The steamer did not land its passengers at the quay, but anchored in the harbour, and everyone landed in boats. The Hotel boats, manned by native oarsmen, row swiftly to the Custom House, and often race each other. After passing the customs we got into a little Victoria and drove straight to the Galle Face.

Not much can be said for the architectural beauty of Colombo, the buildings being, generally speaking, of ordinary commercial type. The Grand Oriental Hotel, or G.O.H. as it is commonly called, is a big pile near the harbour, and has an arcade surrounding the ground story, like most of the stores, and continuous balconies above, partitioned off according to the rooms which open on to them. Here and there there is a relic of the Dutch occupation in some of the frontages with round recessed arches and pilasters.

The Governor’s house, as usual, is the most attractive looking building, half hidden amidst masses of palms and other trees. A rather bold clock tower faces a long esplanade, which extends for nearly half a mile along the sea front, at the end of which is situated the Galle Face Hotel, with its cluster of slender-stemmed cocoa palms leaning over the sea. Here, the long ocean breakers rolling in, the turquoise waves melting into dazzling foam, seen through the palm trees has an enchanting effect, both in the sunlight and the moonlight. There was a young crescent at night—seen, as only seen in the East, on its back—floating like a fairy boat, and casting a mysterious light over the dark ocean, the waving palms overhead and the sound of the breaking waves adding to the wonderful charm of the scene.

Jin-rickshaws were in great request, but the supply seemed fully equal to the demand, and the esplanade was always full of the trotting boys drawing white clad Europeans in topis up and down the terra-cotta coloured road. There was a wide, green strip extending along the drive, and on the other side of the suburbs of Colombo extended northwards, chiefly native houses, and bungalows of European residents often enclosed in gardens and hidden in ample foliage of trees.

The hotel was served by an army of Cingalese waiters who wore their hair much like the southern Indians—long, like a woman’s, and done up in a knot at the back, their peculiar distinction, however, being a semicircular comb of tortoise-shell worn like a coronet on the top of the head, but with the open points in front. Otherwise their costume consisted of a close white skirt, and a neat white jacket with green facings. Their feet were always bare, like the Indian boys.

There was a band at dinner, served in a vast white hall, and after, on the terrace, when the guests would sit out among the palms lighted up by jewels of electric light. The white breakers foaming under the moon, the shadowy waving palms, the sky flashing with sheet lightning, the brilliantly lighted hotel, and the white figures flitting about “among the guests star-scattered on the grass,” all contributed to a striking stage effect.

The hotel was certainly spacious and well appointed, having large cool corridors and rooms to sit in—comparatively cool that is to say, and without the gloom of so many of the Indian hotels. In the matter of food, cookery, and the service too, it was a great improvement on the Peninsula. There were electric fans everywhere in motion, and we could always turn one on in our room—which was normally an oven. The draft from these fans, however, are said to be apt to give people chills, and some caution in their use in bedrooms is necessary.

We visited our friends in their charming house—one of the older style of Colombo dwellings, in a delightful garden where afternoon tea was served on a pleasant lawn shaded by fine trees, among which we recognised the forest flame, which with its wonderful scarlet blossoms had struck us on the way to Darjeeling, though not then in flower here.

Another day Mr Bois took us out for a drive in his motor all around Colombo and its neighbourhood. We went through the town and along by the dry dock, and through the native quarter (Zeppa or Teppa) and away through narrow lanes shaded by cocoa palms, plantains, banyans, mangoes and other trees growing with tropical luxuriance each side the way, in plantations, and around the bungalows.

The motor seemed a strange vehicle in the midst of the primitive life of the Cingalese; and it is said that extremes meet, and certainly a motor and a primitive ox-wagon represent about the greatest contrast in means of locomotion and transport that one can well imagine. It was rather wonderful that we escaped a collision sometimes meeting such vehicles in the narrow lanes, or that we avoided running over stray chickens or dogs—the latter kind always resenting the motor and imperilling their lives by running and barking in close proximity with the enemy. The natives we met walking, too, were by no means alert in getting out of the way, and did not seem to realise the danger.

We passed mission houses and churches of all sorts, and of every shade of theological colour—Wesleyans, Roman Catholics, and Salvation Army—all the plagues of sectarian Christianity which afflict humanity in Europe, alas!

