I see that X. has it in his notes that the first view of this city is the most beautiful in the East—does he mean the approach, the view, or the city. It perhaps does not greatly matter, but it is certain that he recorded the fact that to a poor jungle-wallah like himself it seemed very vast and full of life, as he dressed himself and prepared to re-enter the world from which he had so long been absent. A gharry—a close carriage on four wheels with a dirty-looking driver and a tiny pony—now conveyed, or rather set forth to convey, the traveller to the hospitable house of a certain distinguished general who resides in Singapore.

Singapore is a city in which it is notoriously difficult to find one's way about, as all the roads seem alike—they are all excellent—and so do the houses. Had I not undertaken to tell you how X. went to Java, I should like to stop and relate how once on this account the writer dined at the wrong house—and dined well—while his host, whose name he never knew, preserved an exquisite sang-froid and never showed surprise; but such egotistic digressions might possibly annoy X. who has a right to claim the first place in this little history.

The driver apparently knew where no one as an individual lived, and entirely relied on strange local descriptions known only to the native inhabitants, therefore it was vain for X. to try and explain where he wanted to go. It transpired from interrogations of passers by that no gharry driver or Malay policeman had heard of the General or even that such a personage existed—X. never told the General that—and thus the gharry containing X., and the two which followed with the suite and luggage, drove backwards and forwards puzzling people as they went, for such twistings and turnings argued ignorance of locality, and ignorance of locality meant a globe-trotter, and yet no mail steamer was in, and, again, no globe trotter would be followed by two Malays. And presently he again endeavoured to explain where he wanted to go in forcible Malay—this made the problem more difficult—till the passers by, mostly cooks going to market, gave it up as one too deep, or perhaps too trivial, for solution. The morning drive thus lasted till Europeans early for office appeared in their smart buggies and fast trotting horses, and one of these magnates of commerce coming to the rescue, it was explained to the gharry syce that the Commander of all the Forces occupied a house where Mr. So-and-so used to live, after the celebrated Mr. So-and-so had sold off his racing stud and given up the house—"didn't the driver remember?" "Yes, was not Omad the chief syce" to the gentleman alluded to? At this the driver exclaimed, "of course," and whipping up his pony, with a withering look at his face, which implied "if only he had had the sense to tell me that before," he drove direct to one of the largest and most imposing mansions of the town.

Saved from the hotels of Singapore, where bewildered travellers grumble and strange-looking jungle-wallahs come down to drink, X. felt all the half-dormant memories of civilization return to him, as, passing the sentry, he entered the spacious hall and received a kindly welcome from his host.

Having, as the books say, removed the traces of his journey, no very palpable ones in this case, since washing is practicable and customary on board s.s. Malacca, X. joined his host at breakfast and was informed of the programme of the day—consisting of an afternoon drive, dining out in the evening, and thence to hear the regimental band play by moonlight in the gardens. What a gay place Singapore seemed to X., who nightly dined alone, and to whom the sound of a band was a memory of bygone days—and a band by moonlight too. Yes, that also had memories all its own. On moonlight nights he is wont to sit on the verandah and listen to the drowsy monotonous singing of the Malays who dwell in the villages below his hill. Very agreeable is that chanting sound as it ascends, telling of companionship and content, although for that very reason making the solitary European feel more solitary still. Native servants have given him his dinner and left him to seek their own amusement. He is a duty only, something finished with and put away for the night, left solitary upon the broad verandah, half envying the natives who can enjoy the moonlight in the society of their friends.

Here in Singapore X. need envy no one, for was he not to go out after dinner and hear a band in the moonlight, and a band played by Europeans? The reality equalled expectation, for moonlight in the beautiful gardens of Singapore, with the elite of society sitting in their carriages or strolling along the grass by the lake would have been a pleasant evening even to people more blasÉ than X., nor did that person enjoy it any the less from catching sight of Usoof and Abu standing as lonely amongst this mass of strangers as ever he was wont to feel when brooding in his solitude at home, while they sang songs in the moonlight to their friends.

The evening ended up with the glorious dissipation of supper at the regimental mess. The immediate result of this outing was pleasure, the subsequent one—probably the addition of another syllable to the compound Greek word with which X.'s ailments had been identified.