The first thing that strikes an inquirer into the intercourse which was formerly carried on between China and the northern part of Borneo, is the prevalence of names referring to these strangers. They are called in Malay, Orang China; by the Land Dayaks of Sarawak, Orang Sina; and by the Borneans, Orang Kina, men of China; and north of the capital, we find Kina Benua, the Chinese land, in Labuan; Kina Balu, the Chinese widow, the name of the great mountain; Kina Batañgan, the Chinese river, on the north-east coast; and we have Kina Taki, the name of a stream at the foot of Kina Balu and Kina Bañgun, a name of a small river of the north north eastern coast. Around Brunei we continually come across terraces cut on the sides of the hills, where the pepper-plant was grown, particularly on the eminence below the Consulate: and the places where the Chinese had levelled the ground on which to build their houses are often to be met with; one of the most distinct was in my own garden. Their graves are also numerous, and may easily be traced on the slopes of the hills, though time has worn down their edges, and left but a slightly swelling mound. My object is not to write a history of the Chinese intercourse with Borneo, but to notice what impress it has left on the manners and thoughts of the people, and what remembrances of them may still be gathered. At present there are scarcely any of the original settlers left. I only remember one very old man, who cultivated a garden a few miles above the town; and although he had lived there for sixty years, arriving as a child, he had not mastered the language of the country, and could only say that in old days the Chinese were numerous. The reigning sultan used often to converse on the subject, and told me that his own father was the nobleman appointed to superintend the Chinese; and that about fifty years ago they were very numerous to the westward of the town, and that when he was a youth, he was fond of strolling in their pepper and vegetable gardens. He did not know “how many there were, but there were many.” He accounted for their almost total disappearance by saying that for the last sixty or seventy years they had received no recruits from China, and that the Chinese gardeners near the town seldom had wives, but those up the country and in the neighbouring districts lived among the Murut and Bisaya tribes, and that their descendants had mixed with the native population and adopted their dress and habits. An occurrence which took place whilst I was in Brunei tended to confirm this. A Chinese pedlar, married to a Murut girl, came to me one day to complain of the conduct of a Bornean nobleman who had been oppressing the aborigines. I sent him with the Malay writer attached to the Consulate to explain his case to the sultan, as I could not interfere myself.