first impression, while taking my walk between four and six in the morning, the especially fashionable hour. But what particularly struck me was a military post: twenty Malays were on guard, armed with pikes and pitchforks more than nine feet long. It was explained to us that in this country there are a good many natives suffering from mental disease: over-excited by opium, they wander over the island armed with a sword, and run through the body the first man they fall in with, in honour of the Koran. This is called running a muck. As soon as one of these men appears, the guard gives chase, encloses him between three pitchforks, and the corporal, whose rank may easily be recognized from the fact of his wearing shoes, has the honour of running through with a javelin the terrible madman. First insight into the internal government. A morning at Batavia consists of a walk, five or six baths running, and an appetizing breakfast. In the afternoon every one sleeps. Towards six o'clock in the evening a little stir begins to be felt: hundreds of open carriages drive about. The European population, lounging bare-headed, wends its way to the Waterloo plain, where a military band is playing. We follow the stream, still delighted by the enchanting avenues and brilliant dresses. This "Longchamps" partakes completely of the character of the colony; the garrison, nine thousand men strong, is its principal ornament; more than three hundred carriages stand in the shade of the great trees; the national airs, very well played, echo loudly; and officers gallop about amongst the myriads of Javanese in holiday dress, glittering in the most brilliant Eastern finery. Imagine a tall, fine-looking man, in a blue tunic, loose white trousers, high boots, large spurs, and big sword. Suppose that he will kindly open his legs to admit between them a superbly caparisoned pony, about the size of a Newfoundland dog, and you have a truthful picture of the Javanese representatives of the armed force of all the Netherlands. The small size of the horse detracts in no wise from the greatest military virtues, and Heaven knows that the fame of this army is beyond all praise; but when a troop of Lilliputian horses, mounted by worthy companions of Gulliver, charge the enemy, it is impossible to help laughing with all one's heart. We dined this evening with our friend M. Van Delden, the president of the Chamber of Commerce. Our agreeable companion in the stifling cabin of the 'Hero' had resumed his princely existence in his palace, amidst the peaceful charms of his delightful family cir cle. Luxurious pools, gardens of Armida, a verandah dining-room amidst the luxuriant foliage of blooming thickets, swarms of Indian servants in their most splendid national dress, nothing is wanting of all that can be imagined as the regal reward of industry, probity, and talent. How is it possible after the well-earned delights of such a paradise to return to a muddy, foggy street in Holland, and live there without twenty horses or four score servants? Holland is but a name to be passionately loved by these patriotic hearts; from time to time they return to see it, and to re-invigorate themselves on their native soil; but space, wealth, sunshine, authority, are wanting there to the happy inhabitants of Java, whom monopoly has here made pashas and kings, and who feel little inclined to become subjects, rate-payers, and tenants on lease again, at home! 12th November, 1866.-We follow the fashion and take an airing at five o'clock in the morning on M. Van Delden's skittish ponies. Still the same bowers, the same marvels of verdure and bloom, of perfume and foliage; still the same numbers of villas scattered about in gardens, the same movement on a hundred different canals, the same brilliant colours in this human ant-hill which moves busily about, screaming noisily like a flight of cockatoos. At nine o'clock we have already reached our fifth bath. This torrid temperature of 104° in the shade would really, I believe, burst any thermometer that was put into the sun. I braved it nevertheless with a pyramidal white cotton helmet on my head, which made me look like a white-washed fireman. I was much puzzled with the narrow winding lanes of the old town, where the inhabitants pack themselves into their bamboo huts as we should pile up sacks of wheat in a corn market. The Malay shops are filled with calico goods and sticky eatables; the Chinese shops are of a superior kind. Here, for example, is the stall of a Chinese watchmaker. The proprietor's plaited tail is the sole garment which appears on his immensely fat body. He holds a magnifying glass in his left eye by a contraction of the eyebrow which contorts his features into a horrible grimace, and this semi-nude jeweller is audaciously handling a Breguet watch, and seems very proud of being able to take the Paris workmanship so cleverly to pieces. His neighbour sells monkeys, his opposite neighbour innumerable preparations of capsicum in innumerable saucers piled one upon another. Everywhere a putrid and disgusting smell reigns. The sea breeze brings great whiffs of it, exhaled from the mangrove trees and poisonous shrubs which cover the shore. The advancing tide swells their knotted, twisted, porous roots; in a few hours they increase some inches in diameter; then the ebb leaves them exposed on the unhealthy mud; the sun pours down, evaporates and dries them up; a line of yellowish clouds, of pestilential mists, forms itself, and remains for a moment suspended, waiting to be carried off by the wind, and then, woe to the coast where the caprice of the atmosphere may direct it! It is these deadly miasmas which have given to the old town of Batavia that general reputation for unhealthiness which made you fear for us when we left home. And in fact, it is impossible to count the numbers