tful and universally
favorite extract. Wild blackberries and raspberries abound in this
district. There is a peculiar fruit found here as well as elsewhere in
the island, called the cashew, which persists in outraging all our
ideas of consistency by producing its nut outside of the skin. This
recalls a somewhat similar eccentricity exhibited by cherries in
Australia, which have the stone which forms their seed on the
exterior instead of the inside centre, like good, wholesome,
well-behaved cherries in our own country. The fruit of the cashew is
not palatable, but its juice, when distilled, produces a strong
intoxicating spirit. The nuts are edible when roasted like chestnuts.

In one of the large villa-bungalows nestling on the hillside
overlooking the verdant amphitheatre of Kandy lived that notable
political prisoner, Arabi Pasha, with his ample harem and a host of
body servants, forming a bit of Egyptian domestic life transported
bodily to this Indian isle. It will be remembered that he was exiled
from Cairo by the English about twelve years since, because he was a
famous and successful fighting general among his people, his special
battle-cry being "Egypt for the Egyptians." One feels a lingering
sympathy for a man who fought bravely for the liberty of his country,
very nearly conquering the British troops on the sanguinary field of
Tel-el-Keber; yet this man deserves more blame than praise, for it was
he who recklessly burned Alexandria, and caused a reign of
assassination in that devoted city for many terrible days. Though a
prisoner like the first Napoleon when held at St. Helena, Arabi has
never hesitated to freely express his political opinions, bitterly
condemning his conquerors. He is still--and very properly we
think--the ardent advocate of "Egypt for the Egyptians," and even in
his advanced years would promptly head a rebellion against English
rule in his native land, were he at liberty to do so.

A report has lately been circulated that Arabi Pasha has been
permitted to return to Egypt, but as to its truth the author cannot
answer.

Each of these hillside dwellings, like that occupied by Arabi Pasha's,
covers a large space of ground. They are seldom over one story in
height, and have a tall, steep-pitched roof of red tiles or thatch,
and wide verandas running entirely round the whole structure, half
covered by thrifty creepers and flowering vines. The roof generally
reaches beyond the veranda until it