f a nauseous but otherwise
innocent character was accordingly prescribed, with the satisfactory
result that all the _malades imaginaires_ are 'Quite well, thank you,
sir,' this morning.

[Illustration: View in Ceylon]

CHAPTER V.

_COLOMBO._

_March 5th._--At 9.30 A.M. we dropped anchor in the harbour of
Colombo, having come twelve miles under sail between noon and 11 P.M.
yesterday, and ninety-eight since we began steaming.

Colombo seems to have grown and improved since we were here ten years
ago. We were soon comfortably established in the new and splendid
Oriental Hotel, and busy with letters and newspapers.

In the afternoon we did some necessary shopping beneath the welcome
shade of the hotel arcades. Later, as soon as the air had become a
little cooler, we drove along the sea-front, called Galle Face, and
enjoyed the delicious sea-breeze. Everybody seemed to be out,
driving, riding, or walking. In one spot officers and soldiers were
playing cricket and football as energetically as if they had been on
Woolwich Common.

We passed a horse-dealer's establishment, containing, beneath a long
row of red shanties, a very decent-looking lot of ponies of various
kinds, some of which were being trotted out for the inspection of a
circle of possible purchasers. Every bungalow seemed to be provided
with one or two tennis-grounds, and all had players on them. When at
last, by a charming drive, we reached the formerly forsaken-looking
Cinnamon Gardens, we found some lawn-tennis grounds established in
their midst, as well as a fine museum surrounded by a well-kept
garden. In fact, the appearance of the whole place has been completely
changed since we last saw it.

On our way back we were overtaken by a funeral procession. First came
two of the quaint little bullock-carts peculiar to Ceylon, drawn by
the small oxen of the country, both carts being literally crammed full
of people, apparently in the highest spirits. Then followed a long,
low, open vehicle, rather like a greengrocer's van painted black. In
the rear of the procession was another bullock-cart, fuller than ever
of joyous mourners, and drawn by such a tiny animal that he seemed to
be quite unable to keep up with his larger rivals, though urged to his
utmost speed by the cries and shouts of the occupants of the cart.
Altogether, anything more cheerful and less like one's ordinary
conception of a funeral procession I never saw.

Our homeward road lay