In that part of Colombo known as the Fort, and situated south of the Pettah, the English have spacious and well-arranged barracks, of sufficient size to accommodate five thousand men of all arms. Of course, no such force is required in Ceylon, and there are not such a number of troops here at the present writing. The island is peaceful enough, but the object of the British government is to maintain here, as well as at Malta, a body of disciplined men ready for immediate service, and especially prepared to reinforce the army of India in case of an emergency. The judiciousness of this precaution was well illustrated in 1857, when this station, from its small military force, afforded such material aid at the outbreak of what the English call the Indian mutiny, before alluded to.

This island, though it is a British colony like India, so near at hand, is quite separate from it in governmental organization. Ceylon is presided over by a governor appointed by the Queen of England, who is aided in his official position by an executive council and a small legislative body of fifteen or twenty individuals. Some one has called the government of Ceylon "a paternal despotism." All ordinances are submitted to the approval of Her Majesty before they become registered law. The island is divided into provinces, each governed by a civil servant, having under him a staff of European and native assistants. The Roman-Dutch law, so termed, is the law of the island in all cases not otherwise provided for. The government furnishes means for the education of the rising generation, in the form of free schools, which advantage, though not universally improved, is yet reasonably successful. This is particularly commendable when it is remembered that the government of England has remained far behind other civilized countries in cultivating the intelligence of her people at home. It was not until so late as 1870 that she entered upon a system of free schools for the masses. The natives of Colombo are shrewd enough, in many cases, to see material good in giving their children regular school instruction, though they have not themselves enjoyed such a privilege. In this connection it is well to speak of St. Thomas' College, which is situated in the northeast suburb of the capital, about a couple of miles from the Grand Oriental Hotel, close by Christ Church Cathedral. This college is near the shore, in a most healthful and airy location, the suburb being known as Mutwal, where the Kelani River enters the sea. Here, between two and three hundred young men, composed of Singhalese, Tamils, and the descendants of Portuguese and Dutch colonists, are in constant attendance. Close at hand there is also a high school for girls, admirably conducted, whose educational advantages are availed of by a goodly number of natives.

Here let us diverge for a single moment.

Secular education is the true and only available missionary among Asiatic tribes. Honest and experienced religionists are beginning to see and admit the correctness of this conclusion. The preaching to them by various Christian sects of very contradictory tenets of faith confuses these simple people, who are still often shrewd enough to detect broad inconsistencies, as well as to analyze and reason concerning missionary efforts among them. They say very logically to those representatives who are sent from America or Europe: "We are agreed here upon Buddhism. When you Christians can agree among yourselves as to which of your many doctrines is the right one, it will be time enough for you to try to teach us to discard a faith which our fathers have believed for thousands of years." More than one intelligent Singhalese has expressed himself to this effect in our presence. We leave it to the reader if these people are not perfectly logical in their position.

Who can wonder that confusion inevitably arises in the simple mind of a native of this Indian isle, who attempts to reconcile our multitudinous sects and schisms?

We were speaking of the English portion of Colombo, which consists of a few broad streets shaded by thrifty tulip-trees, an official residence known as Government House, the long line of barracks already referred to, a cathedral, a clock-tower (serving also as a lighthouse), a club-house, hospital, some indifferent shops, two or three banking establishments, a public library, and three or four large hotels. The Colombo Library is situated on the corner of Queen Street, and contains some twenty-five thousand volumes. Its facilities are freely shared by strangers as well as by the citizens. The lighthouse referred to is a hundred and thirty-two feet above sea level; that on the end of the breakwater is a trifle less than forty feet. The former shows a triple flash at brief intervals, visible at night some twenty miles at sea. Among its ancient buildings, much interest centres upon the Dutch church, and its curious old graveyard.

There are no less than six newspapers published in this circumscribed community; two are in Singhalese, one in Tamil, and three in English. We do not imagine that they have much of a circulation, and yet unless they were self-supporting they would not probably be issued. Type-setting is cheap in Colombo, and the quality of the paper used is inexpensive.

The Museum of Colombo is a rather handsome and quite substantial two-story building, situated near Victoria Park, which was formerly a part of the famous Cinnamon Gardens, originally planted by the Dutch. The collection of curiosities in the museum embraces a large number, which have been found mostly upon the island, and includes many interesting specimens of preserved birds, together with large and small native animals and beautiful shells. There are also some literary and historical treasures relating to Ceylon preserved here, among which is a rare collection of palm-leaf manuscripts, both in Pali and Singhalese, bound after an original fashion. The edifice, which was built in 1877, is pleasantly situated, and surrounded by well-arranged, cultivated grounds. The entrance is free to all.

