[Footnote 1: Ipomoea pes-caprae]

Along with the Ipomoea grow two species of beans[1] each endowed with a peculiar facility for reproduction, thus consolidating the sands into which they strike; and the moodu-gaeta-kola[2] (literally the "jointed seashore plant,") with pink flowers and thick succulent leaves.

[Footnote 1: The Mooduawara (Canavalia obtusifolia), whose flowers have the fragrance of the sweet pea, and Dolichos luteus.]

[Footnote 2: Hydrophylax maritima.]

Another plant which performs an important function in the fertilisation of these arid formations, is the Spinifex squarrosus, the "water pink," as it is sometimes called by Europeans. The seeds of this plant are contained in a circular head, composed of a series of spine-like divisions, which radiate from the stalk in all directions, making the diameter of the whole about eight to nine inches. When the seeds are mature, and ready for dispersion, these heads become detached from the plant, and are carried by the wind with great velocity along the sands, over the surface of which they are impelled on their elastic spines. One of these balls may be followed by the eye for miles as it hurries along the level shore, dropping its seeds as it rolls, which speedily germinate and strike root where they fall. The globular heads are so buoyant as to float lightly on the water, and the uppermost spines acting as sails, they are thus carried across narrow estuaries to continue the process of embanking on newly-formed sand bars. Such an organisation irresistibly suggests the wonderful means ordained by Providence to spread this valuable plant along the barren beach to which no seed-devouring bird ever resorts; and even the unobservant natives, struck by its singular utility in resisting the encroachments of the sea, have recorded their admiration by conferring on it the name of Maha-Rawana roewula,—"the great beard of Rawana or Rama."

The banks being thus ingeniously protected from the action of the air above, and of the water at their base, other herbaceous plants soon cover them in quick succession, and give the entire surface the first aspect of vegetation. A little retired above high water are to be found a species of Aristolochia[1], the Sayan[2], or Choya, the roots of which are the Indian Madder (in which, under the Dutch Government, some tribes in the Wanny paid their tribute); the gorgeous Gloriosa superba, the beautiful Vistnu-karandi[3] with its profusion of blue flowers, which remind one of the English "Forget-me-not," and the thickly-matted verdure of the Hiramana-doetta[4], so well adapted for imparting consistency to the soil. In the next stage low shrubs make their appearance, their seeds being drifted by the waves and wind, and taking ready root wherever they happen to rest. The foremost of these are the Scaevolas[5] and Screw Pines[6], which grow luxuriantly within the actual wash of the tide, while behind them rises a dense growth of peculiar plants, each distinguished by the Singhalese by the prefix of "Moodu," to indicate its partiality for the sea.[7]

[Footnote 1: Aristolocia bracteata. On the sands to the north of Ceylon there is also the A. Indica, which forms the food of the great red and white butterfly (Papilio Hector).]

[Footnote 2: Hedyotis umbellata. A very curious account of the Dutch policy In relation to Choya dye will be found in a paper On the Vegetable Productions of Ceylon, by W.C. ONDAATJIE, in the Ceylon Calendar for 1853. See also BERTOLACCI, B. iii. p. 270.]

[Footnote 3: Evolvulus alsinoides.]

[Footnote 4: Lippia nodiflora.]

[Footnote 5: Scaevola takkada and S. Koenigii]

[Footnote 6: Pandanus odoratissimus.]

[Footnote 7: Moodu-kaduru (Ochrosia parviflora); Moodu-cobbe (Ornitrophe serrata); Moodu-murunga (Sophora tomentosa,) &c. &c. Amongst these marine shrubs the Nil-picha (Guettarda speciosca), with its white and delightfully fragrant flowers, is a conspicuous object on some parts of the sea-shore between Colombo and Point-de-Galle.]

Where the sand in the lagoons and estuaries is more or less mingled with the alluvium brought down by the rivers, there are plants of another class which are equally characteristic. Amongst these the Mangroves[1] take the first place in respect to their mass of vegetation; then follow the Belli-patta[2] and Suriya-gaha[3], with their large hibiscus-like flowers; the Tamarisks[4]; the Acanthus[5], with its beautiful blue petals and holly-like leaves; the Water Coco-nut[6]; the AEgiceras and Hernandia[7], with its sonorous fruits; while the dry sands above are taken possession of by the Acacias, Salvadora Persica (the true mustard-tree of Scripture[8], which, here attains a height of forty feet), Ixoras, and the numerous family of Cassias.

[Footnote 1: Two species of Rhizophora, two of Bruguiera, and one of Ceriops.]

[Footnote 2: Paritimn tilliaceum.]

[Footnote 3: Thespesia populnea.]

[Footnote 4: Tamarix Indica.]

[Footnote 5: Dilivaria ilicifolia.]

[Footnote 6: Nipa fruticans.]

[Footnote 7: Hernandia sonora.]

[Footnote 8: The identification of this tree with the mustard-tree alluded to by our Saviour is an interesting fact. The Greek term [Greek: sinapis], which occurs Matt. xiii 31, and elsewhere, is the name given to mustard; for which the Arabic equivalent is chardul or khardal, and the Syriac khardalo. The same name is applied at the present day to a tree which grows freely in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem, and generally throughout Palestine; the seeds of which, have an aromatic pungency, which enables them to be used instead of the ordinary mustard (Sinapis nigra); besides which, its structure presents all the essentials to sustain the illustration sought to be established in the parable, some of which are wanting or dubious in the common plant, It has a very small seed; it may be sown in a garden: it grows into an "herb," and eventually "becometh a tree; so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof." With every allowance for the extremest development attainable by culture, it must be felt that the dimensions of the domestic sinapis scarcely justify the last illustration; besides which it is an annual, and cannot possibly be classed as a "tree." The khardal grows abundantly in Syria: it was found in Egypt by Sir Gardner Wilkinson; in Arabia by Bove; on the Indus by Sir Alexander Burnes; and throughout the north-west of India it bears the name of kharjal. Combining all these facts, Dr. Royle, in an erudite paper, has shown demonstrative reasons for believing that the Salvadora Persica, the "kharjal" of Hindostan, is the "khardal" of Arabia, the "chardul" of the Talmud, and the "mustard-tree" of the parable.]

Lastly, after a sufficiency of earth has been formed by the decay of frequent successions of their less important predecessors, the ground becomes covered by trees of ampler magnitude, most of which are found upon the adjacent shores of the mainland—the Margoza[1], from whose seed the natives express a valuable oil; the Timbiri[2], with the glutinous nuts with which the fishermen "bark" their nets; the Cashu-nut[3]; the Palu[4], one of the most valuable timber trees of the Northern Provinces; and the Wood-apple[5], whose fruit is regarded by the Singhalese as a specific for dysentery.

[Footnote 1: Azadirachta Indica.]

[Footnote 2: Diospyros glutinosa.]

[Footnote 3: Anacardium occidentale.]

[Footnote 4: Mimusopa hexandra.]

[Footnote 5: AEgle marmelos.]

But the most important fact connected with these recently formed portions of land, is their extraordinary suitability for the growth of the coco-nut, which requires the sea-air (and in Ceylon at least appears never to attain its full luxuriance when removed to any considerable distance from it)[1], and which, at the same time, requires a light and sandy soil, and the constant presence of water in large quantities. All these essentials are combined in the sea-belts here described, lying as they do between the ocean on the one side and the fresh-water lakes formed by the great rivers on the other, thus presenting every requisite of soil and surface. It is along a sand formation of this description, about forty miles long and from one to three miles broad, that thriving coco-nut plantations have been recently commenced at Batticaloa. At Calpentyn, on the western coast, a like formation has been taken advantage of for the same purpose. At Jaffna somewhat similar peculiarities of soil and locality have been seized on for this promising cultivation; and, generally, along the whole seaborde of Ceylon to the south and west, the shore for the breadth of one or two miles exhibits almost continuous groves of coco-nut palms.

[Footnote 1: Coco-nuts are cultivated at moderate elevations in the mountain villages of the Interior; but the fruit bears no comparison, in number, size, or weight, with that produced in the lowlands, and near the sea, on either side of the island.]

Harbours.—With the exception of the estuaries above alluded to, chiefly in the northern section of the island, the outline of the coast is interrupted by few sinuosities. There are no extensive inlets, or bays, and only two harbours—that of Point-de-Galle which, in addition to being incommodious and small, is obstructed by coral rocks, reefs of which have been upreared to the surface, and render the entrance critical to strange ships[1]; and the magnificent basin of Trincomalie, which, in extent, security, and beauty, is unsurpassed by any haven in the world.

[Footnote 1: Owing to the obstructions at its entrance, Galle is extremely difficult of access in particular winds. In 1857 it was announced in the Colombo Examiner that "the fine ship the 'Black Eagle' was blown out of Galle Roads the other day, with the pilot on board; whilst the captain was temporarily engaged on shore; and as she was not able to beat in again, she made for Trincomalie, where she has been lying for a fortnight. Such an event is by no means unprecedented at Galle."—Examiner, 20 Sept. 1857.]

Tides.—The variation of the tides is so slight that navigation is almost unaffected by it. The ordinary rise and fall is from 18 to 24 inches, with an increase of about a third at spring tides. High water is later on the eastern than on the western coast; occurring, on full and new moon, a little after eleven o'clock at Adam's Bridge, about 1 o'clock at Colombo, and 1.25 at Galle, whilst it attains its greatest elevation between 5 and 6 o'clock in the harbour of Trincomalie.

