in January, even at noon- tide, the dominant note seems likely to be imparted by the steel-blue wintry sky.
