Europeans, one for Chinese, and one for
the natives.

In leaving Buitenzorg I made the mistake of taking a first-class ticket.
In the first place, the carriage had not been dusted, and a cooly came
in and disturbed me with his brush. He made such a cloud of dust that I
had to beat a retreat. On my return I found the carriage clean, but the
dust transferred to my baggage. In the next place, all the Dutch
officials, and the planters and their wives, were travelling second
class, and I was left to enjoy (?) my compartment in solitary grandeur.
Had there been any one in the carriage, I should have found out that
Soekaboemi was not the right station for H----'s plantation. As it was I
could open and shut windows at will, and I was free to make the best of
my opportunities for sight-seeing--an object towards which the slow pace
of the train and the frequent and lengthy stoppages materially
contributed. Indeed, the crowds of natives at the stations were as well
worth studying as the mountains and plantations. I never saw elsewhere,
even in Java, such rainbow mixtures of colours as they contrived to
bring into their cotton jackets and dresses; and as for their plaited
hats, there was every possible variety of shape and size, from an
umbrella to a funnel.

For the first few miles the line ran southwards between Salak and Gede.
On either side I could see stretches of mountain slopes luxuriously
wooded, while the brown stream Tji Sadanie, a tributary of the Kali
Besar, or "great river" of Batavia, playing hide-and-seek with the
railroad, afforded more than one charming "bit" of river, tree, and
mountain.

As we get away from the mountains the view widens. Masses of palms, dark
green bamboos, and other tropical growths fill up the distance. In the
foreground are irrigated rice terraces, with gleaming waters and the
freshest of verdure. Here copper-coloured natives are at work. Men are
ploughing the wet soil of the sawahs with buffaloes; women--often with
their babies slung on their backs with their long scarfs--are hoeing, or
weeding, or reaping. As the average monthly temperature does not vary
more than two degrees all the year round in Java, the process of
preparing the ground, sowing, and reaping go on simultaneously in the
ricefields. Every now and then we come across a queer little Noah's-ark
cottage in the midst of bananas and bamboos, with a tall palm or two
waving overhead. Salak remains long in sight. At first it towere