looking specimens, especially carrots. This was a refreshing sight after years of seeing no familiar vegetables, except those which passed long periods of imprisonment in tins.

All along the route natives of either sex were bathing in the filthy water of the canal without even a suspicion of that modesty which characterises the Malays. Impression No. 2 was noted to the effect that none of the natives wore boots or shoes, and all plashed barefooted through the mud. He had already had his attention called to this absence of shoes when coming up in the train by the notice (not to say the excitement) attracted by the neatly-booted feet of his followers. Could it be possible that they would also be obliged to go barefooted through the muddy streets? And still worse thought—would it fall to his lot to break it to them? The natives all appeared larger and more strongly built than the Malays of the Peninsula, but, as in Singapore, they were a hybrid lot, and there were also to be seen a variety of other nationalities—Malay nationalities—but, strange to say, no Arabs, and, more remarkable still, no Chinamen. To those readers who may not have visited that part of the world of which I write, it should be explained that Singapore is almost entirely populated by Chinese, and in the native states they materially outnumber the Malays, so that the eye is accustomed to see Chinese everywhere and regard them as the real inhabitants of the country. Their absence in a Malay town strikes anyone coming from the Peninsula as strange. Cf course there are Chinese in Batavia, and many of them, as X. soon learnt, but they do not pervade the whole place as is the case in the English colonies over the way.

Reaching the hotel X. was relieved to find that Usoof and Abu had discarded their boots, and were picking their way delicately across the mud of the courtyard. Also they had been provided with an excellent curry. Then he prepared to get ready for his own lunch, and next to bathe. In order to do this it was necessary to run the gauntlet of many eyes, as the bathroom was some distance off, and, to reach it, the entire length of the verandah must be passed. On to this verandah opened the doors of bedrooms, the occupant of each sitting in his long chair in front—exactly, as Abu remarked, like vendors holding stalls in a market. The long chairs were of the luxurious kind, with short seats and long movable arms, and on which latter the occupants extended their naked feet. This of course refers to the men. Ladies also sat there, in what X. subsequently learnt was not altogether considered deshabille, namely, the sarong and kabaya of the country. The first-named garment, it may be explained for the benefit of readers in the West, is a close-fitting petticoat such as the natives wear, and the latter a white linen jacket. It required some courage to take that first walk along this verandah, but things seldom continue to seem strange, unless other people look as if they thought them so, and as these reclining rows of visitors lay back doing nothing, not even reading, with an air of unconcern, it was not difficult for X. to assume one too. However, he could not but believe that he helped to fill in that vacant blank in which the sitters sank, as he passed along, himself clad in wondrous garments made of gaudy silks woven by the skilled natives of the Peninsula, while Usoof and Abu followed, bringing the towels and soap. Nor did he entirely deceive himself, since he was subsequently informed by Usoof that the "boy" of a Nyonia, or what in Singapore is called a "mem," told him that his lady had instructed him to discover whether X. had many more of those silk sarongs for sale.

Lunch was perhaps the first real revelation of life in Java, since it introduced the traveller to that which a majority of the people seem to live for (and always sleep after)—the rice-table. This rice-table has been so often described that it need not be done in detail here; but the basis, as it were, of this rice-table is, as may be supposed, rice, and with this foundation in your plate, innumerable dishes of eggs, fish, meat, etc., are offered by a string of attendants, who expect you to put some of each on the top of it. Probably this is only a literal and exaggerated interpretation of a Malay curry, which is incomplete without the countless little relishes which should accompany it. This particular dish, or rather function, is seen in its fullest development in the up-country places, visited later, and the one in Batavia was scarcely a fair sample, as though X. was unaware of this at the time, its proportions had evidently been toned down and diminished out of deference to the cosmopolitan character of the guests, who, probably like our traveller, had on former occasions given their ignorance away by asking for more plates and taking each dish seriously, as though it were a separate course, sent up before its time, at the risk of getting cold. To a person accustomed to Singapore there was something novel and cheering about the first meal in the vast dining-hall of this hotel. The floor was of marble—scrupulously clean—and the Javanese waiters were dressed in a uniform of white trimmed with red, presenting a pleasing contrast to the slipshod dirty "boy" of an ordinary hotel, whose habit it is to clatter round flapping your face and brushing your food with his long, unclean, hanging sleeves. Though in the native states from whence X. came it is no uncommon thing to see Malays wait at table, yet in Singapore, with the exception of Indian servants, it is very seldom that there are any attendants but Chinese.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the meal was the absence of bread. This could be procured, when asked for, but was not provided, as it is elsewhere, as a matter of course, and was regarded as an extra. An excellent arrangement of this marble hall was that it was permitted to smoke immediately after lunch. As, availing himself of this, X. smoked his cigarette and meditated contentedly, he noted all the various details which might interest The Community at home. One rather prominent detail was a lady at a neighbouring table dressed only in a sarong and kabaya, with her extremities bare. The lower portion of these were thrust into some loose sandal slippers, the upper turned back as far under the chair as the stretch of the sarong would allow. It was not a costume which, from X.'s point of view, appeared elegant, though, like most articles of apparel worn by beauty, capable of becoming elegant if elegantly worn; still in the present instance more natural elegance would be required in proportion to that of the costume, there being so little of the latter. Returning to the publicity of his apartment, X. was met by Usoof and Abu, both with very long faces and evidently in considerable distress. On being interrogated it transpired that they had nowhere to bathe. Now to bathe, and bathe constantly, is as necessary to a Malay as are regular meals to a European. X., being sadly aware that he would be held responsible for everything that went wrong or did not fit in with the exact views of these children of nature, thought it best to be brave at the commencement of things and affect an indifference which he was far from really feeling, and, therefore, with a jerk of his head towards the canal, replied that that was where people bathed. "Yes, perhaps people," said Abu, with meaning, and then for fear X. should not be sufficiently intelligent to catch the tone, added "people who don't mind filth or water like that in a drain." This seemed to need no answer, and as Usoof had reserved his remarks X. knew that worse was to come, and he would be more prudent to wait and reply on the whole question, instead of being drawn into argument as though he were actually to