Our friend said, à propos of some remarks of mine about the ignorance and indifference of missionaries as to native religions and their natural suitability to the races, and their habits of life and the climates where they are found, that he had cautioned missionaries against running down the native religion. This in Ceylon, is mainly Buddhist (and Buddha surely discovered something analogous to Christian ethics, if not superior, long before Christ). The Tamils are Buddhists, but there are some Hindus and Mohammedans in Ceylon, and even pure Buddhism is mingled in some curious way with a primitive devil-worship.

We saw the golf links and a golf club house—quite à la Anglaise—on a rising ground and bare of trees, for a wonder in Ceylon. It appeared that these links occupied the site of a farm which did not succeed. Then we saw the river, where an engineer’s iron bridge had taken the place of a former bridge of boats. Colombo must have largely lost its primitive and Dutch character when the old Fort was destroyed. This has been replaced by terribly ugly Barrack buildings, and the town is rapidly becoming a modern commercial centre, big warehouses and universal provider’s stores are rising up after the European or American type. The native character, however, manifests itself still, peeping out here and there, especially in the older shops, and there is more native costume to be seen than one had imagined. The country ox-cart is a striking object with its huge tilt of matting projecting forward and backward like a hood, the single zebu by which it is usually drawn appearing small for the size of the vehicle.

We did not see many native women about, but those we did see wore the native dress, consisting of a white bodice, cut round and rather low in the neck, with a lace edging; a necklace and earrings, and the narrow skirt wrapped about the lower half of the figure to the feet generally printed with a pattern, or chequered, similar to that worn by the men.

We drove round by the Cinnamon gardens, and rested at a club house—a mixed European Club—a pleasant house with a large and well-kept croquet lawn in front where ladies were playing. We sat a while, after being refreshed and making some new acquaintances, we returned in the motor to our hotel.

We had thunder and lightning at night. The lightning flashing almost incessantly all over the heavens, but mostly from great clouds rolling up from the north and east.

While sitting at tea in the hall of the Galle Face one afternoon we met an old friend in the person of Mr Cyril Holman Hunt, the son of the famous pre-Raphaelite painter, who had been a planter for some years, first in Ceylon and afterwards in the Straits, from which he had just arrived. So that it was quite a chance our meeting, as he was not even staying at the same hotel.

The same evening the officers of the Italian warship Marco Polo were entertained at dinner at the Galle Face, and their band played selections afterwards.

The scene in the hall of a Colombo hotel is always busy, but in a different way to a European hostelry—one might almost say it was feverish haste in the midst of languid indolence—a ballet of energetic action before a crowd of unconcerned spectators. While some are in the fuss of departure or arrival, rows of enervated travellers lounge in wicker chairs, reading, chatting, smoking, or engaged with tea or cooling drinks, mostly attired in white; many of the ladies in delicate summer dresses, the men in white drill or tussore suits. All nationalities are represented, the majority American, and mostly people waiting for their steamers outward or homeward.

Most visitors to Ceylon make a trip to Kandy, and one morning early saw us on our way thither. The railway carriages are good and comfortable, but they do not allow the stacking of hand luggage in them as they do to such an extent on the Indian railways. The train passed through a very rich and fruitful-looking country, where the paddy crops in different stages—under water, green and ripe or being reaped and thrashed—reminded us of India. The fields were generally surrounded by groves of plantains and palms.

The vegetation being most luxuriant everywhere: banyans, mangoes, and flowering trees of different kinds including spireas and the “forest flame” we saw at Darjeeling; tangled masses of creepers hanging from the boughs, and often covering the whole tree. Several rivers were crossed the red earth showing on their banks, and the water generally tinged with the same.

We reached Kandy about 11.15, the train ascending to this place about 4400 feet. The line curving up the slopes so that we could frequently see the engine and forepart of the train rounding the loop in front of us. We could only secure a room for one night at the hotel (the Queen’s), so that we had to make the most of our time. Accordingly, after tiffin, we started in a carriage for what the hotel people prosaically called “No. 2. drive” (!).

Skirting the large tank or lake in front of the hotel, which has a solid stone palisading around it cut into points and pierced, we ascended a steep road, winding up the hills through lovely woodlands, at every turn presenting fine mountainous and panoramic views of the country. Beautiful clusters of bamboo of enormous size occurred frequently, the stems very thick and of an oxidized bronze colour, varying from dark to light. Another kind had bright golden coloured stems, and a lighter, more feathery foliage. Cocoa palms, plantains, and mangoes were abundant, also cinnamon plants. A native boy offered us a cocoa bean pod, and a spray of cinnamon—a pretty tree with a tassel-like flower. There were also large trees bearing massive pendulous fruits, which grow directly out of the trunk suspended on very short stalks in clusters of two and three. This fruit was called “Jack fruit.” It looked like a sort of gigantic walnut, and was covered with a soft green velvety kind of rind. The leaves of this tree was small and poplar-like in shape. The brilliant scarlet lily-like bloom of a dark leaved shrub was often seen, the flower having long stamens hanging out like a tassel.

