have set foot in his house many hours without remarking the arrival of an Indian gentleman in a suit of white clothes of half Asiatic, half European cut, with a magnificent gold-embroidered turban, a watch-chain, a ring, and an umbrella. This is Pira Doji, incorrectly known on board the mail steamers as "The Prime Minister of Zanzibar." He is really an astute Indian trader, who by his capacity for business and exceptional talents as a raconteur, has known how to obtain a very large share of the "Sultan's" confidence and esteem. Pira Doji is a most useful man to Sayyid Barghash. Without in reality attaining the position of Prime Minister or Grand Vizier (the Sayyid has no Ministers, and therefore rules cheaply), he has yet become a sort of financial adviser to the Prince of Zanzibar, and is at the same time head-waiter at State dinners, man-of-business, negotiator in delicate matrimonial affairs, and the picker-up and retailer of all the town news. If Sayyid Barghash is mentioned in the Times, Pira forthwith goes to the "Sultan" with a copy of the passage scored round with red chalk. If a European resident in Zanzibar sprains his ankle, or beats his cook, the "Sultan likewise hears of it through the same source. quently all new arrivals at the Consulate become objects of interest to Pira, as likely to furnish "paragraphs" for his princely gossip. If ever a "Society paper is founded in Zanzibar, it will have Pira Doji for its editor.

Conse

His Highness Sayyid Barghash having then heard of our arrival, and as much of our disposition, antecedents, present intentions, and future plans as Pira can glean from the Consul's household, it becomes incumbent on us to present ourselves, or get our

Consul to present us, at one of the Sultan's Friday levées.

band strikes

Drawn up before his tawdry palace (a ricketty building of many storeys, of no style whatever, and of execrable taste) is a smart-looking regiment of the New Zanzibar army, the men in white uniform, with red and yellow caps, and the officers in white trousers and magnificently embroidered tunics. At their head stands their organizer and Commander-in-Chief, General Matthews, who gives the order to present arms as the Consular party draws near. Then the Goanese up "God save the Queen," and we risk a sunstroke by walking through the serried ranks of soldiers with our helmets raised above our heads. In the entry to the palace more guards, Persian and Baluch, are assembled, and there are crowds of Arabs in gala costumes. Preceded by a kind of Master of the Ceremonies, we pass along corridors and apartments furnished in the Neo-Oriental (bastard French) style, and then ascend a strangely mean and poky staircase covered with scraps of faded kamptulicon. As we emerge on a small landing, coming up, as it were, from a stage trap, a tall, portly Arab leans over the stair-rail, and extends to each in turn a firm, plump hand. It is Sayyid Barghash come to greet his visitors half way; and though his cordial way of taking you by the hand and hoisting you up is merely a piece of formal courtesy, still it is of material assistance to you in emerging from the trap-like staircase. Preceded by the Sayyid, we are ushered into a long, reception-room of Arab shape but later French decoration. Except for the fine Persian carpet which goes the whole length of the apartment, there is little to note that is pleasing to a critical eye. The furni

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ture is red velvet and gilt wood. Round the walls are ranged medley assemblages of kitchen clocks, ormolu timepieces, aneroid barometers, thermometers, anemometers, telescopes, opera-glasses, musical-boxes, swords, spears, guns, pistols, toys of ingenious kinds, photographic albums, photographs glazed and framed and faded, and what not else. The upper end of the room, where the "Sultan" ordinarily sits, has a large mirror in the centre, and on either side of the mirror is a full-length oil painting of Sayyid Barghash. These two paintings are identical in every detail. They were manufactured in Paris. The Sayyid had a photograph taken of himself during his visit to London. It was in a sitting posture. He sent it to Paris with the order that it was to be enlarged standing, and then converted into two oil paintings. The Parisian artist, in no way at a loss, cut off the head of the sitting Sultan and stuck it on to the decapitated portrait of some Algerian Arab photographed erect. The combination was enlarged, and in due time gave rise to the two oil paintings in the palace at Zanzibar.

Sayyid Barghash bin Sa'id, the Prince of Zanzibar, Pemba, and the Zangian coast, is a man of about forty-five, as far as an Arab's age may be guessed. He is tall, somewhat corpulent, and not unhandsome. Were it not that his face betrays the traces of a too uxorious life, and that he has for some reason lately cut off his moustache and trimmed his beard to resemble an English tradesman's, he might even be called good-looking. His complexion is clear, his eyes large and fine, though faded with excesses, and his teeth white and perfect. The Sultan's feet are just of that ideal type that Sir Frederick Leighton loves to paint, and which, until I saw them peeping from

Sayyid Barghash's sandals, I never believed to exist. The feet and hands of the Sultan of Zanzibar are the most beautifully formed I ever saw in a man, and he is justly proud of them; but alas! his symmetry ends at his ankles, for he is afflicted with elephantiasis-a not uncommon disease in Zanzibar, and his limbs are swollen and misshapen. Though he speaks no lan

guages but Arabic and Swahili, he is a better-read man than many a contemporary Eastern Sovereign, and even aspires to the honours of an author.

One day four or five servants of the Sultan arrived at the Consulate, bearing about a dozen volumes of a work in Arabic. This was Part I. of a Digest of Mohammedan Jurisprudence written by the Sultan, and presented with his compliments to the British

D