any endeavors, we got the fruit. It all took a long
time. We then began to realize that something was the matter with him.
He could understand English well enough to know what orders we were
giving him, but he seemed to forget as soon as he left our sight. We
then realized that he was probably drugged. It was the same thing every
day. In the morning he was stupid and dull, and could not remember what
we told him. By evening his brain was clearer, and at dinner he could
remember well enough. The effects of whatever he had been taking had
apparently worn off during the day.

We learned that the opium trade was freely indulged in, at Singapore,
fostered by the Government. Singapore is a large city of about 300,000
inhabitants, a great number of which are Chinese. It has wide,
beautiful streets, fine government buildings, magnificent quays and
docks--a splendid European city at the outposts of the Orient. We
found that a large part of its revenue is derived from the opium
traffic--from the sale of opium, and from license fees derived from
shops where opium may be purchased, or from divans where it may be
smoked. The customers are mainly Chinese.

I wanted to visit these Government-licensed opium shops and opium dens.
A friend lent me two servants, as guides. We three got into rickshaws
and went down to the Chinese quarter, where there are several hundred
of these places, all doing a flourishing business. It was early in the
afternoon, but even then, trade was brisk. The divans were rooms with
wide wooden benches running round the sides, on which benches, in
pairs, sharing a lamp between them, lay the smokers. They purchased
their opium on entering, and then lay down to smoke it. The packages
are little, triangular packets, each containing enough for about six
smokes. Each packet bears a label, red letters on a white ground,
"Monopoly Opium."

In one den there was an old man--but you can't tell whether a drug
addict is old or not, he looked as they all do, gray and emaciated--but
as he caught my eye, he laid down the needle on which he was about to
cook his pill, and glanced away. I stood before him, waiting for him to
continue the process, but he did not move.

"Why doesn't he go on?" I asked my guide. "He is ashamed to have you
see him," came the reply.

"But why should he be ashamed?" I asked, "The British Government is not
ashamed to sell to him, to encourage him to drug himself, to ruin
himself. Why should he be a