ng they may prove.

Neither the ancient nor the modern Singhalese seem to have had any
distinctive order of architecture, though the variety which they
adopted was infinite. Here, among these half-defaced ruins, one
detects Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Moorish inspirations, calculated
to puzzle the scientist as to their probable origin. The singular
conglomerates of our own day are not more confusing than some of the
best-preserved specimens to be found in these ruined cities of ancient
Ceylon.

Another notable object of antiquarian interest in the island is
recalled in this connection. It is that of a colossal, upright figure
of Buddha, a figure hewn out of the solid rock, to which it is still
attached, though it is statuesque and not in bas-relief, the original
material only furnishing its support at the back. This rude piece of
sculpture is fifty feet in height and otherwise duly proportioned,
vividly recalling the mammoth bronze statue of Dai-Butsu at Kamakura,
in Japan, which is nearly sixty feet in height, though it is
represented in a sitting position. Within this statue fifty people can
stand together, the interior being fitted like a chapel. As regards
antiquity, the Japanese figure is supposed to be but six centuries in
age, while that of Ceylon is surely three times as old, and probably
four. The great Singhalese statue is now in the jungle, which has
grown up about it during centuries of neglect, near to the great Tank
of Kalawera. The surrounding rocks were in ancient days turned into a
cave-temple with infinite labor, by hewing and excavating them into
chambers of suitable dimensions. Without excellent tools of steel and
iron, very nearly approaching in efficiency those of our own time,
this could not possibly have been accomplished.

The carved pillars, fluted, beveled, and spiral columns, mounds of
ruined masonry, crumbling flights of stone steps, ornamental fragments
of temples, and granite statues skillfully wrought which are scattered
in all directions throughout the jungle, in some instances overgrown
by tall trees, attest both departed greatness and far-reaching
antiquity. Broken bricks, tiles, and sculpture are so knit together by
snakelike tree-roots, while shaded by their lofty branches, as to form
one solid mass for hundreds of rods together, dotted here and there by
simple wild flowers which modestly rear their delicate petals and
perfume the air. One represents the tomb of decayed magnificen