The north-east monsoon still blows fresh and strong, but it was nevertheless terribly hot in the streets, and we were very glad to return to the cool, shady rooms at Government House, where we thoroughly appreciated the delights of the punkah.

There are very few European servants here, and they all have their own peons to wait on them, and carry an umbrella over them when they drive the carriage or go for a walk on their own account.  Even the private soldier in Singapore has a punkah pulled over his bed at night.  It is quite a sight to meet all the coolies leaving barracks at 5 a.m., when they have done punkah-pulling.

At four o’clock Mr. Douglas called to take us for a drive.  We went first to the Botanical Gardens, and saw sago-palms and all sorts of tropical produce flourishing in perfection.  There were many beautiful birds and beasts, Argus pheasants, Lyre birds, cuckoos, doves, and pigeons, more like parrots than doves in the gorgeous metallic lustre of their plumage.  The cages were large, and the enclosures in front full of Cape jasmine bushes (covered with buds) for the birds to peck at and eat.

From the gardens we went for a drive through the pretty villas that surround Singapore in every direction.  Every house outside the town is built on a separate little hill in order to catch every breath of fresh air.  There is generally rather a long drive up to the houses, and the public roads run along the valleys between them.

It was now dark, and we returned to dine at Government House.

Sunday, March 18th.—­At six o’clock this morning Mabelle and I went ashore with the steward and the comprador to the market.  It is a nice, clean, octagonal building, well supplied with vegetables and curious fruits.  The latter are mostly brought from the other islands, as this is the worst season of the year in Singapore for fruit.  I do not quite understand why this should be, for, as it is only a degree above the line, there is very little variation in the seasons here.  The sun always rises and sets at six o’clock all the year round; for months they have a north-east monsoon, and then for months together a south-west monsoon.

We tasted many fruits new to us—­delicious mangosteens, lacas, and other fruits whose names I could not ascertain.  Lastly, we tried a durian, the fruit of the East, as it is called by people who live here, and having got over the first horror of the onion-like odour we found it by no means bad.

The fish market is the cleanest, and best arranged, and sweetest smelling that I ever went through.  It is situated on a sort of open platform, under a thick thatched roof, built out over the sea, so that all the refuse is easily disposed of and washed away by the tide.  From the platform on which it stands, two long jetties run some distance out into the sea, so that large fishing boats can come alongside and discharge their cargoes from the deep at the door of the market with scarcely any exposure to the rays of the tropical sun.