Red infusoria.—On both sides of the island (but most frequently at Colombo), during the south-west monsoon, a broad expanse of the sea assumes a red tinge, considerably brighter than brick-dust; and this is confined to a space so distinct that a line seems to separate it from the green water which flows on either side. Observing that the whole area changed its position without parting with any portion of its colouring, I had some of the water brought on shore, and, on examination with the microscope, it proved to be filled with infusoria, probably similar to those which have been noticed near the shores of South America, and whose abundance has imparted a name to the "Vermilion Sea" off the coast of California.

THE POPULATION OF CEYLON, of all races, was, in 1857, 1,697,975; but this was exclusive of the military and their families, both Europeans and Malays, which together amounted to 5,430; and also of aliens and other casual strangers, forming about 25,000 more.

The particulars are as follow:—

Provinces Whites. Coloured. Total. Population Males. Females. Males. Females. Males. Females. to the sq. mile. Western. 1,293 1,246 293,409 259,106 294,702 260,352 146.59 N. Western 21 11 100,807 96,386 100,828 96,397 59.93 Southern 238 241 156,900 149,649 157,138 149,890 143.72 Eastern 201 143 39,923 35,531 40,124 35,674 16.08 Northern 387 362 153,062 148,678 153,449 149,040 55.85 Central 468 204 143,472 116,237 143,940 116,441 52.57 2,608 2,207 887,573 805,587 890,181 807,794 69.73



CHAP. II.

CLIMATE.—HEALTH AND DISEASE.

The climate of Ceylon, from its physical configuration and insular detachment, contrasts favourably with that of the great Indian peninsula. Owing to the moderate dimensions of the island, the elevation of its mountains, the very short space during which the sun is passing over it[1] in his regression from or approach to the solstices, and its surrounding seas being nearly uniform in temperature, it is exempt from the extremes of heating and cooling to which the neighbouring continent of India is exposed. From the same causes it is subjected more uniformly to the genial influences of the trade winds that blow over the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal.

[Footnote 1: In his approach to the northern solstice, the sun, having passed the equator on the 21st of March, reaches the south of Ceylon about the 5th of April, and ten days later is vertical over Point Pedro, the northern extremity of the island. On his return he is again over Point Pedro about the 27th of August, and passes southward over Dondera Head about the 7th of September.]

The island is seldom visited by hurricanes[1], or swept by typhoons, and the breeze, unlike the hot and arid winds of Coromandel and the Dekkan, is always more or less refreshing. The range of the thermometer exhibits no violent changes, and never indicates a temperature insupportably high. The mean on an annual average scarcely exceeds 80 deg. at Colombo, though in exceptional years it has risen to 86 deg. But at no period of the day are dangerous results to be apprehended from exposure to the sun; and except during parts of the months of March, and April, there is no season when moderate exercise is not practicable and agreeable. For half the year, from October to May, the prevailing winds are from the north-east, and during the remaining months the south-west monsoon blows steadily from the great Indian Ocean. The former, affected by the wintry chills of the vast tracts of land which it traverses before crossing the Bay of Bengal, is subject to many local variations and intervals of calm. But the latter, after the first violence of its outset is abated, becomes nearly uniform throughout the period of its prevalence, and presents the character of an on-shore breeze extending over a prodigious expanse of sea and land, and exerting a powerful influence along the regions of southern Asia.

[Footnote 1: The exception to the exemption of Ceylon from hurricanes is the occasional occurrence of a cyclone extending its circle till the verge has sometimes touched Batticaloa, on the south-eastern extremity of the island, causing damage to vegetation and buildings. Such an event is, however, exceedingly rare. On the 7th of January, 1805, H.M.S. "Sheerness" and two others were driven on shore in a hurricane at Trincomalie.]

In Ceylon the proverbial fickleness of the winds, and the uncertainty which characterises the seasons in northern climates, is comparatively unknown; and the occurrence of changes or rain may be anticipated with considerable accuracy in any month of a coming year. There are, of course, abnormal seasons with higher ranges of temperature, heavier rains, or droughts of longer continuance, but such extremes are exceptional and rare. Great atmospheric changes occur only at two opposite periods of the year, and so gradual is their approach that the climate is monotonous, and one longs to see again "the falling of the leaf" to diversify the sameness of perennial verdure. The line is faint which divides the seasons. No period of the year is divested of its seed-time and its harvest in some part of the island; and fruit hangs ripe on the same branches that are garlanded with opening buds. But as every plant has its own period for the production of its flowers and fruit, each month is characterised by its own peculiar flora.

As regards the foliage of the trees, it might be expected that the variety of tints would be wanting which forms the charm of a European landscape, and that all nature would wear one mantle of unchanging green. But it has been remarked by a tasteful observer[1] that such is far from the fact, and though in Ceylon there is no revolution of seasons, the change of leaf on the same plant exhibits colours as bright as those which tinge the autumnal woods of America. It is not the decaying leaves, but the fresh shoots, which exhibit these brightened colours, the older are still vividly green, whilst the young are bursting forth; and the extremities of the branches present tufts of pale yellow, pink, crimson, and purple, which give them at a distance the appearance of a cluster of flowers.[2]

[Footnote 1: Prof. Harvey, Trin. Coll. Dublin.]

[Footnote 2: Some few trees, such as the margosa (Azadirachta Indica), the country almond (Terminalia catappa), and others, are deciduous, and part with their leaves. The cinnamon shoots forth in all shades from bright yellow to dark crimson. The maella (Olax Zeylanica) has always a copper colour; and the ironwood trees of the interior have a perfect blaze of young crimson leaves, as brilliant as flowers. The lovi-lovi (Flacourtia inermis) has the same peculiarity; while the large bracts of the mussaenda (Mussaenda frondosa) attract the notice of Europeans for their angular whiteness.]

A notice of the variations exhibited by the weather at Colombo may serve as an index to the atmospheric condition of the rest of the island, except in those portions (such as the mountains of the interior, and the low plains of the northern extremity) which exhibit modifications of temperature and moisture incident to local peculiarities.

[Sidenote: Wind N.E. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 85.6 deg Mean least 69.2 deg Rain (inches) 3.1]

January.—At the opening of the year, the north-east monsoon, which sets in two months previously, is nearly in mid career. This wind, issuing from the chill north and robbed of its aqueous vapour in passing over the elevated mountain regions on the confines of China and Thibet, sweeps across the Bay of Bengal, whence its lowest strata imbibe a quantity of moisture, moderate in amount, yet still leaving the great mass of air far below saturation. Hence it reaches Ceylon comparatively dry, and its general effects are parching and disagreeable. This character is increased as the sun recedes towards its most southern declination, and the wind acquires a more direct draught from the north; passing over the Indian peninsula and almost totally digested of humidity, it blows down the western coast of the island, and is known there by the name of the "along-shore-wind." For a time its influence is uncomfortable and its effects injurious both to health and vegetation: it warps and rends furniture, dries up the surface of the earth, and withers the delicate verdure which had sprung up during the prevalence of the previous rains. These characteristics, however, subside towards the end of the month, when the wind becomes somewhat variable with a westerly tendency and occasional showers; and the heat of the day is then partially compensated by the greater freshness of the nights. The fall of rain within the month scarcely exceeds three inches.

[Sidenote: Wind N.E. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 89 deg. Mean least 71 deg. Rain (inches) 2.1]

February is dry and hot during the day, but the nights are cloudless and cool, and the moonlight singularly agreeable. Rain is rare, and when it occurs it falls in dashes, succeeded by damp and sultry calms. The wind is unsteady and shifts from north-east to north-west, sometimes failing entirely between noon and twilight. The quantity of rain is less than in January, and the difference of temperature between day and night is frequently as great as 15 deg. or 20 deg.[1]

[Footnote 1: Dr. MACVICAR, in a paper in the Ceylon Miscellany, July, 1843, recorded the results of some experiments, made near Colombo, as to the daily variation of temperature and Its effects on cultivation, from which it appeared that a register thermometer, exposed on a tuft of grass in the cinnamon garden in a clear night and under the open sky, on the 2nd of January, 1841, showed in the morning that it had been so low as 52 deg., and when laid on the ground in the place in the sunshine on the following day, it rose to upwards of 140 deg. Fahr.]

[Sidenote: Wind N.E. to N.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 87.7 deg. Mean least 73.1 deg. Rain (inches) 2.1]

March.—In March the heat continues to increase, the earth receiving more warmth than it radiates or parts with by evaporation. The day becomes oppressive, the nights unrefreshing, the grass is withered and brown, the earth hard and cleft, the lakes shrunk to shallows, and the rivers evaporated to dryness. Europeans now escape from the low country, and betake themselves to the shade of the forests adjoining the coffee-plantations in the hills; or to the still higher sanatarium of Neuera-ellia, nearly the loftiest plateau in the mountains of the Kandyan range. The winds, when any are perceptible, are faint and unsteady with a still increasing westerly tendency, partial showers sometimes fall, and thunder begins to mutter towards sunset. At the close of the month, the mean temperature will be found to have advanced about a degree, but the sensible temperature and the force of the sun's rays are felt in a still more perceptible proportion.

