On the night of December 11th, being the day previous to that of our departure from Hong Kong, a slight shock of earthquake was experienced, recalling a similar event at Yokohama; but as these are not of uncommon occurrence in either place, little was thought or said about the matter. We embarked on the P. and O. steamship, Brindisi, for Singapore, by the way of the China Sea and the Gulf of Siam. The northeast monsoon favored us, as we rushed like a race-horse over the turbulent sea, with a following gale,—the threatening waves appearing as if they would certainly engulf us if they could catch up with the stern of the ship. The Philippine Islands were given a wide berth, as we steered southward towards the equator. The cholera was raging among the group; and in illustration of the fact that misfortunes never come as single spies, but in battalions, Manilla, the capital, had just been nearly destroyed by a typhoon. Leaving Borneo on our port bow as we neared the equatorial line, the ship was steered due west for the mouth of the Straits lying between the Malay Peninsula and the Island of Sumatra.

While running off the Gulf of Siam we got our first view of a veritable water-spout. It was from four to five miles off our starboard bow, but quite as near as we desired it to be. It seems that both atmospheric and aquatic currents meet here: from the China Sea northward, from the Malacca Straits southward, and from the Pacific Ocean eastward, mingling at the entrance of the Gulf of Siam, causing at times a confusion of the elements. At least this was the captain's theory, and it seems that he had more than once met with water-spouts at this point. They are nothing more or less than a miniature cyclone, an eddying of the wind rotating with such velocity as to suck up a column of water from the sea to a height of one or two hundred feet. This column of water appears to be largest at the top and bottom and visibly contracted at the middle. If it were to fall foul of a ship and break, it would wreck and submerge her as surely as though she were run down by an iceberg. Modern science shows that all storms are cyclonic, that is, are circular eddies of wind of greater or less diameter.

No two geographers seem to agree as to what constitutes the Malay Archipelago, but the five islands nearest to the Peninsula should undoubtedly be thus classified; namely, Singapore, Penang, Borneo, Sumatra, and Java,—the latter containing more volcanoes, active and extinct, than any other known district of equal extent. If the reader will glance at a map of the Eastern Hemisphere, it will be observed that many islands dot the equatorial region between Asia and Australia. Some maps include New Guinea in the Malay group, though it is situated far to the eastward, and forms so independent a region, being larger than Great Britain. Lying in the very lap of the tropics, the climate is more uniformly hot and moist than in any other part of the globe, and teems with productions in the animal and vegetable kingdoms elsewhere unknown. The most precious spices, the richest fruits, the gaudiest feathered birds, are here seen at home; while man is represented by a race quite distinctive and peculiar, whose type will be looked for in vain beyond the limits of this region. Climate, vegetation, and animated life are all specially equatorial. The elephant, rhinoceros, tapir, and the man-like orang-outang are all indigenous. It was quite natural to reflect upon these well-known facts as we came down the China Sea and crossed the broad Gulf of Siam.

On the 15th of December, at noon, latitude 9 deg. 1', longitude 108 deg. 57', we found ourselves just half round the world from our starting-point, Boston. The capital of Massachusetts was exactly beneath us on the opposite side of the globe, a physical fact somewhat difficult to realize.

We landed, December 17th, at Singapore, the most southerly point of Asia, located at the mouth of the Malacca Straits, about eighty miles north of the equator, being the capital of the Straits Settlements. It is the stopping-place of nearly all ocean travel to and from the East, not only for the landing and taking in of other cargo, but as a necessary coaling station, whether coming round the Cape of Good Hope, or from Suez and India by the Red Sea route. Singapore is an island lying just off the peninsula separation from the main-land by a strait scarcely a quarter of a mile across. It is some thirty miles long and half as broad, containing over two hundred square miles, and supporting a population of a hundred thousand, more or less. The entrance to the harbor was very picturesque as we sailed between the low lying islands grouped about it, fanned by a soft welcome morning breeze, before the burning sun had asserted its power. An aspect of tropical luxuriance and languor reigned everywhere,—the palm and cocoanut-trees looming above all the rest of the vegetation. About the ship floated tropical seaweed of brilliant colors, while the long snow-white beach contrasted strongly with the dark green, glossy foliage behind it. It was easy to divine the products of the island from the nature of the merchandise piled upon the wharf for shipment, consisting of tapioca, cocoanut oil, gambia, tin, indigo, tiger skins, coral, gutta-percha, hides, gums, and camphor, some of which our ship was destined to take westward. The tin, in heavy pigs, was especially noticeable as to weight and quantity.

The surface of the island is undulating and densely wooded; in fact consists of a multitude of small hills not exceeding three or four hundred feet in height, while the jungle comes down close to the shore. The great enemy which the natives have to contend against is wild beasts,—tigers proving very fatal all the year round. There is no winter, summer, or autumn here, but a perpetual spring, with a temperature almost unvarying; new leaves always swelling from the buds, flowers always in bloom, the sun rising and setting within five minutes of six o'clock during the entire year. Singapore is considered to be a very healthy place, and gets a soft breeze most of the day from across the Bay of Bengal, laden with fragrant sweetness from the spice-bearing fields of Ceylon, while upon its own soil every flower and blossom known to the Orient affords beauty to the eye and delight to the senses. The trees here would have seemed enormous had we not so lately come from California. One observes the great abundance of the rattan-palm, which forms picturesque groups of green foliage quite distinctive from the other surroundings. It seemed rather enervating with the thermometer at 90 deg. in the shade, these December days, but the residents did not complain. There are some drawbacks to be considered, as well as the floral beauty and spice-laden air. Were this not the case it would be celestial not terrestial. The number of dangerous snakes, scorpions, mammoth spiders, lizards, mosquitoes, and all sorts of vermin is legion. Naturalists come from all parts of Europe to gather and form collections of butterflies, beetles, birds, reptiles, various insects, and shells. The great green-winged Ornithoptera, the prince of the butterfly tribe, abounds here. One enthusiastic naturalist, a German, boasted that he had obtained within a month over three hundred distinct and remarkable species of beetles, within a couple of miles of the hotel veranda where we stood.

The steamboat landing is some three miles from the centre of Singapore, and we drove thither drawn by a little horse which could hardly have performed the task had the road not been an excellent one and as level as a parlor floor. The wayside was bordered by hedges of green and growing rattans uniformly clipped, and forming a continuous wall, which, here and there, threw out a graceful feathery bit of foliage. Over the hedge occasionally bent tall and handsome palm-trees of various species, often laden with cocoanuts, or other fruit of the palm family, and occasionally whole groves of bananas were in sight. We passed many Chinamen, and many Chinese shops, showing them to be the dominating race, always moving promptly as if bent on some fixed purpose; while the natives, seen now and then on the road, were listless and objectless in their appearance,—true children of the equatorial region. The former were bent on accumulating the means to return to their native land in independence; the latter were utterly heedless of the morrow.

The local pictures, as usual in each new place, are interesting and impressive: small hump-backed oxen driven singly to harness and at a lively trot; little diminutive horses, even smaller than those of Japan, yet drawing heavy-loaded vehicles; an almost naked population, and those wearing clothes at all affecting the brightest possible colors. Scarlet turbans and white skirts, red shawls bound round the head, yellow sashes confining one thickness of narrow cotton cloth about the body, give bits of color everywhere. Peddlers roam the streets selling water, soup, fruit, and a jelly, made from seaweed, called agar-agar. These articles are cried, each after its own peculiar name, and customers are not wanting; little groups of Chinese and natives often surround the peddler and partake of his wares. Houses are built high up in the air upon stilts, a common practice for various reasons, not the least of which is protection against the much dreaded tigers, snakes, and other dangerous creatures. Tigers are said to devour three hundred of the inhabitants annually; that is nearly one a day out of a population of a hundred thousand, which is the aggregate of the whole island. The number of victims is set even higher than this, and is mostly made up from those working on the plantations.

The jungle is very dense and difficult to penetrate. English sportsmen come hither, in large numbers, to seek this royal game. It would seem strange at first thought that an island like Singapore could not be cleared of this terrible pest, and so we remarked. "Ah," replied a resident, "you forget that we draw an unlimited supply from the main-land. Tigers swim across the narrow straits continually, and not until the land is cleared from jungle will our island be free from them." The natives dig pits as traps for the tigers, similar to the manner of catching them in India, except that at Singapore a series of sharp, upright stakes were introduced, upon which the animals fell and were fatally wounded. This, however, has been forbidden since an English hunter fell into a trap and was empaled upon them.

The vegetable and fruit market at Singapore affords an amusing scene in the early morning. In fact a traveler soon learns that it is a resort not to be neglected in any new city; affording, as it invariably does, strongly characteristic local pictures, and for the time drawing together representatives from nearly all classes of the community,—master, mistress, and servant. The variety of fruit is here much greater than in Japan or China; and there are one or two species, such as the delicious mangosteen,—the seductive apple of the East,—which are found indigenous in no other country. The vegetables are abundant, and the native women, who transact the market business, know how to arrange them with an eye to good effect, just as they show an artistic fancy in the mingled colors of the few clothes they wear.

