All these studies are on a high level of interest, though not all on the same level.  The descriptive chapters, results of personal observation, seem to me the most interesting.  And, indeed, in a book of this kind it is the author’s personality which awakens the greatest interest; it shapes itself before one in the ring of sentences, it is seen between the lines—­like the progress of a traveller in the jungle that may be traced by the sound of the parang chopping the swaying creepers, while the man himself is glimpsed, now and then, indistinct and passing between the trees.  Thus in his very vagueness of appearance, the writer seen through the leaves of his book becomes a fascinating companion in a land of fascination.

It is when dealing with the aspects of nature that Mr. Hugh Clifford is most convincing.  He looks upon them lovingly, for the land is “very dear to him,” and he records his cherished impressions so that the forest, the great flood, the jungle, the rapid river, and the menacing rock dwell in the memory of the reader long after the book is closed.  He does not say anything, in so many words, of his affection for those who live amid the scenes he describes so well, but his humanity is large enough to pardon us if we suspect him of such a rare weakness.  In his preface he expresses the regret at not having the gifts (whatever they may be) of the kailyard school, or—­looking up to a very different plane—­the genius of Mr. Barrie.  He has, however, gifts of his own, and his genius has served his country and his fortunes in another direction.  Yet it is when attempting what he professes himself unable to do, in telling us the simple story of Umat, the punkah-puller, with unaffected simplicity and half-concealed tenderness, that he comes nearest to artistic achievement.

Each study in this volume presents some idea, illustrated by a fact told without artifice, but with an elective sureness of knowledge.  The story of Tukang Burok’s love, related in the old man’s own words, conveys the very breath of Malay thought and speech.  In “His Little Bill,” the coolie, Lim Teng Wah, facing his debtor, stands very distinct before us, an insignificant and tragic victim of fate with whom he had quarrelled to the death over a matter of seven dollars and sixty-eight cents.  The story of “The Schooner with a Past” may be heard, from the Straits eastward, with many variations.  Out in the Pacific the schooner becomes a cutter, and the pearl-divers are replaced by the Black-birds of the Labour Trade.  But Mr. Hugh Clifford’s variation is very good.  There is a passage in it—­a trifle—­just the diver as seen coming up from the depths, that in its dozen lines or so attains to distinct artistic value.  And, scattered through the book, there are many other passages of almost equal descriptive excellence.