[Sidenote: Wind N.W. to S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 88.7 deg. Mean least 73.6 deg. Rain (inches) 7.4]

April is by far the most oppressive portion of the year for those who remain at the sea-level of the island. The temperature continues to rise as the sun in his northern progress passes vertically over the island. A mirage fills the hollows with mimic water; the heat in close apartments becomes extreme, and every living creature flies to the shade from the suffocating glare of mid-day. At length the sea exhibits symptoms of an approaching change, a ground swell sets in from the west, and the breeze towards sunset brings clouds and grateful showers. At the end of the month the mean temperature attains its greatest height during the year, being about 83 deg. in the day, and 10 deg. lower at night.

[Sidenote: Wind N.W. to S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 87.2 deg. Mean least 72.9 deg. Rain (inches) 13.3]

May is signalised by the great event of the change of the monsoon, and all the grand phenomena which accompany its approach.

It is difficult for any one who has not resided in the tropics to comprehend the feeling of enjoyment which accompanies these periodical commotions of the atmosphere; in Europe they would be fraught with annoyance, but in Ceylon they are welcomed with a relish proportionate to the monotony they dispel.

Long before the wished-for period arrives, the verdure produced by the previous rains becomes almost obliterated by the burning droughts of March and April. The deciduous trees shed their foliage, the plants cease to put forth fresh leaves, and all vegetable life languishes under the unwholesome heat. The grass withers on the baked and cloven earth, and red dust settles on the branches and thirsty brushwood. The insects, deprived of their accustomed food, disappear underground or hide beneath the decaying bark; the water-beetles bury themselves in the hardened mud of the pools, and the helices retire into the crevices of the stones or the hollows amongst the roots of the trees, closing the apertures of their shells with the hybernating epiphragm. Butterflies are no longer seen hovering over the flowers, the birds appear fewer and less joyous, and the wild animals and crocodiles, driven by the drought from their accustomed retreats, wander through the jungle, and even venture to approach the village wells in search of water. Man equally languishes under the general exhaustion, ordinary exertion becomes distasteful, and the native Singhalese, although inured to the climate, move with lassitude and reluctance.

Meanwhile the air becomes loaded to saturation with aqueous vapour drawn up by the augmented force of evaporation acting vigorously over land and sea: the sky, instead of its brilliant blue, assumes the sullen tint of lead, and not a breath disturbs the motionless rest of the clouds that hang on the lower range of hills. At length, generally about the middle of the month, but frequently earlier, the sultry suspense is broken by the arrival of the wished-for change. The sun has by this time nearly attained his greatest northern declination, and created a torrid heat throughout the lands of southern Asia and the peninsula of India. The air, lightened by its high temperature and such watery vapour as it may contain, rises into loftier regions and is replaced by indraughts from the neighbouring sea, and thus a tendency is gradually given to the formation of a current bringing up from the south the warm humid air of the equator. The wind, therefore, which reaches Ceylon comes laden with moisture, taken up in its passage across the great Indian Ocean. As the monsoon draws near, the days become more overcast and hot, banks of clouds rise over the ocean to the west, and in the peculiar twilight the eye is attracted by the unusual whiteness of the sea-birds that sweep along the strand to seize the objects flung on shore by the rising surf.

At last the sudden lightnings flash among the hills and sheet through the clouds that overhang the sea[1], and with a crash of thunder the monsoon bursts over the thirsty land, not in showers or partial torrents, but in a wide deluge, that in the course of a few hours overtops the river banks and spreads in inundations over every level plain.

[Footnote 1: The lightnings of Ceylon are so remarkable, that in the middle ages they were as well known to the Arabian seamen, who coasted the island on their way to China, as in later times the storms that infested the Cape of Good Hope were familiar to early navigators of Portugal. In the Mohit of SIDI ALI CHELEBI, translated by Von Hammer, it is stated that to seamen, sailing from Diu to Malacca, "the sign of Ceylon being near is continual lightning, be it accompanied by rain or without rain; so that 'the lightning of Ceylon' is proverbial for a liar!"—Journ. Asiat. Soc. Beng. v. 465.]

All the phenomena of this explosion are stupendous: thunder, as we are accustomed to be awed by it in Europe, affords but the faintest idea of its overpowering grandeur in Ceylon, and its sublimity is infinitely increased as it is faintly heard from the shore, resounding through night and darkness over the gloomy sea. The lightning, when it touches the earth where it is covered with the descending torrent, flashes into it and disappears instantaneously; but, when it strikes a drier surface, in seeking better conductors, it often opens a hollow like that formed by the explosion of a shell, and frequently leaves behind it traces of vitrification.[1] In Ceylon, however, occurrences of this kind are rare, and accidents are seldom recorded from lightning, probably owing to the profusion of trees, and especially of coco-nut palms, which, when drenched with rain, intercept the discharge, and conduct the electric matter to the earth. The rain at these periods excites the astonishment of a European: it descends in almost continuous streams, so close and so dense that the level ground, unable to absorb it sufficiently fast, is covered with one uniform sheet of water, and down the sides of acclivities it rushes in a volume that wears channels in the surface.[2] For hours together, the noise of the torrent, as it beats upon the trees and bursts upon the roofs, flowing thence in rivulets along the ground, occasions an uproar that drowns the ordinary voice, and renders sleep impossible.

[Footnote 1: See DARWIN'S Naturalist's Voyage, ch. iii. for an account of those vitrified siliceous tubes which are formed by lightning entering loose sand. During a thunderstorm which passed over Galle, on the 16th May, 1854, the fortifications were shaken by lightning, and an extraordinary cavity was opened behind the retaining wall of the rampart, where a hole, a yard in diameter, was carried into the ground to the depth of twenty feet, and two chambers, each six feet in length, branched out on either side at its extremity.]

[Footnote 2: One morning on awaking at Pusilawa, in the hills between Kandy and Neuera-ellia, I was taken to see the effect of a few hours' rain, during the night, on a macadamised road which I had passed the evening before. There was no symptom of a storm at sunset, and the morning was bright and cloudless; but between midnight and dawn such an inundation had swept the highway that in many places the metal had been washed over the face of the acclivity; and in one spot where a sudden bend forced the torrent to impinge against the bank, it had scooped out an excavation extending to the centre of the high road, thirteen feet in diameter, and deep enough to hold a carriage and horses.]

This violence, however, seldom lasts more than an hour or two, and gradually abates after intermittent paroxysms, and a serenely clear sky supervenes. For some days, heavy showers continue to fall at intervals in the forenoon; and the evenings which follow are embellished by sunsets of the most gorgeous splendour, lighting the fragments of clouds that survive the recent storm.

[Sidenote: Wind S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 85.8 deg. Mean least 74.4 deg. Rain (inches) 6.8]

June.—The extreme heat of the previous month becomes modified in June: the winds continue steadily to blow from the south-west, and frequent showers, accompanied by lightning and thunder, serve still further to diffuse coolness throughout the atmosphere and verdure over the earth.

So instantaneous is the response of Nature to the influence of returning moisture, that, in a single day, and almost between sunset and dawn, the green hue of reviving vegetation begins to tint the saturated ground. In ponds, from which but a week before the wind blew clouds of sandy dust, the peasantry are now to be seen catching the re-animated fish; and tank-shells and water-beetles revive and wander over the submerged sedges. The electricity of the air stimulates the vegetation of the trees; and scarce a week will elapse till the plants are covered with the larvae of butterflies, the forest murmuring with the hum of insects, and the air harmonious with the voice of birds.

The extent to which the temperature is reduced, after the first burst of the monsoon, is not to be appreciated by the indications of the thermometer alone, but is rendered still more sensible by the altered density of the air, the drier state of which is favourable to evaporation, whilst the increase of its movement bringing it more rapidly in contact with the human body, heat is more readily carried off, and the coolness of the surface proportionally increased. It occasionally happens during the month of June that the westerly wind acquires considerable strength, sometimes amounting to a moderate gale. The fishermen, at this period, seldom put to sea: their canoes are drawn far up in lines upon the shore, and vessels riding in the roads of Colombo are often driven from their anchorage and stranded on the beach.

[Sidenote: Wind S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 84.8 deg Mean least 74.9 deg Rain (inches) 3.4]

July resembles, to a great extent, the month which precedes it, except that, in all particulars the season is more moderate, showers are less frequent, there is less wind, and less absolute heat.

[Sidenote: Wind S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 84.9 deg. Mean least 74.7 deg. Rain (inches) 2.8]

August.—In August the weather is charming, notwithstanding withstanding a slight increase of heat, owing to diminished evaporation; and the sun being now on its return to the equator, its power is felt in greater force on full exposure to its influence.

[Sidenote: Wind S.W. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 84.9 deg Mean least 74.8 deg Rain (inches) 5.2]

September.—The same atmospheric condition continues throughout September, but towards its close the sea-breeze becomes unsteady and clouds begin to collect, symptomatic of the approaching change to the north-east monsoon. The nights are always clear and delightfully cool. Rain is sometimes abundant.

[Sidenote: Wind S.W. and N.E. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 85.1 deg Mean least 73.3 deg Rain (inches) 11.2]

October is more unsettled, the wind veering towards the north, with pretty frequent rain; and as the sun is now far to the southward, the heat continues to decline.