The various drives which had been made over the hills and through these great woods were apparently named after different governors’ wives. There was Lady Longden’s drive, Lady Macarthy’s, Lady Horton’s, and so on. We sometimes had the impression, as the carriage followed the gravelled curves of these drives, that we were approaching some country seat among the hills. The drives, though well planned for points of view, and well kept, were, perhaps, a little too suggestive of the landscape gardener, a little too conscious and laid out to order, to be thoroughly enjoyable. We should have preferred to see the untouched work of the original designer of Ceylon scenery. The natural wild country unanglicised—though I know I should be told that without such roads and clearings one would not be able to see the country at all.

We British, somehow, always seem to carry suburban ideas with us everywhere, and English trimness and neatness even out into the tropical wilderness. We passed neat homes surrounded by smooth tennis and croquet lawns, as if bits of Chiselhurst or Surbiton had been suddenly dumped down in the midst of all this wonderful world of luxuriant growth and unfamiliar trees, and close to native huts of the most primitive kind.

The native roof here, as at Darjeeling, appeared to be either thatch or wooden shingles, and here, again, we were sorry to see corrugated iron creep into use everywhere.

The most primæval sight we had was perhaps that of the elephants bathing in the river. This was at a spot close to a native village, where we left our carriage and, walking through a grove, came out on the river shore where five or six black elephants—one a large one with fine tusks—were disporting themselves in the water, in charge of native attendants, rolling over on their sides and squirting the water over themselves by means of their trunks with the greatest enjoyment. The water was rather thick and reddish in colour from the clay of the banks.

On the way back to the hotel we passed the famous Buddhist Temple of the Tooth with its pagoda-like roof, but it looks but an insignificant building to be the centre of Buddhistic reverence and tribute.

This was a lovely moonlight night, and the walk by the lake would have been perfect but for the touts and vendors of all sorts of things that you do not want.

We left Kandy the next morning for Nuwara-Eliya; our travelling companions were two Germans from Berlin, father and son. The train continued to climb, the line curving more sharply than before. We saw some fine mountain distances and Adam’s Peak rising up afar, and soon entered a vast tea-planted district, the tea plants often bordering the railway line, and covering the slopes of the hills which seemed covered with a more or less regular green pattern, the dark velvety green of the tea plants intersected by the light feathery foliage of young rubber-trees, planted in regular rows at intervals in some places. The landscape was very clear and every detail sharply defined in the bright sunlight, with very little suggestion of atmosphere, except for the mountain distances which were deep blue.

In the afternoon about four or five o’clock we reached Nunnoya station, where we had to change into a narrow-gauge train to finish the last part of the journey to Nuwara-Eliya. We continued to climb in shorter and more loop-like curves, being able often to gaze down on the line we had just traversed winding below like a glittering serpent among the wooded hills and tea plantations. Tea everywhere, and not a drop to drink—yet suggesting potentially more than the whole world could consume.

Something after five found us at Nuwara-Eliya where we got into a wagonette, and a good pair of greys brought us through the village to the St Andrews Hotel, a very pleasant homelike place in a nice garden and backed by beautiful woods. The original house looked as if it might have been a private residence, and there was just a touch of Rydal Mount about it and its situation, at the first glance, but a new wing had been added with a tin-roof, and there was a golf course in the valley just below.

The valley is very beautiful, with its richly wooded hills and a lake with blue mountainous distance. Delicate feathery, aspen-like trees wave in the soft air, and there are numbers of firs and cypresses which give an Italian touch to the landscape, but no palms. In fact, the whole character of the country is totally different from Colombo and Kandy. The climate, too, is much cooler, the thermometer falling to 40 degrees at night, or even to frost, though the sun is hot enough in the middle of the day.

There is a native bazaar, and an English quarter with a red club house, tennis courts, and a race-course—of course. St Andrews, however, where we were quartered, was quite away by itself, and was altogether perhaps the pleasantest place we had stayed at either in India or Ceylon. It was possible, for one thing, to walk out without being worried by guides and touts, or to buy things. The climate was delightful after the enervating heat of Colombo, and there being hardly any other guests the quiet of the place was a great relief and very restful.

