used as mere quarries of
broken statuary, and still receiving inadequate recognition as
historical remains, though Sir Stamford Raffles a century ago realised
the supreme importance of Javanese sculpture as an indispensable link
in archaeological science. Djokjacarta, interesting in itself as the
survival of an ancient dynasty, borrows double attraction from the
architectural wonders which surround it, buried for ages in the deep
green grave of tropical vegetation, but now laid bare as an open book,
wherein we may read those graven records which unveil the mysteries of
the past, and enable us to gaze down the long vista of Time and Change.

BORO-BOEDOER.

The archaeological interest of Java culminates in the mysterious temple
known as Boro-Boedoer, "the aged thing," with an actual history lost in
mist and shadow, though recorded in imperishable characters on this
spellbound sanctuary of a departed faith. The little tramway from
Djokjacarta traverses fields of rice and sugar-cane, indigo and pepper;
a range of dreamlike mountains bounds the view, crowned by the
turquoise cone of Soemboeung, the traditional centre of Java, a green
knoll at the base of the volcanic pyramid being regarded as the "spike"
which fastens the floating isle to some solid rock in unfathomed depths
of ocean. The fitful fancy of a wandering race, ever drifting across
the changing seas, reflects itself in the legendary lore of the Malay
Archipelago, often represented by weird traditions as though in
perpetual motion. The vicissitudes of volcanic action, whereby islands
were sometimes submerged or created, gives a colouring of fact to the
vague ideas entertained by these nomads of the sea. Merbaboe, the
"ash-ejecting," and Merapi, the "fire-throwing," flank the loftier
crest, honeycombed with dim cave temples, now deserted and forgotten,
but formerly sanctifying those watch-towers of Nature which guard the
hoary shrine of Boro-Boedoer. At Matoelan we hear that the swift river
separating the great Temple from the secular world is in flood, the
bridge broken down, and the supplementary raft impossible through the
swirling current. This untoward event involves a further expedition to
Magelang, a sordid town of continuous markets, the Javanese population
being of pronounced Hindu type, silent and sad, according to the
idiosyncracy of their mysterious ancestors across the sea. The
conversational difficulties presented by the Dutch and Malay langua