The cocoanuts ripening in big clusters on the lofty trees, and many other fruits produced by the family of the palm, are inviting and handsome to look upon, especially when hanging in clusters forty or fifty feet skyward. We had often read of the fan-palm, but they are much more curious to see than to read about, being here presented in their most thriving aspect. The California specimens are quite meagre and unsatisfactory in comparison with those grown so near the equator. Here the tree springs up in the exact shape of an outspread feather-fan, as though it were artificially trained, and reaches the height of thirty or forty feet, making a very distinctive feature of the scenery. Fruit is always cheap in these regions, and forms a very large portion of the native subsistence; but it was a surprise to us in paying for a dozen large, ripe, and luscious pine-apples to find that the price was but sixpence. It was amusing to watch the itinerant cooks, who wear a yoke over their necks, with a cooking apparatus on one end and a little table to balance it on the other, serving meals of rice and fish to coolies and boatmen for a couple of pennies each. Money has here, as in most Eastern countries, a larger purchasing power than it has with us of the West. Laborers at Singapore get twelve and fifteen cents a day for work on the wharves, and less inland; but the cost of living to these people is proportionally insignificant. They can go into the jungle and get a dinner of fruit at any time, and no one will interfere with them.

A visit to the Botanical Garden, located a couple of miles from the town, afforded us much pleasure, and, as a complete collection of tropical trees and plants, exceeded, in extent and variety, all previous experience. Though this entire region is a garden, it has been deemed well to gather close together all possible representatives of the trees, fruits, and flowers, and to surround them with all the beauties of landscape gardening. Here, nourished by abundant heat and moisture, thrive the bread-fruit-tree, palms, dates, figs, and mangoes, mangosteens, and creepers of infinite variety. For the first time we saw specimens of the acacia flamboyante, a large tree with broad leaves of delicate green, throwing out from its topmost boughs clusters of scarlet flowers with yellow centres like military plumes. The floral display was very beautiful, and the plants must have enjoyed the care of the best trained skill to produce such perfection. One portion of the garden contained large bushes of stephanotis and alamanda in full bloom, and close by was a glorious display of the Egyptian lotus in flower. Upon a small artificial lake was a grand flourishing plant of the Victoria Regia, with leaves that would support a small child upon the surface of the water. There was an extensive aviary in the grounds, with beautiful specimens of the argus pheasant, lyre-bird, parrots of many species, and doves with strangely gaudy plumage, as though they had barely escaped being parrots. The little scarlet larie, a native here, chattered like a magpie. It was certainly an unexpected pleasure to find an excellent museum, a public library, a Protestant cathedral, a large hospital, schools, and several benevolent institutions, as well as the fine garden referred to, in this capital of the Malay coast. It will be remembered that Singapore belongs to the English, having been purchased by them so long ago as 1819 from the Sultan of Johore, Malay Peninsula; wise forethought, showing its importance as a port of call between England and India. The city is divided into the Chinese, Malay, and European quarters, with a population of sixty thousand, and is elaborately fortified. A moment's thought will recall to the reader's mind a fact which is of interest in this connection. England has established and maintains a line of outposts from the Mediterranean to the far East, commencing at Gibraltar, thence to Malta, Aden, Ceylon, Penang, Singapore, and Hong Kong, thus completely dominating the south of Asia, and giving her a clear road to India, besides making her power always realized and respected in the East.

There is no disguising the fact that the Chinese, attracted to Singapore by its freedom from commercial restrictions, and its advantages of position, have contributed very largely to make it what it is, the most prosperous settlement in the East. It literally swarms with pigtails, the Chinese composing nearly half of the population. We cannot afford to ignore the commercial value of this race, however much we may dislike them personally. Opium dens are conspicuous here, over the doors of which is printed in English, "Licensed Opium Shops." It seems that these Mongolians cannot or will not do without the subtle drug, while there are many people who do not use the article, but who contend that it is not injurious except when taken to excess. An intelligent resident, however, admitted that opium was in one way or another the cause of most of the crime among the class who habitually use it. It is the Chinaman's one luxury, his one extravagance; he will stint himself in food, clothing, amusements, everything else, to add to his hoard of dollars; but this fascinating, artificial stimulant and narcotic combined he will not deny himself.

An Englishman, who joined the ship at Singapore, related a tiger adventure, which had occurred here not long previous to our visit. There was ample evidence that one of these much-dreaded creatures had made his lair not far away from the town. Our informant had come hither with a friend on a hunting excursion, and resolved, if possible, to secure the creature's hide. Three or four days before a native woman had disappeared from the suburbs, and it was resolved to take advantage of the trail which was made on this occasion to track the beast through the jungle. The sportsmen, with six native beaters, easily followed the track, the animal's fore paws evidently sinking heavily into the ground with the weight of the body he carried. A full mile was passed before the path became so dense as to cause delay, and the track was quite clear. Here and there branches showed a lock of the woman's hair, where her head had come in contact with some thorny bushes in passing. Once the tiger had evidently laid the body down, and here were finger-marks in the soil, showing that life still existed in the poor victim.

The slight clothing she wore had been found at the commencement of the trail, where a disturbance of the ground indicated some sort of struggle. At the end of the second mile the tracks grew every moment more distinct, and the party moved with increased caution. An experienced beater was now sent in advance with only his broad, unsheathed knife for self-protection. Stillness reigned for some time, as the party thus advanced. The animal had scented danger, and, contrary to the usual habits of these creatures on such occasions, instead of retreating farther into the jungle, he came boldly towards the attacking party. Had this been anticipated, greater caution would have been observed. Suddenly there came a crashing sound, and a scream rang through the jungle. The head beater was borne to the ground by the whole weight of the tiger, who had sprung upon him. The man had stood at the moment in a partial opening, so that man and beast were now in full sight. One of the hunters instantly leveled his rifle, and with deliberate aim sent a ball through the tiger's brain, causing him to straighten out at once, quite dead.

The man was stunned and severely wounded, but he was not bitten, and was able to struggle to his feet, pointing exultingly to the knife, showing that he had buried the blade to the hilt in the tiger's chest, notwithstanding the suddenness of the attack. The natives generally are poor hunters, lacking courage and coolness, both of which qualities this man clearly evinced. A hundred yards further into the jungle from the spot where this struggle took place was found the monster's lair. It was a small open space, surrounded by a thick undergrowth, whither he had brought his victims, fully three miles from the nearest village. Only the bones of the poor woman were found; what the tiger had not eaten other beasts and birds had consumed. Heaps of bones testified to the havoc the animal had made. A number of bangles, arm-rings, nose and ear ornaments, were picked up, such as only women wear, showing that a number of his victims had been of that sex. The beater was well enough to walk back to the village, after a short time, and became quite a hero in consequence of the adventure. The carcass was brought to town, and proved to be that of a very large and old tiger. The fact of his coming towards the hunters instead of retiring, as is their habit when pursued by numbers, showed that he was an unusually dangerous animal.

A two days' voyage through what seemed to us like a sea of phosphorescence, every splash and ripple producing liquid gems, brought us to Penang, the most northerly sea-port of the Malacca Straits, situated at the point where they open into the Indian Ocean, and just one hundred miles from the island of Sumatra across the mouth of the Straits. The approach to the island by water afforded a fine picture. Well-wooded hills of vivid greenness rise above the sea all about the town. These hills grow more or less lofty as they recede inland, until they culminate in three mountain peaks. Penang, like Singapore, is an island some thirteen miles long by ten in width, and is separated from the main-land of the Peninsula by a narrow belt of sea not more than three miles in width, giving it a position of great commercial importance. It resembles Singapore in many respects, and is almost identical with it so far as it relates to its general products and vegetation; the season, likewise, is one long, unvarying summer. The arcea palm, known as the Penang-tree, is the source of the betel-nut, and, as it abounds on the island, has given it the name it bears. The town and its immediate suburbs cover about a square mile, through which one broad main street runs, intersected by lesser thoroughfares at right angles. A drive about the place gave us an idea that it is a thrifty town, but not nearly so populous or business-like as Singapore. It was also observable here that the Chinese element predominated. The main street referred to is lined with open bazars and shops, mostly kept by Chinamen. The front of the dwellings being all open, gives the passer-by a full idea of all that is going on in each household. Shrines were nearly always to be seen in some nook or corner of each dwelling, before which incense was burning, and generally a couple of candles also, very much as at Canton. The shrine-room seemed also to be the eating, sleeping, and living room.

