rd of the Bible, but they are very religious,
and at sunrise and sunset, at the deep-toned boom of the hollow log
that hangs before their little thatched mosques, they fall on their
faces and pray to "Allah, the All Merciful and Loving Kind."

When the Crown Prince had stepped modestly back among his brothers
and cousins, a holy man in green robes and turban came forward and
read an address in Arabic. He recited the glories of the Prophet,
the promises of the Koran, and then told of the ancient greatness of
Johore,--how it once ruled the great peninsula that forever points
like a lean, disjointed finger down into the heart of the greatest
archipelago of the world,--how its ruler was looked up to and made
treaties with, by the kings of Europe,--of the coming of the thieving
Portuguese and the brutal Dutch,--of the dark, bloody years when the
deposed descendants of the once proud Emperors of Johore turned to
piracy,--of the new days that commenced when that great Englishman,
Sir Stamford Raffles, founded Singapore,--down to the glorious reign
of the present just ruler, Abubaker.

Our eyes wandered from time to time out through the cool marble courts
and tried vainly to pierce the botanic chaos that crowded close up
to the palace grounds. Banian and sacred waringhan trees covered
great stretches of ground, and dropped their fantastic roots into the
steaming earth like living stalactites. The fan-shaped, water-hoarding
traveller's palm formed a background for the brilliant magenta-colored
bougainvillea. The dim, translucent depths of an orchid-house lured
us on, or a great pond covered with the sacred lotus, blue lilies,
and the flush-colored cups of the superb Victoria regia commanded
our admiration. Palms, flowering shrubs, ferns, and creepers rioted
on all sides. Monkeys swung above in the ropelike tendrils of the
rubber-vines, and spotted deer gamboled beneath the shade of mango
trees.

The brilliant audience listened with bated breath to the dramatic
recital of their nation's story. Even we, who did not understand
a word, were impressed by their flushed faces and eager attention,
and when the band in the columned corridors beyond broke forth into
the national anthem of Johore and the vast concourse outside took up
the shouts of fealty that began within, I, for one, felt an almost
irresistible desire to join in the shouts and do honor to the kindly
old Sultan and his graceful son.

After his Highness, the Sultan, h