HONGKONG 
125 
enterprising German bar-keeper hoisted a German flag, and in a very 
short time had nearly all her liberty-men drinking inside—like 
moths at sugar. But superior to every one in the middle of the 
crowded streets stands the Sikh policeman; very tall and proud, with 
tightly curled beard and big pagri of many colours, looking down 
with undisguised contempt upon the motley throng of all races and 
nationalities. 
Hongkong is a strongly fortified naval station, and approach to 
the fortifications is guarded with commendable jealousy, but the 
military authorities are not consistently wise. For example, on a 
prominent building, which must be conspicuous alike from the 
harbour and from the sea outside, is written up in large letters, 
“ Magazine Road/’ This unfortunate name quite gratuitously calls 
the attention of the passer-by, and doubtless of the foreign naval 
officer, to the well-hidden magazine not far off, to which this house 
can but serve as a leading mark. Again, on the wall of a well- 
concealed modem battery, just below a public footpath, is written 
up the calibre and description of the armament, with its exact height 
above the sea—data which would have been equally available to the 
garrison if painted on the reverse wall of the battery, and so out of 
sight of the road. 
Perched some 1200 ft. above the busy city of Victoria, and often 
enveloped in damp clouds, stands the Peak Hotel, which was our com¬ 
fortable resting-place, memorable alike for its panoramic view over the 
harbour to the mountains beyond Kowloon, its excellent “ bird’s-nest 
soup,” and the luxuriant growth of mould upon our boots and shoes. 
Even Devonshire had not prepared me for such dampness, indeed 
the drying-room was one of the most important and best managed 
departments of the hostel. Communication with the city was by a 
somewhat alarming funicular railway, which one is forced to use, 
for otherwise, as a ’rikisha coolie said to me with much truth, 
“ Topside no can.” 
Convenient paths cut on the sides of the hill afford capital 
collecting ground, butterflies being most plentiful on the wooded 
slopes to the east of the city above the Happy Valley. Coming so 
recently from India, where the results of persistent drought were so 
painfully in evidence, it was a delightful relief to see the shrubs and 
trees all bursting into fresh spring verdure. The first plant to catch 
the eye was the small orange-red Azalea (?) sinensis, then in full 
bloom; it constantly reminded us that this was neither the coast 
of Cornwall, nor the Channel Islands, not even the Riviera di Ponente, 
nor the Bay of Naples. I was yet more pleased to happen upon 
