d down by the
weight of some climbing rattan. A walk up a boulder-strewn slope
reaches the old crater, or Solfatara, almost surrounded by steep walls
of rock. Boiling and wheezing springs, fast-forming sulphur columns,
and clouds of choking steam, rise from the yellow and orange-powdered
earth. A deafening noise issues from the self-building architecture of
ruddy pillars, the bubbling of boiling mud, and the shrill spouting of
hot vapours from narrow orifices in the trembling crust of the
fire-charged earth. Golden sulphur-pools shower burning drops on every
side, and from the mysterious _kawa_ or crater, echoes of subterranean
thunder sound at intervals, from the traditional forge where native
legends assert that a chained giant is condemned to work eternally in
the service of the Evil One.

At night the broad verandah of the Hotel Rupert is transformed into a
stage for a performance of the _topeng_ or national drama, chartered by
an American guest. The weird spectacle, accompanied by the _gamelon_
music, transports us to the days of old-world Java, story and
performance being of ancient origin and religious signification. The
subjects of the _topeng_ are derived from the Panji group of dramatic
poems, the ancient costumes, the curious masks, and the office of the
_dalang_ or reciter, whose ventriloquial skill is required for the
entire wording of the _libretto_, comprise a valuable memento of bygone
days, otherwise entirely forgotten. The _wayang-wayang_ or "shadow
dance" of puppets, vies with the _topeng_ in popularity, but the latter
ranks as classic and lyrical drama. A graceful girl in pink, with
floating scarf, and gleaming _kris_ in her spangled sash, exhibits
wonderful skill in the supple play of wrist and fingers, through the
process known as devitalization, a form of drill which gives to the arm
a plastic power of detached movement, fascinating but uncanny. The
dusky garden is filled with a native crowd, moved alternately to tears
and laughter by exploits unintelligible to the European spectator, for
the story of every national hero is known to the poorest and most
ignorant of the people, from perpetual attendance on theatrical
performances. The _al fresco_ entertainments necessitated by the
climate provide exceptional opportunities of dramatic education in the
legends of Java's heroic age. The spacious verandahs gleaming with the
soft light of Chinese lanterns, and set in depths of shadow, the
scented gloom