[Hospitality of tribunal.] A European who travels without a servant—­mine had run away with some wages I had rashly paid him in advance—­is put down as a beggar, and I was overwhelmed with impertinent questions on the subject, which, however, I left unanswered.  As I hadn’t had the supper I stood considerably in need of, I took the liberty of taking a few savory morsels from the meatpot, which I ate in the midst of a little knot of wondering spectators; I then laid myself down to sleep on the bench beside the table, to which a second set of diners were already sitting down.  When I awoke on the following morning there were already so many people stirring that I had no opportunity of performing my toilet.  I therefore betook myself in my dirty travelling dress to the residence of a Spaniard who had settled in the pueblo, and who received me in the most hospitable manner as soon as the description in my passport satisfied him that I was worthy of a confidence not inspired by my appearance.

[Trade in molaze.] My friendly host carried on no trifling business.  Two English ships were at that moment in the harbor, which he was about to send to China laden with molave, a species of wood akin to teak.

[Butucan waterfall.] On my return I visited the fine waterfall of Butucan, between Mauban and Lucban, a little apart from the high road.  A powerful stream flows between two high banks of rocky soil thickly covered with vegetation, and, leaping from a ledge of volcanic rock suddenly plunges into a ravine, said to be three hundred and sixty feet in depth, along the bottom of which it is hurried away.  The channel, however, is so narrow, and the vegetation so dense, that an observer looking at it from above can not follow its course.  This waterfall has a great similarity to that which falls from the Semeru in Java.  Here, as there, a volcanic stream flowing over vast rocky deposits forms a horizontal watercourse, which in its turn is overshadowed with immense masses of rock.  The water easily forces its way between these till it reaches the solid lava, when it leaves its high, narrow, and thickly-wooded banks, and plunges into the deep chasm it has itself worn away.  The pouring rain unfortunately prevented me from sketching this fine fall.  It was raining when I reached the convento of Majaijai, and it was still raining when I left it three days later, nor was there any hope of improvement in the weather for another month to come.  “The wet season lasts for eight or nine months in Majaijai, and during the whole period scarcely a day passes without the rain falling in torrents.”—­Estado geograph.