eroe is fairly easy and will prove attractive to
those who are fond of mountaineering. It is the highest volcano in Java
and has a perfect cone. The crater, from which smoke and ashes are
constantly ejected, is not on the summit but is formed on the south-east
side.

The visitor who does not wish to retrace his steps to Poespo and
Pasrepan may return to the plains by way of Malang or Lawang through
beautiful sub-tropical and tropical mountain scenery.

Sunrise at the Penandjaan Pass.

When a sharp rap came to our door at two o'clock in the morning to
summon us for a ride to the Penandjaan Pass, we repented the rash
promise to carry out this over-night project to see the sun rise. It was
no use to curl one's-self up under two heavy blankets and pretend that
we had not heard. The "jongus" was insistent. Up we had to get, effect a
hasty toilet in ice-cold water by the aid of a flickering lamp, and step
into the outer darkness and mount the pony waiting beside our bedroom
door.

Unfamiliar constellations shed a cold light on the hillside.

Our thickest clothing was penetrated by a searching though slight
breeze, as our little rat of a pony, guided by the syce, clambered
bravely up the brae that led through Tosari village.

The road bore away to the left, and we were soon slipping and jolting
down a mountain path that sank into a crater-like ravine. It was like a
descent into the infernal regions. Disaster seemed inevitable. A mistake
by the pony or the slightest lurch would have precipitated us down some
hundreds of feet; but the guide knew his way and so did the pony, as,
sure-footed and cautious, it picked its way, first on one side of the
road and then on the other, descending, descending, lower and lower,
where the pale light failed to penetrate. The hill on the other side
loomed so high that one could not believe there was a way out. Pit-pat,
pit-pat went the pony with steady step, now on hard road now on yielding
lava mud, across fragile bamboo bridges covered with bamboo lathing,
down, down, down till at last we reach the ford. The seat was not an
easy one for the unaccustomed rider, whose hands and feet were chilled
almost beyond feeling by the unwonted cold. But it was arm-chair ease
compared with the experience on the other side, as the pony pluckily
pounded his way up the zigzag path for the summit of the hill. How
either guide or pony could see a path will ever remain a puzzle. The
over-hanging ve