waiting a trifle of an hour or so, till they got so cramped that they had to be hoisted on to their legs. But it is not so with his son. He comes almost immediately, jerking himself suddenly in at the door, as if somebody had stuck a pin into him behind, walks hurriedly to the couch, kicking off his slippers on the way, and throws himself upon it, with his elbows sunk in the crimson and gold cushions. He looks straight at us for about thirty seconds, and then falls to examining his finger-nails and the carpet. He is embarrassed; his father was embarrassing. The pious potentate used to scrutinize his visitors (at a distance of twenty feet or so) through a field-glass, and people who were not overawed used to grin, which required explanation. King Theebaw comes alone except that there is a page with cheroots. The gigantic gold spittoon and betel-nut box and other salivating and chewing paraphernalia, which were deposited before his late lamented father are wanting. He knocks off the ash of his green cheroot on the carpet and presently lets it go out. Meanwhile the than-daw-sin, the royal herald, has commenced chanting our names, business, and the list of our presents. This is done in a high-pitched recitative, and takes a long time, for all the names, styles, and titles of his majesty are declaimed for a matter of quarter of an hour, each sentence ending with a long-drawn paya-a-ah.

At last it is over, and Theebaw asks if we are well. We announce that we are, and the interpreter, who throughout "plays it rather low down upon us," says that by his majesty's merciful permission we are in the enjoyment of perfect health. Theebaw then demands our business. The interpreter replies that we have come to view the glories of his Majesty's mighty kingdom, and to lay our heads under his golden feet. This is a lengthy formality, for an epitome of the titles comes in with every

answer. Theebaw looks very ill at ease, and has an occasional glance at us out of the tail of his eye. Having inquired after the well-being of the Queen, the Viceroy, the Chief Commissioner of British Burma, and his dear brothers in Calcutta, who, he hopes, are being well treated, as befits their rank, it seems as if there was going to be a sudden end to the audience, to avert which we wildly grasp at the idea of saying that we had taken tickets in the royal lotteries, but had not been successful in the drawing. His majesty twirls his cheroot over his shoulder, which is a sign that he wants a light, and says he is very sorry, but hopes we will try again. We announce that we are going to make another attempt, and add, in the desperate hope of getting his majesty into a controversy, that lotteries are considered a very bad thing for the people in Europe. The interpreter gazes for threequarters of a second reproachfully at us and says, that by reason of his majesty's great might, glory, and clemency, we are encouraged to make a fresh venture, and that we are lost in wonder at the wisdom which has fallen upon such a method of increasing the revenue, a system which had never occurred to the unilluminated minds of barbarian financialists. Burmese is a language with which some of us are acquainted, and which affords unusual facilities for the relief of the irritated mind, but while we are hesitating as to whether we shall break through Court etiquette and address the great Lord of Righteousness mouth to mouth, Theebaw graciously remarks that he is glad to hear that the wisdom of his ministers has increased the knowledge of political economy in the world, and adds that he is unacquainted with any trade which for an outlay of two rupees will bring in a return of ten thousand. Having announced that he will give orders to his bohs and woons to show us every respect while we remain under the

shadow of his throne, he suddenly gets up and vanishes as rapidly as he appeared. The Pan-gyet Woon calls out, “get on your legs, gentlemen, ‘long chairs' are better than this sort of thing," and we obey with great alacrity, and are regaled outside with brandy and water of considerable potency, poured out of a tea-pot into tea-cups.

CHAPTER XX.

KING THEEBAW.

II. THE MANY-TITLED.

His most glorious, excellent majesty, the present ruler of the city of Mandalay, or Yettana-bohng Nay-pyee-daw, ruler of the sea and land, lord of the rising sun, sovereign of the empires of Thuma-paranta and Zampoo-deepa, and of other great empires and countries, and king of all the umbrella-bearing chiefs, lord of the mines of gold, silver, rubies, amber, and the noble serpentine, chief of the Saddan, or celestial elephant, and master of many white elephants, the supporter of religion, owner of the sekya, or Indra's weapon, the sun-descended monarch, sovereign of the power of life and death, great chief of righteousness, king of kings, and possessor of boundless dominions and supreme wisdom, the arbiter of existence, has a very bad character. He killed his brothers and sisters and he drinks gin.

He is very far from being a fool for all that. All his predecessors killed certain of their relatives too, when they came to the throne; only they had not so many as Theebaw, and there were no electric telegraphs in those days. Besides they had not such pressing need to clear the field. Theebaw was put on the throne by a palace

intrigue, and if he had not disposed of his brothers they would probably have killed him. So says all his majesty's subjects, and they ought to know. The drinking of plebeian gin is another matter, and is likely to be the ruin of the many-titled monarch. It is telling on him fast. When he came to the throne he was a very good-looking young man, the handsomest Burman in the country, people used to say. Two years and a half have, however, made a very great difference. His majesty's flat nose has become flatter than ever; his eyes have sunk deep into their sockets, like snails in a fright; and his round face. is all bloated and blotched. When we had an interview with him, the fair Soo-payah Lat, his majesty's consort, seemed to have been asserting her authority, for he had an extensive scratch, reaching from his eye all over his left cheek, and it did not improve his personal appearance. His majesty on the whole looked rather "hipped" on that It was a private interview certainly, and we did not therefore expect to see him gorgeous in a silk surcoat and spire-like tharapoo, or crown. But it seemed somewhat negligent to appear in a soiled white short coat and a plain check-pattern, yellow silk pasoh, such as any ordinary townsman might wear. In his ears certainly were splendid gold cylinders, with magnificent clusters of diamonds and emeralds at the ends, and on his finger glistened a sapphire ring, worth a monarch's ransom. There was a spray of diamonds in his hair too, but it only sufficed to draw attention to the fact that he wore a good deal of false hair and had been remarkably unsuccessful in concealing the borrowed tresses. All Burmans wear their long hair tied up in a knot on the top of their head. Theebaw, however, stepped out of a monastery on to the throne, and in the monasteries every one has his head shaved. The royal hair has therefore not had time to

occasion.