s of some eight or ten dishes which are immediately brought as he
cares to take--omelette, curry, chicken, fish, macaroni, spice-pudding,
etc.; and, lastly, he selects some strange delicacies from an octagonal
dish with several kinds of prepared vegetables, pickled fish, etc., in
its nine compartments. After this comes a salad, some solid meat (such
as beefsteak), sweets, and fruit. Finger-glasses are always provided,
and one notices that the salt is always moist, and also that it is not
customary to provide spoons for that article. At four, or thereabouts,
tea is brought to your room. This serves to rouse you from your siesta,
and you then proceed (being by this time again in pyjamas) to take your
second bath. After that, European garments are worn, and it is cool
enough either for driving or walking. The dinner, which is served at
eight, is much like an ordinary _a la Russe_ dinner, except that there
are rather more small vegetable dishes than is customary elsewhere.

In the Hotel der Nederlanden at Batavia (and there are plenty of others
like it) there is something of the life which is described as belonging
to the baths in ancient Roman watering-places. Imagine a long courtyard,
with deep verandahs, trees only screening you from the opposite side;
around you men in pyjamas, with their feet resting on the arms of their
easy-chairs, smoking or taking various iced drinks from long glasses;
ladies dressed in the beautiful native garment (the _sarong_) and the
lace-trimmed white jacket (the _kabaia_), promenading with children.
Opposite you is a little Dutch maiden, whose golden hair and white skin
contrasts with the dark complexion of her _baboe_, or nurse. She is
dressed in a flowing white robe, and is putting on her stockings in the
most _neglige_ attitude, for it is now time to go out--4 p.m.--while her
mother stands by and scolds her. Everywhere coolies are squatting on the
ground in their bright garments, or standing busied with the ordinary
duties of service, and _baboes_ are playing with their little charges.
You are yourself dressed in such a way that you would probably feel
uncomfortable were you discovered so dressed in your dressing-room at
home; but here you feel perfectly at ease--such is the magical effect of
climate--whether promenading in your loose garments or reclining in
your easy-chair and gazing coolly upon the occupants of the carriages
which cross the courtyard. Or perhaps you are engaged in a
chaf