Native Dwellings, Colombo.

The Museum, Colombo.

Tea Plantation On The Hills, Ceylon.

Ceylon is only fifty miles or so from India, and is about the size of Ireland. It has the form of a pear, detached from the great tree of which it formed a part by some geological action of remote antiquity. That tree was India. The heart of this delicious pear, concealed from all external view and touch, was the old capital, Kandy. In the same year that saw Napoleon defeated on the field of Waterloo (1815), the English conquered the last king of Kandy, and set this additional jewel in the British crown. Since then the population has increased from seven hundred and fifty thousand to nearly three million, and instead of sandy paths, twenty-five hundred miles of well-made roads and nearly two hundred miles of railway have been built.

On The Heights.

Kandy.

The Lake At Kandy.

The period of British rule is, however, only a small fraction of the island's history. Amid the dense and dangerous forests of Ceylon are remnants of pagodas, palaces, and temples constructed centuries before the Christian era. Yet of the race which built them we know almost nothing. They hint to us of an antiquity as silent and trackless as the jungle which has smothered them. One thing, however, is certain: the race that flourished here when the population of Ceylon was probably twice as large as at the present time, must have been very intelligent ; for on this island are the ruins of enormous reservoirs, seven miles square, from which a network of canals brought water to the thirsty-plains. In fact, the present governor of Ceylon is trying, after a lapse of twenty centuries, to restore these reservoirs to their former usefulness. But the most famous object here, and that which makes of Kandy a religious centre, is the old Buddhist Temple of the Sacred Tooth. It is an insignificant-looking building, grimy with age; yet the kings of Burma and Siam send yearly contributions for its maintenance, and Buddhist priests, even in far-away Japan, speak of it with the utmost reverence. This sanctity is due to the fact that it contains a relic said to be the left eye-tooth of Buddha, taken from the ashes of his funeral pyre, two thousand five hundred years ago. On rare occasions this is publicly exhibited - at a safe distance. Only a few distinguished foreigners, like the Prince of Wales, have been allowed to inspect it; but though it has been revered for more than two thousand years, it is well known that no human mouth could ever have contained it, for it is two inches long, and an inch in thickness, being, apparently, a piece of ivory from an elephant's tusk. Yet every year, in the month of July, a grand procession takes place here in honor of this wonderful tooth, reverenced by a third of the human race. Passing through the outer gate of this temple, we found ourselves in a kind of courtyard. Around it were some unattractive buildings, inhabited by Buddhist priests. We were admitted into the small structure in the centre of this area, and saw behind a gilded grating, on a richly decorated altar, a golden bell three feet in height, and adorned with rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones. Beneath this outer bell are several smaller ones, and, underneath the last of all, resting upon a golden lotus, is the tooth itself. But that we were not permitted to see. Returning to the outer gate, we confessed to each other that we were somewhat disappointed. We had expected a great deal of this Buddhist shrine, having just read Sir Edwin Arnold's "India Revisited," in which he speaks of the reception given him here by the priests, and even quotes verbatim the flowery speech they made to him, beginning, "0 Poet!" Hence, though we had talked with one of the priests who had conversed with him, and though we had beheld a present from Sir Edwin to the temple, still we were far from satisfied, and could not bring ourselves to leave till we had witnessed the approaching "evening service." Presently the evening worshipers began to assemble; and one of them, the most persistent beggar I have ever seen, followed us about for more than an hour with outstretched hands. When finally the "service" began, I found, to my astonishment, that it consisted chiefly in blowing discordant horns, beating drums, and marching round an altar loaded with sweet-scented flowers. This horrible orchestra led a procession of forty or fifty devotees, many of whom were blear-eyed and half-naked. Sir Edwin was more fortunate than I. Candor compels me to say that I would not have come in contact with a single one of these priests or laymen for even a glimpse of the sacred tooth.