l kingdom a recognized power.

He died in 1868, and was carried back to England for burial, and I
predict that at no distant day a grateful people will rise up and
ask of England his body, that it may be laid to rest in the yellow
sands under the graceful palms of the unknown nation of which he was
the Washington.

His nephew, Sir Charles Brooke, who had also been his faithful
companion for many years, succeeded him.

Sarawak has to-day a coast-line of over four hundred miles, with an
area of fifty thousand square miles, and a population of three hundred
thousand souls. The country produces gold, silver, diamonds, antimony,
quicksilver, coal, gutta-percha, rubber, canes, rattan, camphor,
beeswax, edible bird's-nests, sago, tapioca, pepper, and tobacco, all
of which find their way to Singapore, and thence to Europe and America.

The Rajah is absolute head of the state; but he is advised by
a legislative council composed of two Europeans and five native
chiefs. He has a navy of a number of small but effective gunboats,
and a well-trained and officered army of several hundred men, who look
after the wild tribes of the interior of Borneo and guard the great
coast-line from piratical excursions; otherwise they would be useless,
as his rule is almost fatherly, and he is dearly beloved by his people.

It is impossible in one short sketch to relate a tenth of the daring
deeds and startling adventures of these two white rajahs. Their lives
have been written in two bulky volumes, and the American boy who loves
stories that rival his favorite authors of adventure will find them by
going to the library and asking for the "Life of the Rajah of Sarawak."

There is much in this "Life" that might be read by our statesmen
and philanthropists with profit; for the building of a kingdom in a
jungle of savage men and savage beasts places the name of Brooke of
Borneo among those of the world's great men, as it does among those
of the heroes of adventure.

One evening we were pacing back and forth on the deck of the Rajah's
magnificent gunboat, the Ranee. A soft tropical breeze was blowing off
shore. Thousands of lights from running rickshas and bullock carts
were dancing along the wide esplanade that separates the city of
Singapore from the sea. The strange old-world cries from the natives
came out to us in a babel of sound.

Chinese in sampans and Malays in praus were gliding about our bows and
back and forth between the great fore