Near the Colombo terminus of the Kandy road is the pleasant public resort known as the Gordon Gardens, named in honor of Sir Arthur Gordon, a former governor of Ceylon. This area was his personal gift to the capital in memory of the jubilee of Her Majesty's reign. The gardens are rendered very attractive on each Friday afternoon by the performance of a military band; free outdoor instrumental concerts are also given every week on the Galle Face.

A few of the better class of dwelling-houses in Colombo are finished externally in stucco, all having the inevitable and indispensable broad veranda. Surrounding these homes honeysuckles, crimson hibiscus, azaleas, cape jessamines, oleanders, and other flowering plants abound, with here and there little rocky mounds of lilies, cacti, and low ferns; while the familiar palms, mangoes, and bananas always make their appearance somewhere on the premises. Tennis courts give an English look to the surroundings of the bungalows. The unfortunate prevalence of dampness often proves very destructive inside these picturesque residences. There are seasons when books and papers, if exposed, are so seriously injured that they decay like ripe fruit. Boots and shoes become mouldy in a single night, and other articles are similarly affected.

Colpetty is the name of a very attractive suburb of the capital, intersected by finely macadamized, level roads, which are kept in admirable condition, running beneath shady bamboos and bending palms, where the delightful fragrance of flowers is always present. Here a small colony of Europeans have made for themselves delightful tropical homes, half hidden by the abundant vegetation behind beautiful shade trees where swinging hammocks and low music tell of delicious idleness and restful ease. If you pass through the embowered ways of this district after nightfall, your path will be lighted by glow-worms and fireflies, just as phosphorescence illumines the darkness upon the waters traversed by a ship's hull. It is the bedtime of the flowers, but their fragrance lingers in the atmosphere and affords the most careless participant sensuous delight. Here, as in many tropical regions, the bungalows bear curious individual names, such as: Whist Bungalow, The Rotunda, The Snuggery, Monsoon Villa, The Rainbow, Storm Lodge, Palmyra Cottage, and so on. A similar custom prevails in the West Indies.

In a small front yard of a bungalow at Colpetty, a few climbing vines of the old-fashioned pink, purple, and white morning-glory greeted the eye like the smile of a half-forgotten friend. How familiar and suggestive they were in their sweet simplicity. One thrifty vine had found lodgment upon a tall Norfolk Island pine, clinging upon its singularly uniform branches, and making altogether a most delightful combination of color. In the same inclosure were several tall trees of the bell-shaped, white datura, the large flowers depending in great profusion, as beautiful to the eye as they are poisonous to the palate.

The unending night concerts of the ground and tree frogs in this vicinity are marvelous for the aggregated noise they produce. At the expense of calling down anathemas from the good friends whose hospitality we enjoyed there, it must be added that this croaking was almost unbearable; worse, if possible, than the symphony and variations of the tuneful mosquitoes.

The large, fresh-water lake formed by the Kalani-Gunga, which, on its course from the hills to the sea, covers nearly a hundred miles, straggles about the town in irregular lines, so that at one point it very nearly joins the sea. This river has been crossed at Colombo for many years by a bridge of boats, which has several times been carried away by the turbulent stream during the season of floods. A substantial iron girder roadway has lately been added to facilitate travel. The old bridge is formed by a score of boats firmly anchored, stem and stern, in a straight line, and supporting a platform laid upon crossbeams, which is fastened to the boats. The roadway is about five hundred feet long, the river being nearly that width at the point where the boats are placed. In olden times, there was a regularly established ferry here, but the bridge of boats has served transportation to better purpose for many years. There are now few rivers of any importance upon frequented routes in Ceylon which are left unbridged, most of the structures being of stone and iron, and built after the best modern system. The lake, with its surroundings, forms one of the great beauties of Colombo, covering a broad expanse dotted with islands fringed by tropical verdure, and embellished with many fragrant gardens. The view across the still water, with its grand mountain background in the blue distance, is exquisite, particularly at the close of day, when the sunset leaves upon its surface a broad crimson gleam like a roseate blush suffusing a beautiful face. Upon its glassy surface a few pleasure boats add variety to the aquatic picture. There is a charming driveway or promenade extending quite round the lake, and following all its sinuosities amid low, broad-spread bungalows, cocoanut palms, plantains, and bread-fruit-trees. Occasional waterfowls float among the cosy bays, or swim out upon the lake, engaged in voyages of discovery.

