Life was so smooth and even in this little cottage by the river that days flew by with that pleasant rapidity which leaves nothing to record except a general sense of restful enjoyment. One expedition, however, might be described, a visit paid to a neighbouring estate which had been advertised for sale, as giving a glimpse of a typical phase of up-country life. The call was paid about noon, and after riding down a steep hill, where natives were busily engaged in planting tea, the two Englishmen came upon a little square white house half hidden in a bend in the stream. This building had a deserted, untidy look which was intensified by the state of the garden which surrounded it; even at some distance from the house the scent of roses was perceptible, and in the garden itself, if such a wilderness deserves the name, the odour was almost overpowering. The place was a miniature forest of rose-bushes, loaded with lovely blossoms, roses such as X. had not seen since he left his native land. Everything looked untidy and ragged and ruined; the house, the creepers, the rose bushes, the grass, the pigeon lofts all spoke of neglect and want of money to put them straight, a want caused by the fall in the price of cinchona, a misfortune which had involved many a fair estate and reduced it to the desolate and unkempt condition exemplified by the one now visited. But even unkempt and uncared for, what a picture it made! It was the realisation of a poetic death—the victim smothered by roses beside the singing waters of a brook. It was a long time before any one came, and the two visitors sat in the verandah feeling rather shy and uncomfortable, for this was the neighbour's first visit, and the native, who had ushered them in, vanished, sending weird cries around the tangled garden paths as though to summon his master home.

At length, after long waiting, the silence and suspense, and the wonder of who would come, from which direction, and when, grew almost unbearable, and the absurd situation so wrought on their nerves that both visitors gave vent to little gasps of laughter, brought on probably by the same nervous sensations which compel children to misbehave in church—direct promptings of the evil one, inducing a desire to do that which we know we should not do. At length, after it had been debated in hurried whispers whether a departure could not be effected, the lady of the house appeared upon the scene. She was a tall, large lady, in appearance typically Dutch. She wore the usual white linen jacket and skimpy sarong, and her legs were bare. She gave a cordial greeting in Dutch, at least to X. it was Dutch, for he knew nothing whatever of the language. This his friend carefully explained, so he surmised, as the lady gave vent to various guttural exclamations of astonishment and turned to gaze at him as though he were indeed a strange person to behold.

The conversation between the two then continued glibly, and X. was quite forgotten, and he felt neglected and grew fidgety, realizing that he extremely disliked this novel sensation of being ignored, without the possibility of attracting any attention to himself by a remark. He was soon to learn however, that those trifling inconveniences of which we are cognizant are generally less unpleasant than those we do not know, for presently there was a stir and a general rising from seats as the husband of the good lady emerged from the house on to the verandah. This gentleman was tall and dark, with a pointed grey beard like an American in a caricature. He was clothed in a strange deshabille, which ended in bare feet thrust loosely into carpet slippers, and when the eyes of the visitors reached thus far they realized why his complexion was so dark. After the first greetings the host—who X. afterwards learnt had once held high office under Government, which he gave up for planting—turned towards him and proceeded to harangue him without full stops. There is no other way to describe what took place, as he continued to pour language at his guest without the least apparent desire for reply. To say that the visitor felt uncomfortable would be to mildly describe his feelings—he had wished for recognition, and surely had it now. What would his host think of him, if he allowed him to continue to talk and never informed him that he could not understand one word of Dutch? Again and again he endeavoured to stem the torrent of words and explain both in English and in French, and this being of no avail, at the risk of appearing rude and inattentive, X. turned to his friend and begged him to make the matter clear. The friend said something in Dutch, but he must, it seemed, have said the wrong thing, since it had not the slightest effect, and the host continued his talk, probably all about the advantages of the estate he wished to sell. Then, regarding the situation as hopeless, X. fixed his expression into one of intelligent attention and waited for him to stop. But he was not so attentive that he did not presently hear the good lady say something to his friend which caused him to exclaim as though astonished, and with a suppressed click of a laugh he turned to X. and said, "It's all right. Madame has just told me he is stone deaf and can't hear a word, so it's no use my saying anything, he would understand you as well." "But can't the lady tell him I don't know Dutch?" exclaimed X. almost desperately—but too late, for by this time his friend was again deeply engaged in conversation with his hostess, and there was nothing to be done but once more give his assumed attention to his host. A pleasant situation truly, to go to a man's house for the first time and so conduct yourself that you feel certain he will presently believe that it was your intention to deliberately insult and make a fool of him. X. will never forget that quarter of an hour. At last the conversation ended by its appearing that the lady had suggested, and her visitor agreed to, a walk round the estate. When he gathered this, X. eagerly seconded the proposition, but it took all joy out of it to find that the verbose proprietor insisted upon accompanying them himself to do the honours of the place. It was in vain that X. endeavoured to plant him on his friend, for his prolonged assumption of intelligent interest had apparently been so successful, that his host was flattered and never left his side. However, a few climbs up slippery by-paths—I fear deliberately chosen—soon dislodged the slippers, and the poor man was compelled to heed what, it is hoped, he interpreted as polite entreaties not to put himself out for his visitors and return to the house. Then ensued a tour of the estate, which had once been of great promise and now, alas, was overrun with undergrowth and weed. After their walk the Englishmen found that the most hospitable preparations had been made for their entertainment, and, more, that these had evidently been seen to by a daughter whose presence had not before been observed. Would I could describe this young girl as she appeared to X., who has confessed that he found it quite impossible to find words with which to paint a picture which could do her the scantiest justice. Simply attired in the same costume as her mother, but oh, how becoming that costume can be! This charming apparition carried round the glasses and offered wine to the visitors, while X. wished heartily that the dear old host would harangue him ever so long that he might keep silence and watch—watch this dainty, dark-eyed maiden, who looked as if she had stepped out of some old picture to render those little domestic services after the custom of days gone by; and as he received his glass from the charming attendant, he endeavoured to think what it was this kindly service most called to mind, and in his memory he found it in those hospitable houses in New Zealand beyond the Bay of Islands where once he visited, and all the daily life was like a glimpse of a century that had passed. But though visiting was good, X. was soon wanting to improve his position and show that he was capable of taking a more active part in the conversation than he had hitherto done, and so reckless of his host's disgust at a sudden lack of attention, he rose and went to the side table to sniff at the beautiful flowers and peep at the sample sacks of coffee which lay piled in the corner of the room. But such little wiles to obtain speech with the modest maiden were of small use, when one party spoke English and the other Dutch, while neither of them knew both. It is true that X. could have carried on a conversation in Malay, and he was sure that that language would be well known to all the family, but he had been warned that people in Java did not like to be addressed in a language they considered fit only for a medium of communication with their servants. An invitation to stay and lunch was refused—in Dutch—and the planter friend afterwards explained that he had done so, as he thought X. would not have liked to go without bread, since in such establishments up country bread was never found. As if—under the circumstances—X. would have cared whether he ate bread or rice, provided the rose-nymph had handed it to him; and so alas! they rode away beyond the fragrance of the roses and through the neglected grounds, carrying with them a new memory of home life which it will be hard to forget. The shabby, neglected house—the sacks of coffee and flowers run riot—the deaf, courteous ex-official, perhaps proud of his descent from some great Makassar chief—the kindly lady, embodiment of perfect health, who long ago had left her home in Europe for life in a distant land with the husband of her choice—and last but not least of all these impressions of that day—their child—reared in a glorious country unspoilt by contact with civilization—simple, unaffected, a picture from the past.