two days later, and among them was my precious ticket. The week I spent in Graves forms no part of my Meccanian tour, so I will say nothing about it except that it gave me an opportunity of seeing the extraordinary sight of No Man's Land. It stretched like a belt of desert as far as one could see. Rough grass grew here and there, but no other vegetation. Every year, in the warm weather, the grass was fired, and other means were taken also to ensure that the weeds should not injure the vegetation on the cultivated side, which by contrast looked like a garden. At intervals of every twenty yards or so an iron pole was erected with wire between. Otherwise there was no obstacle; but no unauthorised person, so I was told, ever crossed the line. At the end of the week a few more travellers arrived and were met by the conveyance from Bridgetown. It was something like a large prison van, but quite comfortable inside except for the fact that the passengers could not see outside. My fellow-passengers were evidently strangers to one another. One or two, I thought, were Meccanians returning home, but as there was little conversation and the journey lasted not more than an hour, I was able to learn nothing about any of them. When the car stopped--it was a sort of large motor-omnibus--the door was opened by a porter in a dark blue uniform, and I found myself in the large courtyard of the Bridgetown Police Office. What became of my fellow-passengers I have no idea, but I was conducted to a waiting-room, where another subordinate official in a grey uniform took my papers, and about ten minutes after led me into a small office adjoining, where a man in a green uniform sat at a desk surrounded by neat little bundles of papers of various colours. He was a rather stout man of middle age, with bushy iron-grey hair and whiskers, yet rather bald in front. With his light grey eyes slightly protruding, he looked at me for a few seconds and said, "Mr. Ming?" I said, "I am Mr. Ming." "I am Inspector of Foreigners Stiff," he said very distinctly, "and whilst you are in Bridgetown you will be responsible to me for your good conduct. By what title are you authorised to be addressed?" "I am plain Mr. Ming, or Citizen Ming," I replied. "But you have some other title, doubtless," he said. "What office do you hold in your own country?" "Well," I replied, "I am what we call a National Councillor. I am also the President of the Literary Society of my own province, and I have been once the Mayor of my native town." "Then you had better be addressed as National Councillor Ming, or as Literary President Ming, or Mayor Ming," he answered promptly. "Choose which you prefer, and write down the title on the third line of this form." I wrote down, with a smile, "National Councillor Ming." "National Councillor Ming," he said, as I handed the form back to him, "before we have any further conversation, you will please pass into the next room and undergo your medical examination."