The last time we chanced to observe this interesting expanse of water, a bevy of muscovy ducks—the original stock having been imported by some local official—put off from the shore like a fleet of Spanish galleons of old, bent upon a marine foray. They were proudly led by a drake, whose restless neck, with its brilliant prismatic hues, shone like a cluster of oriental gems in the glow of the morning sun.

The popular driveway within the town is called the Galle Face, having the open sea on one side and the lake on the other. Here, after four o'clock in the afternoon, all the beauty and fashion of the place come in many a gay turnout, and some on horseback, to enjoy the fresh air, the ocean view, and to meet each other socially. Why this esplanade bears the singular name of Galle Face, no one can explain. It is said that it was so called because the roadway faced Galle, but it does no such thing. It faces Aden at the mouth of the Red Sea. However, the name is of little importance. It is a beautiful driveway, recalling the Maidan of Calcutta, improved for a similar purpose.

There is one especially impressive scene to be enjoyed from this point,—the daily sunset as viewed from the esplanade, when that luminary sinks slowly beneath the surface of the long level reach of the Indian Ocean, which, as we look westward, expands into infinite space. During the brief interval between day and star light, it appears to the watchful observer as though he were looking through a veil, the fabric of which consisted of golden meshes. The air seems full of infinitesimal amber particles, and all things are wrapped in an oriental warmth of color. Where sky and ocean meet, a line of ruby glow burns like lava, slowly changing to the hue of rich red wine. What exquisite harmonies Nature utters to the willing ear, and what inexpressible charms she reveals to appreciative eyes.

Twilight is brief in this latitude, Night, clad in her sombre garb, following close upon the footsteps of the Day, while a soft roseate light ushers in the myriads of heavenly lamps, tremulous and luminous in their varying colors. "A fiery sunset burns itself out quickly," says the Italian proverb. Though the twilight is brief, the afterglow is often very beautiful, almost rivaling the sunset itself.

Turning the eyes for a moment towards the opposite or eastern sky, the dainty cloudlets, floating serenely in the blue ether, are tinged with a glow of delicate and beautiful hues. From their lofty position the sinking sun is still visible, causing them to blush at the ardor of his parting glance. Perhaps it is because of the novel surroundings that sunset often strikes one as being so remarkable in these foreign lands. When we pause to analyze the matter, surely we have seen equally fine effects in this daily occurrence at home in Massachusetts, or at Bar Harbor on the coast of Maine.

As we enjoy this scene from the esplanade, a large P. and O. steamship crosses the line of sight just off the shore, bound for Calcutta. She will double Dondra Head and steer northward, touching at Madras; thence, hugging the Coromandel coast, she will make the mouth of the Hooghly River, upon whose treacherous tide she will seek to reach the City of Palaces. We know the route and its stormy character only too well.

There is a pleasant drive over the best and smoothest of roads to the north of Colombo, affording a glimpse of characteristic scenery, and which takes one out to the Kalani temple, where a fine library containing many rare oriental books may be seen. This is believed to be one of the oldest shrines on the island. The present edifice is probably built upon the site of the original one. The temple of Kalani contains a sitting statue of Buddha, with one each of Ganesa, Vishnu, and Siva. The walls of the interior are covered with curious paintings representing various legends, so that altogether it forms one of the local objects of interest which the stranger should not fail to visit. While upon this subject of places worthy of note in the neighborhood of the capital, let us mention Avisawella, whither one goes by an admirable and pleasant road into the Kalani tea district, fifteen or twenty miles northeast of Colombo. Such excursions afford delightful glimpses of rural island scenery, of birds, trees, flowers, and native life, showing the humble class of country people at home, engaged in their legitimate domestic occupations. A fifteen or twenty mile trip and back is not too far to accomplish in a jinrikisha, and it is also an extremely comfortable mode of traveling. It is just ten years, at this writing, since this comfortable little vehicle was first introduced into Ceylon, during which time it has become a great favorite as a cheap and rapid means of transportation. The author has made a similar jaunt inland from Yokohama, in a single day, the cooly who drew the jinrikisha coming in at last in as fresh a condition as a well-driven horse would do. It must be remembered that roads in Japan and Ceylon are as perfectly smooth and hard as our best macadamized ones in this country. The average of our Massachusetts inland roadways will by no means compare favorably with the three thousand miles and more of those which traverse this island in the Indian Ocean.

