sea. When the moon set, the sky was wonderful with its tropic purple
and its pavement and dust of stars. I have become quite fond of the
Southern Cross, and don't wonder that the early navigators prostrated
themselves on deck when they first saw it. It is not an imposing
constellation, but it is on a part of the sky which is not crowded with
stars, and it always lies aslant and obvious. It has become to me as
much a friend as is the Plough of the northern regions.

At daybreak the next morning we were steaming up the Klang river, whose
low shores are entirely mangrove swamps, and when the sun was high and
hot we anchored in front of the village of Klang, where a large fort on
an eminence, with grass embankments in which guns are mounted, is the
first prominent object. Above this is a large wooden bungalow with an
attap roof, which is the British Residency. There was no air, and the
British ensign in front of the house hung limp on the flag-staff. Below
there is a village, with clusters of Chinese houses on the ground, and
Malay houses on stilts, standing singly, with one or two Government
offices bulking largely among them. A substantial flight of stone steps
leads from the river to a skeleton jetty with an attap roof, and near
it a number of attap-roofed boats were lying, loaded with slabs of tin
from the diggings in the interior, to be transhipped to Pinang. A
dainty steam-launch, the Abdulsamat, nominally the Sultan's yacht,
flying a large red and yellow flag, was also lying in the river.

Mr. Bloomfield Douglas, the Resident, a tall, vigorous, elderly man,
with white hair, a florid complexion, and a strong voice heard
everywhere in authoritative tones, met me with a four-oared boat, and a
buggy with a good Australian horse brought me here. From this house
there is a large but not a beautiful view of river windings, rolling
jungle, and blue hills. The lower part of the house, which is supported