RiiMIKIi GE?i OF THE aiEEY DATS COFFEE PLANTiNG CEYLON P. B. MlllIE lEeprinted./roiri ih& “ r«yi„n Observer. ”f (■ \ Eamaswami.’' IFngravcd on wood by D. J- WimalasurMaara, Mnhandiram, IVom a pencil drawing by a Ceylon Planter,”] fcTO Ssa” OK beminiscenoes op the early DArS -OF COFFEE PLANTING IN CEYLON. BY P. D. MILLIE. [^e/irwUd from the “ Ceylon Observer. ”] COLOMBO, CEYLON: A. M. & J. FERGUSON. 1878. SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION LIBRARIES Gift of N.A. Forde PREFATORY NOTE. ^ It is perhaps as well to say that the following letters, which appeared from time to time during the last four years in the columns of the Ceylon Observer, were reprinted at intervals in book-form without the author having the opportunity of revision, or the printer the advantage of securing a systematic arrange- ment of his pages. This must be our apology for the shortcomings noticeable in a little volume, which, nevertheless, will, we trust, be received with favour in the circle of readers for whom it is intended. THE PUBLISHERS. Colombo, 27th March, 1878. .aTu;K ^AivrolloJ: si c)I ■ :; IC. taAf^/Ioo Oi!j aI ie-Mi;: •■- : :.s SfiD - djfOiiilv.^ jri'K>i-:D. c:f,i:^ / ^ / A;ial: uA I., ' ,:.. ••;-■•;. . ' ■ ] ' . ■ • ' ' . Slil 70 '^iU:'i'..'M^': Iq X^i: I. ;■{-■,[(> Diw . j; • ' ^ •ji^:>,l''!.:Si , ' Of ■ gxir;j:ou^ 's-j o;An?i''":vL;; ’- r •; oiJf 701 YAO^•;^;_‘: 7rro c<\ ciiTT ^7:' 'X^J ■ jv.ir;^w' ..onsr. ^ /ii ^Q4<;;j:i:->:: t^A-r-ACoy '>:•' 'iiitf.A'W iniv." frA7A;-707 aJ ' a v /x ■!> .■,[>6LA:vi.u fci vfr r:oi':/ 7'^ ':•') ol/z.. ri , .V/ a -•.. — -i. ^ -.i- -7 V ■ .: ■■•'7 ■• .'■ 1 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Coffee Planter’s Work Thirty Years Aoo ; — In the jungle thirty years ago ; A lonely bunga- low ; Jungle fowl, elk, and porcupine ; rats ; Wiki bees. CHAPTER II. Money, Resthouses, Transport, and Old Soldiers : — Money in days of old ; Robberies and murders ; Car- rying rice to Dimbula ; An old soldier ; The old Ramboda resthouse ; Planting in Upper Ramboda ; Upper Ramboda. CHAPTER III. How the Coast Advance System Began, Rk'e De- livery and Gifts of Cumblies ; — Procuring coolies ; Want of accounts ; Dear rice ; Coolies’ accounts ; Pay-day ; "N^ew and old cumblies ; Cart contractors ; Roads at any cost. CHAPTER IV. What made Coffee Planting Expensive In thh Olden Days : — Rice carts 15 miles off ; Bad roads and short sup- plies ; The Kanakappillai ; Cumblies ; Weeds and suckers ; Scarcity of tools. CHAPTER V. Why Coffee Planting Did Not “ Pay ” in T¥m Early Days : — Pruning ; Head kangani as master ; The conductor^ system; Weeding; Bribery and corruption ; Borrow- ing rice ; Manuring and draining ; Holing ; Bolting and cheating. CONTENTS. CHAPTER VI. Coffee Pickini^ and Chekry-Floors ; Walls anb- Roofs : — C©ffee-Picking ; Pulping ; Depreciation of produce ; Thatching ; mosquitoes. CHAPTER VII. DlLTFiCULTlES IN THE DESPATCH OF COFFEE : — Cartage ; Bags wanted ; Measuring coffee ; Com- mdssion ; Carter’s tricks ; Bank business ; Carters again ; Store coolies. CHAPTER VIII. Ds^agreeable Financial Experiences : — The Visiting Agent ; Increase of salary ; A planting visitor ; Becoming security ; More bills ; Bazar ac- «iouts : Tlie dhobi ; Mr, Wildgoose ; Amusements. CHAPTER IX. A Pi.am'ek’s Amusements ; Jungle Life lOkqdiaut-lmiiting ; Poor Puss” ; The result of a “spree ” ; Salaries ; House accommodation ; Assist- RMts ; Mai'viage. CHAPTER X. Bachei.ophooi) vs. Married Life l"he Siiperinteudent’s wife; Wedded economy; Bache- lor critics ; The “ pros and cons “ Bear and for- bear ; " Unsuitable matches ; Men and women. CHAPTER XL The Fire:>tick Amongst the Coffee : — What proper cultivation will make of an estate ; A burn ; Too much of a good thing ; Thatched roofs ; Neighbours ; Great and little “ spreads ” ; Spending money ; A change of superintendents ; The last of Mr. Jones. CHAPTER XIL Estate Accounts, and how to I ‘repare them with Greatest Accuracy and Least Trouble The royal road to well-kept Weekly and monthly reports ; A new proprietor ; Increase of salary ; New regulations ; Order and method ; The new system ; Knowledge is power ; A scarcity of salt. CHAPTER XIII. The Uneasiness Preceding the Rising of 1848 : — Preparing for rebellion ; Martial law ; The rising suppressed ; Scarcity of labour ; ‘ ‘ Politics ; ” Pro- gress ; Spoiling a good servant. CONTENTS. CHAPTER XIV. Up-country Cemeteries : One Secret of their Fre- quently Neglected Appearance : — Ceylon churchyards ; A low-country trip ; Kurune- gala; Marching with coolies ; Jungle-fever; “Died on the road ; Coolies’ burials ; A funeral of im- portance ; Master’s gold.” CHAPTER XV. The Malabar Cooly : — Cooly immigration long ago ; A fair day’s work ; Method in picking crop ; Prompt punishment necess- ary ; Master *and cooly ; Petty faults ; Cleanliness at a discount. CHAPTER XVI. A Gentlemanly Assistant” : — An assistant’s luggage ; Worse thau useless ; An artist ; A sudden disappearance ; Perseverance ; A colonial life ; Chances ; Mr. Stediman. CHAPTER XVII. A Prodigy of A Scotch Superintendent : — Merit and promotion ; A good training ; An old pulper ; The old planter ; The intelligent young planter ; A good son ; Good advice ; Bid© your time. CHAPTER XVIII. The Value of Vigorous Lines of Stirring Poetry ; — Happy rats ; Proprietory managers ; Unsuccessful speculation ; Failure of the Nuwara Eliya brewery ; Farming on the hills ; The future ; An isolat^- estate. CHAPTER XIX. An Estate in Olden Times, A Prison wnth Forest Trees for Retaining Wall>s Mr. Green ; Felling forest ; The expensive style ; Ferguson’s Directory ; A fiscal’s sale ; An assaiilt- at-arms ; Flodden field. CHAPTER XX. Selecting, Surveying, and Purchasing Land, m the Olden Days : — Applications and surveys ; Land-sale advertisements ; The Survey Dejiartmeiit ; Boundaries ; Disputed boundaries ; Native excuses ; Native interests ; Re- servations. t CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXL Ak Old Bungalow under Examination and Made to Tell its own Story : — An old bungalow ; The building ; Masons and car- penters removing timber ; A difficult work ; Con- tract work ; The estate blacksmith ; After charcoal . CHAPTER XXII. •Store Erection, like Bungalow Building, a Work OF Disappointment and Delay : — Store building ; A nail in the pulper ; Pulper-cut ; More accidents ; How to meet difficulties ; Coffee and toast ; Coffee down the stream ; “ Small nails Clerihew’s patent ; How to dry coffee. CHAPTER XXIII. WiiY CqoLY Habitations are called “Lines”: — “Lines”; How coolies build; Old-fashioned huts; Sanitary measures ; A smoky atmosphere ; Night visits of coolies ; Lines on fire ; Cooly gardens ; Notices to leave ; A social animal ; Vegetable seeds for coolies. CHAPTER XXIV. Coming to Ceylon on Chance op Getting What One was Worth : If Worth, then TO Get Nothing : — Mr. Jim son ; Muster at the lines ; Kanganies pre- sents ; Blowing the horn; Beware of “horns”; A queer visitor ; A New experience; “All done”; Poisoned by arsenic ; An emetic. CHAPTER XXV. A Turn in the Kaleidoscope of Mr. Millie’s Memory : Proprietors Once More ‘‘ TO THE Fore ” : — “ Proprietor planters ” ; Captains, colonels, and generals; Mr. Meek; New plans; Pulping in the field : Let well alone ; Pay-day ; Striking an average ; Tropical climate and the temper. CHAPTER XXVI. An “ Easy ” Proprietor and the Hard Work he Gave his Superintendent : — Mr. Easy; Amateur road-tracing ; Cross criticism ; Wanted a change ; Low spirits ; The trip to Bom- bay ; The return to the wattie ; A surprise ; Periya and sinna dnrais ; Cooly criticism ; Going home. CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXVII. taowiNcmow Ceylon Coffee Estate Ways and Man- ners, Unfit a man for Law Proected ENaLAND, AND FOR Mixing in Polite Society : — The planter in tbe old country ; Up in the morn- ing: Fishing and shooting; “Pay and -learn”; Taking care ©f one’s character ; The customs of the country; An evening party ; Stiffness ; Making friends ; Habits and customs ; Coming back to Cey- lon ; Ladies’ society. CHAPTER XXVIII. Troubles with Servants : — Tamils and Sinhalese Servants ; A very good servant ; Love, money and power; Periya Karuppen ; Fire- stick; Without a servant ; Refusing to return to duty ; Resumes duty in the cook-house ; One proper servant ; A watch ; On the watch ; Three months hard labour. CHAPTER XXIX. On the Staff : — On the staff; The “boy” and the ‘'visitor”; Extra supplies ; The spare bed-room. CHAPTER XXX. The Genus “ Bolter ” : — Not to be found; “I promise to pay’’; Bolting to Ceylon; Mr. Skulk; Unasked-for advice; A pest; Bolting from a bolter ; A bolter getting in supplies ; Loafers ; Proprietory bolters; “I forgot”; Keep clear of debt. CHAPTER XXXI. Curry and Rice : — Salt-fish dinner; “Very fine pumpkin”; Pumpkin curry; “Bombay duck”; Maidive fish; Porridge and milk; Curds and cream; Indian nabobs; Yel- low Nabobs ; “Paddock’s stools”; Ktrai Mulliga- tawny ; Plantain-leaf dishes ; Food and climate ; Diet and luxury ; The dinner-hour ; Candles and lamps ; “ Dinner ready, sar ” ; No more curry. CHAPTER XXXII. Patched up The tom-tom; Plenty tired; No assistants ; Return- ing after a Holiday. CHAPTER XXXIII. De Omnibus Rebus : — Character and credit ; Pussellawa resthoug® ; Pro- CONTENTS. risions for Dimbula ; No pint bottlea ; The eagle’s nest; The journey’s end; An elephant; Doors locked ; A midnight encounter ; A dirty “boy”; Kashly-planned holidays ; Stories about “ coffee”; The past and the future ; Contentment, CHAPTER XXXIV. Conductors and their Wives. CHAPTER XXXV. A Would-be Estate Proprietor of the Olden Time. CHAPTER XXXVI. A Would-be Estate Proprietor of the Olden Time : A Superintendent of the olden days. CHAPTER XXXVII. Kandy in Early Planting Days. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Jungle Tailors, Servants, and Courts. CHAPTER XXXIX. What Became of a Young Planter’s Outfit, or The early experiences of Mr. Fresh. CHAPTER XL. Further Experiences of Mr. Fresh : — Holing a clearing ; Debtors ; Doctors and demons, CHAPTER XLI. Further Experiences of Mr. Fresh : — Estate accounts ; Paying coolies ; Estate roads ; Stick bridges. CHAPTER XLII. Experiences of Mr. Stale ; — How Mr. Stale proposed to build a chimney to his bungalow ; Man-traps ; Gardens ; Minatchi and the marigolds and her lovers ; Caste among coolies ; Drunkenness among the working- classes in Ceylon and Britain. CHAPTER XLIII. Further Experiences of Mr. Stale : — A novel mode of chimney building ; A contretemps ; The smoke in the wrong place; The “boy” acts as a consoler, but adds fuel to the flame of dis- appointment ; Mr. Stale in a bad humour ; Aston- ishment of the “boy’’ at his master’s perspicacity; Extensive thieving in the kitchen ; The “ boy ” receives notice to quit ; A strange use for a CONTENTS. moustache; Ndlaku vd'' ; “Second thoughts ju*e always best ; Coolies’ complaints ; Illustrations of promptitude and decision and obstinacj^ CHAPTER XLIV. PuRTHiB Experiences of Me. Stale : — Mr Stale’s substitute for the long-desired chimney ; The position of kitchen cooly ; The boy and the cooly ; The cooly’s morning excursion and other troubles ; Master’s shirts and saddle ; Strange con- «:luct of his gallant steed ; The weakness of human creatures; Friends sometimes de trap ; “Tijffs” be- tween friends ; The best way of settling them : Idle gossip and its eflPects ; ‘ ‘ Save me from my friends ” ; Social joking ; Advice to those who hear rumours. CHAPTER XLV. Happiness and the Pursuit of it : — Happiness and the pursuit of it ; The attendant imps ; The charm of contentment, and some of the causes of discontent ; Mr. John and his bottle ; “ The random confessions of discontent”; The pins of discontent ; “ Muckle cry and little woo ” ; Jungle rills and great rivers ; The “ doldrums ” of life and of coffee planting ; The final cast of tlie anchor ; A jungle track ; Rice borrowing and lending thirty years ago ; Cartmen’s vehicles ; Rice contractors and their troubles ; The fate of a consignment of coffee ; A difficulty happily overcome. CHAPTER XLVI. The Visit of a Silversmith and its Results : — “ 07'u tattdn varadu ” ; Speaking at, and not speak- ing to ; Why the silversmith’s advent is not pleas- ant news for “master”; The “guileless” cooly, male and female ; The bungalow in a state of siege; Master creates a feeling of jealousy on the estate ; The effect of the silversmith’s arrival on the relations between husband and wife, and the ardent male and the careless female lover ; Human nature the same the whole world over ; Love a thing of the past, settlements the present order of the day ; The arrival of the tattdn ; The work and the gossip in the verandah ; Why the tattdn was married ; The silversmith’s wife ; The way she increased his money ; The tattdn and master’s orders ; The wife and the master : the latter outwitted ; Arrival of the periya durai ” ; An awkward position ; A scuffle and its results. A sudden death and a quicker resurrection ; Bad conduct and punishment of the tattdn^s wife ; An CONTENTS. interesting reconciliation ; Clever manoeuvring of the tattdn’s wife ; How wives gain their ends ; An example in civilized life ; Why we should study one another’s characters ; The way to manage coolies ; A retrospect and a groundless fear. " CHAPTER XLVII. The Visit of the Washerman : — “ Vannan vandaradu''^ ; ‘‘To what base uses may we come ’’ ; Obtaining money under false pretences ; The boy’s raiment ; Letting out clothes ; A runaway wife ; A duenna and her charge ; A kind-hearted planter ; Very likely ; A prying servant ; One in the eye ; The ruling passion ; A trap ; A catastrophe ; Virtue’s reward ; A good master ; Coconut oil ; Missing clothes ; The tappal-runner ; A bad cough ; Trading on her own account ; The flowered vest. CHAPTER XLVIII. 'The Ceylon Muhammadans : — The moormen of Ceylon and their characteristics ; The population of the world ; The koran and some extracts from it ; Religious toleration and persecu- tion ; Hassan Tambi ; Mile-posts, and an accident through the age of one ; A sign in the heavens and what it betokened ; A miraculous spring ; Hassan’s mediations on the subjects of house erec; tion and wives; His interview with “master”; The fault of speaking too much ; A frequent cause of discontent; An interchange of “luckpenny”; Hassan’s mode of carrying on business ; Major Os- born on Islamism ; The “doseh” at Cairo; Out- ward forms of religion ; Where Hassan Tambi put his luckpenny ; Conclusion and concluding remarks. “THIRTY YEARS AGO.” THIRTY YEARS AGO. [Mr, P. D. Millie, the' writer of the following in- teresting reminiscences, in an accompanying note to his first chapter says i recollect an old proprietor engag- ing an assistant on ,£50 a year, and telling him he could not afford wine and beer on the pay, but that he would find they were unnecessary, as the ‘ watter ’ on the estate was ‘ vera guded The said proprietor, however, was not a very fit judge himself as to the good or bad qualities of undiluted water. ”] CHAPTER I, A CoFEEE Planter’s Work Thirty Years Ago. In the days of ‘‘thirty 3mars ago,” the luxuries, now usual and common necessaries on every estate, of bread or toast and butter were unknown. So, at half -past 5 a.m., having partaken of a cup of coffee and a cabin biscuit, which must suffice to keep up the inward man till 1 1 o’clock, Vvith a paper umbrella tinder one arm, and a long pole in the other hand, we ascend the hill. An old water-cou?se, or rather a rain one, seemed the ouly tr;ick, strai-ht up a steep grass hill. After numerous pauses to res', we reach the top of the grass hill, on which was a small flat, and, pausing to admire the surrounding country, we are astonished at the great elevation reached in such a short space of time, for the ascent must have been at the gradient of one foot in tv/o. “ Co nev on the old svstem. After this, the late Mr. J. 11. Tate commenced to supply money at the resthouse. Proprietors or managers forwarded their cheques tf> him, or sent him information of how much they EOBBEEIES AND MUEDERS. ’wauted, and that they womld be at Gampola on a certain (?ay and hour to receive it, and for this trouble, or rather for his own profit on the transaction, he used to charge £2 per cent on Colombo cheques, or £l lOs. on Kandy ones. After this, the chetties took it up, and saved the trouble of going even to Gampola, by l>ringing up the cash direct to the estate, we not even handing them a cheque, until the money was all counted out on the table. On looking back on these times, it seems cuiioua that so few robberies, or even attempts at robbery, were made. Any one systemat ically carrying on this method in England or Scotland would soon be watched, marked, robbed, and murdered, yet thegoing- to-Kanrly-f or- money period was well known, often for days before. Preparations were made, coolies sent off in advance, and often the cool’es advised, a number of days beforehand, of the very day and hour when they were to be paid. Not only so, but the coolies sent in advance info Kandy would openly proclaim at every bazar they passed, and to every passer-by with v/honi they were on speaking ac- quaintance, that they were going for money, and master was coming. So well aware did they seem of when master was going to Kandy and when pay-day was to be, that I used frequently to tell them that they knew more about it than I did. The only bad case of attempted robbery and murder which I can at present bring to my recollection was that of A'lr. John Palcoiier, on the Lhlawella road, which must have been about tlie ye r ’06 or ’67, the particulars of which must still 1»e in the memory of many. * Experience teaches. The smash of the money-bag on the Atabage Pass taught me never to carry money in mat bags, and so Iliad made to Older a strong canvas one. Toss it and tumble it about, it would n’t hurst ; it was made on a similar plan to a long purse, l or equal quant i'ies of rupees v/ere put into each end, a (1 tied tight up, so as not to Jingle. This was tbrowu over the front of the saddle, where it balanced itself, • It is curious that Mr. Millie should forget the case of poor Morgan of Deltota, who was undoubted- ly murdered for the sake of the money he carried, but which the murderers failed to secure. After being shot twice, the jxior fellow was able to ride on, carrying the money with him, until he reached friends who v/atched over his last hour and received liis dying message to his mother. The motive for Falconer’s murder was understood to be not robbery but revenge ; he had been at court for a warrant, not for money. — Ed. CAERYING EICE TO DIMBULA. and we could get along at a good trot, or even canter. About this time some of the earlier Dimbula estates began to be opened out, the road to which, or rather path, was from Pussellawa, through Rothschild estate, or below Monaragala, rounding the patana hill, and descending to the Koi male-ganga through a native village. Crossing the river by means of a native ferry- boat, it ascended on the other side below Ti?pana, and upwards and onwards along the grass lands, then passing under the Bogawatta estate, it descended to Fairholm’s ford, where I believe a good bridge is now erected. This path was eventually cut into a bridle trace, and I believe still exists. The Dimbula pioneers had great difidculty in pro- curing coolies, and, when they did, the bulk of the coolies’ time w s occupied in carrying rice to the estate from Pussellawa a’ong this path. Many estates were for months without coolies ; I knew one proprietor, long since dead, who used to walk down to Pussellawa, along this path, one day, and return the next, carrying on his shoulders a load of rice for his own consumption, and some condiments or curry stuffs in his pocket ; pumpkins or brinjals could be procured from some of the village gardens, and this was the usual fare. It used to be rather a ticklish job, crossing at the Dimbula ford. Having first taken off your horse his saddle and bridle, they were taken over with you in the small canoe. Then a rope was fastened round the horse’s neck, and the end of it taken across by the boatman. The horse was then pulled |into the river, or, if he would not go, as was frequently the case, the horsekeeper was left behind to whip him in, then a plunge, a good many snorts and struggles, and the animal was landed, dripping wet, on the other side, shaking and trembl- ing with fear and cold. A good wisp down with a handful of grass, however, and then saddled and bridled and off at a canter soon put him all to rights. Then a bridle path was opened from Upper Dimbula to Nuwara Eliya, and some of the earlier Dimbula planters had horses there, and made that their head-quarters. The bridle path came out near the Nuwara Eliya toll, on the road to Ramboda, where old Sergeant Daly lived, and had a small potato garden. The sergeant had served in some of the old Peninsular wars. How he came to Ceylon I never knew, nor how he ^ came to settle down in this desolate spot. But the passers-by would always see the old sergeant in his shirt sleeves, digging and working in his potato garden, and his wife sitting in front of the cottage. She was quite blind, and the sergeant had all the house work and cooking to do himself, no great hardship, he used to say, to an AN OLD SOLDIER. old soldier, so long as there was forage in or about the camp. He was a general favourite, a real Irishman, jolly under all and every adverse circumstance of life, and many a traveller, before ascending the Pass, would remember Sergeant Daly, and put a few sticks of good tobacco in his pocket for him, or fill his spirit flask at the Rambocfa resthouse, to give the sergeant a taste of the “real Irish stuff.” But what the old man enjoyed more than any thins: else was a few old newspapers ; it did not matter how old they were : they were new to him. How eagerly he read all the military news, and how he woiild com- ment on the doings of the French, his old enemies ! I believe he was at Waterloo. After he had cursorily satisfied his own curiosity, as to the n>ws of the day, he would go inside and read the paper aloud to his wife, and then the couple would fight their battles over again, and talk about the “days of old.” “Things were better managed then; the old Duke would not have made this error. ” It is always so. Peace to his memory, the old sergeant has long since passed a-way — is laid “ to moulder in the forest glade. ” Going down the Pass towards Pamboda, the only estates tin nopen were “Old Palagala, ” General (then (^olonel) Fraser’s, and a small clearing above the bridge. I do not know who was the proprietor, but a periodical visitor used to examine the estate, named Mr. Lock.