The choicest portion of Colombo as a place of residence is the suburb nearest to Victoria Park, which is but little removed from the business and bustle of the town. We say "bustle" of the town, but it is a misleading word when it is applied to tropical life. The people of equatorial regions think that haste makes waste, and so everything is done quietly, and not without due consideration. This is a temperament induced by the climate,—one into which even Europeans lapse, after dwelling here for a considerable length of time. It is stated that there are not more than six thousand Europeans upon the entire island, but we are inclined to consider this an underestimate. Statistics show that the rate of mortality as compared with the number of the entire population is such as to prove the climate to be an unusually healthy one for the tropics. There are certain portions of Ceylon, however, to which this conclusion will not apply, where it is so malarial and productive of fever that even the natives cannot live in them. The most formidable diseases which prevail here are of a malarial nature, but they do not always make their appearance in the form of fever. Dysentery is apt to attack strangers, and elephantiasis is of frequent occurrence among the natives, but it almost never appears among white people. Diseases of the liver are also common. Notwithstanding the prevailing heat in the southern portions of the island, sunstroke is very rare. Persons of good habits, and who do not unreasonably expose themselves, seem generally to enjoy good health. Cholera and smallpox occasionally become epidemic, but rarely among the Europeans. There is the usual prejudice shown by the common people against vaccination, and consequently large numbers are sometimes swept away by smallpox.

The slightest physical injury, such as a cut or bruise which breaks the skin, requires prompt attention here, otherwise tetanus may follow. It is the same in equatorial America, where a neglected wound is very liable to terminate in lockjaw. An antiseptic bandage should always be at hand for immediate use in case of accident in these low latitudes, where the atmosphere is charged with poisonous microbes watching a chance to do mischief; an open wound is just what they seek, and they rush in myriads to infect any such spot.

One instinctively seeks the shade of the broad piazza which surrounds the hotel, as the sun approaches the zenith. Only the early part of the day and the late afternoon will admit of the traveler's appearing abroad with any degree of comfort. A local tableau is pretty sure to present itself, as it is the favorite time for the native jugglers and snake charmers to appear upon the scene, squatting upon their hands after the true Asiatic fashion, and quite oblivious of the fervor of the broiling sun, while they solicit your attention to their entertaining tricks. There are generally three performers on these occasions, one of whom is the active member of the party, assisted by a lad of twelve or fifteen years, while the third elicits peculiar notes in a minor key from a reed instrument not unlike a flageolet, but utterly devoid of harmony. One is forced to admit that they are very clever, these Indian prestidigitators, excelling in all forms of sleight-of-hand. Their facility in causing articles to disappear suddenly and then to exhibit themselves in out-of-the-way places is curious as well as unaccountable to an outsider. A common trick with these performers is to throw a ball very high into the air, which seems to fade away as the eye follows it, and does not apparently return to the ground. It literally vanishes from sight. The keenest watchfulness of the observer does not solve the manner of accomplishing this trick.

"We are all hypnotized," said one of the spectators on the piazza, "else how could that ball come down to the earth and not be seen to do so? It must descend, having once ascended," he added; "that is a law of nature."

"It may possibly be something of that sort," responded another equally dazed spectator. "The Hindus know all about hypnotism, and have practiced it more or less for many centuries, though we are but just beginning to investigate it."

"How these marvelous things are performed, no foreigner ever knows," added a third. "The power is handed down from father to son, but is never revealed to the multitude."

The only way we can explain some of the tricks and apparent miracles which these performers exhibit is by supposing that for the time being we are quite under the hypnotic influence of the magician. The author has seen in India proper a performer in this line extend a glass bowl full of water in his hand at arm's length, and cause it to gradually grow less and less in size until it disappeared altogether. After a moment it appeared again in the hand and at the same place, beginning at first about the size of an English walnut, and growing before the spectator's eyes to its normal condition.

Another common trick is to plant a mango seed in an earthen pot before the spectator's eyes and cause the same to spring up and grow into a small bush, then blossom and bear a green fruit, which finally ripens until it is in a condition to be plucked from the stem. This entire process is accomplished in half an hour, while some side tricks are going on. The swallowing of a sword, or rather passing its blade down the throat into the stomach, is very common with these Singhalese itinerant exhibitors, a facility which is acquired after much patient practice, and which is not necessarily injurious to the performer.