[Sidenote: Wind N.E. Temperature, 24 hours: Mean greatest 86.3 deg Mean least 71.5 deg Rain (inches) 10.7]

November sees the close of the south-west monsoon and the arrival of the north-eastern. In the early part of the month the wind visits nearly every point of the compass, but shows a marked predilection for the north, generally veering from N.E. at night and early morning, to N.W. at noon; calms are frequent and precede gentle showers, and clouds form round the lower range of hills. By degrees as the sun advances in its southern declination, and warms the lower half of the great African continent, the current of heated air ascending from the equatorial belt leaves a comparative vacuum, towards which the less rarefied atmospheric fluid is drawn down from the regions north, of the tropic, bringing with it the cold and dry winds from the Himalayan Alps, and the lofty ranges of Assam. The great change is heralded as before by oppressive calms, lurid skies, vivid lightning, bursts of thunder, and tumultuous rain. But at this change of the monsoon the atmospheric disturbance is less striking than in May; the previous temperature is lower, the moisture of the air is more reduced, and the change is less agreeably perceptible from the southern breeze to the dry and parching wind from the north.

[Sidenote: Wind N.E. Temperature 24 hours: Mean greatest 85 deg. Mean least 70 deg. Rain (inches) 4.3]

December.—In December the sun attains to its greatest southern declination, and the wind setting steadily from the northeast brings with it light but frequent rains from Bay Of Bengal. The thermometer shows a maximum temperature of 85 deg. with a minimum of 70 deg.; the morning and the afternoon are again enjoyable in the open air, but at night every lattice that faces the north is cautiously closed against the treacherous "along-shore-wind."

Notwithstanding the violence and volume in which the rains have been here described as descending during the paroxysms of the monsoons, the total rain-fall in Ceylon is considerably less than on the continent of Throughout Hindustan the annual mean is 117.5 and on some parts on the Malabar coast, upwards of 300 inches have fallen in a single year[1]; whereas the in Ceylon rarely exceeds 80, and the highest registered in an exceptional season was 120 inches.

[Footnote 1: At Mahabaleshwar, in the Western Ghauts, the annual mean is 254 inches, and at Uttray Mullay; in Malabar, 263; whilst at Bengal it is 209 inches at Sylhet; and 610.3 at Cherraponga.]

The distribution is of course unequal, both as to time and localities, and in those districts where the fall is most considerable, the number of rainless days is the greatest.[1] An idea may be formed of the deluge that descends in Colombo during the change of the monsoon, from the fact that out of 72.4 inches, the annual average there, no less than 20.7 inches fall in April and May, and 21.9 in October and November, a quantity one-third greater than the total rain in England throughout an entire year.

[Footnote 1: The average number of days on which rain fell at Colombo in the years 1832, 1833, 1834, and 1835, was as follows:—

Days. In January 3 February 4 March 6 April 11 May 13 June 13 July 8 August 10 September 14 October 17 November 11 December 8 —- Total 118]

In one important particular the phenomenon, of the Dekkan affords an analogy for that which presents itself in Ceylon. During the south-west monsoon the clouds are driven against the lofty chain of mountains that overhang the western shore of the peninsula, and their condensed vapour descends there in copious showers. The winds, thus early robbed of their moisture, carry but little rain to the plains of the interior, and whilst Malabar is saturated by daily showers, the sky of Coromandel is clear and serene. In the north-east monsoon a condition the very opposite exists; the wind that then prevails is much drier, and the hills which it encounters being of lower altitude, the rains are carried further towards the interior, and whilst the weather is unsettled and stormy on the eastern shore, the western is comparatively exempt, and enjoys a calm and cloudless sky.[1]

[Footnote 1: The mean of rain is, on the western side of the Dekkan, 80 inches, and on the eastern, 52.8.]

In like manner the west coast of Ceylon presents a contrast with the east, both in the volume of rain in each of the respective monsoons, and in the influence which the same monsoon exerts simultaneously on the one side of the island and on the other. The greatest quantity of rain falls on the south-western portion, in the month of May, when the wind from the Indian Ocean is intercepted, and its moisture condensed by the lofty mountain ranges, surrounding Adam's Peak. The region principally affected by it stretches from Point-de-Galle, as far north as Putlam, and eastward till it includes the greater portion of the ancient Kandyan kingdom. But the rains do not reach the opposite side of the island; whilst the west coast is deluged, the east is sometimes exhausted with dryness; and it not unfrequently happens that different aspects of the same mountain present at the same moment the opposite extremes of drought and moisture.[1]

[Footnote 1: ADMIRAL FITZROY has described, in his Narrative of the Voyages of the Adventure and Beagle, the striking degree in which this simultaneous dissimilarity of climate is exhibited on opposite sides of the Galapagos Islands; one aspect exposed to the south being covered with verdure and freshened with moisture, whilst all others are barren and parched.—Vol. ii. p. 502-3. The same state of things exists in the east and west sides of the Peruvian Andes, and in the mountains of Patagonia. And no more remarkable example of it exists than in the island of Socotra, east of the Straits of Bab el Mandeb, the west coast of which, during the north-east monsoon, is destitute of rain and verdure, whilst the eastern side is enriched by streams and covered by luxuriant pasturage.—Journ. Asiat. Soc. Beng. vol. iv. p. 141.]



On the east coast, on the other hand, the fall, during the north-east monsoon, is very similar in degree to that on the coast of Coromandel, as the mountains are lower and more remote from the sea, the clouds are carried farther inland and it rains simultaneously on both sides of the island, though much less on the west than during the other monsoon.

The climate of Galle, as already stated, resembles in its general characteristics that of Colombo, but, being further to the south, and more equally exposed to the influence of both the monsoons, the temperature is not quite so high; and, during the cold season, it falls some degrees lower, especially in the evening and early morning.[1]

[Footnote 1: At Point-de-Galle, in 1854, the number of rainy days was as follows:

Days. January 12 February 7 March 16 April 12 May 23 June 18 July 11 August 21 September 16 October 20 November 15 December 13]

Kandy, from its position, shares in the climate of the western coast; but, from the frequency of the mountain showers, and its situation, at an elevation of upwards of sixteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, it enjoys a much cooler temperature. It differs from the low country in one particular, which is very striking—the early period of the day at which the maximum heat is attained. This at Colombo is generally between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, whereas at Kandy the thermometer shows the highest temperature of the day between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning.

In the low country, ingenuity has devised so many expedients for defence from the excessive heat of the forenoon, that the languor it induces is chiefly experienced after sunset, and the coolness of the night is insufficient to compensate for the exhaustion of the day; but, in Kandy, the nights are so cool that it is seldom that warm covering can be altogether dispensed with. In the colder months, the daily range of the thermometer is considerable—approaching 30 deg.; in the others, it differs little from 15 deg. The average mean, however, of each month throughout the year is nearly identical, deviating only a degree from 76 deg., the mean annual temperature.[1]

[Footnote 1: The following Table appeared in the Colombo Observer, and is valuable from the care taken by Mr. Caley in its preparation;

Analysis of the Climate at Peradenia, from 1851 to 1858 inclusive.

Months. Temperature. Rainfall. Remarks. Aver- Average Max. Min. Mean. age In. of of Years / Years / January 85.0 52.5 74.06 6 4.04 6 Fine, sunny, heavy dew at night, hot days, and cold nights and mornings. February 87.75 55.0 75.76 7 1.625 6 Fine, sunny, dewy nights, foggy mornings, days hot, nights and mornings cold. March 89.5 59.5 77.42 7 3.669 6 Generally a very hot and oppressive month. April 89.5 67.5 77.91 7 7.759 6 Showery, sultry, and oppressive weather. May 88.0 66.0 77.7 8 8.022 6 Cloudy, windy, rainy; monsoon generally changes. June 86.0 71.0 76.69 8 7.155 6 A very wet and stormy month. July 86.0 67.0 75.64 8 5.72 6 Ditto ditto August 85.5 67.0 75.81 8 8.55 6 Showery, but sometimes more moderate, variable September 85.5 67.0 76.13 8 6.318 6 Pretty dry weather, compared with the next two months. October 85.73 68.2 75.1 8 15.46 6 Wind variable, much rain. November 84.0 62.0 74.79 8 14.732 6 Wind variable, storms from all points of compass, wet; monsoon generally changes. December 82.75 57.0 74.05 7 7.72 5 Sometimes wet, but generally more moderate; towards end of year like January weather.

Mean yearly Temperature, Mean yearly Nov. 29, 1858 75.92 deg Rainfall, 91.75 J.A. CALEY. in. nearly.]

In all the mountain valleys, the soil being warmer than the air, vapour abounds in the early morning for the most part of the year. It greatly adds to the chilliness of travelling before dawn; but, generally speaking, it is not wetting, as it is charged with the same electricity as the surface of the earth and the human body. When seen from the heights, it is a singular object, as it lies compact and white as snow in the hollows beneath, but it is soon put in motion by the morning currents, and wafted in the direction of the coast, where it is dissipated by the sunbeams.