One afternoon we had a walk up the opposite hills, the track being mostly through tea-plantations, with forest bits occasionally. The tea tree left to itself apparently grows high on a stem, having a very striking character and shape, suggesting almost the stone-pine. The small, thick-stemmed, closely-trimmed, flat-headed dwarf bushes which are its characteristic forms in the tea plantations also have an interesting effect in some situations on the hill-sides, intersected by wandering paths whereon the dark natives move up and down. The tea-plant has a leaf somewhat of the character of a laurel or orange tree, and its flower recalls that of the orange. Ceylon tea when made is of a beautiful clear orange colour—I mean when poured from the pot.

The Hagdalla gardens, founded by the government in 1861, well repay a visit, and are deeply interesting to anyone interested in the flora of Ceylon. It is a drive of about six miles; passing through the native village, and by the English Club and race-course, the lake is skirted, and after that the road takes the character rather of a mountain pass, and runs along the edge of a deep wooded ravine down which a rocky stream tumbles into falls over boulders. There was just a touch of a sort of Borrowdale, translated into Cingalee, about this part of the drive. The wild forest which clad the hills each side of the valley was very different in character and colour to anything seen in Europe, the trees showed the most lovely tints of varied bronze, from pale green to copper red. The tea tree was abundant, and the rhododendron, which here is totally different in character and general shape to the cultivated shrub-like bushes in English gardens. Here it is a thick-stemmed tree, with a rugged bark, and a bold irregular outline with rather sparse leavage and deep crimson flowers which glow splendidly among the dark metallic green of the leaves. There is a sort of formal grotesqueness about the tree, too, which is rather Chinese.

On the way through the ravine, at a solitary spot below the road, we saw a Buddhist shrine. On a little platform surrounded by a rough fence of loose stones, and facing the road, was a row of carved images, in some dark wood, standing figures of Buddha. In front of this rude structure we saw a native worshipper prostrating himself on the edge of the road, and bowing and bending towards the shrine.

The Magdalla gardens are botanic and horticultural gardens laid out with great care and skill on the slope of a mountain. They apparently contain all the varieties of trees and plants indigenous to Ceylon. Tree ferns are there in abundance, flowering trees of many kinds, and parasitic plants, and orchids in great variety, growing in their natural manner. As one threads the narrow wandering paths it is as if one passed through a thick jungle or tropical forest, only that the walking is made easy, and botanical labels here and there, and signs of gardener’s care and labour, remind one it is a garden.

There is a keeper’s lodge, in this Cingalese paradise, covered with creepers, and a formal level parterre in front, one mass of brilliant floral colour—African marigolds, fuchsias, poppies, blue centred daisies, sunflowers, blue convolvulus, Amaryllis, and white eucharis lilies, canaryensis, polyanthus and many more; some that might be found in English gardens and hot-houses, with other tropical wonders only seen at Kew.

After a ramble here we returned to the carriage, and drove back through the now burning sun.

Gorse grows about the links and open common-like ground in the valley at Nuwara-Eliya, though the bushes seem to grow rather taller and straighter than they do in England. Instead of our lords and ladies, arum lilies grow wild. Great clusters of them may be seen by the sides of streams or in marshy places. The woods were delightful to wander in, and altogether Nuwara-Eliya might make good claims to be an earthly paradise, other things being equal.

We had taken our passage, however, from Colombo, and were due to sail for home on the 2nd of March. It was now the 28th of February, and we had to make our way back again, descending from Il Paradiso to a certainly hotter region. The descent by the narrow gauge railway was even more striking than the ascent, the train passing through luxuriant growths of forest in which tree-ferns, rhododendrons, the tea tree, and what looked like a sort of box tree were abundant.

The rubber-trade in Ceylon is now being added to the tree-trade, which, according to our competitive wasteful individualistic system, has somewhat outgrown its profitable market. One effect of this new development upon the landscape is devastation, as large tracts of wild forest on the mountain sides are being cleared by burning the natural growth in the first place, and then removing the stones and boulders which cumber the ground. This process does not add to the beauty of the scenery, nor can we expect that monotonous plantations will be good substitutes to the eye for the wild beauty and varied and luxuriant vegetation they displace.

The Englishman in Ceylon seems to think of nothing but profit-making, however, like many of his race elsewhere; and is probably often even unaware of the beauty he destroys for commercial reasons, and he is always able to import cheap coolie labour from India to carry out his schemes.

The Cingalese native it seems is unwilling to work, or probably has not the physique for heavy field labour, so he prefers to live the natural life of his country so far as he is allowed by his new masters, and of course is denounced as a lazy dog.