The natives are lithe in figure, with but slight muscular development, and are yet quite strong, appearing at all times as nearly naked as would be permitted among white people. They give up nearly all branches of occupation, trade, and industries to the Chinamen, and content themselves with lying all day in the sun, eating bananas and other cheap fruits, and chewing betel-nuts. Some of them make good sailors, taken away from their home and put under discipline. The P. & O. Steamship Company, as well as many others, often recruit their crews here. Is it because surrounding nature is so bountiful, so lovely, so prolific in spontaneous food, that these, her children, are lazy, dirty, and heedless? Does it require a cold, unpropitious climate, a sterile soil and rude surroundings, to awaken human energy and put man at his best? There is compensation always. With luxury comes enervation, effort is superfluous; while with frugality and labor we have strength, accompanied with development of mind and body. The former produces slaves, the latter heroes.

Humanity and the lower grades of animal life seem here to change places. While the birds and butterflies are in perfect harmony with the loveliness of nature about them, while the flowers are glorious in beauty and in fragrance, man alone seems out of tune and out of place. Indolent, dirty, unclad, he adds nothing to the beauty or perfection of the surroundings, does nothing to adapt and improve such wealth of possibilities as nature spreads broadcast only in these regions. The home of the Malay is not so clean as that of the ants, or the birds, or the bees; the burrowing animals are much neater. He does little for himself, nothing for others, the sensuous life he leads poisoning his nature. Virtue and vice have no special meaning to him. There is no sear and yellow leaf at Penang, or anywhere on the coast of the Straits. Fruits and flowers are perennial: if a leaf falls, another springs into life on the vacant stem; if fruit is plucked, a blossom follows and another cluster ripens; nature is inexhaustible. Unlike most tropical regions, neither Penang nor Singapore are troubled with malarial fevers, and probably no spot on earth can be found better adapted to the wants of primitive man.

The native women are graceful and almost pretty, slight in figure, and very fond of ornament. Indeed both sexes pierce their ears, noses, and lips, through which to thrust silver, brass, and gold rings, also covering their ankles and arms with metallic rings, the number only limited by their means. In the immediate neighborhood of the town are some English plantations and neat cottages, with inclosures of flowers and orchards of fruit trees; while still farther back are large gardens of bread-fruit, nutmegs, cinnamon, pepper, and other spices. Plantations of sugar-cane, tobacco, and coffee are also numerous, the soil being pronounced to be extremely fertile. We were told that nothing had to be wrung from the earth here, but, as Douglas Jerrold said of Australia, "just tickle her with a hoe and she laughs with a harvest." Here is the very paradise of brilliant birds, with feathers "too utterly gaudy," while Flora revels in wild luxuriance. The delicate little sensitive plant here grows in a wild state, equally tremulous and subsiding at human touch, as with us. Lilies are in wonderful variety, and such ferns, and such butterflies! These latter almost as big as humming-birds and as swift of wing.

Penang is the headquarters of the cocoanut-tree, the prolific character of which is here simply wonderful. How these trees manage to keep an upright position, with such heavy loads in their tufted tops, is a never-ending marvel. This tree is always in bearing at Penang, giving annually several voluntary crops, and receiving no artificial cultivation. Of the liberal gifts which Providence has bestowed upon the tropics, the cocoanut-tree is perhaps the most valuable. The Asiatic poets celebrate in verse the three hundred and sixty uses to which the trunk, the branches, the leaves, the fruit, and the juice are applied. In Penang a certain number of these trees are not permitted to bear fruit; the embryo bud, from which the blossoms and nuts would spring, is tied up to prevent its expansion, and a small incision then being made at the end, there oozes in gentle drops a cool, pleasant liquor called sarce or toddy, which is the palm-wine of the poet. This, when first drawn, is cooling and wholesome, but when fermented and distilled produces a strong, intoxicating spirit. In fruits, the banana is perhaps the next most valuable of the products of this region. We were told that between twenty and thirty distinct species of the fruit flourished within a radius of a dozen miles of the town, all wholesome and palatable. The attention of planters is being diverted from spice culture to that of fruit raising, the latter requiring so much less attention, and not being liable to blight of any sort.

In the brief stay which we made at Singapore and Penang, it is hardly to be supposed that any very reliable judgment could be formed as to the characteristics of the common people; but with observation, fortified by intelligent inquiry, certain deductions were natural. The Malay seems to be a careless, happy-go-lucky race, the merest children of nature, with no thought of the morrow. The English first, and then the Chinese, dominate the masses. When they have no money, and lack for food, they will work; but only empty pockets and gnawing stomachs will induce them to labor. All life seems more or less torpid and listless in the tropics. As has been intimated, the morals of these people of the Straits will not bear writing about; the marriage rite has little force among them, and domesticity is not understood. They are more nearly Mohammedan than aught else, and its forms are somewhat preserved, but the faith of Mecca has only a slight hold upon them. There are intelligent and cultivated Malays, those of Sumatra, Borneo, and Java are notably so; but we have been speaking of the masses. Penang originally belonged to the Malay kingdom, but, about the year 1786, was given to an English sea-captain as a marriage portion with the King of Keddah's daughter, and by him transferred to the East India Company. When Captain Francis Light received it with his dusky bride, it was the wild home of a few Malay fishermen and their families; to-day it has about a hundred thousand population.

The constant changes of climate, in so prolonged a journey as that to which these notes relate, must naturally somewhat try one's physical endurance, and also demands more than ordinary care in the preservation of health. Regularity of habits, abstemiousness, and no careless exposure will, as a rule, insure the same immunity from sickness that may be reasonably expected at home, though this result cannot always be counted upon. The sturdiest and most healthy-appearing individual of our little party was Mr. D——, who was in the prime of life and manly vigor when he joined us at San Francisco; but while the rest of us enjoyed good health from the beginning to the end of the journey, he lost health and strength gradually from the time we left China. Though receiving the most unremitting attention, both professional and friendly, he was conscious by the time we reached Singapore that he could not long survive. He passed away on the night of December 21st, and was buried next day at sea, with the usual solemn ceremony. It was a wild, stormy day, when the body was committed to the deep, causing the scene to be all the more impressive from the attendant rage of the elements.



CHAPTER V.

Sailing Due West.—The Indian Ocean.—Strange Sights at Sea.—Island of Ceylon.—Singhalese Canoes.—Colombo.—A Land of Slaves.—Native Town.—Singhalese Women.—Fantastic Nurses.—Local Pictures.—Cinnamon Gardens.—Wild Elephants.—Lavishness of Tropical Nature.—Curious Birds and their Nests.—Ancient Kandy.—Temple of Maligawan.—Religious Ceremonies.—Life of the Natives.—Inland Scenery.—Fruits.—Precious Stones.—Coffee Plantations.—Great Antiquity of Ceylon.

After leaving Penang our course lay due west across the Indian Ocean, on a line of about the tenth degree of north latitude; the objective point being the island of Ceylon. We sighted the Andaman Islands as we passed, more than one of which has the reputation of being inhabited by cannibals; and as a matter of course some of the passengers became witty over the second-hand jokes about roasted missionary. The rains which we encountered in this equatorial region were so profuse, and yielded such a marvelous downpour of water as to almost deluge us, and set the inside of the good steamship Brindisi afloat. But the air was soft and balmy, the nights gloriously serene and bright, so that it was even more refreshing, more restful than slumber, to lie awake upon the quarter-deck, and gazing idly among the clustering stars, to build castles in the limpid atmosphere while watching the fleecy clouds floating across the gleaming planets, as a lovely woman's veil covers her luminous eyes for an instant only to vivify their splendor.

In the daytime large sea-turtles came to the surface of the water to sun themselves, stretching their awkward necks to get sight of our hull. Big schools of dolphins played their gambols about the ship, darting bodily out of the water, and pitching in again head foremost, no doubt holding their breath when submerged in atmospheric air, as a diver does when he plunges into the sea. Flying-fish were so numerous as to cease to be a curiosity, often skimming on board in their awkward attempts at aerial navigation, and being caught by the crew. As it is known that a light will attract these delicate little sea-moths at night, sailors sometimes extend a bit of canvas on a pole from a forward port, in the shape of a scoop, and placing a lantern above it, gather quite a mess of them in a brief time. One morning the cook brought himself into special notice by giving us a fry of the self-immolated creatures. Large watersnakes appeared at the surface now and again, raising their slimy heads a couple of feet or more above the waves. These have been known to board sailing ships by means of a stray rope left dragging in the water, or through an open port near the surface of the sea. But they would hardly attempt such feats with a swift gliding steamer, even if a trailing rope were to offer them the chance. Now and then the ship would sail for an hour or more through a prolific drift of that queer, indolent bit of animal life, the jelly-fish. How these waters teemed with life! Every school-boy knows that the ocean covers three quarters of the globe, but how few realize that it represents more of organic life than does the land. It is a world in itself, immense and mighty, affording a home for countless and manifold forms of life. We are indebted to it for every drop of water distributed over our hills, plains, and valleys, for from the ocean it has arisen by evaporation to return again through myriads of channels. It is a misnomer to speak of the sea as a desert waste: it is teeming with inexhaustible animal and vegetable life. A German scientist has, with unwearied industry, secured and classified over five hundred distinct species of fishes from this very division of the Indian Ocean; many of which are characterized by colors as gay and various as those of tropical birds and flowers. Mirage played us strange tricks, in the way of optical delusion, in these regions. We seemed constantly to be approaching land that was never reached, and which, after assuming the undulating shore-lines of a well-defined coast, at the moment when we should fairly make it, faded into thin air. Sometimes at night the marvelous phosphorescence of the sea was fascinating to behold, the crest of each wave and ripple became a small cascade of fire, and the motion of the ship through her native element seemed as though sailing through flames. The scientific methods of accounting for this effect are familiar, but hardly satisfactory to those who have watched this phenomenon in both hemispheres. We began, nevertheless, to experience somewhat of the monotony of sea life, although the most was made of trivial occurrences; for out of the hundred days which we had been traveling since leaving Boston, nearly fifty had been passed upon various seas and oceans.