Snow is unknown in Ceylon; Hail occasionally falls in the Kandyan hills at the change of the monsoon,[1] but more frequently during that from the north-east. As observed at Kornegalle, the clouds, after collecting as usual for a few evenings, and gradually becoming more dense, advanced in a wedge-like form, with a well-defined outline. The first fall of rain was preceded by a downward blast of cold air, accompanied by hailstones which outstripped the rain in their descent. Rain and hail then poured down together, and, eventually, the latter only spread its deluge far and wide, In 1852, the hail which thus fell at Kornegalle was of such a size that half-a-dozen lumps filled a tumbler, In shape, they were oval and compressed, but the mass appeared to have formed an hexagonal pyramid, the base of which was two inches in diameter, and about half-an-inch thick, gradually thinning towards the edge. They were tolerably solid internally, each containing about the size of a pea of clear ice at the centre, but the sides and angles were spongy and flocculent, as if the particles had been driven together by the force of the wind, and had coalesced at the instant of contact. A phenomenon so striking as the fall of ice, at the moment of the most intense atmospherical heat, naturally attracts the wonder of the natives, who hasten to collect the pieces, and preserve them, when dissolved, in bottles, from a belief in their medicinal properties. Mr. Morris, who has repeatedly observed hailstones in the Seven Korles, is under the impression that their occurrence always happens at the first outburst of the monsoon, and that they fall at the moment, which is marked by the first flash of lightning.

[Footnote 1: It is stated in the Physical Atlas of KEITH JOHNSTON, that hail in India has not been noticed south of Madras. But in Ceylon it has fallen very recently at Korngalle, at Badulla, at Kaduganawa; and I have heard of a hail storm at Jaffna. On 1 the 24th of Sept. 1857, during a thunder-storm, hail fell near Matelle in such quantity that in places it formed drifts upwards of a foot in depth.]

According to Professor Stevelly, of Belfast, the rationale of their appearance on such occasions seems to be that, on the sudden formation and descent of the first drops, the air expanding and rushing into the void spaces, robs the succeeding drops of their caloric so effectually as to send them to the earth frozen into ice-balls.

These descriptions, it will be observed, apply exclusively to the southern regions on the east and west of Ceylon; and, in many particulars, they are inapplicable to the northern portions of the island. At Trincomalie, the climate bears a general resemblance to that of the Indian peninsula south of Madras: showers are frequent, but light, and the rain throughout the year does not exceed forty inches. With moist winds and plentiful dew, this sustains a vigorous vegetation near the coast; but in the interior it would be insufficient for the culture of grain, were not the water husbanded in tanks; and, for this reason, the bulk of the population are settled along the banks of the great rivers.

The temperature of this part of Ceylon follows the course of the sun, and ranges from a minimum of 70 deg. in December and January, to a maximum of 94 deg. in May and June; but the heat is rendered tolerable at all seasons by the steadiness of the land and sea breezes.[1]

[Footnote 1: The following facts regarding the climate of Trincomalie have been, arranged from elaborate returns furnished by Mr. Higgs, the master-attendant of the port, and published under the authority of the meteorological department of the Board of Trade:—

Trincomalie.

Extreme Mean Mean Range Highest Days 1854 Maximum Minimum for the Temperature of Temperature Temperature Month Noted Rain Jan. 81.3 deg. 74.7 deg. 14 deg. 83 10 Feb. 83.8 75.8 14 86 7 Mar. 85.9 76.1 16 88 3 April 89.6 78.9 16 92 3 May 89.1 79.3 19 93 3 June 90.0 79.5 19 94 3 July 87.7 77.7 16 90 5 Aug. 87.9 77.4 16 91 4 Sept. 89.3 77.8 18 93 2 Oct. 85.2 75.8 15 89 14 Nov. 81.O 74.9 11 83 15 Dec. 80.1 74.3 11 82 15 Mean temperature for the year 81.4.]

In the extreme north of the island, the peninsula of Jaffna, and the vast plains of Neura-kalawa and the Wanny, form a third climatic division, which, from the geological structure and peculiar configuration of the district, differs essentially from the rest of Ceylon. This region, which is destitute of mountains, is undulating in a very slight degree; the dry and parching north-east wind desiccates the soil in its passage, and the sandy plains are covered with a low and scanty vegetation, chiefly fed by the night dews and whatever moisture is brought by the on-shore wind. The total rain of the year does not exceed thirty inches; and the inhabitants live in frequent apprehension of droughts and famines. These conditions attain their utmost manifestation at the extreme north and in the Jaffna peninsula: there the temperature is the highest[1] in the island, and, owing to the humidity of the situation and the total absence of hills, it is but little affected by the changes of the monsoons; and the thermometer keeps a regulated pace with the progress of the sun to and from the solstices. The soil, except in particular spots, is porous and sandy, formed from the detritus of the coral rocks which it overlays. It is subject to droughts sometimes of a whole year's continuance; and rain, when it falls, is so speedily absorbed, that it renders but slight service to cultivation, which is entirely carried on by means of tanks and artificial irrigation, in the practice of which the Tamil population of this district exhibits singular perseverance and ingenuity.[2] In the dry season, when scarcely any verdure is discernible above ground, the sheep and goats feed on their knees—scraping away the sand, in order to reach the wiry and succulent roots of the grasses. From the constancy of this practice horny callosities are produced, by which these hardy creatures may be distinguished.

[Footnote 1: The mean lowest temperature at Jaffna is 70 deg, the mean highest 90 deg; but in 1845-6 the thermometer rose to 90 deg and 100 deg.]

[Footnote 2: For an account of the Jaffna wells, and the theory of their supply with fresh water, see ch. i. p. 21.]

Water-spouts are frequent on the coast of Ceylon, owing to the different temperature of the currents of air passing across the heated earth and the cooler sea, but instances are very rare of their bursting over land, or of accidents in consequence.[1]

[Footnote 1: CAMOENS, who had opportunities of observing the phenomena of these seas during his service on board the fleet of Cabral, off the coast of Malabar and Ceylon, has introduced into the Lusiad the episode of a water-spout in the Indian Ocean; but, under the belief that the water which descends had been previously drawn up by suction from the ocean, he exclaims:—

"But say, ye sages, who can weigh the cause, And trace the secret springs of Nature's laws; Say why the wave, of bitter brine erewhile, Should be the bosom of the deep recoil, Robbed of its salt, and from the cloud distil, Sweet as the waters of the limpid rill?"

(Book v.)

But the truth appears to be that the torrent which descends from a water-spout, is but the condensed accumulation of its own vapour, and, though in the hollow of the lower cone which rests upon the surface of the sea, salt water may possibly ascend in the partial vacuum caused by revolution; or spray may be caught up and collected by the wind, still these cannot be raised by it beyond a very limited height, and what Camoens saw descend was, as he truly says, the sweet water distilled from the cloud.]

A curious phenomenon, to which the name of "anthelia" has been given, and which may probably have suggested to the early painters the idea of the glory surrounding the heads of beatified saints, is to be seen in singular beauty, at early morning, in Ceylon. When the light is intense, and the shadows proportionally dark—when the sun is near the horizon, and the shadow of a person walking is thrown on the dewy grass—each particle of dew furnishes a double reflection from its concave and convex surfaces; and to the spectator his own figure, but more particularly the head, appears surrounded by a halo as vivid as if radiated from diamonds.[1] The Buddhists may possibly have taken from this beautiful object their idea of the agni or emblem of the sun, with which the head of Buddha is surmounted. But unable to express a halo in sculpture, they concentrated it into a flame.

[Footnote 1: SCORESBY describes the occurrence of a similar phenomenon in the Arctic Seas in July, 1813, the luminous circle being produced on the particles of fog which rested on the calm water. "The lower part of the circle descended beneath my feet to the side of the ship, and although it could not be a hundred feet from the eye, it was perfect, and the colours distinct. The centre of the coloured circle was distinguished by my own shadow, the head of which, enveloped by a halo, was most conspicuously pourtrayed. The halo or glory evidently impressed on the fog, but the figure appeared to be a shadow on the water; the different parts became obscure in proportion to their remoteness from the head, so that the lower extremities were not perceptible."—Account of the Arctic Regions, vol. i. ch. v. sec. vi. p. 394. A similar phenomenon occurs in the Khasia Hills, in the north-east of Bengal.—Asiat. Soc. Journ. Beng. vol. xiii. p. 616.]



Another luminous phenomenon which sometimes appears in the hill country, consists of beams of light, which intersect the sky, whilst the sun is yet in the ascendant; sometimes horizontally, accompanied by intermitting movements, and sometimes vertically, a broad belt of the blue sky interposing between them.[1]

[Footnote 1: VIGNE mentions an appearance of this kind in the valley of Kashmir: "Whilst the rest of the horizon was glowing golden over the mountain tops, a broad well-defined ray-shaped streak of indigo was shooting upwards in the zenith: it remained nearly stationary about an hour, and was then blended into the sky around it, and disappeared with the day. It was, no doubt, owing to the presence of some particular mountains which intercepted the red rays, and threw a blue shadow, by causing so much of the sky above Kashmir to remain unaffected by them."—Travels in Kashmir, vol. ii. ch. x. p. 115.]

In Ceylon this is doubtless owing to the air holding in suspension a large quantity of vapour, which receives shadows and reflects rays of light. The natives, who designate them "Buddha's rays," attach a superstitious dread to their appearance, and believe them to be portentous of misfortune—in every month, with the exception of May, which, for some unexplained reason, is exempted.

