As might be expected, the education of the women is very much neglected; few can write, and none spell correctly. I often had love-letters shown me by amorous but ignorant swains, who were afraid to trust the discretion of any native writer, and they have invariably been ill-written and worse spelt; this, however, is not said in disparagement, as few of the men can either read or write. The women are fond of making vows, and to that practice I am indebted for my only glimpse of a Bornean harïm. During my first expedition to Molu, my boat snapped on a snag, and I was left to return through the jungle. The report spread that I was dead, and various vows were made; among others, the wives and daughters of some of the rajahs made a vow, if I returned in safety, I should visit them and be showered over with yellow rice for good luck’s sake. The pañgerans consented, thinking I was dead; but, on my safe return, the ladies insisted upon carrying out their vow; they were anxious to see a white man within their walls. The nobles came and asked me; I at first declined, but, on being pressed, consented. The whole place was very paltry; about twenty middle-aged women were present, while a crowd of young girls, half hidden by a curtain, occupied the lower end of the room. On my displaying the most perfect indifference as to whether I saw them or not, they gradually emerged. I observed no pretty faces, and constant confinement to the house had rendered their skins of a very light yellow. I am afraid we were mutually disappointed, as the only remark I heard them make about me was, “How very dull his eyes are;” and so they were compared to their flashing black ones. Full of faults as the Bornean rajahs doubtless are, oppressors of their subjects, and totally unfitted to rule, yet they are, in my opinion, the most agreeable natives I have ever met. As a companion, few Europeans could be more interesting than was the shabandar, the Makota of Keppel’s book, and “the serpent,” as he was popularly called. I never wearied of his society, and always enjoyed the little picnics to which he invited me. His death, which I have related in my Limbang Journal, was tragic, though he deserved his fate. They all display, in the most exciting discussions, a propriety of behaviour and gentleness of manner that wins those who have dealings with them. Procrastination is their greatest fault, and sometimes trying to the temper.