The voyage from Penang to Ceylon covers a distance of about thirteen hundred miles. We sighted the island on Sunday, December 24th, and landed at Colombo on the following day, which was Christmas. When we rounded the seaward end of the substantial breakwater now building, over which the lofty waves were making a clean breach, five of the large and noble steamships of the P. and O. line were seen moored in the harbor, making this a port of call on their way to or from India, China, or Australia. As the anchor-chain rattled through the hawser-hole, and the Brindisi felt the restraint of her land-tackle, we were surrounded by half a hundred native boats, most of which were Singhalese canoes, of such odd construction as to merit a special description. They are peculiar to these seas, being designed to enable the occupant to venture out, however rough the water may chance to be, and the surf is always raging in these open roadsteads. The canoe consists of the trunk of a tree hollowed out, some twenty feet in length, having long planks fastened lengthwise so as to form the sides or gunwales of the boat, which is two feet and a half deep and two feet wide. An outrigger, consisting of a log of wood about one third the size of the canoe, is fastened alongside at a distance of some six or eight feet, by two arched poles of well-seasoned bamboo. This outrigger prevents any possibility of upsetting the boat; but without it so narrow a craft could not remain upright even in the calmest sea. The natives face any weather in those little vessels.

There was a pretense made of examining our baggage by the custom-house officers, but this was simply for form's sake, and then the trunks were put into a two-wheeled canvas-covered cart, drawn by a couple of milk-white oxen, and we walked beside them a short distance to the hotel. It was observed that the driver of the bullocks had no whip, and the circumstance was set down in favor of humanity; but it soon appeared that the fellow had a resort of another sort whereby to urge on his cattle, namely, he twisted their tails, compared to which whipping would have been to them a luxury. As we at once objected to the tail-twisting operation, the native gave it up and behaved himself with humanity. The sun, meantime, was doing its best to roast us, and we were only too happy to get under the shelter of the hotel piazza. We were waited upon with prompt regard to our necessities, and assigned to comfortable apartments. The rooms were divided by partitions which did not reach to the ceiling, the upper portion being left open for ventilation; a style of building peculiar to the climate, but not calculated to afford much more privacy than the Japan paper partitions in the tea-houses. But the hotel at Colombo was a very good one in all of its belongings, and the table excellent. While we sat at our meals, in the spacious dining-hall, long lines of punkas, or suspended fans, were worked by pulleys running outside, so that during these hours we were comfortable, notwithstanding the heat.

This island, situated just off the southern point of India, stands in the same relation to it that Madagascar does to Africa, and is very ancient in its historical associations, having been in the prime of its glory four hundred years before the coming of Christ, and how far back of that period its history extends is only problematical. It is separated from the continent by a strait called the Gulf of Manar, and is about the size of Massachusetts; containing, also, nearly the same aggregate population. It is believed to be the Ophir of the Hebrews, abounding as it does, to-day, in precious stones, such as rubies, sapphires, amethysts, garnets, and various mineral wealth. It is also, taken as a whole, one of the most beautiful regions of the world; the very gem of the equatorial region.

The English government have here large and admirably arranged barracks, suitable for the housing of a small army, the troops numbering at this writing between three and four thousand; but more than double that number can be provided for in the broad, open buildings, specially adapted to the service and the climate. The object is undoubtedly to maintain at this point a military depot, with which to supply troops in an emergency to India or elsewhere in the East. But it should be remembered that Ceylon, though a British colony, is quite separate from that of India, so near at hand. It is presided over by a governor, appointed by the Queen of England, an executive council of five, and a legislative council of fifteen. For the first time since landing in the East, we saw no Chinese. They ceased at Penang; for Chinamen, like some species of birds, move in flocks; they never straggle. There is here a sprinkling of Nubians, but the general population is Singhalese, with whom are seen mingled Arabs, Javanese, Afghans, Kaffirs, and Syrian Jews, these last with their hair in ringlets like young school-girls. The subjugated appearance of the common people is disagreeably apparent. In Japan, the submissiveness and humility of the population is voluntary, for they are a free and independent race after all; but here the natives are the merest slaves, realizing their humble status only too plainly. They call all white people "master" when addressing them: "Yes, master," or "No, master," "Will master have this or that?" They would not dare to resent it if they were knocked down by a white man. The English government provides means for the education of the rising generation in the form of free schools; and the English language is very generally spoken by the common people. This is wise, for even in her colonial possessions she must multiply schools, or prisons will multiply themselves.

The police arrangements of Colombo are excellent. Notwithstanding the singular variety of nationalities, one sees no outbreaks; there is no visible impropriety of conduct, no contention or intoxication, quiet and repose reign everywhere. Though the ancient Pettah, or Black Town, inhabited solely by the natives, is not a very attractive place to visit, and though it is characterized by dirt and squalor, still it is quiet and orderly, presenting many objects of interest as illustrating the domestic life of the Singhalese. The same indolence and want of physical energy is observable among them as was noted in the Malays at Penang and Singapore. Man is but a plant of a higher order. In the tropics he is born of fruitful stock and of delicate fibre; in the north his nature partakes of the hardihood of the oak and cedar. The thermometer indicated about 90 deg. in the shade during the week we remained at Ceylon, rendering it absolutely necessary to avoid the sun. Only the thinnest of clothing is bearable, and one half envied the nudity of the natives who could be no more thinly clad unless they took off their bronzed skins.

We made our home in Colombo at the Grand Oriental Hotel, kept by an Englishman. The servants were natives, but well-trained, and all spoke English. Each wore a white turban and a single white cotton garment, cut like a gentleman's dressing-gown, extending below the knee, and confined at the waist by a sash, thus being decently clothed. It was curious to sit on the piazza and watch the out-door scenes as they presented themselves to the eye. The women were strange objects, with silver and brass jewelry stuck through the tops and bottoms of their ears, through their nostrils and lips, their toes being covered with small silver coins attached to rings, and their ankles, fingers, and wrists similarly covered, but with scarcely any clothing upon their bodies. Both men and women frequently have their arms, legs, and bodies tattooed with red and black ink, representing grotesque figures and strange devices,—these pictorial illustrations on their copper-colored skins reminding one of illumined text on vellum. Like most Eastern nations, they do not sit down when fatigued, but squat on their heels to rest themselves, or when eating,—a position which no person not accustomed to it can assume for one instant without pain. The men wear their hair done up in a singular manner, combed back from the forehead and held in place by a circular shell comb, giving them an especially effeminate appearance; but the women wear nothing of the comb kind in their hair, their abundant braids being well plaited and confined by long metallic pins with mammoth heads. Some of the women are pretty, and would be almost handsome, if their ears and lips and noses were not so distorted; as it is, they have fine upright figures, and the dignified walk that so distinguishes their Egyptian sisters.

These women are very generally employed as nurses by the English officers' wives, and children seem to take very kindly to them, their nature being gentle and affectionate. But these nurses seem to form a class by themselves, and the taste for cheap jewelry could hardly be carried to a greater extent than it is with them. They are got up in the "loudest" style; after the idea of the Roman women similarly employed, or those one meets with children in the gardens of the Louvre at Paris, or the Prado at Madrid. The Singhalese nurses wear a white linen chemise covering the body, except the breast, to the knee, with a blue cut-away velvet jacket, covered with silver braid and buttons, open in front, a scarlet sash gathering the chemise at the waist. The legs and feet are bare, the ankles and toes covered with rings, and the ears heavy, weighed down, and deformed with them. These, like their sisters of the masses, often have their nostrils and lower lips perforated by metallic hoops of brass or silver, and sometimes of gold; to which is often added a necklace of bright sea-shells mixed with shark's teeth, completing the oddest outfit that can well be conceived of for a human being. Savagery tinctured with civilization. The native children of six, eight, and ten, were subjects of particular interest, the boys especially, who were remarkably handsome, clean-limbed, with skins shining like satin, and brown as hazel nuts. These boys and girls have large, brilliant, and intensely black eyes, with a promise of good intelligence, but their possibilities remain unfulfilled amid such associations as they are born to. They soon subside into languid, sensuous creatures.