* It was about 1846-7 that Wavendon was first opened by Captain Fisher, who, like most of the original planters, never reaped any of the fruits from all his labours. + The old Ramboda resthouse was on the same Mr. Lock was the agent of Baron Delmar, and, as such, purchased the Horagalla estate from Master Attendant Steuart, who was acting for the Stewart Mackenzie family. The sale was repudiated, and an English barrister, Mr. Thomas Young MacChristie, was sent out specially to conduct the litigation, which ended in the restoration of the estate. Large loans on block to Mr. Lock were understood to be the cause of the downfall of the Bank of Ceylon. Mr. MacChristie was subsequently retained by Dr. Elliott and his friends, and did good sei’vice in “the ver- andah case, ” and the parliamentary enquiry into Ceylon affairs, which ended in the recal of Lord Torrington, and the re nn oval from the Island of Sir J. E. Tennent and Mr. (now Sir) P. Wodehouse. — Ed. t Fisher, like PaUisser, was a great hunter in this land, — Ed. THE OLD RAMBODA RESTHOUSE. site where it stands now. It was kept by a man named Cooper and his wife. He had some employ- ment on a neighbouring estate, and his wife looked after the resthouse. I recollect that we used sometimes » to walk to this resthouse on a Sunday to have ^ a treat for tiffin, which was bread and cheese and a J i - bottle of beer. We sometimes^" tried hard for leave ^ to take away even half a loaf, but it would not p J ^ ^ do, bread was too precious. So we had to go home ^ ’ ''f to our or hard biscuit. Now, only fancy any of ^ ^ the present generation of planters walking five miles _;f to the Ramboda resthouse, in order to have a treat in the way of food or refreshments ! So far as my later experience served, they would rather walk that distance to keep clear of it, and enjoy the more genial hospitalities of some neighbouring bungalow. Mrs. Stainton also, about this time, for a short period, kept the resthouse, but afterwards removed to Kandy, where the hotel was long noted for supplying the best and best-cooked food in the town. There was then a very dangerous bridge over the Girinda El a, a little on the Pussellawa side of Ramboda : above was a high waterfall over a steep ledge of rock, below the same ; ihe crossing for the road seemed to be either a natural or arti- ficial step in the rock. On the step, heavy blocks of stones were set, on the top of which slab rocks were laid, without any railings or parapet. The width w^as just about sufficient to allow a cart to pass, so that above and below the bridge were per- pendicular waterfalls. I recollect crossing this bridge in the dark one night, without knowing it. Being aware that it might be close at hand from the noise of the water, the stick, or rather perhaps the invariable paper umbrella, was carefully used as a feeler, when it struck me that the sound of the fall seemed lessening, and behind me, and so it was. I might have been walking across on the very edge of the slab rock, or my foot might hsv# been pastially over it. I might well it is no tise thinking what might have been. Why don’t they put railings on the edge of the bridge. If the Governor or the Bishop tumbles over, it will then be done, but I do not think there was » / ^ \ Bishop then. That was, at least, one respect in which ! H j “the olden days were better than these.” What ii I * / the fate of the Ramboda church and graveyard ? ^ / The former used to be in a very dilapidated state, and^ if extensive and expensive repairs have not been gone into, ifc must have tumbled down. The graveyard used to be very neglected, thoma and jungle encroach- ing all around. PLANTING IN UPPEP RAM30DA. This used to be a neat-looking church, and the site a very pretty oue, and many a good sermon has the late Mr. Schrader preached in it. He used to preach there in the afternoon, after the forenoon ser- mon at Puesellawa. Although the congregation sel- dom exceeded four or six, so netiiims only two or three, yet he was always pnnctaal at the hour, or, if late, he might have been seen by us sitting waiting in the shade of the trees, coming round the Tavalan- tenna turns of the road at a sharp canter, and, on arrival, enter the pulpit, readj^ wa,rmerl for the service. Is there any virtue in black cloth, that clergy- men in the tropics should deem it essentially necess- ary to wear it ? Why cannot a sermon be as well preached (better I should think) in a white jacket, as in a black coat ? It would make the hearers feel more pleasant and cool, and external feelings some- how or other possess a strange and mighty influence over internal ones. The clergyman’s pony, I should add, in course of time was superseded by a bandy, or covered carriage. This was as it ought to be, and both preacher and con- gregation felt more comfortable. A long stretch of hare perpendicular rock, from 200 to 300 feet in height, extends from behind the Raniboda resthouse, on. towards Pussellawa, until it los^s itself in the Helboda jungle. Over the top of this rock were opened several estates, Meemalle, The Eyrie, Meeriscotuakelle, and Poojagodde. They all turn'd out failures, say about 1,200 acres of planted coffee. What has become of them all now ? “Lapsed into jungle,” iikelv enough; it was a fine “lay of laud” hut the soil was poor, It generally consisted of a sort of rotten or gravelly rock of no sub- stance, or, if not this, a stiff, clayey sort of stuff, which left the mark of the mamotie on it, in cutting roads or holes, somewhat similar to the mark of a knife on stiff cheese. It was very cold in climate, and the general elevation would average fully, or o ver, 4,000 feet. In those days the hopes of the proprietor were high, but gradually they came to see they were futile.* One thing could be said : it was a fine, cold, healthy cli- mate, and both Europeans and coolies throve amaz- ingly, not in pocket, but in robust bodily health. The elevation was much too high, for the lay of land with vast extent of forest surrounding it on every side, and it was fearfully windy during the north-east monsoon, the wind blowing from the Matu- rata quarter, through the gulleys on the False Pedro * A good deal of this land has been, or is in the course of being, resuscitated. — Ed. UPPEE RAMBODA. orange, until not a leaf was left on the coffee frees, Stili ill other parts of the country, tliey grew coffee, and made it pay^ got very fait- €’:‘ops, at a higher elevation than this, for instance in Maturata, Badullaj ■and Hapu aie. also Dambagastalawa, in K'dmale, but at a high elevation it makes a great difference, as to whether it is an open patana country or a forest ■one. One thing seems certain in present times ; yoi^ can plant coffee and get f.rir crops at a higher ele- vation than you could in thos'^ d ys. How is this I Is it because the climate is changed, rendered inildrr by the clearing away of so much forest ? It used to be a theo'-y, that the extension of coffee planta- tions would affect, in materially deer asing, the rain- fall. But, taking a Si Ties of years ^ this is not the case, for we find that, if in one or two given seasons the rain- fall slackens, and the numbtr of inches are less than an average, it is made up for, during some of the following seasons, in having more than an average, or a great excess, of rain. I do not think it is so much the rain that prejudicially affects coffee at a high ■elevation, as the constant fog or mist. The plant baa no respite fiom constant moisture ; when the rain ^ceases, the damp fog still continues.’'*’ Although we were ignorant of it in old times, the line of mist that used to bang on the Bamboda rangea towards evening, especidly during the lull between monsoons, pretty corredly points out the height at which the pr-'fitable cultivation of coffee ceases. From the top of Eton and Choisy, resting on the top of Ranghodde, it rounded about the m ddle of Pallegalla, leaving Kondegala entirely unseen in the fogs ; it then passed along through about the centre of Weddemulle, until it met the Ramboda rock, above Wavendon, passing on at the base of the rock, taking in the upper portion of Karagastalawa, and so round the forest above Helboda. Any one, especially a new arrival, livhig above this line of mist often for days, would get a pleasant sur- prise, on descending, to find himself suddenly out of the mist, into a clear atmosphere, possibly sunshine. Now it is quite probable that this line of mist wa® the boundary between two climates, or rather ‘‘strata” of air. In geology, on digzing into the earth, we * Tnere is almost chronic mi:>t at anuui; ft- in the Knuckles, and tliere the coffee tree peoduces leaves and blossoms, but scarcely any fruit. In Dimbula, mist can- not be said t > be long at any elevation, the ranges, ex- cept in absolutely rainy weather, being beautifully clear. In Hapiitale, there is, of course, the warmer and drier <5limate and shelter from the south-west monsoon. — Ei>. B UPPER RAMBODA. eome upon distinctly separate and well-defined bound- aries of soil, and it may be that something of the same sort may, I do not say does, exist in the air. The leaf of the coffee trees above this line was small, very often tinted with brown on the edges, had a variegated ap- pearance, shrunken, and turned up at the ends, a per- fectly different appearance from the fine smooth dark green leaf, at a lower elevation. The clusters of fruit were also small, indeed cluster is not a name for them ; distributed over the tree were berries in twos, threes, and fours, and very frequently only a solitary one, 00 that, after one or two rounds of picking, the crop was generally about done. In calculating crop on the trees, all planters are now well awai-e of the importance of distinguishing between large and small clusters, but this was not taken into due consideration then ; hence the holders of high -land coffee properties were always invariably disappointed in their estimates. The only redeeming point was, that this high coffee brought a high price, but I do not think it does so now. Be this as it may, I believe the generally recognized opinion now is that fine quality does not reimburse the planter in pocket for deficiency in quantity. CHAPTER HU How THE Coast Advance System Began ; Rice Delivery and Gifts of Cumblies. One might meet a solitary planter, or perhaps tiv^o or three in company, wending their way down the Ata- bage Pass, clothed in leech gaiters, and a hunting cap with a white cover hanging down the back of the neck, going to Kandy for coolies. ‘‘Hallo, Jones, where are you off to now ? Is it for money or coolies for it must be either the one or the other. We never knew where we might find coolies : it might be within a few miles of the estate, or within a few hundred. As an instance : once on making preparations for one of these trips, to be weeks, or perhaps months, away, on rounding one of the corners of the road, near Glenloch estate, some gangs of 50 to 60 coolies each sudd' nly met me. On asking where they were going to, thekanganies called a halt, and after a good deal of “ palaver” they agreed to engage with me, and so that very same evening found me back on the estate wdth a full force of labour. It was always a good sii^n for the planter, when, on speaking to these travelling gangs, they stopped, as in general their minds were made up as to where they were going, in which case they marched PEOOURING COOLIES. past, slioufcing out, as they did so, the name of the estate to which they were proceeding. In this event it was a hop less case tryiin^ to get a word with them. Another likdy place for finding coolies was in some of the waste patches of ground about Gampola, where, in the evening-;, you might see, at some distance off, the curling smoke proceeding from their cooking fires. Fail- ing t'us we went on to Kandy, where most of the immi- grants geaerally remained for a day or two, to rest, and, as at Gampola, might be found encamped about the out streets of the town, or on the flat grass-land between the end of the lake and Bogambra Mills, where a set of rude mud and wattle ‘Mines,” with thatched roof, was erected by Government for their accommo- daion. But, failing Kandy, we then proceeded dowm the Matale road towa ds Dambulla, or on the road to and beyond Kurunegala. I think the present system of coolies shipping to Colombo in the native boats was then unknown: at le tst I have no recollection of anything of the sort in those days. Afterwards, as the demand for coplies increased, sup ‘rinten^r^s take passage at Colombo direct for the coa^tj^aoft^^ engagements with them in their villages, and bring them over with them, leaving a supply of money for the benefit of the relations of those who left them behind, and plac-M to the debit of Ramaswami’s account, to be subsequently worked out by , him, as wages in advance, on ihe est ate. The kanganies and coolies now began to open their eyes ; they must be people of ver^^ great importance and consequence that the “durais” took all this trouble, and were at all this expense in coming so far to visit them. Kanganies on the estates began to tell the masters it was no use their taking all this trouble. They (the kanganies) would manage it ail nicely. They would take the money, go over to the coast, and be sure to bring back lots of coolies. The sums asked were so very small? and the kangani generally leaving a gang, as security for his return, this method w'as adopted, for a long time with most wonderful success. And so, this the thin edge of the wedge, “coast advances,” was fairly in ! Small sums of from ^3, £5, to £10 were the usual amounts advanced; £15 or £20 was thought an unusually large sum, and scarcely safe ; however, none was lost, the kanganies in general punctually turned up, the rate of labour procured for the advance being probably about, often considerably under, Ss, or 10s. a head. Indeed it used to be remarked that the less money that was given to a kangani, the more coolies, in proportion to those who were more heavily advanced^ - he brought. WANT OF ACCOUNTS. There were no regular accounts of estate coolie ad- vances, MS the kanganies punctually paid up, the first or second pay-day. They used sometimes to apologize for not ] aying up on the first pay-day, stating, most reasonably and correctly, that the people requi ed money for current supplies, but that it would all be settled next pay-Hay, which was doi e. Fancy a kaagani in these times apologizing for not paying up his del )t on first pay-day after he was advanced ! Another plan was, on senuing a kangani to the coast with advances, he would make arrangements with a gang left t ehind on the estate, to pay up his advance, so i hat it was some- times paid before the actual debtor ari ived back again with coolies from the coast. nice was issued by the estates in the outlying locali- ties at 6s. per bushel, and on the nearer ones about Gampola at 5s. At these rates a consiflerable profit was placed to the credit of the estate, unless, as in some instances, the manager had the supply of ri e in his own hands, as a perquisite. One manager on a large estate in Kadugannav/a, from this source, in addition to his pay, used t ) clear a profit of sevt-ral hundreds per annum. It was often difficult to get tbe coobes to accept a proper allowance of rice. They used frccpiently to draw only half or three-quarters of a bushel per month, in fact they starved tuemotlvcs, and wh u^ed to compel them to take a full supply, letting them know, with decision, that if they did not draw a simp'y r-ecessary for the monthly ccnsiim[d precise method of monthly accounts was little, if at all, in use. We merely forwarded balance due on check -roll, super- intendence, carpenters’ and ma'ons’ wages, &c.- No reference was made to the distribution o^f labour, and its cost, so that proprietors or managers never exactly knew what their weeding, p uning, manuring, gather- gog, or c op expense^ were. Now only fancy a manager ming on this way, in our present times ! He would DEAE RICF. not go on long ; he would certainly soon get the ^‘sack,” and not only this, but be held responsible, and probably made to pay up the money for which he could not account. In the later times, the writer has had some painful personal experiences of tbi? — accounts would not balance as they ought, and it was always on the wrong side. V\ hen th* y were w rong, there was always a deficiency. Of course it was paid out, but how was it done? Who got it? There’s the rub. It is no use thinking over it; the accounts must go in, so the superintendent charges himself with the deficiency. It is wonderful how a few cases of this sort of thing sharpen one up— a good remedy for which is, to make a rule never to pay away a single coin, without marking it down at once. Don’t s^y, or think, ^S)h, I’ll mark it down at n^ght,” but do it at once, before shutting up the money-box, and for this purpose have a sort of scroll cash-book Ijing along with the money in your box ; when any of the latter is required, t ike them both out together. As you pay «'ut, mark down, and then in the evening, or at any subsequent period, en^er from the scroll book into the regular cash one. By this system, it is impossible to ios*^ money, if you make an inviol- able rule, however great the urgency or hurry, never to shut your cash-book, without noting down the money you have paid out. The price of rice issued, as yeirs rolled on, gradually crept up to 7/ and 8/, the wonder- ful feature in the case being that, the higher the prices were, the more persistent were the coolie^ in demand- ing a full supply; they could not do with half or three- quarter bushels now. They w^ uld take two bushels if you g we it them. If the r/ce issue day was Saturday, and there happened to be five SatvirrLiys in a month, we u«ed to have great disputes, in Iryirtg to explain that they were not en itled to receive five quar ers of a bushel in a month, and the matter was ge 'craily ar- ranged by letting them have an advance of rice to next month's account. The reasons for the increase l con- sumption or demand for rice now on the part of the coolie are not far to seek. The m'^n work bette^*, eat better, and require more food. If they do no , i ice is just as good as cash ; they can always dispose of it, or exchange it for i.ther commodities. A curions sy stem used to be in use, called ihe keeping of rice ; at every rice issue one or two measures were set aside nut of each man’s siipp’y. So that, say, a gang of twenty by this means would realize a spare bushel, it was sold, and the cash proceeds handed over to No i in the gang. This process was adopted every week, on every rice issue day, until twenty weeks elapsed, and the whole gang had been gone over, when it was again recom- COOMES’ ACCOUNTS. menced, and, so exact and obstinate were they in paying into this rice fund, tliat during a scarcity they would rather starve themseives than fail or neglect to do so. However, in times of very “short commons,” weeks and months would someti nes pass of general scarcii-y of rice, but, when a full sup})ly d'd arrive, 'the coobes would present themselves amd ask for the rice that was due to then in the past month, or even the month before that. It seemed useless to tsy and explain to them that this arreir of eating vas not necessary, that their wages had been paid, and they had not been charged for it. tt seemed impossible to overrule their argiiment — were they not promised a bushel of rice a montli and they had not received it. “ Well, but you have received, or will receive, its value in additional money payments.” The cooly would walk away silent and thoughtful ; in deep consideration, evidently considering himself a very ill- used individual. Now, I think, the coolies of the present time are somewhat more reasonable and intelligent than they were in those times. They can, and do, com- prehend the ordinary transaction between themselves and the master much better ; they are not as “thick in the head.” They know very well when their pay is correct or if there is an error ; the modern pay-day is a very different one from what it was then. Now coolies will take their balance and walk off quietly without a word ; if they think there is any mistake or error, they will come up quietly next day, and have an explana- tion. A very different affair from the dreadful ordeal we had to pass through in olden times. Probably the first man you paid would immediately declare it was veiy short. You would ask him how many days he was absent. “Correct.” Rice received? “Correct.” “Well, you have worked 24 days at 8d. : that is IGs. You have had a bushel of rice at 8s. : and the balance is 8s.” ; all which he acknowledged toTie correct, but still his pay was short. Now, wRat was to be done with a fe low like this ? What could be done but to give him a cuff and a kick, and order him off ? The best plan is to take no complaints at the pay table, but give notice, that if there are any they will be attended to next day. You will then have few or none, for tbe coolies have cooled down and had time to calculate, I have known them have a string and tie a knot on it for every day they worked, as a check on the master. Others would tie up a small stone in the end of their cloth after the day's work was done, so that on, pay-day, if there was any question of short pay, he would, to prove his own argu- ment, unknot a piece of cloth and count out the stones, in proof of the number of days he had worked. My first experience of this plan was s mewhat ludicrous. PAY-DAY, On paying a man his balance, he asked the number of days he had worked. On being told, ‘‘ Twenty-three, ” he said it was wrong, that he had worked twenty-four, and at once proceeded to count out the stones. On coming to the last stone, the number was twenty -three. Without being at all put out he merely walked oif, saying he must have lost one. Of course this sort of thing was not, as a rule, per- ‘mitted at the pay table, otherwise there would have been no end to it, and the work would never have been got throU:jh. It required a great deal of patience, and the best way was, and I should fancy still is — get through with the work as fast as possible, shut up the books, and take off the money bag. So long as its lies on the table, the coolies will hanker and hang about. A very good plan is to pay them at the store. It save# the grounds about the bungalow from being trodden down, and then when paying is over you can march off with the balance of the cash,, so taking yourself, and it, out of sight. But this sort of thing is unnecessary in the present day, where accounts are correct, and good discipline is the rule. We were not very particular about paying correctly the odd pence : if there was 6s. 7d. due, we would pay 6s. 6d. ; another who had 6s. lOd, due would receive 7s. This was not much out of the way, audit would have been well for the coolies had ^ every ope been as reasonable as this. The cumbly. was a perquisite, and was not generally charged, ^but they were cheap then, costing from Is. to Is. 3d. The arrange- ment was that the coolies had the use of these cum- biies during their stay on the estate, and on leaving it they gave them up, as well they might ; for such a parcel of rags and rubb sh, as they did hand over ; useless and fit for nothing. 