who have fallen victims there since the occupation of the place. I was speaking of this subject with an agreeable acquaintance. "Oh!" said he, "before the period when we retreated from the shores to found the new town, people died like flies in old Batavia, it was actual poisoning for every human being; but now, what does it signify? no one lives there but Chinese or Malays!" This saying, anything but philanthropic, recalled to my mind a certain correspondence in the last Mexican war. Having enumerated the disasters from yellow fever on the coast, and given an account of the movement of the troops into the interior, the letter said: "But families may feel re-assured now, there are none but sailors on the coast!" The families of the French sailors must have been about as much comforted as those of the natives are here. Notwithstanding the pure air of the new town, we have just had a terrible example of the consequence of imprudence. One of our neighbours at table, who had eaten too freely of the juicy pine-apples at dessert yesterday evening, looked a little pale at the mid-day breakfast at three o'clock, he was dead! It is the only thing which is done quickly in these tropical latitudes! Hardly is the hour of our siesta over before we sit down to write under our verandah. Immediately we are besieged by some fifty Chinese or Malays, wanting to sell us neckties or handkerchiefs, French photographs and military sketches. I drive them away, they return; I threaten them, they spread out a hundred new things, this one crying up his trousers, another his eau de Cologne, a third his monkeys. Determined to await the end of my letter, they are at this moment crouching down in the full sun ten paces from us, evidently hoping that I shall be in a more conciliatory disposition presently. In the evening we were roused by a fire. A hun dred and eighty houses-reed huts-in the old town were blazing like a lot of lucifer matches. What quantities of vermin must have been roasted! 13th November, 1866.-We might have expected this! The captain of the Hero,' our neighbour in this corridor, turned pale yesterday evening, and passed the night prostrate on the ground very sick, and groaning. We ourselves have paid the necessary tribute of new arrivals, and our interiors are in a pitiable state. If we can preserve our cheerfulness, we are safe from that phantom of cholera—and Javanese cholera-which takes fright if it does not inspire it. Here, too, is something to restore us-the pure air of the mountains inland. A charming letter from the Governor-General for the time being informs us that, "political considerations not permitting him to offer to a prince in exile the honours due to a French prince, he yet begs to be allowed to treat him as the grandson of a king." He sends us a circular passport, a most rare and valuable favour, for the whole island, and even for the so-called imperial territories, where, under Dutch protection, the Sultans of Sourakarta and Djokjokarta reign; notice is given to all the residents and native princes in the island, and the government post horses are put at the Prince's service gratuitously. This is a piece of good fortune which delights us and fills us with the most lively gratitude. Change being recommended for those who feel the enervating effect of this fiery climate, we have not refused the Resident of Batavia, M. Hoogeveen's, kind invitation. At six o'clock in the evening his state carriage came to fetch us. Four outrunners, all dressed in white, carry long white horses' tails with which they flick away the flies from our team; they make good use of their legs, each running by the side of his pony and effectually chasing the flies. We gallop and they run, such is the custom here. In half an hour we arrive at the palace. A regiment of servants are on the steps, turbans, sashes, arms, all the splendid figures of Oriental scenery stand out brilliantly on the marble. The Resident receives the Prince most cordially; then come the general in command, the colonels of artillery, the civil engineers, and, finally, the sultan and sultana of one of the principalities of Borneo. The husband is a stunted little old man, wrinkled and rheumatic, furiously chewing a paste made of lime and betel nut, which blackens the teeth and makes the gums bleed, and which, stuck between the teeth and the lower lip, swells the latter, by nature hanging, and so increases a hideous and deformed swelling. But the sultana is charming. She is a little person, young, and with bright eyes, and returns the greeting of the young Europeans with perfect grace. Her dress consists of a mantle of blue and yellow silk. A red and white scarf, passed across her shoulder, covers her bosom, and is kept in its place by a brooch of twelve intertwined crescents made of diamonds of the island. It is the prettiest jewel I ever saw. A red turban with a diamond ornament at the side, frames the smil-| ing expressive bronze head. As for us, whilst sauntering amongst the white arcades, amongst strange groups of soldiers, servants, incense burners, and cigar lighters, we had the pleasure of arranging a crocodile hunt with the good-natured resident. 13th November, 1866.