The snakes which these "charmers," as they call themselves, handle with such apparent recklessness and freedom are of the deadly cobra family, fatally poisonous when their fangs penetrate the flesh of other animals or of human beings; but as is well known, the repulsive and seemingly dangerous creatures which are publicly exhibited in this manner have had their natural means of defense carefully removed. Yet, true to their instincts, they may be seen now and again to strike viciously at the bare arms and legs of the natives who handle them, while the performance is going on. It is not a very pleasing, though a curious exhibition, and as a rule is avoided by ladies. The author has seen a sensitive person of the gentler sex so wrought upon by this performance as to cause her to faint. Sometimes the cobras do seem to pay attention to the low, droning notes of the pipe, which is often accompanied by a rude tom-tom. The creatures raise themselves up on their tails, swaying slowly hither and thither with a uniform motion, as though realizing that they are on exhibition. That they know their owners is evident, since upon the approach of a stranger they immediately show great irritation and a desire to strike with their fangs. One never witnesses these scenes without a sense of surprise that the cobras do not promptly endeavor to escape upon being taken out of the box in which they are transported. They do not show any such desire, but hasten back to their place of confinement, which is doubtless made comfortable for them, and where some bit of favorite food is always given to them after each exhibition. Thus they soon learn to associate the idea of feeding time with their public performance, which doubtless adds to their docility on the occasion.

These repulsive-looking creatures are hooded and spectacled, vary in length from three to six feet, and are covered with dark spots upon a slate-colored skin. Back of the head and along the neck is a membrane which they have the power of expanding when under excitement, and around the eyes are circles giving the effect of spectacles, which the snakes seem to need, for though their hearing is acute enough they have a very dull capacity as to sight. The cobra has received much attention from naturalists in consequence of certain singular habits which are attributed to the creature. The natives do not trouble themselves much about it, except to give it a wide berth when it is encountered, knowing only too well the fatal nature of its bite.

Professor Houdin, a famous Parisian magician, when on a visit to this island, after watching the Indian jugglers for a week, invited as many of them as chose to come to a public exhibition given by himself. The natives came by scores, and the reader may be sure that Houdin did his best. The Singhalese "sleight-o'-hand men," when they saw him perform many of their own tricks with far greater expertness than they could do, were surprised beyond measure. He then exhibited others so strange and so inexplicable to them that the Singhalese declared he must be in league with evil spirits. In their performances they were openly assisted by one or two associates, a prime necessity to enable them to deceive the lookers-on. But here was an unpretentious, simply dressed European, who stood before them alone, with only a small, common table upon which to place necessary articles, plainly shown before all eyes, who yet puzzled them completely. His tricks were mostly new to them, and they gazed with open mouths at the white necromancer, then into each others' faces, as much as to say: "What does this mean? whence does this man obtain power to perform miracles?" All this was intensely amusing to the English residents of Colombo, who also formed a large portion of the audience.

But the climax was yet to come.

When Houdin finally blew a fiery flame and smoke from his mouth,—a well-known act among European performers,—these superstitious islanders absolutely fled from his presence in undisguised consternation, unanimously and vehemently declaring that he must be the king devil himself come to bewitch them. This was the more surprising as these Indian experts must have realized the true source of their own deceptive powers.

The hoarse, monotonous croaking of the crows at all hours of the day is one of the ceaseless annoyances and accompaniments of life in Colombo. Early risers see whole colonies of these obtrusive and omnipresent birds coming in from their roosting-places in the neighboring groves, seeking whom they may devour. They advance in irresistible numbers, like an army with banners loudly announcing their approach, like a marching regiment preceded by noisy fifes and drums, now wheeling as one huge body, and now breaking into sections and platoons. One might successfully resist a score of them, but when they come by the thousand, it is like a plague of locusts. Crows enjoy nearly the same immunity throughout the populous districts of India proper, and are to be found nearly as much in possession at Benares, Delhi, or Cawnpore as they are here in the capital of Ceylon.

About twelve miles south of Colombo, just off the shore at Belligam, lies what is known as Crow Island, whither thousands of these birds resort every night to roost. They do not fail, however, to return to the capital bright and early in the morning. Probably a flight of twelve or fifteen miles from their regular night quarters before breakfast is of no account to these active, swift-winged creatures. There is still another crow-roost nearer to Colombo, at Mount Lavonia, in the thick palm groves which skirt the shore, within rifle-shot of that pleasant summer resort. When they awake in the early morning and prepare for their flight cityward, the combined noise which they make is something like the roar of artillery.