1 he cooly, like many of his betters, does not appreciate an article he gets for nothing. He did not take even ordinary care of his cumbly. It, after a few weeks, was all in rngs, and he was in want of a new one. * ^ was constantly sounding in your ear— aninESe two brief expressions, of two wants each, were put forth as a legitimate and proper excuse for all manner of deficiency in work or even for no work at all. In present times tiie coolj? buys and pays for his own cumbly, and see the care he takes of it and the time it lasts him as compared with the ‘‘days of old when he got it for nothing. We Uf^ed to keep stocks of cumblies in store for immediate i^sue to new arrivals. The cooly, knowing there was a good stock of _ cumblies in store, would, when his own began to get a little tVie worse for wear, stow it away below some coffee tree, and make his appearance at the bungalow, 1 NEW AND OLD CUMBLTES. shivering, or pretending to shiver, with cold, slating that his cum))ly had been stolen. He had placed it on a rock during working hours, in order to have more freedom of action to do “hard work for master,” and it was gone. If the “master” was so compassionate as to hand him over a new cumbly, the cooly would accept of it as a just right, or moi e probably grumble and say it was too small. But if master “smelt a rat,” or more probably ordered him off as an idle eareless fellow, ten to one but he would appear in his old cumbly next day, which he had discovered ,as having been purloined by some of his friends, but it would last him a good long while after this, until, by its tattered appearance, the master saw he was actually in need of a new one^ in which case the want was promptly supplied. These stocks of cuxnhlies in store di and, if we go into all the details of labour which are saved by a cart-road, it is ve^-y probably true. The carriage of rice and coffee up and dow n steep mountain' paths is no lit work for a cooly ; it involves un imuiense* loss of time and labour to tlie proprietor. He must have his coffee despatched, for coffee is money ; he' must have rice, for rire is food ; and just at the very time when labcur is mo&t in request for crop, or’ pruning after crop, the bulk of his labour is constantly called off for the di spatch of crop, and transport of rice. The cooly excessively dislikes being employed in this transport, and as a rule dislikes and avoids tiiose plantations w-hicb, from their position, are obliged te adopt it. And thus it unfortunately happens that those estates which are some distance from a cart- road, and therefore require a larger amount of cooly labour, are generally least able to acquire it. From; short labour supply and heavy cooly transport the work gets behind, tbe pruning is not done, it seriously affects the next croo, take their results for a series of years, results which materially affect the value of an estate and its crops, and he, or they, would be deficient in sound calculation, w^ho could put them in the scale to weigh against any reasonable cost, in constructing a cart-road into- a district. But where / iim Cl fh vi-4- c* tts -i- r\v» wa TBn ROADS AT ANY COST. the roads. But one of its greater objections is, that they cannot he worked during the rains, as the ioads of rice and coffee would get wet, and spoilt. Hence pack cattle are more suitable for the comparatively dry climates of Uva and'Haputale than any of the more rainy districts. It is wonderful so few accidents occurred to coolies in carrying heavy loads of coffee and rice down and up steep mountain paths. One however I shall never fc^gets a string of coolies wei’e carrying coffee down the steep face of Karagastalawa estate ; one of them dropped, as if he had been shot. He was dead : the bag of coffee containing two and a half bushels, had somehow suddenly shifted, giving his neck a sharp turn or twist, and completely broken it. I suspect, if the bags were not well stitched up, they frequently took out coffee and hid it, in order to lessen their burden; at least 1 have seen coffee lying about on the cooly transport paths, concealed in jungle, or under CO dee trees. No wonder then the cartmen were short in delivery, or that they grumbled sadly at having their balance hire stopt. CHAPTER IV. What Made Coffee Plvnting Expensive in the Olden Days. 1 forgot, at the commencement of last chapter, it might be neither mon'‘y_-nor coolies that Jones was off for. It miitht have been in search of rice, or of the missing rice cart**, now some th'*ee weeks or a month past due. If it wa^, you would see, not very- far behind him, a string ot‘ coolies earning along with hungry-looking visages and indented stomachs, but there could be no mistake about it when you saw a bushel or half-bushel measure lugged along on the shoulders of one of them. They w'ould also have each a bag hung over their shoulders if the day was warm and fine, or ove’’ their head and neck, cumbly form, if it rained. Batch after batch of carts are passed on the road, with the question: ‘^What estate are you going to or Let me see your way-bill”; if the reply or sight of the way-bill was iinsatisfa* tory, you would then commence to question the cartman in such Siubalese as you could muster, if he had seen or passed your rice carts anywhere. If the reply was in the ne ative, you would proceed on the journey more disheartened than ever, but if in the affirmative, if they were only a few miles behind, how we all used to stir up 1 The K,ICE CAHTS 15 MILES OEE. wretched old pony was spurred to a canter, nothing loath ; perhaps he smelt the rice, or had some vague presentiment, from former ex])eriences, that, when rice carts were emptied of their contents, his journey was over, and it was homeward-bound. At last the carts are reached, are stopped, and one is ordered to un- load and measure out, at the road-^side. The cart- men, of course, are only too glad to eet rid of a load before reaching the point of delivery, and the request is promptly attended to. A supply of rice, sufficient to relieve the urgent temporary wants of the estate, is measured out, and a number of the coolies, with light loads of half or even a quarter of a bushel each, sent on in advance to relieve the hungry ones left behind. The remainder of the men seize hold of the cart wheels, and turn them round with a will ; in fact, the cart now drives the bullocks, not the bullocks the cart. Singing as they go, deep ruts, mud holes into which the wheels sink to the axle, are as nothing against the united forces at the w'heels. As tie road gets good, they cease this labour ; but still act as a sort of convoy or escort to the cartmen. They are not going to let them out of their sight. They might stop, and the rice would not arrive for some days. The master is quite safe in spurring on his pony, and leaving carts and coolies behind, to come on at their leisure. No fear of the carts going astray now. And the next diy the coolies would arrive on the estate and report carts and rice all safely brought up to their destination. When the roads were so very bad, impassable during the government of Sir George William Ander- son, we seldom expected carts up to the estates, and used regularly to send coolies down to empty them, until at last the Colombo agencies could not get carts to engage to deliver beyond Pus sella wa. I recollect once getting a good “ wigging ” from the late firm of J. and G. S. & Co. it happened so : a batch of rice carts were at the bottom of the Atabage Pass. The cartmen came on and said they could come no further, the road was so bad ; I, not being short of rice, told them they must come on and fulfil their agreement. Well, back the cartmen go to Colombo and inform J. and G. S. & Co. that they could not proceed farther than Atabage, and that I had refused to unload them there ; up comes a letter by post, a very strong one. My conduct was very bad : “ I ought to have been only too happy to have had the rice for the unloading, even although fifteen miles BAD EOADS AND SHORT .SUPPLIES, off. If the car fc men sold the rice or failed to de- liver it, they would take no action against the con- tractor, hut hold me responsible/’ Well, this was de« cided - nough, so the carts were unloaded at Atabage, and the cartmen paid their full fare. So bad w. re the roads at that time, tha,t it was once reported of a Pusseliawa planter that his hat was seen lying on the top of a mud hole, but that the reporter of this cir- cumstance was too much occupied with attending to his own personal safety, to have time to examine whether toe planter had sunk down into the hole, and left his hat floating on the top of the mud, or if his hat had merely blown off, and he found it unsafe to attempt to pick it up a_aim* At last, horsemen, and even foot passengers aban- doned the road altogether, and made tracks on the ad- joining patana grounds. The r ad was inipas-ahle even for a light carriage, and those who attempted it had to lead their car- riage and come out and walk. I never knew how things were d!o"edto get into this state. Whether from \raut of money, or labour, or want of orders, something wrong with the “ red tape. ”t Certainly, they had to pay “ thi- piper ” in getting the road put into proper repair, for, it is with roads as with many other things — A stitch in time saves nine.” It fre- quently happened, that one planter was quite out of rice ; his neighbour, whose ca,rts had just arrived, had plenty. Th n the order of the day was, a note was sent to the latter, requesting, as a temporary loan, a certain amount of rice, sure to be returned by “ this day week,” for our carts are “ due in three days.” The request being generally acceded to, coolies are sent to the store of the obliging neighbour, some miles off. This involves, at least, one d'y, or haif-a-day’s work ; immed ate starvation is staved off ; but in a few days the borrov\ed rice is done, our carts liave not arrived, and we are again in want. Much to our con- Bternation a note arrives from the friendly neighbour, reminding us of the promise to pay,” stating that his * Our correspondent ought not to have forgotten th© story of men with long poles being sent in advance of «arts and carriages to sound the holes, anything more than three feet deep being deemed dangerous ! — Ed, t It was quite understood that Sir George Anderson had received instructions to put the finances of the Colony in a safe condition. He acted strictly on his orders, and the result was his own unpopularity and the popular ity of Sir H. Ward, who found a large ba- lance avail'*.ble, of which he made a good use by spending liberally on roads and bridges. —Ed. BOEROWING EiCB» H'ce is done, and he must have the loan retnrned. oS that here we are between two fires, and are t*emindet afford to “lose much crop by pruning.” He would take an opportuniiy when any portion of the e-tate had become overgrown with wood, in fact run wild, so that no crop was on it, then to prune it, or railier cut it ail to pieces. Primaries would even be cut off within three or four inches of the stem ; at a little distance oft* this pruned portion of the estate would present all the appearance of being merely a barren piece o€ ground, the bare stems of the trees not being visible. Nothing could be more puzzling than to make a com- mencement on these overgrown trees. They were a mass of matted wood, a luxuriant vegetation of small twigs and leaves on the outside; inside, white, glazed, and dry sticks ; the best way to do with a tree of this sort, at least it was thought so at that time, was' with an open knife thrust in tlie hand lo the stem of the tree. Settle the knife witli the sharp edge toward* you, draw it out. This done two or three times made an opening in the tree, and you tlien saw what .you were about. A very usual pdan was lo prune one- half of the estate one year, the other the next. It was quite a common thing when a planter was walking over his estate with a friend to he-r something like the following expressions: — “This field has not been pruned for the last two years. Tite*-efore I have been obliged to use the knife very heavily, but it will give a good crop the year after next.” This was going in advance of “next year,” Then we would come to another field unprunecL The remark would be ; — “ We have a tolerable crop on this patch, and so I judged it right not to prune it. You see we cannot put the knife on a tree without cutting off some blossom, so I will take crop and prune it next year.” Hand saws were almost always in u>=e, one saw to two men. Then there was no distinct rule about top- ping. Some thought, the higher thdr trees were, the more crop they would get — for “ D'd n’t it stand to reason that you would get double the crop off a six foot tree than you would off a three foot one” Then, when the mistake began to be apparent, pruners with saws were set on, to take a foot off every tree ; that after a time did not do, and next season they were at it again taking off another foot, or perhaps two — no easy work it was, and a very expensive PRUNINa. thing was this topping with saws. Thirty or forty trees per man per day was good work — whereas, had it been done when the tree was young, a top with the knife wonld have been sufficient and 300 or 400 trees easy work, nor was this all the expense, for of course, after this saw- topping the whole estate, the rows w^as obstructed with the tops so cut off. Coolies could not weed, pick, or do anything ; every row was filled up with these tops. So men had to be put oh with catties or knives to chop up all these tops -or carry them away — burn or bury them ; if this was not done speedily, tlte weeds grew up through ther , -orm- ing a tangled net-woi k of weeds in the row^s. so that it was almost impossible to pull them up. As many had to top down their trees with the saw trom the mistake of allowing them to grow too high, so also ijome, after topping their trees at two and a half or three feet, regretted it, and wished them to grow higher again. They thought they could very easily do this by allowing a sucker to grow up fiom the apparent primary ; this I believe was eventually found to be a mistake, for, besides utterly disfi{.,uring the trees, the sucker has never, or seldom, been found to answer the purpose of tiie original stem. What bunches of suckers the trees used to throw out, after being topped with the saw ! And if, as was very often the case, labour could not be prepared to take them off, what a ludicrous appearance the estate pre- aente*^, if one could possibly call such a melancholy sight ludicrous. The tree was quite lost in, or hidden by, the bunch of sucke rs at the top. Vt^y probably the weeds were as high as the bunch of suckers con- cealing the coffee tree : so that, at a little distance off, the clusters of suckers seemed growing out of a mass of white weed and Spanish needle. Many may ex- claim, This is rather over-drawn, this is a touch of the long bow.” To such 1 would say, ‘‘ May you never see the sight !” The suckers would get sometimes so strong as to require a knife or saw to take them off. The idea of pulling them off with the hand, why, it would destroy the tree ! Take a very fine old strong sucker, give it a sharp pull down, and very likely you will split down the tree: cut it with the knife without taking out the eye, and half-a dozen at least would take its place. When suckers got very bad, they would be temporarily kept under, something on the same principle as beating down weeds to save the trees. Coolies would be put on who would make a grab or tear at them, pulling them down : some would come off, others would hang on the tree, the small ones re- maining untouched, speedily to come on with re- WEISDS. AND SDCKDESV newed strength, on being relieved from their stronger brethren. These suckers weakened eveiy part of the tree y the primary branches would get thin and drooping, and,, instead of standing straight out, would fall over, giving the tree the appearance of an umbrella with a large bunch of scmiething on the point end. After a night^s rain, coolies turned oidi to work amongst this mass of weeds and suckers were ob- jects to be pitied. Their cumbly, cloth, and jacket, if they had one, were soon as if they had been steeped in water ; they got numbed and chilled, their hands quite powerless with cold and wet, until they became quite unfit to use them. Then they would stand cowering and shivering, until the master, if there seemed no chance of the sun bursting forth, ^ would tell them, not to leave off, that had been done long ago, but to go to their lines. It is astonish- ing how such an order would suddenly brighten them ^ up. A set of inert, shivering, powerless creatures 4 ,, would start into sudden life and action, and the race home would put some circulation in their blood. The knowing ones would strip off every rag they had on, and get under a cold-water spout, make a rush for the lines .for a dry cloth, if they had one, if not a stick fire was speedily lighted, before which they were down on — (what shall I call it, so that the uninitiated may comprehend the position ?) — their “ hunters,’^ and were soon enveloped in smoke, for no amount of smoke seemed to incommode the coolies; on the contrary, they seemed to enjoy it. The position referred to is not sitting, although somewhat similar to it. He sitt down upon nothing. * His knees are drawn up under his chin, so that it rests upon them. His arms are clasped round the shins under the knee, over which the back and head bends, until the whole body is formed into somewhat like a ball. Thus, as it were, all the natural heat in the body is condensed, and there is no waste or escape, and thus he will sit before the fire invisible from smoke, until he becomes warm. How they can stand the smoke, is a mystery, for often, in going in search of a cooly, it was impossible to distinguish if there were any in the room or not, and, the very likely unwelcome visitor, if it was ** master,*® would suddenly retreat coughing and choking, his eyes running with water, while the cooly or coolies of whom he was in search were comfortably seated * Sitting on their * * hind legs was the description a Munich artist gave us ef a scene he witnessed at Kalutara, when a number of natives were looking on at an open-air theatrical performance.