ebony, are of the Aryan race--so different from the Mongol Malay race.
It is amusing when riding to be followed by the native children crying
"No papa, no mamma, no rice." And when these claims are recognized they
laugh immoderately and wait for other persons to attack with the same
pathetic appeal. A drive to the Cinnamon garden, in the midst of which
is a fine museum with a rare collection of sea urchins; these fasten
themselves to a rock, in which with their black, stiff, cigar-shaped
feelers they dig a cell, resembling machine work so accurate are they in
their measurement to fit their bodies. Here we are shown the original
tooth of Buddha, which looks more like a small tusk of an elephant. This
is placed under a glass cover; the sea-horse suckling its young, the
myriads of birds, besides every wild beast of the forest are finely
preserved. The bungalows of more wealthy inhabitants are built along
these beautiful drives, and are almost concealed by the dense foliage,
and must necessarily be damp, as the sun's rays can scarcely enter. We
are offered neatly bound bunches of camphor wood and cinnamon by
children on the road, but which have little aroma left. The men are
athletic in appearance, erect and graceful, hair black and curly. The
Singhalese wear a circular shell comb to confine their glossy curls. The
men are semi-clad; the women wear low-neck corset covers with an ample
strip of cloth that is pinned around the body for a skirt, which shows
the ankles with their silver anklets, while the black neck and arms are
adorned with gilt beads and bangles, the nose and lobes of the ear being
pierced and fairly weighed down with jeweled rings. The deformity is
appalling among the lower class; their only compensation is that the
stranger never passes them by without bestowing some gift, denoting
their sympathy. We are in Ceylon in the tail end of a monsoon (October
30). Such sheets of water, deluging alike streets and people, are
scarcely heeded--so soon do the sun's rays dry up the roads. We take a
cart drawn by two bullocks, goaded by a small boy, who sits on the yoke
and so close to the animals that one can scarcely detect his mode of
thrusting a sharp steel instrument into the body to make them move, but
this is his great incentive, as he easily could outwalk them; it is the
novelty that attracts, not the speed. We are landed close by the market,
where all fish, fowl and vegetables are sold. We purchase a bunch of
Bet