-Beyond the repeated siestas which are the great secret of happiness when one is so near the line; beyond the lounging and bathing, and the delicious cups of coffee, everything is a labour under this sun! All the same, I have closed my mail-bag for Europe and paid the postage on it; no mere form of politeness, assure you. Seven-and-twenty shillings for postage have I paid this morning. I had almost forgotten our visit to the museum, of which the Resident did the honours to the Prince. Besides the fly-flagging outrunners, M. Hoogeveen is accompanied by the gilt-umbrella-bearing outrunner, and two cigar lighters, who trot behind us brandishing the sandal-wood match, that Vestal fire always kept up for the official "manillas." The museum is magnificent, and so curious as to be quite unintelligible to the traveller who is not well versed in Sanscrit, Javanese, Sunda, Bali, and Hindoo divinities, their big stomachs, slits of eyes, and humped backs, with double faces and half a dozen arms and legs kicking about, silver chickens with five legs, ancient lamps and tom-toms, with which we produced the most astonishing noises, and I know not what besides. It is a perfect nightmare. The Hero' starts to-day for our dear Australia; and we intend, when we confide our letters to her, to wish her a fair wind, and take the customary farewell breakfast on board. Poor ship, in which we had run so many risks! I see it still clearing by a few yards only the coral reef on which we threatened a thousand times to go to pieces! I see it lost for fifteen hours after passing Bali, when a dangerous current carried us to the north-east, while we were steering west-northwest. And she is getting her steam up to start again, and put to flight the flotillas of pi rogues manned by cannibals! Whatever hap pens, her last deed here is a good one, for she is carrying off a poor invalid dying under the tropical sun; a mere skeleton from consumption, the poor man is going to seek for health amongst the beauties of New South Wales, or the cool breezes of Tasmania. If he lands alive, the marks of sympathy and cordiality which all strangers there receive will surely save him. From the Marquis de Beauvoir's Voyage Around the World. THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. At the wedding of Shon Maclean Bonnet, and black cock feather, He's but a Sassenach blind and vain The Duke's own piper, called "Shon the Fair," The Macleans had followed this occupation, All in the wind and the rain; At the wedding of Shon Maclean, Farach and Dougal Dhu, Sandy of Isla too, Each with the bonnet o' blue, The knot was tied, the words were said, A clean fireside and a merry life!" Then out he slipt, and each man sprang To his feet, and with "hooch" the chamber rang! "Clear the tables," shrieked out one A leap, a scramble, the thing was done! And then the Pipers all in a row Tuned their pipes and began to blow Sandy of Isla and Earach More, At the wedding of Shon Maclean. At the wedding of Shon Maclean Ceased their clatter and blether, Red-cheek'd with lungs of leather; And every Piper was fu' Twenty Pipers together. Who led the dance? In pomp and pride The Duke himself led out the Bride. Great was the joy of each beholder, For the wee Duke only reach'd her shoulder: And they danced, and turned, when the reel began, Like a giantess and a fairy man! But like an earthquake was the din When Shon himself led the Duchess in! And she took her place before them there, Like a white mouse dancing with a bear. The Duke began it with toe and heel, At the wedding of Shon Maclean Those Pipers played together! Tartan, and blackcock feather; Oh for a magic tongue to tell Of all the wonders that befell! Of how the Duke, when the first stave died, Reached up on tiptoe to kiss the Bride, While Sandy's pipes, as their mouths were meeting, Skirl'd and set every heart abeating. Then Shon took the pipes! and all was still, As silently he the bags did fill, With flaming cheeks and round bright eyes, Till the first faint music began to rise. Like a thousand laverocks singing in tune, Like countless corn-craiks under the moon, Like the smack of kisses, like sweet bells ringing, Like a mermaid's harp, or a kelpie singing, All the Pipers around replied, And swelled the glorious strain; The hearts of all were proud and light, To hear the music, to see the sight, And the Duke's own eyes were dim that night, So to honor the Clan Maclean "Blue bonnets across the heather!" They stamp'd, they strutted, they blow; They shriek'd; like cocks they crew; Blowing the notes out true, With wonderful lungs of leather: When the Duke and Duchess went away The dance grew mad and the fun grew gay; Man and Maiden, face to face, Leapt and footed and scream'd apace! To soothe their struggle with words of love, And blowing madly, with flourish and squeak, Each with a different strain, At the wedding of Shon Maclean, Thro' wonderful lungs of leather: They strutted, they scream'd, they crew! Twenty wild strains they blew, Holding the heart in tether; And every piper was fu,' Twenty Pipers together. A storm of music! Like wild eleuth-hounds At last a bevy of Eve's bright daughters Embraced like brothers and kindred spirits, And left him snoring, serene and mortal. ROBERT BUCHANAN. A DISCOURSE OF TREES. HENRY WARD BEECHER, an American pulpit orator and versatile writer, born in Litchfield, Connecticut, June 24, 1813, was pastor of Plymouth Church from 1847 till his death, 1887. As the zealous and eloquent advocate of political reforms, a copious contributor to the press, and a platform lecturer constantly in demand, Mr. Beecher has acquired the widest popularity. His style is vigorous, effervescent, and frequently poetic and imaginative. His published volumes, excepting "A Life of Christ," and "Norwood," a novel of New England life, are reproductions of his sermons, lectures, and voluminous contributions to periodicals. To the great tree-loving fraternity we belong. We love trees with universal and unfeigned love, and all things that do grow under them, or around them-"the whole leaf and root tribe." Not alone where they are. in their glory, but in whatever state they are-in leaf, or ruined with frost, or powdered with snow, or crystal sheathed in ice, or in severe outline stripped and bare against a November sky-we love them. Our heart warms at the sight of even a board or a log. A lumber-yard is better than nothing. The smell of wood, at least, is there, the savory fragrance of resin, as sweet as myrrh and |