HEALTH.—In connection with the subject of "Climate," one of the most important inquiries is the probable effect on the health and constitution of a European produced by a prolonged exposure to an unvarying temperature, upwards of 30 degrees higher than the average of Great Britain. But to this the most tranquillising reply is the assurance that mere heat, even to a degree beyond that of Ceylon, is not unhealthy in itself. Aden, enclosed in a crater of an extinct volcano, is not considered insalubrious; and the hot season in India, when the thermometer stands at 100 deg. at midnight, is comparatively a healthy period of the year. In fact, in numerous cases heat may be the means of removing the immediate sources of disease. Its first perceptible effect is a slight increase, of the normal bodily temperature beyond 98 deg., and, simultaneously, an increased activity of all the vital functions. To this everything contributes an exciting sympathy—the glad surprise of the natural scenery, the luxury of verdure, the tempting novelty of fruits and food, and all the unaccustomed attractions of a tropical home. Under these combined influences the nervous sensibility is considerably excited, and the circulation acquires greater velocity, with somewhat diminished force. This is soon followed, however, by the disagreeable evidences of the effort made by the system to accommodate itself to the new atmospheric condition. The skin often becomes fretted by "prickly heat," or tormented by a profusion of boils, but relief being speedily obtained through these resources, the new comer is seldom afterwards annoyed by a recurrence of the process, unless under circumstances of impaired tone, the result of weakened digestion or climatic derangement.

Malaria.—Compared with Bengal and the Dekkan, the climate of Ceylon presents a striking superiority in mildness and exemption from all the extremes of atmospheric disturbance; and, except in particular localities, all of which are well known and avoided[1], from being liable after the rains to malaria, or infested at particular seasons with agues and fever, a lengthened residence in the island may be contemplated, without the slightest apprehension of prejudicial results. These pestilential localities are chiefly at the foot of mountains, and, strange to say, in the vicinity of some active rivers, whilst the vast level plains, whose stagnant waters are made available for the cultivation of rice, are seldom or never productive of disease. It is even believed that the deadly air is deprived of its poison in passing over an expanse of still water; and one of the most remarkable circumstances is, that the points fronting the aerial currents are those exposed to danger, whilst projecting cliffs, belts of forest, and even moderately high walls, serve to protect all behind them from attack.[2] In traversing districts suspected of malaria, experience has dictated certain precautions, which, with ordinary prudence and firmness, serve to neutralise the risk—retiring punctually at sunset, generous diet, moderate stimulants, and the daily use of quinine both before and after exposure. These, and the precaution, at whatever sacrifice of comfort, to sleep under mosquito curtains, have been proved in long journeys to be valuable prophylactics against fever and the pestilence of the jungle.

[Footnote 1: Notwithstanding this general condition, fevers of a very serious kind have been occasionally known to attack persons on the coast, who had never exposed themselves to the miasma of the jungle. Such instances have occurred at Galle, and more rarely at Colombo. The characteristics of places in this regard have, in some instances, changed unaccountably; thus at Persadenia, close to Kandy, it was at one time regarded as dangerous to sleep.]

[Footnote 2: Generally speaking, a flat open country is healthy, either when flooded deeply by rains, or when dried to hardness by the sun; but in the process of dessication, its exhalations are perilous. The wooded slopes at the base of mountains are notorious for fevers; such as the terrai of the Nepal hills, the Wynaad jungle, at the foot of the Ghauts, and the eastern side of the mountains of Ceylon.]

Food.—Always bearing in mind that of the quantity of food habitually taken in a temperate climate, a certain proportion is consumed to sustain the animal heat, it is obvious that in the glow of the tropics, where the heat is already in excess, this portion of the ingesta not only becomes superfluous so far as this office is concerned, but occasions disturbance of the other functions both of digestion and elimination. Over-indulgence in food, equally with intemperance in wine, is one fruitful source of disease amongst Europeans in Ceylon; and maladies and mortality are often the result of the former, in patients who would repel as an insult the imputation of the latter.

So well have national habits conformed to instinctive promptings in this regard, that the natives of hot countries have unconsciously sought to heighten the enjoyment of food by taking their principal repast after sunset[1]; and the European in the East will speedily discover for himself the prudence, not only of reducing the quantity, but in regard to the quality of his meals, of adopting those articles which nature has bountifully supplied as best suited to the climate. With a moderate use of flesh meat, vegetables, and especially farinaceous food, are chiefly to be commended.

[Footnote 1: The prohibition of swine, which has formed an item in the dietetic ritual of the Egyptians, the Hebrews, and Mahometans, has been defended in all ages, from Manetho and Herodotus downwards, on the ground that the flesh of an animal so foully fed has a tendency to promote cutaneous disorders, a belief which, though held as a fallacy in northern climates, may have a truthful basis in the East.—AELIAN, Hist. Anim. 1. X. 16. In a recent general order Lord Clyde has prohibited its use in the Indian army. Camel's flesh, which is also declared unclean in Leviticus, is said to produce in the Arabs serious derangement of the stomach.]

The latter is rendered attractive by the unrivalled excellence of the Singhalese in the preparation of innumerable curries[1], each tempered by the delicate creamy juice expressed from the flesh of the coco-nut after it has been reduced to a pulp. Nothing of the same class in India can bear a comparison with the piquant delicacy of a curry in Ceylon, composed of fresh condiments and compounded by the skilful hand of a native.

[Footnote 1: The popular error of thinking curry to be an invention of the Portuguese in India is disproved by the mention in the Rajavali of its use in Ceylon in the second century before the Christian era, and in the Mahawanso in the fifth century of it. This subject is mentioned elsewhere: see chapter on the Arts and Sciences of the Singhalese.]

The use of fruit—Fruits are abundant and wholesome; but with the exception of oranges, pineapples, the luscious mango and the indescribable "rambutan," for want of horticultural attention they are inferior in flavour, and soon cease to be alluring.

Wine.—Wine has of late years become accessible to all, and has thus, in some degree, been substituted for brandy; the abuse of which at former periods is commemorated in the records of those fearful disorders of the liver, derangements of the brain, exhausting fevers, and visceral diseases, which characterise the medical annals of earlier times. With a firm adherence to temperance in the enjoyment of stimulants, and moderation in the pleasures of the table, with attention to exercise and frequent resort to the bath, it may be confidently asserted that health in Ceylon is as capable of preservation and life as susceptible of enjoyment, as in any country within the tropics.

Exposure.—Prudence and foresight are, however, as indispensable there as in any other climate to escape well-understood risks. Catarrhs and rheumatism are as likely to follow needless exposure to the withering "along-shore wind" of the winter months in Ceylon[1], as they are traceable to unwisely confronting the east winds of March in Great Britain; and during the alternation, from the sluggish heat which precedes the monsoon, to the moist and chill vapours that follow the descent of the rains, intestinal disorders, fevers, and liver complaints are not more characteristic of an Indian monsoon than an English autumn, and are equally amenable to those precautions by which liability may be diminished in either place.

[Footnote 1: See ante, p. 57. It is an agreeable characteristic of the climate of Ceylon, that sun-stroke, which is so common even in the northern portions of India, is almost unknown in the island. Sportsmen are out all day long in the hottest weather, a practice which would be thought more than hazardous in Oude or the north-west provinces. Perhaps an explanation of this may be found in the difference in moisture in the two atmospheres, which may modify the degrees of evaporation; but the inquiry is a curious one. It is becoming better understood in the army that active service, and even a moderate exposure to the solar rays (always guarding them from the head,) are conducive rather than injurious to health in the tropics. The pale and sallow complexion of ladies and children born in India, is ascribable in a certain degree to the same process by which vegetables are blanched under shades which exclude the light:—they are reared in apartments too carefully kept dark.]

Paleness.—At the same time it must be observed, that the pallid complexion peculiar to old residents, is not alone ascribable to an organic change in the skin from its being the medium of perpetual exudation, but in part to a deficiency of red globules in the blood, and mainly to a reduced vigour in the whole muscular apparatus, including the action of the heart, which imperfectly compensates by increased rapidity for diminution of power. It is remarkable how suddenly this sallowness disappears, and is succeeded by the warm tints of health, after a visit of a very few days to the plains of Neuera-ellia, or the picturesque coffee plantations in the hills that surround it.

Ladies.—Ladies, from their more regular and moderate habits, and their avoidance of exposure, might be expected to withstand the climate better than men; and to a certain extent the anticipation appears to be correct, but it by no means justifies the assumption of general immunity. Though less obnoxious to specific disease, debility and delicacy are the frequent results of habitual seclusion and avoidance of the solar light. These, added to more obvious causes of occasional illness, suggest the necessity of vigorous exertion and regular exercise as indispensable protectives.

If suitably clothed, and not injudiciously fed, children may remain in the island till eight or ten years of age, when anxiety is excited by the attenuation of the frame and the apparent absence of strength in proportion to development. These symptoms, the result of relaxed tone and defective nutrition, are to be remedied by change of climate either to the more lofty ranges of the mountains, or, more providently, to Europe.

Effects on Europeans already Diseased.—To persons already suffering from disease, the experiment of a residence in Ceylon is one of questionable propriety. Those of a scrofulous diathesis need not consider it hazardous, as experience does not show that in such there is any greater susceptibility to local or constitutional disorders, or that when these are present, there is greater difficulty in their removal.

To those threatened with consumption, the island may be supposed to offer some advantages in the equability of the temperature, and the comparative quiescence of the lungs from reduced necessity for respiratory effort. Besides, the choice of climates presented by Ceylon enables a patient, by the easy change of residence to a different altitude and temperature, avoiding the heats of one period and the dry winds of another, to check to a great extent the predisposing causes likely to lead to the development of tubercle. This, with attention to clothing and systematic exercise as preventives of active disease, may serve to restrain the further progress though it fail to eradicate the tendency to phthibis. But when already the formation of tubercle has taken place to any considerable extent, and is accompanied by softening, the morbid condition is not unlikely to advance with alarming celerity; and the only compensating circumstance is the diminution of apparent suffering, ascribable to general languor, and the absence of the bronchial irritation occasioned by cold humid air.