- — Kn. SCARCITY OF TOOLS, before described, without the slightest inconvenience^ If tf»e master missed a man from the working place, and went to tlie lines in search of him, on enter- ing the dark room, dazzled by the sudden change, and somewha* blinded with smoke, he would for sometime see nothirig. The cooly was w^dl aware of this, and would speedily clamber over the low partition wall, into the next room, and probably into several others, in suc- cession. Then peeping out of the door of his last landing, if ail was clear, he would make a bolt back to the working place, where, on the master’s return from his uucuccessful search, he would see him hard at work. Probably no questions would be asked, as the cooly w’ould be considered as having never left his "work. It would be a most useless to make strict in- quiry amongst the others of the gang as to the exact state of matters: it would either lead to a long list of falsehoods, or “ Teriya lUcilj ” “We know nothing about it.” They woiTc telT^n each other, unless there be some private spite, dislike, or quarrel, A very common trick used to be, to come to tnorning muster, without the pruning-kiiife, then, instead of going straight to work, they had to go back to the lines for their knives. The system now generally adopted of givipg out the priining-knives every morning at muster, and taking them in, wdien work is done, in the afternoon, has put an end to this subterfuge. T'he remark about pruning-knives was equally ap- plicable to all tools. The system was a promiscuous giving out of tools after morning muster, or ra her letting the coolies hdp themselves from the miscel- laneous heaps scattered about all over the store, the result being that few or none brought them back in the evening. When the bugle sounded at 4 p. m. to leave off work, the cooly would throw down bis hoe, and make off. Some w^ho bad good tools would hide them, so as to find them next morning. Next morn- ing they were absent, or perhaps ordered off to some other w'ork, and tim hidden tool was forgotten and lost. Sometimes when tools became very scarce, wq knew there were plenty on the estate somewhere; wo w^ould make a raid in search of them ; this was gener- ally once a month, befoie pay day. The rooms of the lines were all ransacked, searchers were sent OAit into the coffee, and any number of mamoties, axes, scrapers, Ac., found stowed away below logs, f under coffee trees, and sometimes even buried in the soft io »9e earth. Where the digging of drains or manure holes had been going on, this sort of thing was a great annoyance, and hindrance to the work. Tools were never to be got when wanted, it was useless ordering THE KANAKAPPILLAL off a man, or set of men fo any work, under the low ^ .. grumbling growl of “ Mametti Then cam i-* the I institution of the office "of '^canakappilloi, which « means literally the account-boy. IT^ had charge of 0/ / ^ the tools, wiiif'h he issued eveiy morning, taking down the names of the recipients, and at 4 o clock p.iin 4:#w when W'>rk was done, he was in waiting with his tool book at the store to take back all the morning’s i?sue. If any failed to deliver the tools issued to them in the morning they \^ere reported to the master to be dealt with as he might deem expedient. Ir was neces ary for the kanakappilJai to be a sharp clever writer, as it was often necessary for him to take jot- tings and notes with great rapidi;y. In despatching coffee out of the store, it might be to carts many miles off, he took down the names of all the men who were loaded and sent off with the coffee baas ; he then pro- ceeded down to the carts, and checked the delivery of the coffee there. If this was not done, we had no security that the coffee would be all delivered at the carts, thus : Suppose we sent off fiom the stores 100 bags, and the cartmen . came up and reported having only received 99 — how were we to lind out who the missing man was ? Not that there was much risk of him stealing or running off with coffee, the greater prol)ahility being that,~tinding himself unequal to the load, he would deposit it somew^here, and quietly lie dowm, or go home without saying a woi’d, so that we had to undergo all the trouble and anxiety of search- ing out for the missing bag, which would have been quite prevented, had the cooly briefly reported the ease at head-quarters ; hut no, he would not do that, the master might not believe him, would probably call him a lazy fellow, and stop his pay. Thus the great importance of cooly having confidence in their masters. Let the master be as strict as he likes, the cooly will never find fault with that so long as be is jiist. A cooly never finds fault with justice, even when it goes against himself. The kanakappillai had also to measure out rice from the store to the various gangs on an order froin the master. Ke also received arsd measured the rice when brought up by the coolies from the carts. This was & necessary check upon the coolie, for, if the certainty of this was not before him, he would be apt to purloin on th© road, leaving a few’ handfuls at I some wayside hut, having an equivalent in the shape of currystuffs, or perhaps aj^^raek. On some of these ]: measurements I have knoW^^'as^much as a quarter of d " J a bushe] short— -out of one — and no amoujit of threats could elicit any explanation as to wl)ere it had gone I to, or at most the bag was bad, it was badly sewn, or \ c ' CUMBLIES, there wa§ a bole in it, tbe rice bad fallen out. Of course this could not be permitted, and tbe deficient amount was charged against bis pay, but, wbat matter, fbe coolie had fcbe present use of its value, and, like all uncultivated people, they are but too apt to make a future sacrifice, for the sake of a present gratification, and it is not certain that this feeling is peculiarly applicable to coolies, for we meet with a go^ deal of it in more civilized life. The kanakappiBai was very useful in paying the men. He saved copper money or rather the use of it. Supposing a man’s pay was 8/7 — we paid him 8/6, and told him tbe kanakappillai had him written down for id. Soon with all the odd coppers. After paying was done, the master would sum up all the odd coppers due the coolies, and hand the total amount in rupees to the kanakappillai, desiring him to divide amongst them ; tlds he always did very exactly, and I never heard .any complaints . I on the contrary they always said they had been paid, but how so I never did properly understand. And it was the same way in issuing rice. We did not require small measures. We just measured out the total in bushels to the whole gang, directing or telling the people that the kanaka- pi llai would distribute correctly amongst the smaller measurements due to each — and this he always managed without causing any disputes or ill-feeling. So that thst tbe kanakappillai, if a sharp, honest and dever man, which they generally were, or they would not have been selected for the post, saved the master a very great deal of petty trouble, in fact did or maaged their little matters far better and more expeditiously than he could have done himself. But we are un- consciously lapsing into modern times and institutionsc In olden days, tbe bead kangani managed those things, managed them for his own interest, and mismanaged them to the loss of his master. The head kangani had also charge of the distribution of cumbliet. He was held responsible for their value, supposing they were issued through him He particularly paid tbe master for their value, say 28, each ; he would then let the account ruu on with the coolies, and even- tually charge them 2s. 6d, or Ss. each, he himself pocketing the difference. On this being sometimes brought to my notice, and on remonstrating with him on this extortion, his answer was fair and plausible :; — “Master holds me responsible for the cumbhes, or rather their value.. What if any one loses one, steals and «ells one, or rims away ? I must pay it. It is therefore only fair and just that I be fortified against any such losses. ” Let him alone for losses ! He took good care of that ; besides, if he did lose on rare occa- HOLING. sions the profits generallj realized by him amply made up for all or any such. Nothing was more common than for the head kangani to lament to his master on the losses he had suffered from a runaway cooiy, while it was more than probable his own extortionate demands, not his just debt, had caused the cooiy to bolt off, as his only chance of settlement ! The coolies of these times did not do nearly the amount of work that they get through now, although they received fully one-third more of a balance due than they do now. The work was also much deficient in quality. I have a very distinct recollection of my first experience in holing. We commenced tasking a raw set of incapables at twenty holes a day, eighteen inches deep. The first day they managed five or six. We kept them at work till dark, and got the length of seven ! The kangani was sent to a neighbouring estate, to satisfy himself that twenty holes was a very easy task, as there, on much more difficult ground, they were cutting twenty-five. This report had no effect. They did not care what other estates did, they could not do it. They were threatened with court ; “no pay, no rice” : all was of no avail, until at last one morning no one appeared at muster. On proceed- ing to the lines all was quiet. They were desolate, fires out, no inhabitants. The coolies had bolted dur- ing the night. It was in vain to seek them out. What was the use of them, wtth a hundred acres to hole, and within six weeks of the south-west mon- soon ? So, consulting with the Sinhalese contractor, we went down to the villages, and succeeded in procuring a number of Sinhalese, labourers at one shilling and one and sixpence a day. They worked very well for a week, and then asked for their pay, as they wished to go home, see their friends, and purchase rice — and would be back to work on Monday. This, being a very just and reasonable request, was granted. They went off, and never returned. There was nothing forti now but to take a trip down-country to try and getsome responsible Sinhalese man to take a comtract.. It was no use the master and conductor living on the estate without labour. So off we went to Gampola : we soon got a man who 'promised to do all tliVfc was required. He could undertake the holing of the clearing, but he must have twenty pounds, advance to bring <^ooiies. I knew nothing of the man, and asked for some securi- ty. The Sinhalese conductor and he then commenced a long talk, without which nothing can be done. However, the conductor persuaded me that he knew him, he was a “very g'od man,” &c. Knowing their characters as I do now, there was no manner ol d)ubt D BOLriNa AND CHEATING. that the conductor had received a bribe to gain over the maste»*. The money demanded was paid, the con- tractor and his men were to be on the estate in four days, and we were to have lines, rice, and tools all ready. At the appointed time he duly arrived — with six or eight men : but what matter ? Plenty more were coming.” He had merely brought the eight men to make a start and to convince the master that he was a strictly honourable man, and never told lies. “ All right,’’ says I. “When are they coming? Away you go, and bring them as fast as you can. The conductor a?id myself are surely enough to look after your eight men. ” But he did not go : he lingered about the veran- dah. Not being used to the customs of the people, I could not make out what was the meaning of this. How green we were in those days ! After some preliminary coughs, the conductor informed me, that he had got plenty of coolies, they were all ready to come, every- thing was settled, except some more advance, and he would now require thirty pounds more. And so the murder was out.” Perhaps he got it, or, what was more likely, he got the half of it. Affer the lapse of considerable time, you would first suspect, and then become painfully certain that the men had bolted. You were now down upon his friend and security, blit he also was bewailing his own loss. Had n’t- he lent him £5, and had not his wife lost all her jewels, for it* had just been found out that, before he went away, he had abstracted them from her box, &c. If you believed all this, your name was Mr. Jolly Green. The contractor and his friend are art and parr, and no doubt the latter has had his own share or pro- portion of the spoil. For it was the friend that first nitroduced him to the master, as being “ a very good man.” Having no wish to be particularly severe qn head kanganies and contractors for felling, it may not be out of place to admit, that extreme cases have been given, exceptionally bad ones ; it would be endless to enter into ail the tricks of the profession on a minor scale of petty rascalities ; their name was legion. There were, how- ever, many head kanganies and felling contractors that did their respective works, with credit to themselves and profit to their employers, provided all circumstances ran smoothly, and they were not exposed to any trying or peculiar temptations to dishonesty in any form. There were even a few who did their work, and did it honestly in spite of any moderate temptation to the contrary, but it might have been that they were not sorely tried. Chapter VI. '■f Coffee Picking and Cherry. — ^Floors, Walls and Roofs. As Mr. Brown and his conductor were waiting for the arrival of the coolies for morning muster, they were having some small talk inside the store. It was the latter end of October. The north-east mon- soon had set in ; it was cold, and a damp mist was driving through the gullies on the mountain rang# behind. They ought to pick two bushels now,” says the master, ** there is plenty of ripe coffee, but it is a bad day for making a trial of it.** * ‘There is plenty of rip© coffee, echoes the conductor, “ I * li make them do it. ” So, when the names were called, jliaeks and kutti sacks were issued to extra pickers ; k^yt was a cas'^ol" “ all hands to pick.*’ “Now,” saj^s ^ ^the master — “Now,” echoes the conductor — “if you don’t bring in two bushels yon will be put " .absent, mind that, and no mistake. Bring in one bushel at eleven o’clock and another at four. Off with you.” So off they go running singly, or in twos and threes, here, there, and everywliere, and in a few^ minutes nobody was to be seen. The system as at present practised of strictly picking in line regularly all over the estate wag not in use. It was consi- dered an expensive way of gathering, for did they not bring in far more coffee into the cherry-loft when allowed to pick where they liked ? Talk of heavy work in crop-time ! Why, it wag the easiest time of the year. The coolies were tasked in the morning as to the amount of coffee they were expected to bring in, and the remainder of the day was spent about the store and pulping-house. The con- ductor in the afternoon would give a statement of the progress of picking, where there was ripe coffee and where there was not, where there wa# lots of green coffee and when it was likely to be ripe. But he said nothing about bad picking or the quanti’ y lost, strewed on the roads, lying under the trees, or left to dry on the trees. There must have been an immense quantity of coffee lost in those times, not from want of labour, but from bad picking and a total want of all method in carrying on the work, and simply from the fact that more attention was devoted to the amount of cherry picked per man, than to the pick- ing of the crop. If, at four o’clock, a man’s bushel was a measure or so short, h© was ordered out to make up the deficiency : he went where he liked, made a grab at a branch, stripped it, ripe, half -ripe, and green ^ knowing that he would be checked for COFFEE-PICKma. bringing in unripe coffee, he picked out all the green and half ripe, threw the berries on the ground, and deposited the ripe in his bag, brought in his dt-ficient coffee to the pulping-house, bad his name marked do wo, and went his way, nor did it ever enter into the mind of the master, what the result of thia un- jnethodical forcing system was ; he bad got the full m^^asure nent required in the measure of fruit defici mt, and he had lost two by bad picking in tbe green and unripe picked out and thrown away. To such an extent was this system carried on, that it sometimes happened neighbouring bazar-keepers would offer a su'ti of money for leave to pick the dried coffee that had been dropped during crop, off the ground, of course after crop was over, and report sometimes said that these bazar-keepers, who, from some reasons or other, could make very certain of obtdning this contract used to 'quietly bint to the- coolies to drop as much> coffee as they could, for some private consideration* such as a small weekly supply of salt tish or chillies. The pulping-house itself 'was a mere shed, a roof of thatch supported on balf-a-di zen. woorien posts, with a cherry-loft on the top; no doors or looks rail stood open, and sharp coolies have be n known when cherry coffee was not pulped over night to purloin from the heap in the cherry-loft a bagful of coffee and bring it in a second time as newly picked. JN'o won- der that the parchment was short, or that the master was under the impression it had been stolen, when the measurement to despatching carts turned out so woefully deficient of what it ought to have been. If there was not enough room in the receiving cistern, th'» pulped coffee was shoved led out on the ground outside, heaped up. and old bags or mats covered over it to make it ferpient, being shovelled back into the washing cistern in small quantities to be washed up as time allowed, and yet I have known some of the highest prices procured for coffee that had received this treatment, which shews that it does not gvnerally ensue that extensive and expensive ru ping- houses and stores are necessary for the obtaining of good prices. When looking at the stores of tJie oiden times, what were they to our present ideas? Ihey were better fitted for spoiling coffee than curing it. A thatch roof, walls of wattle and mud, close plank doors and windows, mud floor on which mats were spread to receive the coffee, wet very probably, a raised plat- form in the centre, planked, on which the dried coffee was stored. There was no ventilation : on the contrary on the doors and windows being openeH there was often a damp musty smell. After the coffee was turned over, the whole of the store would be filled wbih a PULPING. musty smell and white particles of mould floating about. The coffee was very apt to, and often did, get quite mouldy. Take up a handful and you would see it white in the middle grain. It was generally a good deal cut in the pulping, and these cut beans got quite rotten and full of dry mu«tj so that on pinching them they were empfy, or somewhait of the consistency of rotten cheese. If the weather continued long wet these mouldy beans tainted the sound ones, and it would be wort li while now, if any of the old Colombo agents’ books are in existence, to compare the general average outturn of bushels parchment to a clean cw t. of coffee now, with what it was then. A great deal of skin and cherry was left in the parchment, which, of course, was difficult to dry, and spoilt it, a§ the haK-dried skin got m6uldy, and tainted all the parchment with which it came in contact ; coolies were employed on the drying-ground, picking out ail this skin and un- pulped berries : rather expensive work. The; pulper itself w^as a very original affair ; the old rattletrap, which has done such good service in its day, and on some estates is still in use, was an improvement on the older one. I have got a very indistinct recollection of it, but, so far as memory carries me back, a wooden drum wheel was attached to the end of the cylinder, and there was another drum wheel in connection with the sieve. Betw^een these two drum wheels, connecting them, was a band or belt, so that the machine was worked by turning the cylinder; these belts were merely slips of bullock skin, sewed together tight and then passed over the drums. After w'orking a little they w'ould stretch and come off, and then the pulping was all stopped in order to tighten and sew the belt. This was done by means of slips of the skin like a shoe tie passed through holes in the belt made by an awL In a box close by the pulper were kept these slips of skin, awds, needles, &c., all ready for use when required. I used sometimes to think that the pulping coolies purposely slipped the belt when they got tired of turning the pulper, in order to have a rest, but, be this as it may, the sewing of the belt geneially occupied as much time, or more, as the pulping. It was always an excuse whenever the pulper stopped that the belt was slack and required a few, holes taken in. When a bullock died on the estate, the skin was care- fully preserved and stowed awa}^ in the store as a reserved contingency against the requirement of belts in crop tiiue. A couple of coolies stood in the re- ceiving cistern with a hand wire sieve or sieves, passing i. all the coffee through them, as it came out from the pulper, and the quantities of “tails” was something enormous. I have heard of some^**bffio were so en- . r'x*- DBPEECIATION OF PRODUCE. cumbered with tails that, in order to get rid of them, they were periodically passed into the nearest stream, or they were heaped up out- iside to ferment, and, when rotten, in the spare time after crop, were put back into the cistern, tramped out, and despatched as inferior coffee, a htting name, often so discoloured and