with the national
anthem of Johore.

Going directly through a mass of Oriental drapery, we are in the
throne-room, where are gathered the nobility of the little Sultanate.

Amid the crash of music and the booming of guns the Sultan took his
seat in one of the gilded chairs on the dais, with the English Governor
on his left. Ranged about the burnished walls of the great room,
several files deep, were the nobility of the kingdom, the ministers of
state, and officers of the army and navy, the space back of them being
filled with Chinese mandarins and towkoys, and rich native merchants
in their picturesque costumes. In front of the nobility, standing in
the form of a square, were the sons of the datos each bearing golden,
jewel-studded chogans, spears, krises, and maces. Inside the square
stood the fifteen consuls. Back of the throne were four young princes,
two bearing each the golden bejewelled kris of the Malay, another
the golden sword of state, and the fourth the cimeter of the Prophet.

Up to the steps of the throne came the young prince, dressed in the
uniform of a lieutenant of artillery, with the royal order of Darjah
Krabat ablaze with jewels on his breast. He was slightly taller than
his father, the Sultan, straight, graceful, and handsome, with big,
brown eyes and strongly marked features. He was nervous and agitated,
and his lips trembled as he bent on one knee and kissed his Highness's
hand.

Above our heads in the gilded walls, behind a grated opening, were
Inche Kitega, the Sultan's beautiful Circassian wife, and the women
of the court. We could see their black eyes as they peered curiously
down. It was only when the Dato Mentri, or Prime Minister, stood
up and asked his people if they wished the young Tunku to be their
future lord that we could hear their shrill voices mingling with the
"Suku, suku" ("We wish it, we wish it"), of the men.

It is only the wives of the nobles that are secluded in the istana
isaras, or women palaces, according to Mohammedan law; the women of
the poor are as free as the more civilized countries of Europe. They
bask in the sun with their brown babies on their laps, or wander
among the cocoanuts that always surround their palm-thatched homes,
happy and contented, with no thought for the morrow. The trees furnish
them their food, and a few hours before their looms of dark kamooning
wood each week keep them supplied with their one article of dress--the
sarong. They never hea