I obtained the use of a good-sized house in the Campong Sirani (or Christian village), and at Christmas and the New Year had to endure the incessant gun-firing, drum-beating, and fiddling of the inhabitants.
These people are very fond of music and dancing, and it would astonish a European to visit one of their assemblies.

We enter a gloomy palm-leaf hut, in which two or three very dim lamps barely render darkness visible.

The floor is of black sandy earth, the roof hid in a smoky impenetrable blackness; two or three benches stand against the walls, and the orchestra consists of a fiddle, a fife, a drum, and a triangle.
There is plenty of company, consisting of young men and women, all very neatly dressed in white and black--a true Portuguese habit.

Quadrilles, waltzes, polkas, and mazurkas are danced with great vigour and much skill.

The refreshments are muddy coffee and a few sweetmeats.