Ceylon, indeed, one cannot help reflecting must have been a delightful paradise, if somewhat warm in parts, for its own people, before they were interfered with by western civilisation, with its pushful commerce, and missions, bringing in their train poverty and disease, and the struggle for existence, in a land naturally fruitful and bountiful, and able to support its inhabitants without any special efforts on their part.

The planters are now clamouring for railway extension. In an interview which the Editor of The Ceylon Times sought with me I gathered that there was considerable discontent with the Home Government, who, he asserted, had derived greatly increased revenues from the extension of rubber planting and the new development of the industry, but who would not grant money for the desired extensions, the advice given by the present secretary for the colonies being to the effect that the Ceylon people should save their money, or “put by for a rainy day.”

Of course the Editor’s point of view was that of the capitalist, and that the more the country was opened up the better, and he did not care to consider the effects of the ultimate outcome of the monopoly which absorbs the results of and succeeds commercial competition.

He spoke, however, incidentally of the increase of poverty—poverty in such a land!—and that there was no poor law yet. He said the Cingalese would not work, and had even neglected the irrigation machinery which had been set up by the planters for their benefit, in obedience to the requirements of the home government.

This would seem to show the difficulty of introducing ostensible benefits in a primitive country which has not reached the necessary stage of development to be able to take advantage of, or really to utilise, modern methods. From the point of view of the simple native no doubt there does not appear to be any reason why he should change the habits and customs of his race simply for the benefit of foreign settlers whose chief object is to exploit him.

Changing trains at Nunnoya we were again greatly impressed by the splendour of the scenery traversed. For a great part of the distance towards Kandy and Colombo, the line passes through a mountainous district, at a high altitude, gradually descending, the line following the contours of the hill-sides for the most part, though tunnelled occasionally. One looks across a wide valley with distant mountain ranges, ridge beyond ridge, in marked and emphatic outlines, and occasionally abrupt precipices—the sharp conical summit of Adam’s Peak conspicuous among them. The hill-sides are largely covered with tea-plantations, but the railway also passes through wild bush and forest, and high above one may see great towering crags of limestone and gritstone. Mountain streams are frequently crossed, and these break into cascades and falls among tumbled black rocks; great boulders frequently strew the mountain slopes as if tumbled by Titans among the foliage. There is occasionally a suggestion of Derbyshire scenery here and there, but on a grander scale.

After Kandy the line descends still more till we reach the palm groves again, the river, and the lakes, and the heat of Colombo again. This time on returning we put up at the G.O.H., which is conveniently near the pier or departure stage for the steamers.

Here we met Mr Cyril Holman Hunt again, and were introduced to several of his planter friends, who were very agreeable. There is a delightful garden of palms and tropical plants here, which is a pleasant resort in the cool of the evenings. With Mr Hunt we visited the Colombo Museum, which was courteously opened specially for us, it not being a public day. Here in a glass case and alive some extraordinary leaf-insects arrested our attention. They were feeding on green leaves, which they exactly resembled in colour, form, and texture, so that it would be most difficult to tell which was leaf and which was insect without closely watching them. The young ones were like the red shoots of a plant, but the mature insects were quite green and quite flat like a leaf while showing the ribs and veinings. One could hardly have believed that nature, deceptive and imitative as she is, could have been capable of such a trick. I remember that a native at Kandy had shown me one of the green leaf insects in a box, but I thought it was an artificial thing, which indeed it looks.

On the staircase were some copies of exceedingly interesting ancient Cingalese fresco-paintings from caves, resembling ancient Indian work in style, but in some instances showing a certain freedom in handling, the brush outline recalling later Greek vase-painting.

There were excellent collections of native Cingalese decorative art in jewellery, silver work, and ivory-carving, of which latter craft some combs were the most delicate and interesting. There were also block-printed stuffs similar to the Indian hand-printed cottons. Among the jewellery, the necklaces of garnets and other stones set in filagree gold were characteristic. There were models of native boats of which there are several interesting varieties, and these were exceptionally good life-sized models of types of the aboriginal inhabitants (the Veddas)—the wild bush-tribes of Ceylon.

The natural history department was very complete, and the whole museum judiciously comprehended the history, natural and archæological, of the island, and included some highly interesting Greco-Buddhistic sculptured remains, not so fine in style as those we had seen at Sarnath, but there was the same type of standing figure in drapery expressing the lines of the figure, and also portions of an “umbrella,” showing a similar arrangement to the one at Sarnath, with the lotus flower centre, and the series of concentric rings of ornament containing the images of the lion, the horse, the ox, and the elephant in sunk relief. There was also a zoological collection attached to the museum in sheds and aviaries outside the main building—live animals and birds, including leopards, jackals, monkeys, flamingoes, pelicans, and a collection of small birds, minas, doves, etc.

