In crossing this cultivated plain we had the finest view of Kina Balu that could be imagined, it was just before we reached the Tawaran river; we were standing where the young rice was showing its tender green above the ground: on either side were groves of tall palms, and in front, the hills rose in successive ranges till Kina Balu crowned the whole. Its purple precipices were distinctly visible, and broad streams of water, flashing in the bright morning sun, were flowing down the upper slopes to disappear in mist or deep ravines, or to be lost in the shadows of the great mountain. About three miles walking brought us to the Tawaran, whose banks were lined with groves of cocoa-nut and other fruit-trees; interspersed among which were Dusun villages and detached houses. We observed also a plantation of sago palms, which the inhabitants said were plentiful, but certainly not in the parts we had traversed. There were also gardens here as neatly fenced in and as carefully tended as those of the Chinese; and this rich soil produced in great perfection sugar-cane, Indian corn, yams, kiladis, and other vegetables. The whole had a very civilized appearance, the neatness was remarkable, and about the houses were cattle, buffaloes, and goats, in great numbers. On reaching the Tawaran, Monsieur Cuarteron left us to visit a Manilla man, who, though formerly a captive sold into slavery, had now become the chief of a Dusun village. We continued our course inland along the banks of the Tawaran until we reached Tamparuli, prettily embowered in extensive groves of fruit-trees: we took up our quarters for the night at the old Datu’s house, which was very similar to those of the Sea Dayaks. The Tawaran, where we first joined it, was about sixty yards broad, and the stream was rapid, swollen by the late rains, and muddy from recent landslips. It is a river very unimportant in itself, as here, not perhaps ten miles from the sea, there are already rapids that can only be passed by very small native craft.