and cuts from the illustrated papers.  Even before the gate some of the treasures of the crown stand public:  a bell of a good magnitude, two pieces of cannon, and a single shell.  The bell cannot be rung nor the guns fired; they are curiosities, proofs of wealth, a part of the parade of the royalty, and stand to be admired like statues in a square.  A straight gut of water like a canal runs almost to the palace door; the containing quay-walls excellently built of coral; over against the mouth, by what seems an effect of landscape art, the martello-like islet of the gaol breaks the lagoon.  Vassal chiefs with tribute, neighbour monarchs come a-roving, might here sail in, view with surprise these extensive public works, and be awed by these mouths of silent cannon.  It was impossible to see the place and not to fancy it designed for pageantry.  But the elaborate theatre then stood empty; the royal house deserted, its doors and windows gaping; the whole quarter of the town immersed in silence.  On the opposite bank of the canal, on a roofed stage, an ancient gentleman slept publicly, sole visible inhabitant; and beyond on the lagoon a canoe spread a striped lateen, the sole thing moving.

The canal is formed on the south by a pier or causeway with a parapet.  At the far end the parapet stops, and the quay expands into an oblong peninsula in the lagoon, the breathing-place and summer parlour of the king.  The midst is occupied by an open house or permanent marquee—­called here a maniapa, or, as the word is now pronounced, a maniap’—­at the lowest estimation forty feet by sixty.  The iron roof, lofty but exceedingly low-browed, so that a woman must stoop to enter, is supported externally on pillars of coral, within by a frame of wood.  The floor is of broken coral, divided in aisles by the uprights of the frame; the house far enough from shore to catch the breeze, which enters freely and disperses the mosquitoes; and under the low eaves the sun is seen to glitter and the waves to dance on the lagoon.

It was now some while since we had met any but slumberers; and when we had wandered down the pier and stumbled at last into this bright shed, we were surprised to find it occupied by a society of wakeful people, some twenty souls in all, the court and guardsmen of Butaritari.  The court ladies were busy making mats; the guardsmen yawned and sprawled.  Half a dozen rifles lay on a rock and a cutlass was leaned against a pillar:  the armoury of these drowsy musketeers.  At the far end, a little closed house of wood displayed some tinsel curtains, and proved, upon examination, to be a privy on the European model.  In front of this, upon some mats, lolled Tebureimoa, the king; behind him, on the panels of the house, two crossed rifles represented fasces.  He wore pyjamas which sorrowfully misbecame his bulk; his nose was hooked and cruel, his body overcome with sodden corpulence, his eye timorous and dull:  he seemed at once oppressed with drowsiness and held awake by apprehension:  a pepper rajah muddled with opium, and listening for the march of a Dutch army, looks perhaps not otherwise.  We were to grow better acquainted, and first and last I had the same impression; he seemed always drowsy, yet always to hearken and start; and, whether from remorse or fear, there is no doubt he seeks a refuge in the abuse of drugs.