The time, however, for our departure from Colombo drew near. Our steamer the Tourane of the Messageries Maritime line arrived punctually on March the 2nd, calling at Colombo on her homeward voyage from China, and the same evening saw us aboard.

We made our adieus, and our steamer cast off, or rather weighed anchor, about sunset, and we were soon under way. The dinner-bell rang at 6.30, and going on deck afterwards we saw the last of Colombo—a mere thread of glittering beads of light on the horizon, and soon lost in the darkness of night.

There was a large proportion of French people among the passengers, and they were chiefly officials and their families returning on leave from Chinese stations. They were exceedingly gay and lively, and always had plenty of conversation. It was like a continual comedy going on with much variety of character.

On the 7th day, after a voyage of undisturbed serenity over the Indian ocean, the blueness of the sea varied only by the steamer’s track, and the foam dancing into rainbows, with flying fish, or an occasional turtle, or an albatross or two, which flapped heavily after us, we sighted Aden, and rounded the striking rocky coast to cast anchor off the port. Here the tugs brought up the coal lighters, and the cargo boats, and the swarm of Soumalis, as before, and the usual bazaar on deck took place, and the hauling of the coal and cargo went on all through the night—the clamours of the coolies being occasionally fiendish, and the din was often punctuated by bangs on an iron bar, which sent a shiver through the ship. This was the method of giving warning to the man engaged in the loading operations in the hold. We afterwards learned that two poor coolies had lost their lives by venturing into the hold before it had been ventilated, and the air was so foul as to suffocate them, and a ship’s officer who went to their rescue also became insensible for a time. It seemed much hotter, too, now the ship was stationary.

Artillery practice was going on from the fort the next morning, and we could see the shots strike the water. We did not get clear of Aden till about 10 A.M., but at last the swarm of boats and swarthy Soumalis left us, and the Tourane entered on her course through the Red Sea, and in due time passed Mocha (to starboard) and Perim (to port) and the Arabian coast, the sea churned into foam by the steamer flashed with phosphorescence at night,—the effect in the wake of the vessel being very beautiful, green sparks appearing and floating on the surface, and globes of subdued light glowed under the fleeting foam, rapidly swept along and lost in the darkness of the night lit only by stars—among which the Great Bear showed how much we had altered our latitude.

The heat continued very great for three days after leaving Aden, when it rather suddenly grew cooler, and by the time we passed “the Brothers” towards evening on the 12th of March, the weather grew quite grey and cloudy with a cold wind.

We reached Suez early on the morning of the 13th, and here it was fine and bright again, though the air felt thin and cool. The colour of the water had changed, too, and was now a fine clear turquoise—precisely the colour of the Egyptian glass bracelets, but dark blue on the horizon and against the land, which looked pink.

The drama of the official tug and the cargo boats was again performed, and there was much hoisting of coffee-bags, in and out, and a taking of fresh provisions on board. The Traders came aboard, too, with Fez caps, bead and shell necklaces, post-cards, and other trifles. It was amusing to see our French friends buying the Fez freely, and not only wearing them themselves but putting them on the heads of their children. There had already been some astonishing transformations in costume on board since the cooler weather set in, topis and white drill being exchanged for tweed suits and caps or felt hats, and, in some cases, smart official uniforms with shakos.

We left Suez about the middle of the day and entered the canal, the water still such a brilliant turquoise colour that the reflection in the strong sunlight caused the white breasts of the sea-gulls, which now followed our ship, to appear green.

We made some very agreeable acquaintances on board, which made the time pass more quickly, and we arrived at Port Said early on Friday the 14th of March. The coaling this time was a comparatively clean process, the wind not being ahead as before. Some few of the passengers got off for Egypt here, but we were soon under way again; and M. de Lèsseps’ large effigy, the green dome of the Custom House, the steamers, the wharves, and the posters of Port Said soon all faded from view as we bade farewell to the East and entered the Mediterranean on our way to Marseilles, the last stage of our long voyage, where after some tossing we had a passing vision of snow-capped Sicily, and the Lipari Islands, with Stromboli still smoking away; and so, in due course, through the straits of Bonifazio, with no further sea troubles, landed at Marseilles on March 19, safe and sound.