rotten as to be harHly worth the cart-hire, and yet the coffee amongst these skins being, of course, the largest size, as it did not or could not pass through the sieve, was the most valuable in quality had it not been spoilt in this system of fermenting. In some of the far inlying jungle ♦ states,, what an enormous item of expense was thatch for buildings. I have known a bundle of mana grass for thatch, which was as much as a cooly could carry, cost 3Jd. or 7d. each. Then every build- ing required some annual repairs in thatch. A large store or bungalow would probably require some thousands of bundles, and after it was put on during the dry season, a tearing wind from the north-east, before the thatch had settled down, would lay bare the big rafters or ridge-poles. In windy situations a framework of jungle sticks was sometimes put up lengthways and across along the roof to keep the thatch in position. This was all very well when the weather was dry, but during the rainy season these sticks intercepted the run of water and rotted the thatch, so that what was gained in one way was lost in another. Then, if a full thatching was considered unecessary, a new layer would be put on the top of the old : this latter, be- ing quite rotten, decomposed into a sort of earth, received and retained all the moisture, and added greatly to the weight of the roof, so that not un- frequently the rafters cracked and gave way under tile accumulated weight. I have no doubt on some of these estates the cost of thatch alone might have roofed the store over and over again with tiles. Who was the first inti’oducer of shingles They were unknown in these times. What a mess our bunp- tow used to be in during the periodical thatching time ! This occupied days, sometimes weeks, and during the process of thatching, if there came on a shower of * We recollect sending to the from Badulla, in December 1840, information on the management of a coffee estate, obtained from Sir William Reid, as the result of his experience in Demerara, In this paper the mode of making, and using, shingles was fully described„ But we should think the^ must have been already in use. — Ej), THATCHINa. rain, the mud floors of the bungalow would stand in pools of water. I quite recollect one night of being awakened by a heavy downpour of rain, when 'my bungalow was in progress of thatching, and •f getting some old talipot umbrellas conveyed over the top of the bed, to keep off the droppings. All seemed right for a time : but, on quietly falling asleep, I was somewhat astonished at again being awakened by a sudden deluge of water over my face. The talipots had not taken off the water i it had accu- rmulated upon them until the pools burst and came down on my face, with the concentrated force of a small waterfall. ' There was nothing for it but to get up, and look out for a dry corner, probably again to be disturbed before morning with a similar result. The floors of the bungalow and verandah were laid down — it was not considered necessary to be level — with pounded mud and gravel. This looked very well, also neat, when newly d >ne ; but by-and»by, as time wore, on, the pounded mud would get dry and loose, so that the floors were simply dry loose earth. Underneath the table, where the planter sat at his meals, a large hole would be excavated by the action of the feet. Also, where he sat at his writing-table, up and down the verandah, where he paced backwards and forwards, smoking his pipe and listening to the complaints of hia coolies, a pathway would be worn out of loose earth, and so on. So, it was judged necessary to have a. periodical repair of the floor of the house. This was done, weekly or monthly, by filling up the holes with sand, gravel and mud, pounding it in, and making all as level as possible ; after this a solution of cow-dung was washed on the floor. This was done on a dry day, and it soon caked and hardened. No unpleasant smell resulted from this, and the temporary effect was to give the house a neat and clean appearance • it also destroyed all insects, whenever they began to lodge in the dry loosened earth floor. The mud walls were also washed with this solution : it filled up all the holes, and cracks, and prevented the loosened pieces of dry earth from crumbling and dropping down it may be on tbe bed, couch, or writing-table and materials. This solution generally made a temporary clearance of insects with a propensity to leap. They leaped out of the house, taking shelter in the dry sand outside, merely to return again, whenever their old accommo- dation became more convenient. But the mosquitoes took refuge in the roof amongst the thatch, for in these days there was no ceiling. From this refuge, as evening began to draw in, they would descend in clouds and attack the inhabitant or inhabitants below ; but still we were net to be beaten, MOSQUITOJiiS. or rather eaten. We collected a quantity of dry cow- dung, put it in a heap on the middle of the floor, and set fire to it, blowing it well into a red glow. When once lighted it burns and simmers like charcoal, and gives forth a dense smoke. Shut all the doors and windows and let the smoke accumulate inside : this smoke searches into the thatch, and drives all the mosquitoes out, but they are just driven out of their refuges to die, and the bungalow is got clear of them for a time, but plenty more would shortly return to be dealt with periodically in the same way. However, we got a temporary riddance of the pest, blit at the expense of having all our clothes, furniture, bedding, &c., smelling of the cure, so that it was some- times questionable whether the bite of the mosquitoes or the smell of the cure was the worst. This cure for mosquitoes I first saw practised in Australia, where they used to adopt a somewhat similar course of pro- ceeding when milking a cow after “baling up.” They would light a fire of it under the animal close to where the man sat milking, which served as a protection to both man and- beast, as no mosquitoes would venture into the influence of the smoke. But what I have ever found the best cure and pre- vention of the plague of insects, both in the “ days of old” and in modern times, is to keep a good venti- lation of air through the house : they don’t like fresh air and wind. On going on any expedition, during those times, one invariably found the bungalow unin- habitable on returning, merely because the servants or rather the man left in charge considered the best way to take charge was to shut up the house and go away, which of course then got full of insects. It is odd that whenever any building gets into disuse for a few weeks, or lines are uninhabited, this plague of insects should so increase. Just let any one be bold enough to enter lines in which have been no cooly inhafttants for a fortnight, and let him tell the result. One would naturally suppose that, when human beings left the lines, the parasites would also leave, instead of which they seem to increase. CHAPTER VII. Difficulties in the Despatch of Coffee. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, the kanganies were dismissed from the bungalow, the names were put down, the check-roll and journal were balanced, Mr. Brown’s day’s work was done, and h© had the rest of the evening to himself. In a corner of the verandah stood a table, on which was a cracked tea- pot, with a broken spout, a white tea-cup without CARTAGE. a handle, standing in a blue willow pattern aancer, and a plate, in which was a quantity of cut cavendish tobacco. Beside the table was a chair balanced on three legs with one of the arms broken : close to the chair was lying a smoking fire-stick, just newly brought in from the cook-house, at which Mr. Brown had lighted his pipe and again laid it down for after use. It must not be supposed from this description of Mr. Brown’s refreshment that he was a teetotaller. Not he, but his beer was done, and the amount of his liquor in stock consisted of half -a- bottle of brandy stowed away in the cupboard* this must be kept as a stand-bj in case of any visitor or in event of his neighbour Jones looking in, to have a gossip. Mr. Brown was walking up and down the verandah smoking a pipe. Every turn he took he cast an anxious glance to the turn of the road, where it came in sight of the bungalow, occasionally looking at his watch. The t appal cooly ” {boy who went to the post ofiice for letters) was late. He bad left at 9 o'clock in the morning with letters to post, and was fully due in return with letters, if any, at 4 o’clock in the after- noon. Mr. Brown was muttering to himseb, ‘‘ I dl stop that fellow’s pay. I ’ll change the tappal man. “I’ll ” when suddenly round the corner comes troiting a smart active-looking lad, bale- legged, a white cloth round his waist, a blue ja< ket and a red turban round his shoulders; swung by a belt was a email tin oblong box, which, on arrival in front of the bungalow, he took off and handed to his mas er. “Well, you lazy fellow, what have you been about? It is five o’clock.” To which the' brisk reply was — whether true or not, it must be a cepted — “ Co- lombo tappal did n’t come till late, ” Mr, Brown still smoking opened the letter-box and took out one letter, it had the Colombo post-mark, and he knew the agent’s handwriting on the back. He opened the letter, which was a brief one, and read; — “Dear Sir, — We beg to advise you of having despatched tw^enty carts with half loads of rice, 250 bushels in all— carts bound to bring down return loads of coffee at 60 bushels per cart, in .all 1,200 bashds. We would beg to draw your attention to the importance of loading these carts as speedily as possible^ as great complaints are made by the cartmen that a number of ourjestates detain them for unreasonable periods, which often cause us an extreme difficulty in pro- curing cartage; besides you must be aware that it is cf importance to the proprieto r to have his coffee despatched and shipped at as early a period of the :Season as possible. — Yours truly, A. B. C. & Co.” Mr. Brown threw down the letter on the table and BAGS WANTED. walked up and down the verandah faster than ever. He was evidently disturbed. He then entered into the bungalow, went to the cupboard, and took out the half bottle of brandy, poured out some into a cracked tumbler, filled it up with water, and drank it off without stopping. He then sat down on the three- legged chair and apparently became more composed. It may be asked, what is there in this letter to upset Mr. Brown so? Why should not he be very well pleased at having a stock of rice sent up, and get- in g a ^ good despatch of coffee ? But the fact was, he had no bags in which to despatch the coffee, he had supposed and trusted that Messrs. A. B. C. & Co, would have sent by some o of his empty return bags, but was no intimation of anything of the sort. He had no bags. The carts would be here immediately — were perhaps already come up to the end of the cart- road, which was some miles off ) Mr. Brown suddenly called out: “Boy!^’ “Sar!” was the speedy reply emanating from a smoky hovel at the corner of the bungalow, and from a hole in the hut, which served as a kitchen, in answer to the call of “Boy!” out popped a grey-headed grey- bearded man, with a very dirty kitchen towel bound round his waist, quite naked in the breast and arms, and his hands very wet, which he attempted to dry by rubbing against the dirty towel. The fact is he had been disturbed while engaged in cooking his master’s dinner of salt-fish, curry and rice. “Boy,” says Mr. Brown, “is there any one in the kitchen?” “Yes, sar, Muttu, the cookhouse cooly.” “Send him down to the lines, and tell the kanganies to come up ?” In a few minutes the kanganies were all in front of the verandah. “Now,” says the master, I know quite well you have a lot of bags in the lines, Y^ou never returned any, after the last two rice issues; go down and collect, them all immediately . ” The kan- ganies protested, and swore by their eyes that there were none, and Mr. Brown swore by something else, that there were plenty, until at last he put on his hat, lighted his pipe, and went down to the line himself. First into one room, then into another, bags and remains of bags were found and tossed out of the rooms, bags that had been bags were found, and bags no more, but sewed up into nice comfortable sleeping mats, were also all seized hold of, until a goodly pile was accumulated in front of the lines, Mr. Brown, red in the face from his exertions, sur- veyed it* “Take them away to the store,” says he, “and we will put on coolies with needles and twin© ^o-morrow niorning to sew them all up, but we won’t MEASURING COFFEE, have half enough,” and he thoughtfully retraced his steps to the bungalow, lie slept over the difficulty. At morning muste ten good stout men were told of at once to proceed to Gampola, with a letter to some of the chetties for bags, failing which they bad another letter to a friend in Kandy, to which they were to proceed, for no ^ doubt the bags would be got there. They received in cash one shilling each for current expenses, and were promised an extra shilling each, provided they retur-o-ed within a certain period j it was a good spree for the coolies, and off they went with a will. In the meantime, the old bags recovered in the raid on the lines were being sewed up and coffee measured into them. A curious appearance they bad? black, white and brown patches all over, darnings with twine, so that li^tle at all of original bag was left. The cartmen came and stood by, while the coffee was being measured, shrugged their shoulders, and said it would turn out very short. Probably it would turn out very short, whatever way it was measured, [Being once plagued by a batch of cartmen refusing to take coffee, on the plea that the bushel was too close cut, by way of expei iment I allowed a double handful of coffee, extra, to each bag. That is, after the bushel was cut, an extra handful was put in, A note was made of this, and to my astonishment this turned out the shortest delivery in Colombo of any despatch however closely cut! The reason of this appeared to be, that the cartmen presumed on this extra allowance, and took too much: or rather the more you allowed them the more they purloined; however, there wej’e exceptions, as I have known carters deliver in Colombo more coffee than what they received on the estate, but possibly they had not taken full advantage of the liberal estate measurement: in fact, had not stolen enough !] After the lapse of five or six days, during the whole of which period Mr. Brown was in hot water the carters were constantly in front of his bungalow walking out after him, standing, and otherwise tormenting him. The whole despatch of coffee was loaded, but still Mr. Brown’s troubles were not over. The Colombo way-bill stated that £10 in cash, on account of hire, was to be paid the cartmen, on the estate, and there were not 10 coppers in the bungalow. Having fully explained this difficulty to the cartmen, they retired under the shade of an adjacent tree, and had a con- fabulation for some minutes ; they then returned, and said they would take a cheque on the bank in Kandy: there was only one bank then. Mr. Brown as startled : the idea of any one supposing that he COMMISSION. had a bank account, and could draw a cheque, was a novelty ; and, however reluctant, he was obliged to explain his position to the carters, who again retired and had another long talk. They again re- turned and said they would take an order on the Colombo firm, Messrs. A. B. C. & Co., and they would manage to get it cashed somewhere on their way down. The difficulty seemed cleared up, so Mr. Brown brought out paper, pen, and ink, balanced hiiiiself on the three-legged chair, and wrote : — “Messrs. A. B C. and Co., Colombo. Pay to Juanis Appu, or his order, the sum of ten pounds sterling, charging the same to the crop transport account of this estate, as per waj^^-bill No. 4. “Andrew Brown. “ Peela Tottam Estate, 10th Nov. 1844.” 1 his he read to the cartmen, who expressed themselves satisfied, signed the cart-note, and went off, and Mr. Brown internully ejaculated: “Joy go Vvith you.” Mr. Brown was just sitting down to his dinner : he was hungry, and in good humour, and had quite forgotten all the horrors he had endured from the cartmen, when he saw two heads peeping in at the door ; the heads were immediately with- drawn!, for the natives have generally as much polite- ness as not to disturb a man when be is eating, but he had seen enough to spoil his appetite : it was the cartmen, back again ! He laid down — not his knife and fork — his spoon ; went out and asked what was wanted now. The cartmen produced the money order that had been given them, stating that master had forgotten the commission. Master must be aware that the Kandy bank charged one per cent on Co- lombo orders, and therefore for this order for £10 they would have to pay two shillings, and tfeey wanted the cash. Mr. Brown declared he had not two shillings in the house, and said he must write out another order, when a bright idea seized him. *‘Boy!” he shouts out. “ Sar ?” is the echo. “Send down to the lines and tell the head kangani to lend me two shillings.” After a time the head kangani makes his appearance, to see whether or not the master’s message was true, for it might be a dodge on the part of the kitchen people to borrow for themselves. On Ixung told it was all right, and the exigency was great, he unrolled a piece of cloth from round his waist, and after about five minutes of difficulty unties a knot and from a quantity of rupees takes out one, and lays it on the table, which was handed to the carters, and again they take their departure. But Mr. Brown’s curry and rice are quite cold, and CAMEES’ TE/CKS. Ills appetite is gone. The next morning, on getting up, the first thing that met the astonished sight of Mr, Brown were the carters standing in the verandah. What,” says he, “not off yet ? What is wanted now f* Their reply to this query is ; “A bag of coffee short : in arranging the bags in our carts we found one was deficient.” -Mow Mr. Brown had counted all the bags in the store himself two or three times over, and he was quite certain they were correct. The head kan- gani had also counted at the carts, and pronounced them all right. He swallowed a cup of hot tea that scalded his throat, left the piece of roti (rice bread) un- tasted, muste ed the men, called the roll, and de- spatched them all to their various works. “Now,” says he to the eartmen, “ come on : I am going down to the carts to unload the coffee and have the bags all counted,” So off they go. The half of the loads are taken out of the carts, and counted, the other half counted in the carts, and so on, all right, until, on reckoning the contents -of the las% Mr. Brown sud- denly paused in a thoughtful manner : there evidently was a bag short. To make perfectly cer lain, he went into the cart ; he groped all about, gave a bundle of paddy straw lying in the back corner a kick with his foot, and lo, underneath this bundle was the miss- ing bag. This was pointed out to the astonished cart- men, whom he began to abuse. They in their turn abused each other, and all their female relations : it was nobody’s faulb. But Mr. Brown seemed to have some doubts on the subject, and told them to be off ; they were a pack of scoundrels. 'ibe question is. Did the eartmen beli^^ve there was a bag short, or was this a trick in order- to procure an -extra bag ? It ever will remain a mystery ^ the former •supposition is possible, but the latter the more prob- able. In due course the -coffee w;ts delivered in 'Colombo twenty -four bushels short, or about two per cent on ibe originai measurement. Messrs. A. B. C, .& Co. advise Mr. Brown that the cariers have complained bitterly of being deta ned on, the estate, thatfihey had no rice for th mselves, or food for their bullocks, ^nd that instead of getting th<> cash they were promised, payable on the estate, they wevt‘ given a slip of paper for which nobody v oiiid give them cash (the said sbp of paper had be* n dul^ endorsed and cash-d): they were obliged to sell souieof the coffee to pay tod.