straight lines for several miles at a stretch, and are bordered
by rows of dusty tamarind-trees. At each mile there are little
guardhouses, where a policeman is stationed; and there is a
wooden gong, which by means of concerted signals may be made to
convey information over the country with great rapidity. About
every six or seven miles is the post-house, where the horses are
changed as quickly as were those of the mail in the old coaching
days in England.

I stopped at Modjokerto, a small town about forty miles south of
Sourabaya, and the nearest point on the high road to the district
I wished to visit. I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Ball, an
Englishman, long resident in Java and married to a Dutch lady;
and he kindly invited me to stay with him until I could fix on a
place to suit me. A Dutch Assistant Resident as well as a Regent
or native Javanese prince lived here. The town was neat, and had
a nice open grassy space like a village green, on which stood a
magnificent fig-tree (allied to the Banyan of India, but more
lofty), under whose shade a kind of market is continually held,
and where the inhabitants meet together to lounge and chat. The
day after my arrival, Mr. Ball drove me over to the village of
Modjo-agong, where he was building a house and premises for the
tobacco trade, which is carried on here by a system of native
cultivation and advance purchase, somewhat similar to the indigo
trade in British India. On our way we stayed to look at a
fragment of the ruins of the ancient city of Modjo-pahit,
consisting of two lofty brick masses, apparently the sides of a
gateway. The extreme perfection and beauty of the brickwork
astonished me. The bricks are exceedingly fine and hard, with
sharp angles and true surfaces. They are laid with great