As we sat shaded by the broad piazza in the midday, the native jugglers and snake-charmers would come, and, squatting in the blazing sun, beg us to give heed to their tricks. They are singularly clever, these Indian mountebanks, especially in sleight of hand tricks. The serpents which they handle with such freedom are of the deadly cobra species, fatally poisonous when their fangs penetrate the flesh, though doubtless when exhibited in this manner they have been deprived of their natural means of defense. True to their native instinct, however, these cobras were more than once seen to strike at the bare arms and legs of the performers. Rooks, of which there were thousands about the house, flew in and out at the open doors and windows, after their own free will, lighting confidently on the back of one's chair and trying the texture of his coat with their sharp bills. No one molests them here or makes them afraid. They are far tamer than are domestic fowls in America, for they are never killed and eaten like hens and chickens. A Singhalese's religion will not permit him to kill anything, except wild beasts in self-defense. The vegetation is what might be expected within so few miles of the equator: beautiful and prolific in the extreme. The cinnamon fields are so thrifty as to form a wilderness of green, though growing but four or five feet in height, and a drive through them was like a poetical inspiration.

The cinnamon bush is a species of laurel, and bears a white, scentless flower, which is succeeded by a small, oblong berry, scarcely as large as a pea. The spice of commerce is the inner bark of the shrub, the branches of which are cut and peeled twice in the course of the year,—say about Christmas and midsummer. The plantations resemble a thick, tangled copse, without any regularity, and require no cultivation, after being once set out; though by close trimming the strength is thrown downward, and the shrub is thought to render a better crop. The raising of the spice was once a government monopoly, but all restrictions are now removed, and the plantations near to Colombo are private property. In driving through them—for they are miles in extent, and are poetically called cinnamon gardens—we tried in vain to detect the perfume derived from cinnamon; far too decided and pungent to be mistaken for aught else. It is not the bloom nor the berry which throws off this scent, but the wounded bark in process of being gathered at the semi-annual harvest. These cinnamon fields were very sweet and fragrant; there was the perfume of flowers in the air, but not even poetical license could attribute it to the cinnamon.

The wide-spread coffee plantations were much more attractive to the eye, the cultivation of which forms one of the principal industries of the island, supplemented by the raising and exporting of rice, tea, cocoanuts, pine-apples, plumbago, and precious stones. Ceylon, at one time, almost rivaled Java in the production of coffee; statistics showing that her export of the berry reached the large amount of a million hundred-weight per annum, before it was suddenly checked by the leaf disease, which has impoverished so many of the local planters. Among its wild animals are elephants, deer, monkeys, bears, and panthers,—fine specimens of which are preserved in the excellent museum near Colombo. Pearl oysters abound on the coast, and some superb specimens of this beautiful jewel have been found here, while no shore is richer in the variety and quality of its finny tribe. Game birds, especially of aquatic sorts, prevail.

Specimens of the ebony, satin-wood, and celamendar-trees were met with, the latter the most highly prized of all cabinet woods, growing in wild luxuriance, surrounded by palms, bamboos, fragrant balsams, tall ferns, and the india-rubber-tree, large and lofty, with a majority of its anaconda-like roots lying above the surface of the ground. Here and there we came upon dark, shady pools, covered with the blooming lotus, like our pond-lilies, except that they are much larger. The floral display was fascinating. Nature seemed to revel in blossoms of various, and, to us, unknown species. While some large and brilliant flowers bloomed on trees, others, very lovely and sweet, caught the eye among the prolific undergrowth. Vivid colors flashed before the observer, caused by the blue and scarlet plumage of the feathered tribe among the branches of the trees, some with pleasant trilling voices, and others uttering harsh, shrill, unfamiliar cries. The variety of birds was a very marked feature of this tropical region. The keen voice of the Ceylon thrush rang in our ears like the scream of a young child. Many other smaller birds were seen in rainbow feathers; and a sparrow, like his English brother, except that the Ceylon species wear a white shirt bosom.

The difference between a tropical forest and that of our temperate zone, which at once challenges the notice of the traveler, is that trees of the same families do not characterize any particular spot. We have pine forests, oak forests, cedar, birch, and maple woods, and the like; but a tropical forest contains specimens of the most widely different classes, with every possible variety of family; and the same may be said of the countless climbing plants which cling to the vertical trunks. The various kinds of the palm are sure to assert their predominance everywhere in the wooded districts and jungles of the tropics, yielding an abundance of their valuable fruits. But at the north, to see a peach or apple-tree bearing fruit in a pine grove, or fruitful cherry and pear-trees among a forest of oaks, would cause surprise. It is, after all, only a peculiarity born of the wonderful vegetable productiveness of the equatorial region, which gives birth to fruits and flowers wherever there is space to nourish their roots, and where moisture and heat have no other outlet whereon to expend their fructifying powers. The bread-fruit-tree is especially interesting, with its deeply serrated, feathery leaves, and its melon-shaped fruit, weighing from three to four pounds. This the natives prepare for eating in many ways, and as the tree bears fruit continually for nine months of the year, it forms a most important food supply. Two or three trees will support a hearty man, and half a dozen, well cared for, will sustain a small family, a portion of the fruit being dried and kept for the non-producing months. The tree grows to nearly fifty feet in height, and only requires a little attention,—no more than that marvel of productiveness, the banana.

Here we saw, for the first time, the cardamom and pepper bushes full of fruit, and the kitool-palm yielding its harvest of sugar, toddy, and sago. The usual pests of the tropics were not wanting to balance all these pleasant sights. Beetles, dragon-flies, cock-chafers, locusts, wasps, and vicious spiders, were visible everywhere; while the omnipresent mosquito was ever looking out for a victim. The curious nest of the tailor-bird, which sews leaves together and builds a dainty nest inside of them, was pointed out to us, and specimens of the weaver bird's nest, with entrance tubes over two feet in length. There were also pendent nests built by a species of wasp in the trees, which indicated a nefarious design to infringe upon bird architecture. The peacock is found wild here in all its wealth of mottled, feathery splendor. Storks, ibises, and herons flew up from the lagoons, and the cooing of the gentle wood-pigeon reached the ear during the quieter moments. The woods, and indeed all out-doors at Ceylon, seemed like a conservatory of exotic birds and flowers.

There is a well-equipped railroad extending from Colombo northward to the small but ancient city of Kandy, running thus about seventy-five miles into the very heart of the ancient native kingdom, and giving the traveler an excellent opportunity to view the inland scenery, which, at many points, is grand and imposing. Kandy is perched in a basin of the mountains, two thousand feet above the level of the sea, surrounded by thickly wooded hills; beyond which are broad plains and thick jungles, which are very rarely penetrated, and which have not been explored, probably, for centuries. Here wild elephants are to be met with in herds. It will be remembered, that they are indigenous to Ceylon, and from here Hindostan was supplied in the centuries that are gone, when the huge animal was employed in such large numbers during the Mogul reign. In those days there were elephant fights, when these animals, like gladiators at Rome, were trained to single combats, or duels, fur the pleasure of cruel masters; and such was their spirit that one or both were always sacrificed on such occasions. We afterwards saw, in India, the arenas where these gladiatorial contests took place, one of which was located in the fort at Agra. A well-known peculiarity of this animal is the fact that it is almost impossible to breed from them in a domestic condition, thus rendering it necessary to replenish the ranks from the jungle. In their wild state elephants are a prolific animal; otherwise Ceylon would long since have been cleared of them, since thousands have been imported from here into India within the last fifty years. The Ceylon elephants prefer the low lying forests, but do not confine themselves to them, ranging the hills to a height of six or seven thousand feet, where the nights must be frosty and rather severe. Their principal food is the leafage and young shoots of various trees, the wild fig being a favorite. There are other trees of which they eat the bark, and the young roots of the bamboo form a large source of their food supply. Rice is, however, their favorite article of food, and they often devastate whole plantations in a single night. It is fortunate that the slightest fence will keep them away from any spot so protected: a single blow of their trunks would destroy a bamboo fence, but they never attempt it. Some idea, of which we can know nothing, possesses them as it regards these frail fences. The male elephant in Ceylon gets its full size at about twenty-two years, and is then about twelve feet in height. We were told that they averaged about a hundred years of life, but in India a much longer period is given them by general calculation.

It has been found necessary to protect them by special law in Ceylon, as European sportsmen came hither in such numbers after the large game, that they threatened their extinction. There is now, therefore, a fine of five hundred pounds imposed by government, as a penalty for killing an elephant; but some rich English sportsmen kill their elephant and pay the fine. It will be remembered that the Duke of Edinburgh visited the island a few years since to participate in an elephant hunt, when great preparations were made for him, and good success, from a sportsman's point of view, was achieved. This style of hunting involves considerable risk, and native beaters are liable to lose their lives in the business. The animals found on the island seem to be quite a distinctive breed from any other known race, and are noted for their intelligence, as well as for their docility, after proper domestication. They are not so large as those of Africa, but seem to be more highly prized in India. The exportation, as we learned, still goes on in behalf of the English government, sixteen hundred animals having thus been disposed of in the five years ending in 1862, and about the same number in the intervening time up to January, 1883, all of which went to India.

