GLIMPSES OF NATIVE LIFE
he stood up, laughing, and shook back the shock of black hair, which had fallen over his eyes. He looked like a dusky young river-god, who out of his kindness had come to assist his votaries.
The flower-rnarket too is a scene of idyllic grace, when, after their early bath in the river, the women come trooping thither, and stand bargaining, their hands full of red and pink roses, creamy jessamine, and tuberoses whiter than snow. The Javanese have a great
Native lady travelling in her litter.
love of flowers, though apparently, they take no trouble to raise them in their gardens. In Batavia, at least, I never saw any growing near their cottages in the kampong; save perhaps the sturdy hibiscus in hedges, and that large white, odoriferous convolvulus which the wind sows alono-roadsides and hedgerows a the a beauty-of-the-night.a And they do not seem to care for a handful of flowers in a vase, to brighten the semi-darkness of their little pegar huts.
But the women are hardly ever seen without a rosebud