_4th._--I must now endeavour to give the little information I collected concerning Sulu. The government is carried on by a sultan, with his council of datus; at the present time the principal power is held by datu Molok, an elder but illegitimate brother of the sultan--a shrewd-looking man with quick, inquiring eyes. The sultan is said to be well-intentioned; but, being weak in character, is totally unable to subdue the turbulent aristocracy by whom he is surrounded. In despair he is reported to give way to his fondness for opium-smoking. The laws are but little respected, and ancient customs are fast falling into disuse, particularly one resembling a voluntary poor-rate. Every Sulu trader used to present five per cent. of his yearly profits to a fund, which was divided among the poor of the island. The mountaineers acknowledge the supremacy of the sultan, but refuse to pay tribute, and a government which cannot enforce that is not likely to be able to suppress feuds, or effectually to put down disturbances. Mr. Wyndham pointed out a man who was notorious as a murderer, and one instance he had himself witnessed of his bloodthirstiness. Again, two mountaineers, bargaining for a slice of fish, quarrelled; they mutually seized each other’s weapons; one held the handle of his opponent’s kris, the other his spear shaft; they struggled, a fight ensued, the crowd collected, some took one side, some the other, and in a few minutes seven men lay gasping on the ground. It is not to be expected that the dependencies of the island will obey, when all is in such confusion. The sultan’s power is very limited, though the datus still send parties to raise contributions from the neighbouring towns, villages, and islands. In all decaying states we find religion neglected, and here, I imagine, it is held but in slight respect; their houses of prayer being like a tumble-down barn, and the inhabitants indulging in the use of wine, and occasionally pork. Mr. Wyndham told us an amusing story of an old datu, who, going on business to a Chinese trader, began to find a delicious odour insinuatingly creeping over his senses. “Ah,” said he, “what is this? some cooking, what is it?” “Pork.” “Pork?” said he; “ah!” “Would you like to taste some?” “Why,” he answered in a low voice, but cautiously surveying the room to see if he were watched, “yes, bring me a little.” On tasting it, and finding it very good, he began to eat some more. Mr. Wyndham living next door, and hearing the old fellow’s noise, had removed some of the partition, and was watching him. He now coughed. “Oh, I am ruined,” cried the datu; “who lives in the next house?” “Signor Wyndham.” “Then he has me in his power.”