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, that surged through the crowd and passed along the lines like some mighty wave that, gathering from a low and distant murmur into a roar of sound, breaks and ebbs back to gain fresh strength to break and break again. Behind came the ruling chiefs, all glorious in apparel, as if they had just walked straight out of the Song of Solomon. Two and two they passed by on their elephants, the great chiefs of Hyderabad and Mysore heading the procession. Every conceivable colour was there. Even the elephants bore quaint figures and symbols painted in fantastic guise on their rough black heads and trunks. As for the jewels, they were enough to drive the wealthiest woman of the West green with envy. And the way those princes carried themselves! That, too, might be envied by the men of the West. This to them was no mere show and pageant. They in their pride had come from afar to escort the representative of their King-Emperor, and to pay him homage. It was right that it should be fittingly done. The Oriental takes even his pleasure solemnly, and this was an occasion in which all the dignity and pride of every day life found its epitome. The Nizam of Hyderabad, clad in sober black, but with a glorious diamond aigrette glittering in his yellow turban, was the very embodiment of stateliness. The young Maharajah of Mysore, who rode beside him, was resplendent in gold brocade, diamonds in his turban, and a superb necklace of big pearls and ruby pendant. After that I lost count. Each one seemed more