«, and pr('VTde food for tlicmselves and caitle. They further advise him, that, in event of any further complaints of this description, they will be under the unpleasant necessi- ty of dispel sing with his se vices. Poor Mr. Brown : Le lad v ciked haid and OLue his best, none under- E BANK BUSINESS. the circumstances could have done better, and he had expected to have recei ved some complimentary notice of it, possibly it might lead to a rise of screw,” after the crop was off, but no chance of that now. He may consider himself lucky if his services are not dispensed with. Mr. B»ow'n was very down-hearted: even the tappal cooly noticed it, and the dirty man in the kitchen with the grey beard th<^ next morning remarked to the kitchen cooly that the brandy bottle in the side- board was ‘‘ quite done,.” In these days the bank in Kandy cashed the simple written order of the superintendent on the Colombo agency. When the snperintentent wished to pay his coolies, he went to Kandy, stood at the counter of the bank, took pen, ink and paper, and wrote: — “ Messrs. A.B,. C, & Co. pay to the order of the Orient- al Bank the sum of five hundred pounds, on account of such and such an estate ” The money was immediately counted out, less 1 per cent commission,, and he took it away. Of course the superintendent Vi ho did this was known, as a man of some position and character. I think the Colombo agencies advised the bank of the superintendents who were to be- trusted in this way. After the great mercantile crashes of 1847-48, the banks became more strict in the way of transacting this business ; they even were chary about a Colombo cheque. What if the house had stopped payment be- fore the cheque reached Colombo ? So about that time commenced a system of the Colombo agency sending the superintendent a letter of credit from the^ Colombo bank ; they had paid in the money there,, and received an order for the amount on the branch office in Kandy, so that the latter was perfectly secure, in paying out the money. Piles of rupees^ stood on the bank’s counter, and the shroff with a tinu stick sepnrated from the lot the required amount ;■ it was never counted, hut just shovelled into the bag . Coolies were in waiting in the verandah, we tied up- the bags, sometimes sealed them, lifted them on the heads of the coolies, took them to the hotels ordered the horse to be saddled and brought round, and pro- ceeded on onr way. It was one per cent commission on Colombo cheques and ord<^rs then, and it must havcost the banks a gool deal, getting up specie by the old coach. In a few cas^s — to the credit of superintendents, however, very few — this liberty of drawfing on the Colombo agency was abused : they drew the moiit}’’ and absconded from the country ; it raay he also that they drew money, and used it for private purposes, which they had no right to do^ without asking leave; CARTERS AGAIN. The whole system was lax and loose, and it says a good deal for the character of superintendents, that as a rule, so few cases of dishonesty took place. Mr. Brown having fnlly considered the unpleasant letter he had received from Messrs. A. B. C. & Co. deter* mined to write them the full and true circumstances of the case, relative to the detention of the carts, which he did, and in due coui*se received a reply, exonerating him from all blame in the matter, ex- pressing their regret that he had been put to so much trouble and i neon ver- inn ce, enclosing a wa^^-bill for 500 return bags, loaded in two carts, bound to bring down coffee ai current rates ; they hoped these bags would enable him to send off the balance of his crop, with despatch, that their Junior, Mr. C., would be up-country in the course of a few days, and would inake''a pdint of visiting Mr. Brown, and inspecting the estate. In due course the bags arrived, and, on the cartmen being asked how much coffee they would load, their reply w^as, their bullocks were sick, and they neither could nor would take any. This again involved a trip for Mr. Brown to the end of the cart- road, to inspect the cart cattle ; he found them all fat, sleek, and shining, and no appearance of nny sick- ness at ail ; the cartmen then declared their feet were sore. Mr. Brown looked at their feet, but could not ;See anything the matter. The cartmen however de- clared the mahatmaya knew nothing at all about cat- But it WOtrltt llOIT'flo : if tliey refused to take cofifee, he would send to the police office and give them in i Jf charge. Then they asked what the hire was, to which .«»i*'the reply was, sevenpence per bushel. The answer to ^ i this was brief but very expressive to one who knew JU a little of the language: it was simply ‘‘ Bae ” ; they were giving ninepence ' 10 miles down-couff^y . Mr. Brown said he did not care what they were giving there, it was a question of what they w^ere paying V here. So he calls a cooly, writes a note on the leaf of his po'ket-book, and sends it off to his nearest neighbour, Mr. White, about four miles off, asking him what he was paying for despatching his coffee. After the lapse of some hours, Mr. White’s reply ernes stating that he had sent off 200 bushels yesterday at sixpence. “Now,’’ says Mr. Brown, “you seel have offered you one penny per bushel more than I ought to have done, more than the current rate, and j you have kicked up all this row, and told me a parcel j of lies. I refuse to give you sevenpence, and six l ence it shall be.” The cartmen, seeing they were fairly caught, and that Mr. Brown was not to be “done brown,” briefly replied “ Hondgyi/^ On his return from the cart road, accompjimeaty the cartmen, he STOEE COOLES. found tlie head kangani had measured the coffee and they had commenced to sew up the bags ; the cart- men wished to see a bag measured, wldch was done, and found to be half-a“meas^ir^" short ; another bag wag picked out and found one measure sliort. The cart- men grinned and Mr. Brown was furious. The kan- gani looked fo dish. Empty all that coffee into a heap and measure it over again, ” shouts Mr. Brown. When it was done, it was found to be one bushel too much ! A nice pack of fellows yon are to measure coffee ; are nT you ashamed of yourselves ? Call yourselves s^ore-tuen, and can’t even measure coffee.” The storemen said nothing, but took some be 'el oui of their waist-cloths and put. it into their mouths, You ’re at that again,” cties Mr, Brown, “ have n’t I ordered yo^l not to eat betel in the store, spitting all over the floor and bags ? ’ and Mr, Brown, being now fairly roused, seized hold of the roller for cutting the bushel, and vigorously applied it on the shoulders and backs of the store coolies^ There was a general rush, and Mr, Brown, the head kangani, and the can men were left ab>ne. They under- took to measure the coffee, and Mr. Brown cut the bushel himself. After some tiose, first one head and tli' n an- other peeps into the store, then they slowly come in, and by the time the coffee is measured the store coolies are all standing in a group awaiting their fate. They fully expected to be m»rked absent and get no pay for the day ; but the exertions of cut ing the bushel had cooled the master down. He threw down the roller, and said quite calmly: “Sew up the bags.” The coolies knew the storm was over 5 th^ y brought out needles and twine, and were soon settled down all over the tops of the bags sewing away in silence. Not a word was spoken. They knew from past experience that a mere trifle would again raise the storm. How observant cocxlies are, and don’t they know the master, and all his wavs. They are whisper-^ ing one to the other ; “ Don’t speak,” CHAPTER VIII. Disagreeable Financial Experiences. It is well on in the afternoon, and Mr. Brown is standing behind the weeders on a hill face well up the clearing, and sees cantering up to the bungalow, followed by a horsekeeper, a gentleman dressed in jungle rig-oiit. He loses no time in descending the hill, for he surmises, and that correctly, that this is none other than “our Mr. C. ” The meeting of the two gentleman was extremely courteous and THE VISITING Afe^ENt. polite; There was no stable on the estate, so Mr. C/s horse was sent down to the store, in a corner of which he was comfortably tied up, a cooly was orderd out to cut a bundle of grass, and Mr. O.’s horse- keeper had the horse-feed of paddy and gram tied up on his back. Mr. C., after stating that his time is limited, says lie will look over a part of the estate this afternoon, and the other portion in the morning. He said nothing all the evenings but talked on miscellaneous subjects, and the next morning was up and dressed before Mr. Brown. This may be accounted for by his bed being none of the best: it was merely a couch in the sittingroomt He complained of having slept badly, and that it was .very cold, and wished he had had another blnnkek Bid he know that Mr. B. had no spare blankets, and the very one he had slept under was taken off his own- bed, Mr. Brown himself had been cold, very cold, but of this he said nothing. During their walk over the estate, Mr. C. occasion- ally stopped, took out his note-book, and wrote down something. He said little, and Mr. Brown was quite puzzled : he could not make out whether he was pleased, displeased, or indifferent. Mr. C. had put on, or perhaps it was natural to him, quite a stoical, cold, hard, indifferent look. The store was the last object of examination, or rather its contents. It was all duly noted down in the little pocket-book : how much had been picked, how much despatched, and an approximate guess made at what was left in the store. They reached the bungalow about 11 o’clock for breakfast. The boy had used his master’s name and credit, and had purchased from the head kangani a half-grown fowl, for which the master was pledged to pay six shillings. This was roasted, a few slices of salt-beef were fried, and this with a good pump- kin curry was considered quite a swell breakfast, and as much as any visiting agent could reasonably expect; at all events a superintendent upon £8 6s. 8d. per month could not reasonably be expected to pro- vide anything better. Mr. Brown had the forethought to send an ex- press coolie off after morning muster, to try and borrow a couple of bottles: of Bass from Mr. Jones, this gentleman had only one bottle in his house, but, with true planters’ liberality, and knowing from his own personal experience the exigency of the case, I he sent it. During breakfast Mr. C. was asked if he would take beer, which he said he would. Mr, Brown preferred fast would make him sleepy for hia afternoon’s work^ INCREASE OF SALARY. and he had to go to the very top of the hill. He knew very well one bottle of beer was not enough fot* two, and if he took a glass — what if Mr. C. should ask for another bottle ! So he practised a little self-denial, told a harmless fib, and said he ‘‘preferred tea. ” Mr. C. made a mental note of this preference ; really Mr, Brown was a very sensi- ble fellow. After breakfast, Mr. C. settled him. self on the three-legged chair, stretched out his legs, and lighted a cigar. Mr. B. balanced himself on the window-sill and smoked a pipe. There was silence for some time : it was broken by a remark from Mr. C. : — “If your calculation of coffee in store is correct, you seem to have secured rather more crop than we expected. ” After this remark, Mr. Brown took courage. He stated he had been now some time on the estate, that his pay was small, quite insufficient for any little luxury : in fact, it was all he could do to make ends meet ; and that the firm, when they engaged him, had held forth prospects of a rise of pay. Mr. C. knocked the ash off the end of his cigar, on the toe of his boot, coughed, threw the end of his cigar away, rose up, and said : — “The estate is very weedy.” He then looked out, and feared it was going to rain. He ordered his man to bring round his horse. When the horse was at the door, he shook hands with Mr. Brown, and said : — “ On my return to Colombo, I will consult wdth Messrs. A. and B. as to your request for an increase of pay, and will let you know. Get down those weeds as fast as you can” — and Mr, C. went on his way. After the lapse of a week or two, the tin box again delivered up a letter from Messrs, A, B, C. & Co. : it just hinted in the usual business stjde at our Mr,. C. s visit to the estate, and that Mr, Browffis request; for an increase of pay had been fully considered, the result of which was that, from the 1st proximo, he might put his monthly salary down at £10, and they hoped the weeds were now well down. Mr. Brown crushed up the letter in his hand, went into the house, and lay down at full length on the couch on his back, with his hands under his head. He lay thus, motionless, for a considerable time ; he then got up and walked up and down the verandah muttering to himself : — “They might have done it handsomely when they were about it : they might — they might have made it £12 10s. Tliey might have said £150.” After half- an -hour’s walking up and down tbe verandah, he quite cooled down on the subject for he said : — “They might have given me the sack for those weeds : at all events I am better A- PLANTING- VISITOE. off than JoneSj for they have told him, if he is not pleased with his pay, he can leave.” Mr. Brown be-' gan to feel quite cheerful. Who knows, ” thinks he, I could only get down those awful weeds, but I might get ^next year.’” So, like the pro-' pnetor, the superintendent under all his difficulties looks forward to and consoles himself with bright prospects for next year. I wonder if it isV' so with the cooly. I rather- think not his time is the pre- sent. When Mr*. Brown came in to his breakfast^ one morning, at 10 o’clock, he w’as somewhat startled at seeing the three-legged chair occupied. ‘ ‘ Hallo, Robertson, is this you? Very glad to see you come at last, after having promised so long.” Mr. Robert- son held out his hand, but said iiothiog p he put his chin between his hands, his elbows on his knees, and sat gazing into the verandah, quite absorbed, as if he saw something crawling on the mud floor ; perhaps he did not likely notice anything, however, unless he felt it, for his thoughts were afar. At last it all came out. Mr. Robertson had got the ‘‘sack,” and had left the estate. Of course he was a very ill- used man. Messrs A. B. C. & Co. had used him very^'badly. It was a very long story, and there seemed to be no end to it. Mr. Brown nodded and said yes and no occasion?^lly, bnt he said to himself,, ‘ ‘ I expected this long ago, I wonder it did not ’ take place sooner. It was now Mr. Brown’s turn to be- come quite absorbed. When he said he was very glad to see Robertson, he was under the impression he had come on a frienrlly visit for the day, but now circum- stances*vrere quite altered. Mr. Robertson was evidently come for some indefl’dte period of stay. He had lost his situation, he had no money, and there was little likelihood of his procuring another place soon. Mr. Brown was a good haud at arithmetic, and he mentally calculated that his increase of^ pay, £20 per annum, was £1 13s.. 4d. per month — ^a sum quite insufficient to keep a visitor, but he became rather ashamed of him- self, at the sordidiK view his mind had taken of the subject, and endeavoured to banish it altogether, but it would crop up. “Breakfast ready, sar,” says the boy — and down they sit. An apology is made for the poor fare : rice and pumpkin curry — no, it was plan- tain, Mr. Robertson humbly submitted anything was good enough for him ; he had^no appetite. However it just required a beginnings for he. ate a great deal more than Mr. Brown. After breakfa-t, he helped himself to tobacco out of the plate on the tab'e, as he had forgotten to bring his own, and it was not worth while going back for it, He lay in bed until very late in the day : indeed,. BECOMING SEGUE /Tr. very frequently when Mr. Brown came in to his breakfast at 10 o’clock he was not up, or just dressing. He used Mr. Brown’s combs, brushes, and razor, and his basin, soap, and towels. When he did dress it was merely a flannel shirt and trousers, very often neglecting tbe stockings, for Mr. Brown’s slippers, which he occasionally used, were very soft. If he did not use them, he was not particular and went about the verandah bare-footed. After the lapse of a few weeks Mr. Brown begged to have some serious conversation with him. He told him, he would never get -a place lounging about here, and that really he ought to stir up, go about and make inquiry. Mr. KolDertson said he had written to several people and had got no reply. “ Well, ” says Mr. Brown in a very sharp way, “before taking my paper and postage stamps you might have asked me, or at all events told me you had taken them, ” He felt sorry after saying this, as Mr. Robertson meekly replied: “Don’t strike a man when he is down. ” The result of this brush was, that he borrowed £1 from Mr. Brown, and the next morning started to walk to Kandy. After resid- ing some time at the hotel in Kandy the bill was presented, and it was asked to lie over, as there were no present funds. The hotel-keeper asked if he had no friends or reference, and Mr, Brown’s name was mentioned, so Mr. Robertson wrote to Mr. Brown, explaining the little difficulty. Would Mr. Brown write and become security ? It was only a little nominal ^affair, to satisfy the hotel-keeper. He had every prospect of obtaining a situation, and he would never be called upon to pay it. He would do as much for him any day. 8o Mr. Brown wrote, and became security. Some months past away and all was forgotten, when one afternoon Jones looked in, and said : — “ Have you heard of the death of poor Robertson? He bad gone down to Colombo very seedy wdth dysentery, where he died.” Just then the tappal coolie arrived, and there was a letser from the hotel-keeper in Kandy. He mentioned, Mr. Robertson had left without paying his bill and had since died in Colombo, that he had made inquiry if there were any effects but there was no thing, absolutely no- thing, that a subscription had been raised to bury him. The hotel-keeper further mentioned that he never wmuld have taken him in, and lodged him for so long if it had not been for Mr. Brown’s security, and he now begged to enclose the bill, requesting an immedi- ate settlement. The bill amounted to £19 7s. 8d. The two gentlemen had a long consultation that even- ing as to wffiat was to be done, the result being that MOEE BILLS. there could be only one thing clone, and that was to pay the account : they knew perfectly well the hotel- keeper would take no excuse, and no legal excuse could be otfued. Mr. Brown had not nineteen pence. So he sat down and wrote the whole statement of the c ay it with, but the answer always was, “No hurry : any time will do ; perhaps you may be wanting something else before long” — and the result was that he did want, or fancied he wanted, something else, and bought it. It was thus that Mr. Brown; with- out meaning it, or rather unwittingly, got into, or rather was seduced into, debt. A few days after Mr. Brown had settled his security for Mr. Robertson Mr. Solomons sent in his bill, amounting to somewhat about £20. Along with the bill he wrote a polite letter, stating that he had met with some heavy losses, and had a promissory note for a large amount to meet in a few days, and a remittance would highly oblige. Now if Air. Brown had had the money he would have paid it at once : he was a quite correct man in business matters, but as he could not pay it he folded up the letter and bill, endorsed it “ Solomons, Kandy, £20, unpaid,” and put it away on file amom^st a number of other papers, very prob- ably unpaid accounts also, and entirely dismissed the subject from his mind. This was the way Mr. Br )wn seitled (however temporary) his accounts : a method it must be confessed much more agreeable to himself than it was to Mr. Solomons. A shadow now appeared to darken the window. On going out to see what it was, a i^or rather the bazar- man was seen standing in the corner of the verandah. ( Jn asking him what he wanted (Mr. Brown knew very •v^well, or hid a very good guess, what was warned) the . ^jL^|ll,|eply was * ‘Summa. Swjjma vandura^^ — “Nothing, for nothing ” — to whicKT^frTTBrw very prompt- ly replied “ Summa tmt he did not po — which - means in English go. On the country he stood still, put his hand into his waist-cloth, which bulged out ^donsiderably, and took therefrom handful after handfull «|v^i small pieces of paper which he laid down pieces 01 paper wnicn ne laia aown on the table. /Mr. Brown seeing he was fairly in for it, sat down, took pen and paper, and read off the pieces of paper: — A bottle of oil — how much — 7d. — marked down the amount; coconuts, salt-fish, curry stuffs, and it would be endless stating all I he small items, which were read off ; the bazar-mnn stated the price, until they were all gone over. Now these small pieces of paper were prders given by Mr. Brown, for articles used in the cook- THE DHOBI. house. His senrfiiit always duly represented to Inio what he required, and an order on the ba,zar-man. was given for ti em, and these were the orders now brought up for settlement. When the orfiers Wrre all gone through, everything written down with the price attached, the sum told was added up, and foond to amount to £4 10s. Mr. Brown then took a large piece of paper and wrote down Karuppen Chetti — I owe you four pounds and ten shillings. Andrew Brown, “10 11/45.’^ This paper he gave to the bazar-man, who held it in his hand in a sort of stupid astonishment, before he had recovered from which Mr. Brown had collected all the small orders lying in a heap on the table, taken them into the cook-house, and burnt them. The bazar-man at last said r What is this paper ? ” and was^ told of its contents. ‘ ^But, ” says he, ‘ ‘I want the money, ” the reply to wdiich was: “Come on pay-day and so the bazar-man went away slowly with his head hanging down, intently examining the piece of paper. But, as if he could read it, or rather as if he were reading it, he walked slower and slower,, and at last stood still,, and put the piece of paper very carefully into his^ cloth. Before he was well out of sight the head kangani made his appearance, and stated that master’s servant had bought a fowl from bim some time ago, for the ‘ ‘ periya durai’s ” dinner. Mr. Brown asserted e had not’^Tm-goTSeiT the circumstance. The kangani required payment, the price was six shillings, master’s ‘ ervant h 'd bought it for this price. On calling the servant this statement was confirmed, although Mr. j^.lBrown dit^clired it was a swindle altogether, and that .