The principal object of interest at Kandy is the renowned and ancient temple of Maligawa, where the sacred tooth of Buddha has been preserved for more than fifteen hundred years. It is an indescribable old shrine of irregular, low architecture, black and grimy with "the sacred rust of twice ten hundred years," surrounded by a walled court and small stone apartments. It is surmounted by a tower, manifestly European in design, and which tells its own story as a modern addition. It is massive and uncouth, so as hardly to admit of classification; though it must once have been the central object of worship to a very large population, and is held so sacred that the king and priests of Burmah and Siam still send valuable presents to it annually. A sacred bo-tree was pointed out to us in the grounds near the temple, believed to be the oldest historical tree in the world. It is nearly allied to the banyan species, and its record has been carefully kept since three hundred years previous to the Christian era. The temple, though wearing a most deserted and neglected aspect, is still in charge of a few yellow-robed priests, who keep up an appearance daily of regular services, such as they are, and more heathenish ones were never witnessed. The ceremonies during our brief visit consisted of grotesque dancing, beating of drums, and blowing upon a shrill fife before a rude altar, upon which incense was burning. There was also marching, by these musicians, around the altar, led by a dirty, blear-eyed priest. The scene was strongly suggestive of a powwow as performed by the Digger Indians of California. So great was the din, we were quite willing to take for granted the presence, in another part of the temple, of the tooth of Buddha, without personal inspection, and hastened to get away from the annoyance as soon as possible. As we came out of the reeking, stuffy, infected building, we expanded our lungs and umbrellas at one and the same time, for it was "raining cats and dogs" just at that time, and when it rains near the equator it does so in earnest; umbrellas become a fallacy: nothing less than an india-rubber coat is of any avail. What an exhibition of mummery it was in that time-begrimed temple! Ceylon is the classic ground of Buddhism, as its ruined temples and monuments prove,—a faith which still prevails so generally throughout Burmah, China, and Japan.

The house at which we stopped in Kandy, the only one designed for the accommodation of travelers, is called the Queen's Hotel, quite pretentious, quite expensive, and very poor, especially as it regards the table. One would think a plenty of fruit, at least, might be afforded where it only costs the time and trouble of gathering, but we were obliged to seek such cheap luxuries of the itinerant outsiders. There was a liberal abundance, however, in the insectivorous department. Centipides and other noxious creatures abounded in the sleeping-rooms. Fire-flies floated about them in such force at night as to contest the illuminating power with the primitive light supplied to guests, by means of a small cork with a bit of cotton wicking floating upon a shallow dish of cocoanut oil. We will not dilate upon the still more offensive insects which disputed our sleeping accommodations with us, but did protest when the rain came pouring through the roof and ceiling upon us in bed. A large tub was brought in, the bed removed to another corner; and we fell asleep, lulled by the dull sound of dropping water, to awake next morning and find the tub overflowing.

We drove through the very extensive and well-arranged Botanical Garden of Kandy, designed as a sort of experimental nursery for the introduction of such plants as are not indigenous to the island, but which might prove to be of value to the planters could they be acclimated. The selection of various trees and plants is very extensive, and mingled with those of native origin, together forming a collection of remarkable interest. We were told that the garden had been organized for some sixty years, and it is, undoubtedly, the finest in the East, next to that of Calcutta. It covers a hundred and fifty acres of well economized land. There was one fine group, we had almost said grove, of bamboos to be seen here, the stems being considerably over a hundred feet high, and from eight to ten inches in diameter,—a native of the spot. The rapidity of growth which characterizes these grasses—for that is their family—is almost incredible. The large cluster here spoken of was less than ninety days old, and, the superintendent told us, increased twelve inches a day by actual measurement! We had read of plants growing at such speed in the tropics as to be visible to the watcher, and this group of bamboos was increasing at the rate of half an inch each hour. It being observed that the atmosphere was impregnated with a delicate flavor of vanilla, inquiry was made for the cause, and the plant was pointed out to us growing in thrifty abundance close at hand. Nowhere had we previously seen such extraordinary exuberance and variety of tropical vegetation combined.

Some of the palms were of stupendous size and height, while there appeared to be a spirit of emulation between talipots, palmyras, date-palms and fan-palms, as to which should develop into the finest specimen of its class. There were plenty of flying foxes in these grounds, and some remarkable specimens of the jungle-rope creepers, or elephant-creepers, as they are more generally called here, which clasp the trees to which they attach themselves as if with the purpose of their destruction, which they often succeed in producing by their anaconda-like-hug. The flying foxes, as was explained to us, are a great annoyance, and destructive to fruit and blossoms, always attacking the choicest specimens. They move in flocks or herds of hundreds from one place to another, as the most desirable food tempts them. The natives never touch them, but hunters from Europe have cooked and eaten them, pronouncing the flesh almost the same as that of the hare, with similar game-like flavor. It is not safe to walk much in the more moist portions of the garden as there is an abundance of snakes, and especially of one poisonous kind which is the terror of the natives.

On the passage from and back to Colombo, the scenery was grand, and a source of great pleasure, for our appreciation in this line was becoming somewhat trained. So abrupt was the rising grade of the road on the portion approaching Kandy, that even our small train of two passenger cars required two engines to enable it to surmount the hills. The road wound about the mountain in rather startling proximity to the deep gorges and precipitous cliffs; but, as remarked above, giving us glimpses of scenery worthy of the Yosemite in the opposite hemisphere. At the several small stations where we made a brief halt, girls and boys brought to the windows of the cars yellow bunches of freshly picked, ripe bananas, very choice and appetizing, the price of which was six pennies for a bunch of twelve or fifteen, and so we partook of the fat of the land. New England fruits, as a rule, are more satisfactory to us than those of any other country, delicious as we sometimes find them in the tropics; but an exception may be safely made in favor of freshly picked, ripe, luscious bananas and pine-apples. Green cocoanuts, which the natives much affect, were offered to us, but having a decided preference for ripe fruit, these were respectfully but firmly declined.

The common people along the route live in the very simplest and frailest of huts, made of bamboo frames with walls of mud, the roofs consisting of a thatching of large palm leaves ingeniously combined, one layer upon another, so as to effectually exclude even equatorial rains. The overlapping eaves come within a couple of feet of the ground, the huts being one story high. They have no chimneys nor windows. The door, always open, admits all the required light, and there is no cold to be feared in Ceylon. Whatever of cooking the people do, and it is very little, is accomplished out of doors. Many of the small hamlets through which we passed were embedded in low-lying, thickly-shaded woods, showing the salubrity of the climate, since in some countries such a location would prove to be the very hot-bed of jungle fever. Here the natives work in the rice-fields and the swamps at all seasons of the year, and seem to be perfectly healthy; but we were told that when Europeans attempt it they die off by scores. Quite a large number of Singhalese are employed by dealers at Colombo to hunt the beds of small streams, and to dig in the mountains in search of gems, such as sapphires, cat's-eyes, moon-stones, topazes, and rubies, which, after being cut, are sold to European and American travelers, and also exported to the Paris and London jewelers. A large proportion of the finest precious stones in the market come from this island.

The pools in the low grounds here and there were rendered beautiful and fragrant by the lotus in full bloom, bearing flowers eight inches in diameter, rivaling the magnolias, which were plenty enough, but which seemed by no means superior to our northern specimens. Does this proud representative of Flora's kingdom, like humanity, require a northern and invigorating atmosphere to inspire its greatest fragrance and best qualities? Coffee plantations are most numerous inland, though they have lately developed a serious blight which has reduced the production at least fifty per cent., causing many to abandon the cultivation of the berry. It is not, like the cinnamon, indigenous to Ceylon, but was introduced here from the main-land. Unless this serious scourge can be overcome, coffee, as an export from the island, will very soon cease. The kind best known and mostly grown here is the "Arab," which thrives at an elevation of three or four thousand feet. It is bush-like in form, and trimmed to within three feet of the ground, both for the purpose of throwing down the strength of the growth into the berry, and for the convenience of picking. There are other sorts of coffee raised, but this has formed the staple of the island. Experiments are being tried with several other kinds just now, cuttings growing with good promise in nurseries, which were brought from the West Indies and South America. Curious facts suggest themselves in this connection. The grape-vines of France, which have developed blight, transferred to California, take on fresh life and flourish. Those of the latter State, which show symptoms of exhausted life, renew their productiveness when in the soil of Europe. The same result relating to coffee is hoped for in Ceylon: with an exchange of seed, plentiful crops are confidently anticipated, a matter in which commerce is much interested.

Realizing that the coffee crop is still in an experimental condition, some of the planters are giving their attention to the cinchona, which thrives greatly at Ceylon, even flourishing at elevations where coffee naturally dies out. The seeds of the cinchona are planted in nurseries, and when six months old are transplanted into prepared fields, where they make rapid growth. They do not begin to yield until the tree is eight years old. The earnestness with which the planters have generally adopted this idea must, if successful, as it seems sure to be, lead to very decided results when the crop becomes available for the markets of the world.

