If we were on our way to marry the heiress to the throne of Surakarta, we could not present a more perfect picture of Oriental magnificence. We left Pekalongan at six in the morning, and arrived here at four in the afternoon, having galloped all the way, accompanied the whole time by an advance guard, and an escort of twenty Javanese "dragoons." Mounted on nice little ponies, and dressed in green and red, with great helmets made of carton (iron?) with a flaming feather at the top, our dragoons careered around us in wonderful confusion. Occasionally a helmet was upset, the skirts flew up in the air, and the arms worked like the sails of a windmill; altogether, it had very much the effect of a troop of monkeys tumbling about on dogs. But, for all that, it was not the less pleasant. At each stage we had a fresh escort, ready to kill their horses in our honour.

Do not think that there is any appearance of danger to meet in this beautiful island of Java, amongst a people who are so kind and courteous to the white men. An ordinary cane (spear?) would be a sufficient weapon to disperse all the criminals on these parts. The escort is only a graceful attention on the part of M. Boutmy, who thus protects us from under the shadow of his official umbrella, and honours us in this way whenever we gallop over the fertile country which abounds under his goyernment. We are in the midst of Asiatic magnificence, delighted, enchanted, but above all, grateful.