to every visiter) from the back
verandah of the inn, is the finest that can be imagined. Standing on the
steps of this verandah, you have, immediately under your foot, an
extensive plain, thoroughly cultivated, sprinkled with villages, each
village being surrounded with evergreen trees, and the whole almost
encircled by a river. To the left of this valley rises an extensive and
picturesque mountain, cultivated almost to the summit, and dotted here
and there with villages and gentlemen's houses. Looking into the valley
at early morn, you will see the lazy buffalo, driven by an equally
indolent ploughman, dragging a Lilliputian plough through the slimy
paddy-field; the lazy Javanese labourer going to his work in the field;
the native women reaping, with the hand only, and stalk by stalk, the
ripe paddy (rice) in one field, while those in the next are sowing the
seed; the adjoining fields being covered with stubble, their crops
having been reaped weeks before. Upon the declivity of the mountain is
seen the stately coffee-tree, the plantations of which commence about
1300 feet above the level of the sea, and proceed up the hill till they
reach the height of 4000 feet. Nothing can be more beautiful than a
full-grown coffee-plantation: the deep green foliage, the splendid
bright-red berry, and the delicious shade afforded by the trees, render
those spots altogether fit for princes; and princely lives their owners
lead. One is always sure of a hearty welcome from these gentlemen, who
are ever glad to see a stranger. They give him the best horse in the
stable to ride, the best room in the house to occupy, and express regret
when his visit is drawing to a close. I speak from experience, having
put the hospitality of several of them to the test.

During my first stay at Batavia, from 1823 to 1826, the celebrated Java
war broke out, the so-called rebel army being headed by a native Chief
of Djockdjocarta, named Diepo Nogoro. Shortly after the first outbreak,
the then Governor-General, Baron Vander Capellen, called on all
Europeans between the ages of sixteen and forty-five to serve in the
_schuttery_, or militia. An infantry and a cavalry corps were formed,
and I joined the latter, preferring a ride in the evening to a walk with
a fourteen-pound musket over my shoulder. After a probation of pretty
tight drilling, we became tolerable soldiers, on "nothing a day and
finding ourselves," and had the good town of Batavia put under our