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A TALE BY THE WAYSIDE. 



ONE of the charms of shooting is that one's wander- 

 ings with a gun, be it rifle or smooth-bore, generally 

 take one into the remoter parts of a district where the 

 Malays are still almost unaffected by the progress of 

 civilisation, and where they live very much as their 

 fathers lived before the days of roads and railways. 

 When one rests for a few minutes, or hours, or for a 

 night, in a village, not only does one see the simple 

 and natural side of Malay life, but has a glimpse of 

 the more intimate side ; and one becomes acquainted, 

 in a casual way, with much that one would never 

 learn in an official visit. There is something in a 

 gun that is like the incognito of royalty, it shows 

 that the bearer is not on duty ; and when a man is 

 in a stained and disreputable old shooting-suit, it is 

 easy for him to forget, and to persuade others to for- 

 get, that he is the Judge or the District Officer. 



When you listen to Malays talking naturally among 

 themselves, the thing that will most puzzle you will 

 often be the apparent inconsequence of the remarks, 

 the looseness of the argument, and its curious inherent 

 tendency to drift into yet further vagueness. It will 

 not be until you are thoroughly acquainted with the 



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