^^"l^%hree shillings was enough. The kangani was firm, such was the bai’gain. So Mr, Brown sat down at the table and wrot»‘ out an order on Karuppen (^hetti to pay the kangani ^ix shillings on his acoount ; this he delivered to the kangani, told him to run off as fast as lie- eotild, he would soon overtake the bazar-man, as he had not gone many minutes. This the kangani did:: he required no second telling, and as he did not return it was correctly concluded that he had over- taken the bazar-man and received his six shillmiis. i^gain the window is darkened, and a tall black man,, bare legs and shoulders, with a very bulky load on his h‘"ad, wrapped up in a sheet, stands in the verandah. The load seems too big for the man, he is top-heavy, but it, is not so heavy as it looks — • this is the dhobi or washerman, # who has brought, his master’s clean clothes., The bundle is taken inside, a |;)Ook is produced, and the clothes all laid down MR. WILDGOOSE. in order on the bed, and counted. Of course th*"i*e are various articles deficient, and some others that do not belong to Mr. Brown. Afiera great deal of squabbling the dhobi promises to bring the missing articles in a few days, to take back the articles that do not belong to him, and have them exchanged, but. m the meantime wishes his pay. He was going to Gam pol l to buy soap, starch, and soon, and he must have his money. Mr Brown takes a pencil, makes a calculation, and informs the dhobi that he has nothing to get until he brings the mi ssinij clothes and exchanges the old ones that don’t belong to him for what do. The washerman was obliged to acknowledge the statement as being just and reason* able, and took his departure, and so Mr. Brown got out of his difiiculties; but he was well aware all this sort of thing was only temporary. The creditors would be back again, and every time they came back the would be less easily dismissed. So Mr. Brown thought a go' d deal over these subjects : at last a bright idf'a struck him. A young man over the ridge had newly come out from England to learn coffee planting under an old stager. Mr. Wildgoose was flush of money, his “governor” was rich, he merely intended to stay with the old stager until he had lenmed a little about coffee planting, and then the “governor” was going to give him money to buy a piece of land for himself. Meanwhile Mr. Wildgoose devoted almost the whole of his time to shooting. It was all the same what he shot : if he could not get an elk or deer, be shot perroquets and squirrels. He was an enthusiastic sportsman, or rather promiscuous: he always shot something. Mr. Wildgoose had often envied Mr. Brown’s double-barrelled gun, and asked if he would sell it, but he would n’t. N'-cessity works wonders Mr. Brown sat down and wrote Wildgoose: “Yon can have the gnn for £2d : terms £10 cash, cheque for £10, and imm'^diate payment.” A eooly was despatched with the tiote, and brought back the reply, wiutten on a coffeu leaf, “ I ’ll take it and be over to-morrow. ” The plan of writing on a coffee leaf was adopted, when writer bad no pencil or paper in his pocket, and w’as thus : on the soft under Side of the leaf, scratch so as nut to perforate it; a pin or point of a knife wdl do, failing which a sharp splinter from a log wi’l do. T‘ e writing, when newly done, is invisible, but in a shirt tim3 the writing gets dark brown, and is as discmctly 1 giblu on the green as ink on paper. Mr. Wildgoose did come over with 'ds p.oekets filled with bullets and his flask with powder. They got hold of an uhl door, placed it against a bank behind the bungalow, 70 yards oiF, and commence amusements. »ltiootmg, to try the gun. They shot all the foren oon, until the door was like a riddle, and Mr. Wildgoose » shoulder was so sore that be declared he would not be able to mark the check-roll that evening, and the gun was so dirty that he could not ram down another bullet took the gun and forked out the cheque for £10 and tbe cash for the other ten, and took his departure. Mr. Brown sat down and enclosed the cheque to Mr. Solomons as part of tbe payment of his a' count, and received a polite reply from that gentleman, noting having placed it to his credit, and reqiiesting the pleai-ureof his future orders. He was going to turn over anew lei^, and save, live on cui'ry and rice, and let his fi itnds laugh at him as they like. He seiit for the b'lzar-man, and settled his accounts. He even paid the dhobi th ^ next time he came, and oth r sundry small bills, after \%hich he found that toere were a few pounds left. This he put in a bag, tied it tight, and locked it up. CHAPTER IX. A Planter’s Amusements : Junule Lim. Mr, Brown had finished his morning coffee and roti, and he looked out from the end of the verandah. The mist was tumbling down thr >ugh the mountain gorge. It settled in all the valleys below ; there was no sign of its rolling upwards. A thick settled rain had set in, and evidently had determined to make a ■day of it, perhaps two or three. The kang^ nies came up from the lines and represented tha: it was im- possible to work, which representation was assented to, and they were dismissed, W1 at was Mr. Brown to do with himself all day ? His check-rolls and ac- counts were all done up, his books had been read so often that it was needless his again turning over their le ives, his newspapers were n. w no longer, they were old papers. It wsl^ evid ntly going to be a very dull day — hut it wasn’t. Jr. Jones comes running into the verandah N'ith a gun in each hand over t *e lock of one uas tied his handkerchief, and over the other an old stocking. He wiped the guns, put them inside the do r, and s.dd: “There sre elephants out in the top clearinQ-.” Just then the mist gave a most obliging roll off; they looked up and .-aw an elephant standing quite mo ionless at : he •e Ige of the jungle. There h-) stood; sometimes Ms trunk would curl up, and agin be let down, or he would wag to and fro his ears ; would give a dap occasionally, but his body was steady. Thore be stood ; ELEPHANT-HUNTIJfa had come out of the jungle to avoid the dripping wet from the trees. Now, Mr, Brown was not much of a sportsman, at events as regarded elephants: he did not see any use in risking his life, and calling it sport: not he, and he told Jones so. So Jones, who was very much excited, began to taunt him. “ Afraid, eh? Well, you a slow fellow. I wish Wildgoose was here.” This wafe enough. Mr, Browm said : “Give me hold of that gun.’* They examined the primings, capped the nip- ples, and j)ut some oiled cloth over them to keep them, dry, then sallied forth up the hills, but, when they came to the place, the elephant was gone. “He can’t be far off, * fays Jones, “we will track him. up in the jungle. So they entered the jungle on the elephant trail, J ones first ; the nilu underwood was like a wall on each side of them, there could be no escape through it: if the elephant charged them, they roust run straight back on the trail. Brown again remonstrated, but Jones was firm. After cautiously proceeding about fifty yards in, Jones, who was. first, suddenly stopped and held up his hand over his shoulder. They then both peered through the leaves, and there was the elephant standing about eight or ten yards off. The elephant evidently knew there was somebody about; he was motionless, and »eemed listening; perhaps he smelt them:, there was. BO time to be lost. Jones presented and fired, there was a loud shrit k, not unlike a sharp railway whistle,. » crash, and a rush, Jones turned for the other gun, ftud saw Brown running off as hard as he could, so, it was no use his standing there without a gun, he followed him. Mr. Brown, thinking the elephant was after him, just ran the faster, until they both came out into the clearing. “A nice fellow you avretogo elephant shooting with,” says Jones, “ If you would run, why did you not shove the gun into my hand first ?” After they had composed themselves and loaded the gun, .lones propo ed to go after the elephant, but Brown said he would not,. Jones told him to wait and he would just go a little w^ay in and have a look. On coming to the spot where he had fired, he found some blood, so he went further in on the elephant’s trail, but found no signs of him. There was no saying how far he might have rushed aiter receiving th*' shot,, and whether or not he died from the effects of it wa^ never proved. So Mr.. Jones came back, and they both retraced their steps to the bungalow.. On arriving there they found Mr. Wild-- ■ goose also with his gun, and two or three starved huEgry-looking dogs. He had. come over to ask them. to coipe down to the chenas below and try and ji red deer, there were lots of them there : go, having sorking place and reports everything to the sub-kang inies, v/ho in their turn told the coobes» The work row all begins to get slack, and nobody seems to do anything. I he head kangani and a few of his favourites go off to the lines, the others sit down and commence to chatter. In the course of the afternoon Mr. Brown visits the working place, but, as be could not tell where they had com-^ menced to work in the morning, he culd not tell how much or what had been done : he t(^ok the kaugani^s word for it, and went away. An old estate proprietor once said to me, “I highly approve of planters meeting together occasionally in a friendly social way. The one receives information from the other, and a little genial society occasionally i3 needful and necessary, but I do object to those ‘spreads and sprees’: they are injurious to all parties concerned. The giver of them spends his money, with- out getting any reasonable or permanent satisfac-^ tion for it in any way ; just the reverse, for it may be doubted if even his guests think any the better of him for his hospitality. The guests are certainly generally the worse of them ; they have not the same interest or clearness of perception in the works under their supervision ; the next day they feel used up and ‘ seedy.’ The coolies know all about it, and take advantage of it. It is very probably reported in the lines : ‘ There is a great dinner over the way to-night. Master is going, he won't be back till late to-morrow, and perhaps will not come lo work at all.’ The pro- prietor is the chief sufft-rer, he suffers in pocket. The day’s work is not sufnciently done, or is done badly. The superintendent finds it out after v\ards; and quar-; rels with the people for it, perhaps s' ops their pay, creating grei^t dis-ratisf action on pay-day,” Perhaps fchii| SALAFIES. ‘ atement was a little overdrawn, but tlie first two Leas are quite correct. It must not however be as- . amed that this ant^cdote of Mr. Wildgoose’s ‘ spread’ was a sample of planting iifa. As a rule, mmy of the planters were hard- working men, according to the light of the times. 'I'hey had little comforts, no luxuries. Their houses were simply miseiable; they had little socie' y, no amusements^ The result was, that when they went to Kandy, and any one gave a dinner, and there was any reaction from th ir dull routine of life, they generally made the most of it, in a temporary spree. One great drawback in the old planting days, was the want of go )d wholesome substantial food. No man can keep up his st .mina long on curry and rice. In many cases the small pay given to superintendents was a positive cruelty and quite calculated to make the recipient lose all self-respect. Fifty pounds a year, and keep up the position and standing of one in charge of two or three hundred coolies. Absurd ! The superin- tendent had to choose between two evils : either to live so very low as would eventually ruin his health, and send him off to die of dysentery in Colombo, like Mr. Eobertson, or to run into debt at a Kandy store, as Mr. Brown did at Mr. Solomons'*. The small pay inducing penurious living on the part of the planter tended to lower him and his p ssition in the estima- tion of tile coolies, apart altogether from cooly nature; it is human nature, and it may foe supposed that the two are very much combined, because coolies are human beicgs. N > subordinates whatever can long pretend respect for a master, who is always in pe- cuniary straits and difficulties, because this chronic state leads eventually to acts which are not becoming the character and position of a gentleman. And none know better than the coodes, who are very sharp in soon finding out, as to who is, and who is not, a gentleman. I do not refer to a tnati’s parentage or pedigree. That has nothing whatever to do with the subject, but to his general conduct and beh.jvioiir as an honourable, upright, nnd, aoove all, just man. Now with every intention to be all this, how can a man be just, when the salary he receives is not suffi- cient for the o'*dinary necessarie- of hfe. If he thinks to do himself justice, and orders a fair supply of creature c >mfo‘-ts, he is unjust to his creditors, when, he cannot pay their bills. So that, in order to be just to his c editors, he had to treat himself unjustly. Many wilt say £50 to £100 per annum is taking a very low scale of salary. Such ^ums wmre chiefly paid, to assistants. Wed., take the higlii*st ; £200 w as about it ; in some few c -ses £250 or £300 was paid ; these were the outside^ and considered rare and difficult caiohes » HOUSE ACCOMMODATION. B'l^, although this low rat© of pay was prevalcfit, it good rt muneration for the class of men in goaeral employment ; they were frequently of no, or very poor, education, people who as adven< urers came to the country or were bought out of the regimental ranks. By=and-by^ proprietors and agents imported young men of good education from the old country, but, the bulk of them being raw inexperienced lads, they w’ere,„ for a year or two, of little use, in fact did, un- consciously, a great deal of mischief. Many, on ac- count of being thrown on their own resources, before^ character was formed, and from the nature of the life, freed from all social and moral restraints, went all wrong in principle, sunk lower and lower in the social scale, until all self-respect, or respect from others, was gone. Then they disappeared, none knew, and few' cared, where. Others, but they •were comparatively few, braved and weathered the times, kept steady and true, preserved their own self-respect and retained the esteem of others, and, if they did make a slip occa- sionally, it was not to be wondered at : it would have teen a great wonder if they had; not. These few steadfast men became t'’ainers of the next or succeeding race, and so on the current rolled which made the coffee planters of our present time what tbey are, and what it is to he hoped they ever will remain:; a strictly honorable, upright, well-educated, and most conscientious body of men, with a vast amount of Responsibility devolving upon them* a responsibility •which in no other country in the world represents so few, BO very few, instances of breach of trust. Bad house accommodation, after a time, begins to telli on a man’s general character. This is ever a sound recognised opinion in the old country. When on© gets dirty and careless in personal accommodation and^ appearance, worse is not far off, but when such accommodation is the rule of “the service,” the results will also soon become the rule. It may be that the state of the ti[nes could not be helped, that in every young or new colony it is, or was the same. Take,, for inst^-nce, Australia, New Zealand, or Canada. Well, these are colonies fitted for the European con- stitution, and a!tog^ ther a different question from life in the tropics, but the principle is tne same, and I have myself seen that those who had the neat com- fortable dwelling-houses in Australia were altogether » more steady and industrious class of people than those who lived in bush huts, without even the ®emblance of any comfort. 'Ihese were always very glad of any excuse to get away “to town,” where hey conducted themselye© very much in the way ASSISTANTS. ■I, ag those who went to Kandy did, thirty years ago. The fnndamental principle was the same, a relief, aW' outburst, from the monotony of ‘^bush’’ or jungle’^' life. Depend upon it, a proprietor never suffers in pocket by makiog his superintendent and assistant’ comfortable in house accommodation. It is no nse^ •ayiog he can’t afford it, he may just as well say he can^t afford to. weed, prune,, and otherwise carry on' the necessary works of the estate ; because proper house accommodation for the superiotendent is just part and parcel of weeding,, pruning, and other works That th# “workman is worthy of his> hire is m old as the Scriptures. And^. if he is worthy of his hire, sO' likewise is he worthy of a comfortable residence, after the burden and heat of the- day, or for that part of it even during the heat of the day,, for it is not alwayi' going out to work that constitutes working. There was once an* assistant who was generally understood to be a very hard-working man — no one need prick their ears, and speculate whodt could have been, or who it was — he is not now in- Ceylon. Of eourse, however, if the cap fits any, in the recollection of any, it may be clappe l on his> head, and for that part of it over his ears too, for I daresay there were a good many of similar ha'ntSj. long ago, but not now so.. None of the present genercition need' raise a howl. This assistant was always up and out at the mustering ground before a single cooly appeared, and he might be seen walking up and down the drying ground waiting for the men ; h© had his check-roili under his arm^ bis field b *ok and pencil in the other hand, and by the time he had finished his first pipe' probably haif-a-dozen men would begin to pop on to the mustering ground. He went out behind the coolies to tbe working places, returned todhe- bungalow about half past ten, or eleven, to breakfast, allowed himgelf only half an hour for that, meal. If the appu' was under any delay in s-rving breakfast, he kicked up' no end' of a. row ; his time was,’ limited,,, he was under' different circumstances from-- you, you lazy rascal,, that have nothing to do aft«r breakfast, but lie down, in the- cook-house and gO' to sleep, &Co.- He started^ immediately after breakfast, rarely allowing- Ihimself’ time to^ smoke he lighted hiS" pipe and went out smoking, no- matter what the weather was sunshine - nr cloudy g. rain or fair,, or even a damp drizzling day... The periya durai took it into his head to go into’ some figures and accounts.; he was puzzled about some-- thing or another,, and wanted the assistant to clear it' up.. So he’ takes his. coat and umbrella and f allies forth in search of' .him. After numerous futile enquiries- party of weedei-i. pointed to a huge domba tte©’" '^LIKE MASTER, LIKE MAN.” resting with a slight curve over the ground; under \ iiis domha tree, securely sheltered fr m wind and rain, sat the assistant; he was smoking, and a small charcoal tire was at his feet ; he had no doubt sent to the lines for a fire-stick, and then had laid it down, so that the fire ri.;ay have been, in a manner, not pre- meditated, but merely the result of a sudden impulse. Around him w-re squatted a number of the kanganies, and they were all seemingly enjoying a social fellowsLiip. The periya durai did n’l say much, but he thought a good deal. It is wonderful when once one begins to find out delinquencies how fast one follows on another. It was afterwards moo ed, that the hard-working assistant frequently spent a good deil of his time in the lines. And, if be was suddenly called or wanted for any purpose, he would c >m uence rushing about, shouting and bawling, as if he had only ma^te a tem- porary and unpleasant visit, in order to apprehend some skulkers, and drive them out to work There was anothe** assistant who would never have been guilty of anything so low as this. He, like the former, was out all day, allowing himself hal!'