Banana groves and orchards bending under the weight of the rich nutritious fruit, tall cocoanut-trees with half a ton of ripening nuts in every tuft top, ant-hills nearly as high as native houses, rippling cascades, small rivers winding through the green valleys, tall flamingoes presiding over tiny lakes, and flowers of every hue and shape, together with birds such as one gazes at with curiosity in northern museums, all crowded upon our vision on this trip inland. No one should fail to visit Kandy who lands at Colombo, there is so much to see and to marvel at. Ceylon is a very Gan-Eden, the fairest known example of tropical luxuriance in all its natural features, its vegetable and animal kingdoms, its fruits, flowers, and scenery. In point of location the island is also greatly favored. It is fortunately situated outside the region of the cyclones, so frequent at certain seasons in the Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean, as well as being free from the hurricanes of the Mauritius Sea, and the volcanic disturbances of the Eastern Archipelago. Snow is absolutely unknown. The exhibition of zodiacal light is not uncommon, and mirage in its many singular and interesting aspects is frequent; while the effulgence of the moon and stars of this latitude,—a constantly recurring hymn written in light,—will render the most prosy individual enthusiastic, keeping the heart constantly awake to love and beauty.

Ceylon is also much richer than is generally realized in its prehistoric monuments,—ancient Hindoo and Buddhist temples, and ruins of lofty pagodas from three to four hundred feet in height, dating many centuries previous to the appearance of Christ upon earth. What an unexplored field remains for the antiquarian, not quite untrodden, but still undeveloped! There is every evidence to show that there once existed upon this island a great and powerful empire; the gigantic remains of palaces and temples at once suggest the fact. There are also ruins to be seen of a most elaborate system of irrigation, which must have covered the country from Adam's Peak to Galle, like a net-work, with most perfect means to this end, so excellent as to be the marvel of modern engineers. Their completeness, intelligent purpose, and extent are marvelous. But no one can say, or reasonably surmise, what caused the ruin and decadence of the ancient capitals, which, like those about Delhi, have crumbled away, leaving only a blank memorial of their existence. What could have swept from the globe a population of millions, and left us no clearer record of their once highly civilized occupancy? The carved pillars, ornamental fragments of temples, and stone slabs skillfully wrought, which are scattered through the jungle, and in some instances overgrown by dense forests, attest both material greatness and far-reaching antiquity. It would seem as though nature had tried to cover up the many wrinkles of age with blooming vegetation. There are no legends even extant relating to the earliest of these remains. Paestum, Memphis, and Cumae reach far back into the dim past, though here the antiquarian is able to light us with the lamp of his knowledge; but as to the forest-covered remains of Ceylon, all is a blank, skeletons of the dead and buried past, mementos of a race who trod this beautiful island perhaps before the Pyramids or the Sphinx existed.

At Singapore, Penang, and Colombo it was observed that the common classes were incessantly chewing the betel-nut, which gives to their teeth and lips a color as if bathed in fresh blood. It is a well-known and long-established practice. The men carry the means about them at all times, and taking a piece of the nut, enclose it in a leaf of the same tree, adding a small quantity of quicklime; folding these together they chow them vigorously, one quid lasting for twenty-five minutes or half an hour, being at times permitted to rest between the gum and the cheek, as seamen masticate a quid of tobacco. The nut is known to be a powerful tonic, but only a small portion of the juice is swallowed. The habit is universal among the lower classes of Asiatics. In the southern districts of India, pepper and cardamom seeds are added to the quid, and it is then considered to be a partial preventive against malarial influences. Unless it produced some agreeable stimulating effect its use would not be so common. Wherever we go, among civilized or savage races, upon islands or upon continents, in the chilly North, or the languid, melting South, we find man resorting to some stimulant other than natural food and drink. It seems to be an instinctive craving exhibited and satisfied as surely in the wilds of Africa, or the South Sea Islands, as by the opium-consuming Chinese, or the brandy-drinking Anglo-Saxons.



CHAPTER VI.

Arrival in India.—Tuticorin.—Madura.—Bungalows.—Reptiles and Insects.—Wonderful Pagoda.—Sacred Elephants.—Trichinopoly and its Temples.—Bishop Heber.—Native Silversmiths.—Tanjore.—The Rajah's Palace.—Pagoda and an Immense Stone Idol.—Southern India.—City of Madras.—Want of a Harbor.—In and about the Capital.—Voyage through the Bay of Bengal.—The Hoogly River.—Political Capital of India.—A Crazy King.—The Himalayas.—Sunset and Sunrise at Darjeeling.

We took passage in the British mail steamship Kebela from Colombo to Tuticorin, the extreme point of southern India, once famous for its pearl fisheries; but now as forsaken and sleepy a spot as can be found on any sea-coast. The distance from Colombo is less than two hundred miles through the Straits of Manar, and we landed on the following day, after a stormy passage, during which the rain came down with tropical profuseness. Ceylon, at harvest time on the plantations, imports laborers from the southern provinces of India, who are very glad thus to earn a small sum of money, a commodity of which they see little enough at home. Seven or eight hundred of these laborers, having fulfilled their object at the island, were returning to the main-land, and literally crowded the lower deck of the Kebela fore and aft. They formed rather picturesque groups as they reclined or stood in their rags, nakedness, and high colors combined.

When we got up the anchor in the harbor of Colombo, it seemed to be pleasant enough, but scarcely were we outside of the breakwater before the steamer began to roll and pitch like an awkward mule under the tickling application of the spur. Too much accustomed to the roughness of the sea to heed this, we were nevertheless very sorry for these exposed deck-passengers, few of whom escaped seasickness. Crowded together as they were during the copious rainfall, their sufferings that afternoon and night were pitiable. There were some families with women and children, and such shelter as a canvas awning could afford was kindly arranged for them. When we anchored in shoal water off the coast next morning, and the big flat-boats came to take them ashore, they had hardly strength and spirit sufficient to tumble into these craft, no doubt promising themselves, as usual, never, never again to quit the dry land. The water being very shallow, the Kebela anchored five miles from shore, making it necessary for us to take a small steam-launch to land at the little toy pier built on the beach. Our miniature vessel was tossed about like a bit of cork on the waves, but we had long since come to regard a wetting by salt-water as a trifling matter.

Tuticorin is a quaint old place of very little importance, dingy and dilapidated. It is represented to have twenty thousand inhabitants, but one would not have set the figure at more than half that number. There is still something done here in the pearl fisheries, though the most active stations are situated some thirty miles up the coast. We here got our first view of a new race of people, the East Indian proper, in his native land. It was easy to detect special differences in the race from the people left but a short day's sail behind us. They were tall and erect in figure, square shouldered, and broad chested. Their complexions were lighter, features clearer cut, and they were a more active race. They had not full lips or flat noses like the Singhalese and Malays; so that although there was a similarity between them, yet there was a strong difference when one came to sum up the characteristics of each.

The architecture of the town is peculiar, and the few old public buildings odd in the extreme. Tuticorin sends some cotton, rice, and cocoanuts to market, but its business must be very limited. An hour's walk took us all over the town without discovering any object of special interest. Being connected by rail with northern India, if there were depth of water sufficient for steamers to make a landing here, without lying five miles off shore, Tuticorin would certainly become an important Indian port. It was New Year's Day when we landed, and was apparently being celebrated in an humble way by the few people whom we saw. The children were displaying toys, playing games, and some bore flowers aloft arranged upon poles as wreaths and hoops. Itinerant peddlers were disposing of sweetmeats to eager boys and girls. Both the articles sold and the money which was paid for them looked new and strange. Some young maidens, in half-civilized attire, displayed high-colored garments and small scarlet kerchiefs on their heads. The passion for, and habit of wearing cheap jewelry, had been imported even here, and some of the extravagances of Colombo were copied by the women in ornamentation of ears, nose, and lips. Little babies were thus bedecked, and the tender ears of some consequently hung distorted and stretched three inches downward, both the upper rim and the lobe of the infant's ear being perforated with rings. Brass bangles on arms, wrists, and ankles were the rule, some of the men also wearing them. Here, on the main-land, the tattooing of the body seemed to have ceased, and the shining, naked skin of the men and women looked clean and healthy.

