The club, the very verandahs of which are laved by the sea-waves, is one of the best of its kind in the East; and many a pleasant evening I spent there, listening now and again to a military band which once a-week discourses sweet music in its precincts. Pleasantest amongst many pleasant recollections of Aden is the kindness I was shown by all with whom I came in contact—kindness that extended not only to entertaining, but in rendering me great service in arranging my journey into the interior of the Yemen. I cannot here attempt to thank all those who took pity on a stranger, but I must not pass on without saying how grateful I am to General Jopp, H.M. Political Resident, and to Colonel Stace, C.B., Assistant-Resident, for their many kindnesses. As soon as I had settled in at my hotel and rested a day to study my whereabouts, I set to work to see the sights of the place. Fortunately they are not very many, though some of them, such as the street scenes in the bazaars, one can never tire of looking at. Our hotel, too, was a “sight.” It was full of curiosities, from the exceedingly stout and none too clean Greek who kept the place, to the dirtiest of dirty kitchens I ever saw. The centre courtyard, surrounded by a rickety balcony, had once been used as a _café-chantant_, and the stage and framework still remained, festooned with cobwebs. Below, the Greek kept a curiosity-shop, which seemed principally to contain moth-eaten skins of what once may have been wild beasts, and rusty Somali spears. His “Turkish delight” was good. I found he sold it to my servant at exactly half the price he charged me, so I made Abdurrahman buy it in future, and between us and Saïd, my Yemen man, we did a large business with him. However, on the whole, the place was inhabitable, and in a climate like Aden one lives mostly out of doors on the verandahs.