Dyspepsia.—Habitual dyspeptics, and those affected by hepatic obstructions, had better avoid a lengthened sojourn in Ceylon; but the tortures of rheumatism and gout, if they be not reduced, are certainly postponed for longer intervals than those conceded to the same sufferers in England. Gout, owing to the great cutaneous excretion, in most instances totally disappears.

Precautions for Health.—Next to attention to diet, health in Ceylon is mainly to be preserved by systematic exercise, and a costume adapted to the climate and its requirements. Paradoxical as it may sound, the great cause of disease in hot climates is cold. Nothing ought more cautiously to be watched and avoided than the chills produced by draughts and dry winds; and a change of dress or position should be instantly resorted to when the warning sensation of chilliness is perceived.

Exercise.—The early morning ride, after a single cup of coffee and a biscuit on rising, and the luxury of the bath before dressing for breakfast, constitute the enjoyments of the forenoon; and a similar stroll on horseback, returning at sunset to repeat the bath[1] preparatory to the evening toilette, completes the hygienic discipline of the day. At night the introduction of the Indian punka into bed-rooms would be valuable, a thin flannel coverlet being spread over the bed. Nothing serves more effectually to break down an impaired constitution in the tropics than the want of timely and refreshing sleep.

[Footnote 1: "Je me souviens que les deux premieres annees que je fus en ce pais-la, j'eus deux maladies: alors je pris la couetume de me bien laver soir et matin, et pendant 16 ans que j'y ay demeure depuis, je n'ay pas senti le moindre mal."—RIBEYRO, Hist. de l'Isle de Ceylan, vol. v. ch. xix. p. 149.]

Dress.—In the selection of dress experience has taught the superiority of calico to linen, the latter, when damp from the exhalation of the skin, causing a chill which is injurious, whilst the former, from some peculiarity in its fibre, however moist it may become, never imparts the same sensation of cold. The clothing best adapted to the climate is that whose texture least excites the already profuse perspiration, and whose fashion presents the least impediment to its escape.[1] The discomfort of woollen has led to its avoidance as far as possible; but those who, in England, may have accustomed themselves to flannel, will find the advantage of persevering to wear it, provided it is so light as not to excite perspiration. So equipped for active exercise, exposure to the sun, however hot, may be regarded without apprehension, provided the limbs are in motion and the body in ordinary health; but the instinct of all oriental races has taught the necessity of protecting the head, and European ingenuity has not failed to devise expedients for this all-important object.

[Footnote 1: "Man not being created an aquatic animal, his skin cannot with impunity be exposed to perpetual moisture, whether directly applied or arising from perspiration retained by dress. The importance to health of keeping the skin dry does not appear to have hitherto received due attention."—PICKERING, Races of Man, &c., ch. xliv.]

From what has been said, it will be apparent that, compared with continental India, the securities for health in Ceylon are greatly in favour of the island. As to the formidable diseases which are common to both, their occurrence in either is characterised by the same appalling manifestations: dysentery fastens, with all its fearful concomitants, on the unwary and incautious; and cholera, with its dark horrors, sweeps mysteriously across neglected districts, exacting its hecatombs. But the visitation and ravages of both are somewhat under control, and the experience bequeathed by each gloomy visitation has added to the facilities for checking its recurrence.[1]

[Footnote 1: "It is worthy of remark, that although all the troops in Ceylon have occasionally, but at rare intervals; suffered severely from cholera, the disease has in very few instances attacked the officers; or indeed Europeans in the same grade of life. This is one important difference to be borne in mind when estimating the comparative risk of life in India and Ceylon. It must be due to the difference in comforts and quarters, or more particularly to the exemption from night duty, by far the most trying of the soldiers' hardships. The small mortality amongst the officers of European regiments in Ceylon is very remarkable."—Note by Dr. CAMERON, Army Med. Staff.]

In some of the disorders incidental to the climate, and the treatment of ulcerations caused by the wounds of the mosquitoes and leeches, the native Singhalese have a deservedly high reputation; but their practice, when it depends on specifics, is too empirical to be safely relied on; and their traditional skill, though boasting a well authenticated antiquity, achieves few triumphs in competition with the soberer discipline of European science.



CHAP. III.

VEGETATION.—TREES AND PLANTS.

Although the luxuriant vegetation of Ceylon has at all times been the theme of enthusiastic admiration, its flora does not probably exceed 3000 phaenogamic plants[1]; and notwithstanding that it has a number of endemic species, and a few genera, which are not found on the great Indian peninsula, still its botanical features may be described as those characteristic of the southern regions of Hindustan and the Dekkan. The result of some recent experiments has, however, afforded a curious confirmation of the opinion ventured by Dr. Gardner, that, regarding its botany geographically, Ceylon exhibits more of the Malayan flora and that of the Eastern Archipelago, than of any portion of India to the west of it. Two plants peculiar to Malacca, the nutmeg and the mangustin, have been attempted, but unsuccessfully, to be cultivated in Bengal; but in Ceylon the former has been reared near Colombo with such singular success that its produce now begins to figure in the exports of the island;—and mangustins, which, ten years ago, were exhibited as curiosities from a single tree in the old Botanic Garden at Colombo, are found to thrive readily, and they occasionally appear at table, rivalling in their wonderful delicacy of flavour those which have heretofore been regarded as peculiar to the Straits.

[Footnote 1: The prolific vegetation of the island is likely to cause exaggeration in the estimate of its variety. Dr. Gardner, shortly after his appointment as superintendent of the Botanic Garden at Kandy, in writing to Sir W. Hooker, conjectured that the Ceylon flora might extend to 4000 or 5000 species. But from a recent Report of the present curator, Mr. Thwaites, it appears that the indigenous phaenogamic plants discovered up to August, 1856, was 2670; of which 2025 were dicotyledonous, and 644 monocotyledonous flowering plants, besides 247 ferns and lycopods. When it is considered that this is nearly double the indigenous flora of England, and little under one thirtieth of the entire number of plants hitherto described over the world, the botanical richness of Ceylon, in proportion to its area, must be regarded as equal to that of any portion of the globe.]

Up to the present time the botany of Ceylon has been imperfectly submitted to scientific scrutiny. Linnaeus, in 1747, prepared his Flora Zeylanica, from specimens collected by Hermann, which had previously constituted the materials of the Thesaurus Zeylanicus of Burman and now form part of the herbarium in the British Museum. A succession of industrious explorers have been since engaged in following up the investigation[1]; but, with the exception of an imperfect and unsatisfactory catalogue by Moon, no enumeration of Ceylon plants has yet been published. Dr. Gardner had made some progress with a Singhalese Flora, when his death took place in 1849, an event which threw the task on other hands, and has postponed its completion for years.[2]

[Footnote 1: Amongst the collections of Ceylon plants deposited in the Hookerian Herbarium, are those made by General and Mrs. Walker, by Major Champion (who left the island in 1848), and by Mr. Thwaites, who succeeded Dr. Gardner in charge of the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kandy. Moon, who had previously held that appointment, left extensive collections in the herbarium at Peradenia which have been lately increased by his successors; and Macrae, who was employed by the Horticultural Society of London, has enriched their museum with Ceylon plants. Some admirable letters of Mrs. Walker are printed in HOOKER'S Companion to the Botanical Magazine. They include an excellent account of the vegetation of Ceylon.]

[Footnote 2: Dr. Gardner, in 1848, drew up a short paper containing Some Remarks on the Flora of Ceylon, which was printed in the appendix to LEE'S Translation of Ribeyro: to this essay, and to his personal communications during frequent journeys, I am indebted for many facts incorporated in the following pages.]

From the identity of position and climate, and the apparent similarity of soil between Ceylon and the southern extremity of the Indian peninsula, a corresponding agreement might be expected between their vegetable productions: and accordingly in its aspects and subdivisions Ceylon participates in those distinctive features which the monsoons have imparted respectively to the opposite shores of Hindustan. The western coast being exposed to the milder influence of the south-west wind, shows luxuriant vegetation, the result of its humid and temperate climate; whilst the eastern, like Coromandel, has a comparatively dry and arid aspect, produced by the hot winds which blow for half the year. The littoral vegetation of the seaborde exhibits little variation from that common throughout the Eastern archipelago; but it wants the Phoenix paludosa[1], a dwarf date-palm, which literally covers the islands of the Sunderbunds at the delta of the Ganges. A dense growth of mangroves[2] occupies the shore, beneath whose overarching roots the ripple of the sea washes unseen over the muddy beach.

