are many.  The roads are excellent.  They are made by forced labour, and, what seems rather hard, the natives with their carts, &c., are not allowed to use them.  I found here a bath formed by a hot iron or sulphur spring, into which I plunged before dinner.  These Javanese seem the most timorous of mankind.  A11, men and women, crouch on their heels and knees when our carriage approaches; and they do this, I believe, to all white people, as well as to their own chiefs.  But it is not only this crouching; they have, moreover (especially the women), a way of turning their heads aside, as if they were afraid to look at one.  The natives of the eastern part of the island are said not to be so timid.

Starting from Chipana early on the following morning, they continued their rapid descent by Buitenzorg to Batavia; and on the 16th embarked again on board the ‘Ferooz,’ for Ceylon, where he expected to find an accumulation of four mails.  ‘Two months of news!’ (he wrote).  ’I always feel nervous as to what so long an interval may bring forth.’

[Sidenote:  Strait of Sunda.]

‘Ferooz,’ at Sea.—­February 16th.—­One P.M.—­We are entering the Strait of Sunda, which separates Java and Sumatra.  When through it we have a clear sea-way to Galle. Two P.M.—­We have just passed the high land which forms the north-western point of Java, and is called Cape St. Nicholas.  It is beautifully rich-looking; the bright green of its grass and crops embroidered over by the darker green of the clumps of trees which are scattered upon it.  Farther down to the south, on the same side, is the flat promontory known as Angen Point.  On the other side we have the coast of Sumatra, wooded and broken, with mountains in the background, and green islets tossed out from it upon the ocean, in the foreground; and a sailing ship moving along it in the same direction with ourselves, her sails flapping idly in the calm.

Sunday, February 24th.—­We have just had service on deck, under a double awning.  A little fanning breeze from the north-east seemed to say that we are at last getting back into the region of that monsoon which we left when we went to the south of the Line.  I have been some days without writing, for there has been nothing to tell, and we have had a good deal of bad weather, rain, and rolling and pitching; but we must not complain, as it was more convenient to have it here in the open sea, than if we had encountered it in a narrow passage, such as we have passed through.  We expect to reach Galle in three days, and I cannot but feel a little nervous as to the news I may find there.  We are in God’s hands, and this sort of doubt makes us feel the more that we are so.

[Sidenote:  Retrospect of Java.]