white viceregal palace. The standard flies above the main entrance, red lancers of the body-guard pose statuesque before the portico, and at times a red carpet rolls down the steps and the Viceroy goes in state to return princely visits, or to stand on a pearl and bullion embroidered carpet before his silver arm-chair and lay a corner-stone, unveil a statue, or open some new public building. The great event of the racing week is the Viceroy's Cup, when all sporting India has its eye on the Maidan, remotest cantonments as heavily interested as the cheering crowds on the oval. The Viceroy comes in state, and his loge and lawn are the center of interest and the social heaven of the ambitious, who, between events, parade in the hats and gowns brought out from London and Paris for the races. Rajas and nabobs of degree make a brave show too, with their jeweled turbans, and necklaces worn outside frock coats of flowered satins; the tight-fitting trousers to match as often trimmed with tinsel braid and French passementerie. Thousands of natives, in the universal white garments and turbans of every hue, make such patches of shifting rainbow color in the field, such a living tulip-bed, as fascinates the eye more than any scramble of running horses.
Then all the world drives in the Maidan, making a grand defile down the Red Road and the avenue of statues, along the Strand and the Esplanade by the Eden Gardens, where the band plays at sunset. Eastern and Western fashions are strangely contrasted. The bhisti, with swollen goatskins on their backs, sprinkle the dust, as in the times of Alexander
