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 littered with furniture not yet unpacked. Standing upon it, you look past the magnificent collection of tents where the Duke and Duchess of Connaught and their suite will be housed, down a long vista of roadway to the distant polo grounds. Wandering along this road, you stray presently into the camp of the Governor of Bombay. It seems the most trim and orderly camp of all, without a trace of slovenliness to offend the eye. The tents are ranged around a huge oblong lawn, green and refreshing after the sand and dust without. The designers have wisely refrained from disfiguring it with banks of sickly flowers, though a few dwarf palms are dotted about. Every tent has its fire-place and chimney and boarded floor, and is cosily furnished. People say that Lord Northcote's guests will be more comfortable than any other party in camp, and tell you wonderful stories of billiard tables, and tents with glass doors, and other marvels.

The sun is fairly high now, and you ruefully reflect that you have not got very far on that "ride round the camp." So you press onwards amid the all-encompassing tents, and hurry along a network of roads selected at random. The "light railway" — it is really nothing more than a steam tramway, with carriages very like the Bombay trams — is crossed, and you reach the Alipur Road, one of the few arterial thoroughfares in this rather chaotic place. All the roads are so thronged that it is hard to believe that the official ceremonies are still seven-