On the following day I paid some calls on the British and American residents and then went down to the English tennis‐ground, which is situated close to Bella Vista. Here, in the afternoons, the little colony of aliens in Macao generally assemble. The consuls and their wives and families, with a few missionaries and an occasional merchant, make up their number. Close by the tennis‐courts, in a high‐walled enclosure shaded by giant banyans, lies the English cemetery. That night a civilian from Hong Kong, Mr. Ivan Grant‐Smith, and I had an unpleasant adventure which illustrates the scant respect with which the ægis of British power is regarded abroad. We are prone to flatter ourselves that the world stands in awe of our Empire’s might, that the magic words, “I am an English citizen!” will bear us scatheless through any danger. The following instance—by no means an isolated one—of how British subjects are often treated by the meanest officials of other States may be instructive. We had dined that evening at the house of one of the English residents in Macao. The dinner, which was to celebrate the birthday of his son, was followed by a dance; so that it was after one o’clock in the morning before we left to walk back to the hotel, about a mile away. Leaving the main streets, we tried a short cut along a lonely road hemmed in by high garden walls. The ground on one side sloped up, so that the level of the enclosures was but little below the top of the wall fronting the road. As we passed one garden some dogs inside it, roused by our voices, climbed on the wall and began to bark persistently at us. In the vain hope of silencing them, Grant‐Smith threw a few stones at the noisy animals. They barked all the more furiously. A small gate in the wall a little distance farther on suddenly opened and a half‐dressed Portuguese appeared. I had happened to stop to light a cigar, and my companion had gone on ahead. The new‐comer on the scene rushed at him and poured forth a torrent of what was evidently abuse. My friend very pacifically endeavoured to explain by gestures what had happened; but the Portuguese, becoming still more enraged, shouted for the police patrol and blew a whistle loudly. An Indian constable ran up. The infuriated citizen spoke to him in Portuguese and then returned inside his garden, closing the gate. The sepoy seized Mr. Grant‐Smith by the shoulder. I asked him in Hindustani what my friend had done. The constable replied that he did not know. I said, “Then why do you arrest the sahib?” “Because that man”—pointing to the garden—“told me to do so.” “Who is he?” I demanded, naturally concluding that we must have disturbed the slumbers of some official whom the sepoy recognised. To my astonishment he replied— “I do not know, sahib. I never saw him before.” As Grant‐Smith was ignorant of Hindustani and the Indian of English, I was forced to act as interpreter.