In the afternoon of the day on which we landed, the cars of the South Indian Railway were taken to Madura, one hundred miles northward, where we arrived late in the evening, and took lodging in a government bungalow, unfurnished, except by a few temporary articles improvised for the occasion, our meals being served at the railroad station not far away. The bungalow was in the midst of a grove of cocoanut palms which loomed high above our heads, laden with masses of the large brown fruit. It was dark and shady even at noonday. Close by was an ancient stone well, baths, and irrigating means, showing that where the jungle now is had formerly been a cultivated field with crops of grain. Native shanties were located all about the neighborhood, the people living mostly out of doors, gypsy fashion. It would be too hot to cook or to eat within these low-roofed mud walls. We found that flies, mosquitoes, and scorpions were inclined to dispute the possession of the bungalow with us; and ugly looking snakes were seen in such proximity to the low piazza as to suggest their uninvited entrance by doors or windows. India swarms with vermin, especially in the jungle. We did not fail to examine our shoes before putting them on in the morning, lest the scorpions should have established a squatter's right therein. Flying foxes were seen upon the trees, sometimes hanging motionless by the feet, at others swinging to and fro with a steady sweep. Ants were now and then observed moving over the ground in columns a foot wide and three or four yards long, evidently with a well defined purpose. In the morning light, after the sun had risen, clouds of butterflies, many-colored, sunshine-loving creatures, large and small, in infinite variety, flitted about the bungalow, some with such gaudy spread of wing as to tempt pursuit—but without a proper net they are difficult to secure. Large brown, bronze, and yellow beetles walked through the short grass with the coolness and gait of young poultry. Occasionally a chameleon turned up its singularly bright eye, as though to take cognizance of our presence. The redundancy of insect and reptile life is wonderful in southern India. The railroad stations and the road itself, admirably constructed and very fairly equipped, are the only evidences of European possession to be seen between Tuticorin and Tanjore, a distance of four hundred and fifty miles. The road passes through a generally well cultivated region where thrifty fields of wheat, barley, and sugar-cane were to be seen, with here and there broad fields of intensely yellow mustard, but the appearance of the people and their mud huts indicated abject poverty.

The principal attraction to the traveler in Madura, which contains some fifty thousand inhabitants, is a remarkable and ancient pagoda, supported by two thousand stone columns. It was dedicated to Parvati, wife of Shiva, and is one of the largest and finest monuments of Hindoo art in existence, covering in all its divisions, courts, shrines, colonnades, and tanks twenty acres of ground. It has nine lofty tower-like gates of entrance and exit, each one of which has the effect of forming an individual pagoda. In the central area of the temple is what is known as the Tank of the Golden Lotus, being a large body of water covering a couple of acres of ground, leading into which are broad stone steps on all sides, where the people of both sexes were bathing for religious purification; an idea not hardly compatible with the filthy condition of the water itself, which was nearly covered with a green slime. The temple contains many living sacred elephants, deified bulls and cows, enshrined idols, and, to us, meaningless ornamentations, too varied and numerous for description. Our local guide stated the probable cost at a figure so high we refrain from recording it. The elephants rivaled the beggars in their importunities, being accustomed to receive unlimited delicacies from visitors, such as sweetmeats, cakes, candies, and the like, of which these creatures are immoderately fond. One peculiarity of this temple was that it seemed to serve a double purpose, being dedicated to trade and religion. Within its walls we found established a large number of trading booths, forming a sort of bazar or fair, where were exhibited dry goods, toys, domestic utensils, jewelry; in short, all sorts of fancy articles. Madura is famous for producing high-colored napkins, small shawls and table-cloths, all on fire with color, and here they were displayed in strong kaleidoscopic effect. We thought it must be the occasion of some special charitable fair, after the practice of religious societies in more modern countries; but were informed that these merchants were engaged in their regular vocation, and were permanent fixtures in the temple. The natives crowded about these small bazars, and seemed to freely invest the few coppers they had. We were followed about the courts, chapels, and departments of the immense structure by a motley and curious crowd, the girls and women satisfied to watch and stare at us; but the boys had imported a London and Dublin idea: turning cart-wheels, somersaults, and walking all about us on their hands, with feet in the air, to attract attention and elicit pennies. One little fellow gyrated about in a most marvelous style, keeping so persistently topsy-turvy as to grow black in the face, and we finally paid him to keep right side uppermost. Begging is reduced to a science in India, and our little party were beset, as by an army with banners.

Half a mile from this grand pagoda is situated Timal Naik's Tank, so named after the munificent rajah who built it. He reigned at Madura from 1621 to 1657, building palaces and temples by the score. The so-called tank is an artificial lake extending over six or eight acres, with a temple in its centre, very picturesque in effect, and approached only by boats. Timal Naik's palace was also visited, built some three hundred years ago, of granite, and a very remarkable piece of solid architecture it is for India to have produced, in that section, and at that epoch. The principal hall of this royal residence has over a hundred stone pillars supporting it. We were shown a grand Saracenic hall, with a noble dome nearly a hundred feet across, called the Hall of Justice. The whole of this grand palace is now being thoroughly restored, after having been permitted for half a century and more to fall into partial decay. We must not forget to mention the banqueting hall of the palace; nothing finer of this character exists in modern architecture. The whole was a surprise and delight, as we had not even read or heard of this Indian palace.

Another hundred miles northward by rail brought us to the city of Trichinopoly, where we were quartered at a government bungalow, as at Madura, taking our meals at the dining-room of the railroad station, and were most agreeably disappointed with both the service and the provisions. Surely some professional cook had dropped out of the skies and settled here. The food was prepared and served as delicately as at a Parisian cafe. The variety of fruit and pastry was a temptation to the most satiated appetite. Everything was neat and clean, the linen faultless, and the glass and china were of the choicest. We often recalled, when putting up with indifferent service and deprivations elsewhere, the admirable entertainment which we experienced so unexpectedly at this point. Here the famous Rock of Trichinopoly, from five to six hundred feet high, crested with the Temple of Ganesa, was ascended, and a group of pagodas visited of the most lofty and striking character, similar in extent and general design to those already spoken of. It is not long since, at the assembling of a thousand and more pilgrims upon this lofty and exposed Rock of Trichinopoly, a panic ensued from some unknown cause, when fully half of these pilgrims lost their lives by being crowded off and falling over the rocky precipice, a distance of five hundred feet. There is no protection to the narrow, winding path by which the apex is reached, and some nerve is required to accomplish the ascent.

The view from this eminence is exceptionally fine. The native town far below us looked as though it had been shaken up and dropped there in confusion by some convulsion of nature. There is no regularity in the laying out of the place; it is a confused mass of buildings, narrow paths, crooked roads, and low-built mud cabins. We visited what is called the silversmith's quarter, but it was utterly unlike what such a locality would be elsewhere, composed of one-story mud cabins, in narrow filthy lanes full of chickens, mangy dogs, cats, and quarrelsome children. No one but a native would suspect these hovels to contain choice and finely wrought silver ornaments, and that the entire manufacture was performed upon the spot. These workmen, nevertheless, have a reputation for the excellence and originality of their product, which extends beyond the borders of India. Boxes were produced from odd corners, which were full of exquisite silver work, forming such articles as bracelets, necklaces, rings, pins, belts, etc., from which our party made selections. Trichinopoly is also famous for the manufacture of cigars, called cheroots, exported to all parts of India and the East, and which keep employed the busy fingers of a large number of the men and women of the town. In passing the open doors of the dwellings, cabins, or huts, young girls and boys were seen rolling up the cheroots, sitting cross-legged beside low benches. The manufacture of cutlery is also a specialty here, and the place has some sixty thousand population. It will be remembered that the remains of Bishop Heber were buried at Trichinopoly, where he was drowned while bathing, in the year 1826. Here also occurred some fierce struggles between the French and English for the sovereignty of southern India.

Two hundred miles of night travel by rail brought us to Tanjore, a large fortified city, where we were again quartered in a government bungalow, there being no hotel designed to accommodate travelers. The palace of the late Rajah, an ancient building with lofty towers, and still occupied by the ex-queen, was quite interesting. We were permitted to examine its internal economy, and found by the library that her husband was a man of cultivation and taste, especially well read in the classics, and a good linguist. His bookcases showed several thousands of good and well-thumbed books in English, French, Latin, and Greek.

Here we saw a large gilded car of Juggernaut, the Indian idol, which makes its annual passage to and from the temple when the idol takes its yearly airing, and is drawn by thousands of worshipers, who have come from afar to assist at the strange and senseless festival. Pilgrims, delirious with fanaticism, do sometimes throw themselves under the ponderous wheels and perish there, but the stories current among writers upon the subject as to the large number of these victims are much exaggerated. This self-immolation, like that of the burning of widows upon their husband's funeral pyres, has latterly been suppressed. Between 1815 and 1826, fifteen thousand widows thus perished in India! We were told that in some native provinces the practice was even now secretly followed to some extent, but this is doubtful.

The grand pagoda of Tanjore has been rendered familiar to us by engravings and is truly remarkable, being esteemed the finest specimen in India of pagoda construction. It is fourteen stories high, and in the absence of figures we should say was over two hundred feet from the base to the top, and about eighty feet square at the ground. Among its other strange idols and emblems it contains, in the area before the main temple, in a demi-pagoda, the gigantic figure of a reclining bull, hewn from a single mammoth block of black granite, and supposed to be of great antiquity. It stands within an open space, raised some twelve feet above the surrounding court, upon a granite plinth of the same color, but how it could have been raised there intact is a marvel.