hanters are dozens of Britain's loyal subjects, youths
naked and black, lying in wait to induce passengers to shower coins into
the sea in recompense of a display of diving from catamarans constructed
from trunks of palm-trees.

If asked what place in all the world can in a day show the greatest
medley of humanity, I should pronounce in favor of the landing-jetty at
Colombo. Scurrying ashore from ocean steamers in launches, in
jolly-boats pulled by oars fashioned like huge mustard-spoons, or in
outrigger canoes that glide rapidly, are representatives of every nation
of the West, of China, of Japan--in fact, of every division of God's
footstool having place in the list of nations. Being the great port of
call and coaling station linking Occident, Orient and Australasia, a
traveler naturally wants to inspect the place and stretch his legs on
shore, while his ship is stocking with fuel to carry it to Aden,
Singapore or to an antipodean port. Tiffin or dinner on _terra firma_ is
likewise coveted by the traveler with appetite jaded by weeks of
sea-cooking. Ceylon's capital teems consequently with people hungry for
a _table d'hote_ meal, a 'rickshaw ride, and the indiscriminate purchase
of rubbishing cats-eye and sapphire jewelry.

The conglomeration of people on the promenade floor of the jetty,
watching voyagers come and go, would tend to make a student of
anthropology lose his mind. Every variety of man of Ceylon, practically
of every creed and caste of India, even of all Asia, is there, and a
liberal admixture of Europeans as well.

Leaning over the hand-rail all humanity appears equal--for sight-seeing
purposes, certainly. There are gentle Cingalese men with hair twisted
into a knot on the back of the head and large shell comb on the crown,
Tamil coolies and Hindus in profusion, of course. There are fat Parsees
from Bombay, and Buddhist priests and monks in yellow togas, each armed
with palm-leaf fan and umbrella, precisely as Gautama Buddha left his
father's mansion to sow the religion worshiped by nearly a third of the
people of the earth. A group of lascars, on leave from a P. & O. liner,
look depreciatingly on nautical brethren from colder climes. There are
Malays, as well, obsequious Moormen merchants, and haughty Afghans from
beyond the "Roof of the World," as scholars call the Himalayas. Here and
there are broad-chested Arabs from Aden way and the Persian Gulf, taking
chances on the announcement of a pearl "fish