[Footnote 1: Drs. HOOKER and THOMSON, in their Introductory Essay to the Flora of India, speaking of Ceylon, state that the Nipa fruticans (another characteristic palm of the Gangetic delta) and Cycads are also wanting there, but both these exist (the former abundantly), though perhaps not alluded to in any work on Ceylon botany to which those authors had access. In connection with this subject it may be mentioned, as a fact which is much to be regretted, that, although botanists have been appointed to the superintendence of the Botanic Gardens at Kandy, information regarding the vegetation of the island is scarcely obtainable without extreme trouble and reference to papers scattered through innumerable periodicals. That the majority of Ceylon plants are already known to science is owing to the coincidence of their being also natives of India, whence they have been described; but there has been no recent attempt on the part of colonial or European botanists even to throw into a useful form the already published descriptions of the commoner plants of the island. Such a work would be the first step to a Singhalese Flora. The preparation of such a compendium would seem, to belong to the duties of the colonial botanist, and as such it was an object of especial solicitude to the late superintendent, Dr. Gardner. But the heterogeneous duties imposed upon the person holding his office (the evils arising from which are elsewhere alluded to), have hitherto been insuperable obstacles to the attainment of this object, as they have also been to the preparation of a systematic account of the general features of Ceylon vegetation. Such a work is strongly felt to be a desideratum by numbers of intelligent persons in Ceylon, who are not accomplished botanists, but who are anxious to acquire accurate ideas as to the aspects of the flora at different elevations, different seasons, and different quarters of the island; of the kinds of plants that chiefly contribute to the vegetation of the coasts, the plains, and mountains; of the general relations that subsist between them and the flora of the Carnatic, Malabar, and the Malay archipelago; and of the more useful plants in science, arts, medicine, and commerce.

To render such a work (however elementary) at once accurate as well as interesting, would require sound scientific knowledge; and, however skilfully and popularly written, there would still be portions somewhat difficult of comprehension to the ordinary reader; but curiosity would be stimulated by the very occurrence of difficulty, and thus an impulse might be given to the acquisition of rudimentary botany, which would eventually enable the inquirer to contribute his quota to the natural history of Ceylon.

P.S. Since the foregoing was written, Mr. Thwaites has announced the early publication of a new work on Ceylon plants, to be entitled Enumeratio Plantarum Zeylaniae: with Descriptions of the new and little known genera and species, and observations on their habits, uses, &c. In the Identification of the species Mr. Thwaites is to be assisted by Dr. Hooker, F.R.S.; and from their conjoint labours we may at last hope for a production worthy of the subject.]

[Footnote 2: Rhizophera Candelaria, Kandelia Rheedei, Bruguiera gymnorhiza.]

Retiring from the strand, there are groups of Sonneratia[1], Avicennia, Heritiera, and Pandanus; the latter with a stem like a dwarf palm, round which the serrated leaves ascend in spiral convolutions till they terminate in a pendulous crown, from which drop the amber clusters of beautiful but uneatable fruit, with a close resemblance in shape and colour to that of the pineapple, from which, and from the peculiar arrangement of the leaves, the plant has acquired its name of the Screw-pine.

[Footnote 1: At a meeting of the Entomological Society in 1842, Dr. Templeton sent, for the use of the members, many thin slices of substance to replace cork-wood as a lining for insect cases and drawers. Along with the soft wood he sent the following notice:—"In this country (he writes from Colombo, Ceylon, May 19, 1842), along the marshy banks of the large rivers, grows a very large handsome tree, named Sonneratia acida, by the younger Linnaeus: its roots spread far and wide through the soft moist earth, and at various distances along send up most extraordinary long spindle-shaped excrescences four or five feet above the surface. Of these Sir James Edward Smith remarks 'what these horn-shaped excrescences are which occupy the soil at some distance from the base of the tree from a span to a foot in length and of a corky substance, as described by Rumphins, we can offer no conjecture.' Most curious things (remarks Dr. Templeton) they are; they all spring very narrow from the root, expand as they rise, and then become gradually attenuated, occasionally forking, but never throwing out shoots or leaves, or in any respect resembling the parent root or wood. They are firm and close in their texture, nearly devoid of fibrous structure, and take a moderate polish when cut with a sharp instrument; but for lining insect boxes and making setting-boards they have no equal in the world. The finest pin passes in with delightful ease and smoothness, and is held firmly and tightly so that there is no risk of the insects becoming disengaged. With a fine saw I form them into little boards and then smooth them with a sharp case knife, but the London veneering-mills would turn them out fit for immediate use, without any necessity for more than a touch of fine glass-paper. Some of my pigmy boards are two feet long by three and a half inches wide, which is more than sufficient for our purpose, and to me they have proved a vast acquisition. The natives call them 'Kirilimow,' the latter syllable signifying root"—TEMPLETON, Trans. Ent. Soc. vol. iii. p. 302.]

A little further inland, the sandy plains are covered by a thorny jungle, the plants of which are the same as those of the Carnatic, the climate being alike; and wherever man has encroached on the solitude, groves of coco-nut palms mark the vicinity of his habitations.

Remote from the sea, the level country of the north has a flora almost identical with that of Coromandel; but the arid nature of the Ceylon soil, and its drier atmosphere, is attested by the greater proportion of euphorbias and fleshy shrubs, as well as by the wiry and stunted nature of the trees, their smaller leaves and thorny stems and branches.[1]

[Footnote 1: Dr. Gardner.]

Conspicuous amongst them are acacias of many kinds; Cassia fistula the wood apple (Feronia elephantum), and the mustard tree of Scripture (Salvadora Persica), which extends from Ceylon to the Holy Land. The margosa (Azadirachta Indica), the satin wood, the Ceylon oak, and the tamarind and ebony, are examples of the larger trees; and in the extreme north and west the Palmyra palm takes the place of the coco-nut, and not only lines the shore, but fills the landscape on every side with its shady and prolific groves.

Proceeding southward on the western coast, the acacias disappear, and the greater profusion of vegetation, the taller growth of the timber, and the darker tinge of the foliage, all attest the influence of the increased moisture both from the rivers and the rains. The brilliant Ixoras, Erythrinas, Buteas, Jonesias, Hibiscus, and a variety of flowering shrubs of similar beauty, enliven the forests with their splendour; and the seeds of the cinnamon, carried by the birds from the cultivated gardens near the coasts, have germinated in the sandy soil, and diversify the woods with the fresh verdure of its polished leaves and delicately-tinted shoots. It is to be found universally to a considerable height in the lower range of hills, and thither the Chalias were accustomed to resort to cut and peel it, a task which was imposed on them as a feudal service by the native sovereign, who paid an annual tribute in prepared cinnamon to the Dutch, and to the present time this branch of the trade in the article continues, but divested of its compulsory character.

The Dutch, in like manner, maintained, during the entire period of their rule, an extensive commerce in pepper worts, which still festoon the forest, but the export has almost ceased from Ceylon. Along with these the trunks of the larger trees are profusely covered with other delicate creepers, chiefly Convolvuli and Ipomoeas; and the pitcher-plant (Nepenthes distillatoria) lures the passer-by to halt and conjecture the probable uses of the curious mechanism, by means of which it distils a quantity of limpid fluid into the vegetable vases at the extremity of its leaves. The Orchideae suspend their pendulous flowers from the angles of branches, whilst the bare roots and the lower part of the stem are occasionally covered with fungi of the most gaudy colours, bright red, yellow, and purple.

Of the east side of the island the botany has never yet been examined by any scientific resident, but the productions of the hill country have been largely explored, and present features altogether distinct from those of the plains. For the first two or three thousand feet the dissimilarity is less perceptible to an unscientific eye, but as we ascend, the difference becomes apparent in the larger size of the leaves, and the nearly uniform colour of the foliage, except where the scarlet shoots of the ironwood tree (Mesua ferrea) seem, like flowers in their blood-red hue. Here the broad leaves of the wild plantains (Musa textilis) penetrate the soil among the broken rocks; and in moist spots the graceful bamboo flourishes in groups, whose feathery foliage waves like the plumes of the ostrich.[1] It is at these elevations that the sameness of the scenery is diversified by the grassy patenas before alluded to[2], which, in their aspect, though not their extent, may be called the Savannahs of Ceylon. Here peaches, cherries, and other European fruit trees, grow freely; but they become evergreens in this summer climate, and, exhausted by perennial excitement, and deprived of their winter repose, they refuse to ripen their fruit.[3] A similar failure was discovered in some European vines, which were cultivated at Jaffna; but Mr. Dyke, the government agent, in whose garden they grew, conceiving that the activity of the plants might be equally checked by exposing them to an extreme of warmth, as by subjecting them to cold, tried, with perfect success, the experiment of laying bare the roots in the strongest heat of the sun. The result verified his conjecture. The circulation of the sap was arrested, the vines obtained the needful repose, and the grapes, which before had fallen almost unformed from the tree, are now brought to thorough maturity, though inferior in flavour to those produced at home.[4]

[Footnote 1: In the Malayan peninsula the bamboo has been converted into an instrument of natural music, by perforating it with holes through which the wind is permitted to sigh; and the effect is described as perfectly charming. Mr. Logan, who in 1847 visited Naning; contiguous to the frontier of the European settlement of Malacca, on approaching the village of Kandang, was surprised by hearing "the most melodious sounds, some soft and liquid like the notes of a flute, and others deep and full like the tones of an organ. They were sometimes low, interrupted, or even single, and presently they would swell into a grand burst of mingled melody. On drawing near to a clump of trees; above the branches of which waved a slender bamboo about forty feet in length, he found that the musical tones issued from it, and were caused by the breeze passing through perforations in the stem; the instrument thus formed is called by the natives the bulu perindu, or plaintive bamboo." Those which Mr. Logan saw had a slit in each joint, so that each stem possessed fourteen or twenty notes.]