-an-hour for his breakfast Instead of concentrating his work as much as possible, he would try to flo everything at once; smdl detached parties of coolies would be scattered all over the estate, at different works. The consequence was, he did nothing but walk all over the place inspectinir, or rather visiting these different gangs. When he left one working pa’ty, they knew very well his “ route,” and about the time he would be back again, and of course they did not work during the inteival. It may be said : “ But at the next in- spection, the as-'istant would surely perceive what work they bad done?” Not he: so long as he saw them working, it did not enter into his pe’ ception that they might not be working when he did not see them. “ You are too hard on the assistant.” But they were nob all so. It was the fault of their trainers the j^eriya durais. It is astonishing how the con- duct and general behaviour of the manager reacts or reflects on the assis'an', and it is for this very reason, that we have so often lieard of an assistant, who had been a ve y clever active fellow under one manager, being quite the reverse, or at all events far short of the mark, under another. Like master, like man,” is an old and true proverb. A story was told of a manager, who, when his visiting agent, said to him: “I air» astoni-h ‘d, M**, Big, that you don’t go out to the work occasionally and see what is going on,’ said : ‘ Na, na, sir, Mr. Small does all that sort of thing. I sit in the house and think, and give directions,” Just so* Hss subordinate took a leaf out MAEEIAGE. of his book. Mr. Big ijave orders to Mr. Small, who in his turn gave orders to the head kangani ; the latter gave orders to the junior kangatdes, who j^ave instructions lo the coolies. Then, if a»iy thing was not done, what a trouble it vras to find out the defaulter. It was nobody’s fault, every one had told another ; as it was evident some victim must be found, it was generallv so ne of the most ignorant, know-nothing, do-nothing amongst the coolie?, who did not even understand what he had been told, so how could he do it? He was reported to the master as the tellow who had been at the bottom of all this, and was told that for his punishment he had been marked off in the check^roil three days absent. Perhaps he was not paid for three or four months, and the wh-de circumstances were forgotten. Pie declared he had not been three days absent, but the m ister said he had, or wdiy wordd it- have been so marked. One Saturday night, when Mr. Brown closed his check- roll and declared another week’s work done, Jones, who had been sitting waiting until he was through, suddenly exclaimed : Brown, why don’t you get married ? ” CHAPTER X, Bachelorhood vs. Married Life. Mr. Brown made no reply, in fact never looked up, but again opened his ch^ck-roll, and seemed to be very busy. But it would not do : he rose up and weni away, saying he must look for his “ Ready Reckoner.” How Mr. Jones could easily have said ; “Why, it’s on the table at your elbow,” but he did n’t. He saw at once he had touched a wrong chord, and was sorry for what he had said, but how Wcis -he to know that such a very trivial, conamonplace expi^ession, was going to vex his friend in this way ? In those times, proprietors and agents, to write mildly, did not fancy married superintendents. They were under various impressions on this subject. They thought the mar- ried man did not work as the single. That if the day was hot the lady would say t My dear, don’t go out in this sun ; wait till it gets cooler.” If it was rain : *‘You will catch cold, ague, fever, or some other dire ailment ; stay in the house until it is fair, it will soon clear up.” If the day was cool and cloudy, and neither of tiiese excuses would answer, she would fall on another resource, more irresisti- ble than those stated, It req_ujr,ed to be^ a I THE SUPEitHSTTENDENT’S WIFE. etcloudy day was a great iaducement for a long walk^ and a thorough investigation into matters in general. t She would say : “ Don t go i^way and leave me all alone. I am so dull, no one to speait to, and then these .dreadful servants, they don’t; care a bit for anything I say; indeed, I rat ler su pect, they laugh at me, of course behind my back. , I am sure they are ‘ taking me off,’ but you know I don’t understand a ward they say.” ISTow, what reason had proprietors to think all this, and a great deal more ? Was it that they had coma through the same experiences themselves, or was it that they thought a gre der number of coolies were ne- ^ ces;sary to go out and in to Kandy for supplies, to >un about with letters and notes, and what not? The great secret perhaps was, tiiat any sort of house ac- commodation and furniture would do for a bachelor n not so for a married man. The general opinion, now, is completely changed in favour of married superin- ^^tendents. It is considered, and quite corre<;tly, that .one wdth a wife and family is much more likely to , attach more importance to his appointment, if a suit- ,able one, than a single man, consequently is more in- dent in rendering his services acceptable to his em- ployers. The lady, if she is a sensible woman, — as of course all married ladies must be, or they would not occupy that very important position — important, not so much for themselves as for their husbands, who have jipade such a very excellent choice, and been so highly favoured, and cornplimented in naving their choice accepted. She would take good care that the em- ployer’s interest was not sacrificed to meet any of hep ideas of domestic comfort. On the contrary, if the, day was hot, she would siy : “You have snored quite enough ; it is time for you to go out. If ere is your hat and umbrella.” If the day was wet, no donbt she would lovingly bring out his waterproof, and with her .own hands place it over his shoulders. What man could resist this loving appeal to attend to his duties. Then see the welcome he will rec .dve on coming back from the work : dry clothes all laid out and ready, ,a bl izing stick fire in the chimney corner ; hot tea or coffee, all ready. She had been watching for him coming down the clearing, so that there was no need for calling out, bachelor-fashion : “ Boy j” possibly to have no reply, for the boy, boy-fashion, was asleep. No fear of her telling the “ boys” to go to sleep, and thus it happened that she was no favourite at all with the “boys.” They sighed over the good old times before she came, when they had all their own way in the kitchen, when the master dried his own clothes, and drank brandy and beer, when he came WEDDED ECONOMY. in wet, and tronbled none of tliein to mafce liot teir or coffee. They grumbled and growled at their hard work, held a consultation in the kitcl ei, and at last all came in a body, and gave fifteen days’ notice to leave. They were not going to put up with this sort of thing any longer. The master sighed, but offered no re monstrance, he knew it would be useless. He also knew that his pet servant, who> as- a single mao,- had been in his service for years, and with whom he scarcely ever had a personally serious- dispute,, was- now useless.- They were not. the same sort of fellows- they used, to be at all : he could, not understand it. Ever since he got married, a sudden change had come over them. He had some private conversation about it with his- better half, without any satisfactory result,, further than : Whatever he chose to do, she was not going, to see his hard-earned momy wasted, po itively wasted in that kitchen ; better have no servants at all.” But he would say : Try it ; you will know better about it ; mind this is not the old country.” Again, the married planter^ having domestic comfort at home, did not care about going into Kandy for a spree^ he had lost taste for that sort of thing. It was a difficult thing for a neighbi*ur to get him out for a quiet dinner ; it was us less asking him to a spread, for would not his wife be lonely by herself Then his friends^ would not troop in upon him whem he had nothing in the house to entertain them with,, •as in the days of his single-bl ss dness. It may be Bometimes said these men at all events did anything but bless them. A whole lot of boisterous fellows- , could not and would not ‘‘^look up” a married man, and say they had come to dine | they might put the lady to inconvenience, and besides ordinary courtesy required that they should dress somewhat more thani in. comm-on ^'‘jungle .rig-oul” No,, they waited for an^ invitation, which, on suitable occasions, was- always given,, and thus began to creep in civ lization into* Jungle life. It was all owing to the larried? If it is his fault it is n^ver too late to mend : ht him reform and am^^nd his fault. Is it his misfortune : let him submit to circumstances and live in hop 'S of better times. If it is his fortune let him be thankful and r.‘main in a position to be thankful. For, seriously speaking, there are some men who never were formed for domestic and matrimonial life : they would merely not only be unhappy themselves, but render their wivf’s so, unless they were also of the same dis- position. “ You are writing about matters you know nothing about.” Well, a silent acute observer often sees things that he says nothing about, and he knows where the “shge pinch' s ” on another, but his friend, having made the shoe himself, pronounces it to be an admirable fit, quite the thing ; it does pain a little sometimes on account of these corns, but you cant have everything as you would like ; a very handsome shoe it is, a very good fit, but it is easy to see it sometimes pinches you. Yes, at first all new shoes feel a little uncom- fortable; by and by it will come all right. Remem- ber ; do not overlook the fact, that the “ bonds ” of matrimony have “ coupons ” attached to them These oaupcns” are called “ babies.” You cannot tie them up with red tape, deposit them in your office pigeon- holes, with the endorsement “Unemployed Capital,” for, in order eventually to become even self-supporting, a considerable amount of cash disbursement is necessary. Have you got it ? Have you any prospect of getting it ? For this is not a question relating entirely to self, but for the well-being of a future generation or generations. If you are prepared to do justice to the ‘* coupons,” by all means go in for investments in tiie “ bonds,’’ THE «PEOS AND CONS.” Mr. Brown came back ; he seemed cheerful, but neither himself nor Mr. Jones said anything about the Berdy Eeckoner. He resumed the conversation himself: — “ Why don’t you get married? How can a fellow marrj^ upon £150 a year ? and with this wretch- ed house accommodation. Besides, if he could, there is no one to marry : for is it not a fact that the few European ladies in the country are all married ? I can’t afford to go home, and even if I could what sort of a house or rather hovel is this to bring an edu- cated, relined lady to reside in ? How would she feel — left alone here all day, when I am out at woi k ? The life is bad enough for me, but then I have my work, and yourself and Wildgoose are capital neigh- bours. ' She would get sick, have to go home, and we. would practically, from the force of circumstances, not from our own faults or wishes, be separated, you may say, for life, for if I can’t get a rise of screw, a considerable one too, 1 ’ll have just to stick on and grind away, until I am ‘laid, to moulder in the forest glade,’ unless I can manage to save a few thousands, make a dash for it, go in for a piece of land, which will turn up trumps.” Mr. Brown paused, got more melancholy than ever, and said bitterly : — Save a few thousands ! it vras only the other day, I had to sell my gun, a part- ing gift from my father, to pay Solomon account, a petty sum of £20, and here am I now talking of sav- ing a few thousands. Absurd, dismiss the subject, cut it, never to be resumed. Jones, have a horn.” But Jones would neither dismiss the subject, nor have a horn . H e said : — ^ ^ Let us refer the matter to W ildgoose, and see what he says,” but Brown laughed, and saici scornfully, almost sarcastically : — ‘‘ Ihefer to Wild- goose, What does he know or care about theee mat- ters ? The man’s name is his character.” But Brown was wrong. Wildgoose was that sort of fellow, well up in all the “ways of the world,” one who had received a first-class education, one who, if a friend went up to him in sober mood, in trouble or difficulty, asking his advice, all his nonsense speedily disappeared, he wmuld sit down quite gravely, listen to all the “outs and ins” of your case, and give lirst-i’ate advice, in a quiet, gentlemanly, sympathizing way, so tliat even the manner in and by which his advice was given inspired confidence in the recipient. And this was Mr. Wildgoose’s opinion. It was something similar tq St. Paul’s. If a planter loves a girl, and the girl loves him, thej^ marry for the sake of each other, irrespective altogether of any other consideration, such as bungalows or any other “bungle.” The sooner they marry the better, for the G “BEAR AND FORBEAR.’^ longer a man puts off marriage, in general, the less inclined he feels to marry. The planter ought, in justice to the lady, to fairly represent his circum- stances and position, and what she would likely have to undergo, and so, if she accepts the man, she must clearly understand she accepts also his position, so that there need be no subsequent grumbling on this point. Probably much subsequent disappointment has been given to ladies, by planters “ going home for a wife,” and representing planting life too much coideur dii rose. It is a curious fact, that mostly all accounts given of this life have, at a distance, a spice of romance in them, which, instead of de- terring young men and women from proceeding to the cinnamon isle, rather eagerly impel them to go At least, with regard to men. The more I have tried to binder them from “going out,” by stat'ng all the difficulties and trials, the more determined they were to go. It just seemed that these very difficulties and trials rendered them all the keener to be encountered. However, when it comes to practical life, it is a very different matter, as when the lady finds her servants have bolted, and her hus- band comes in after a hard day’s work, to find there Is no dinner. Probably she has tried to boil a little rice, but it is hard and uneatable. He gets angry, and says the first sharp thing: — “My dear, with all your many charming accomplishments, how is it you never learned such a simple matter, as how to boil rice ? Give me a cup of tea, if you know liow to make it.” The lady will probably retire to her room, and have, as they say in Scotland, “a good greet,” and wis-li she had never come to this wretched place. Perhaps all this is only the beginning of many sor- rows. A good deal depends nj on the tact, manage- ment, and temper, of the lady. She must recollect that her husband has a good deal to try his temper with “those coolies.” When he comes home at four o’clock, tired and irritated, he may very likely burst out with s( me ill-natured remarks which, poor man, he does not mean, and which no doubt he is heartily sorry for after they are uttered. If the lad.y, instead of retiring to her room to have a “good greet,” what- ever she may have internally felt, had laughed it off with: — “Huw stupid, but I was in a hurry, knowing you would be hungry. Never mind ; here is a tin of preserved Highland mutton, here is a chisel and hammer, oj en it up. It will be ready in five minutes, perha}is it will recal to your recollection the day you first saw me, looking for blackberries amongst the heather.” Before the tin is well opened, he will say : — ‘ ‘ That was a bright day for mci but I fear a poor UNSUITABLE MATCHES, one for you !” Her reply will be: — “Your dinner is ready, come, let us be comfortable, and don’t talk nonsense. ” * Mr„ Wildgoose knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and said he was thirsty, he would take some tea. ‘‘Tea !” echoed his friends. “Weill never! Won- ders will never cease.” Mr. Brown got softened, he rose up, took his hand, and said : — “I have done you in- justice, I said your name w^as your character, hut now I see you can talk sense when you like Pity it is so seldom you feel so disposed. But, seeing that you can talk in this strain, why don’t you ^ict up^ to it yourself? You have plenty of meaais. You are not like me, dependent upon £10 per month, and even that subject to a month’s notice from my employer.” It was now Mr. Wildgoose’s turn to sigh and look sorrowful. He said : — “A man can’t, or rather ought not, to go ransacking about in search of a wife, as he would for some article of household furniture. 1 believe for every man there is a suitable wife, and for every woman a suitable husband ; it is Nature’s law. But sometimes, indeed oftener than otherwise, they never meet, or, if they do meet, they don’t know' it, or don’t mutually know it, and then look at the misery entailed by unsuitable matches. Suppose a Partridge tethered to a Wildgoose. Each commences to try different ways, according to natural inclina- tions, The Wildgoose wants to be up in the clouds or beyond them, the Partridge in the stubbles below. They both strive, the Wildgoose is the stronger — off he goes. He sees in the distance a pond or muddy pool ; into it he dives with a dash and a splash, utterly regardless of the Partridge, under the w^ater, stirring up any amount of mud and dirt. He again comes to the sui-face, cackling and flapping his wdngs with delight. The Partridge is turning on her bacK, gasping and. choking, until she gasps her last. Too late the Wildgoose finds out, that a Partridge not only cannot enjoy herself in a pool of water, but cannot live,” “Ail very romantic,” cry Brown and Jones, “all very true, but nobody wants you to many a partridge, and even if you did, supposing you to be a very considerate and tender-hearted goose, especially during the first three months, the partridge, if she was a sensible bird, as all partridges generally are, at any rate in their own estimation, she would have tact enough to seduce you away to the stubble fields, and * This is so good, that the writer ought at once to get married, in order to realize hi® own picture of Bear and forbear.”— Ed. MEN AND WOMEN. no doubt you would soon prefer the comfort there^. as infinitely better than the muddy dirty pool.” But Wildgoose would not admit this. “What stuff and nonsense. You may just as well say, that in course of time the pai'tridge would become quite reconciled to the muddy pool. No, no, every man and woman has separate and distinct natural likings, that will crop up occasionally, check them as you like. You may think they are killed. No, they are not ; it requires little, very little, to make them sprout again. I don’t refer to had habits. They can be eradicated. What I refer to, is natural disposi- tions. ” Jones kept very quiet during all this discussion. At last he gave his opinion, thus: — “ Every man and woman has natural instincts, natural likings and dislikes, and Nature intends, or at all events intended, that these should be acted upon, within the bounds of prudence and propriety. If peo]Dle would lead more, of a natural life, and less of an artificial, these mutual likings would soon mature into something unore promising. I speak with reference to the old •country, although, even here, this sort of thing is creeping in fast, a dread of what people will say about you. Not that I object to this feeling in a moderate way, for it keeps those in check who are deficient in principle, but why carry it to such ex- tremes ? Why should people of fixed character and position be afraid of what their neighbours will say about them ? One is very apt to come to the con- clusion that those very sensitive people have some,, or have had some, now partially forgotten cause, why they should be afraid of the tongues of others, afraid least a word or sentence might reveal some just cause of talk.” Brown said : — “ This may be true v/ith regard to men. A man wdio cares not a straw for what x^eople SPvy about him is either an upright good fellow, or a great blackguard ; but what about the women ? ” Jones replied : — “ Oh, let them alone, let them fight it out aniQiigst themselves ; they are able enough to do it, so long as men don’t interfere.” CHAPTER XI. The Fire-stick amokgst the Coffee. — Mu. Wildgoose IN “the Blues.” — What Proier Cultivation WTLL make of an Estate. About the beginning of March, after a month of hot scorching weather, at morning muster the coolies on the “ Peela Tottam ” estate were informed tli at Wild- goose Durai was going to ^^et fire to his felled forest,. A ^‘BURN.” at noon, and that they were to hold themselves in readiness, with promtitude, to respond to any urgent demand on their services, in case the fire should catch upon ‘^ourcofiee.” Between twelve and one o’clock, volumes of white smoke he^an to curl up ; thicker, denser, and darker they became, until it all settled into a dark almost black smoke. This in vai'iably indicates “ a good burn.’* It curled onwards and upwards. It was a bright hot day, not a cloud in the sky, and soon no sun was visible, or, if occasionally, it looked like a huge red ball of lire shining through black smoke. So completely had it lost its power you could look at it st -adily the same as if you iiad a blaekeued glass at the eye, A roaring sound now catches the ear, louder and louder, until, as the smoke obscures all else to the sight, so does the roar of the fire deaden all other sounds. There was a thin belt of jungle left between the two estates. The belt was full of dead decayed wood, and standing up in it tall dried-up stumps, the remains of what had once been trees. They were trees still, but dead and .quite dried into tinder by the late scorch- ing weather. A little green btuishwood \vas growing underneath, which only served to conceal a mass of dry rotten stacks lying thick on the ground. The luinniiig fire came up to tire belt, wliidi checked it a little., but only apparently to gather fresh strength. A strong gust of wind and the fire is into the belt, und soon, the whole mass of decayed rubbish is in a red glow. It soon began to lick up the dry stumps, it caught hold of tliem and wound round them up to their very tops like some huge corkscrew of fire. Trom these blazing trees, sparks of fire were carried hy the wind far into Mr. Brown’s coffee, and the first intimation he had of bis unpleasant fact was seeing a small white cola run of smoke up amongst tire coffee trees. Those who have never seen or read of a coffee estate may ask, ‘‘How cam green trees burn ? ” For man3;^ years after the foiunation of an estate, the ground is covered with timber in process of decay, logs, slumps, rootSj^ and large masses of rotten Vvood reduced to touchwood, that had perhaps been lying there for years before the forest was felled. Into these masses of rotteif 'timber a small spark had been carried by the wind, where, having found a suitable btd, it wms fanned by tbewunci into a red-hot glow, until the whole tree became a mass of fire. All the coffee trees next or near the influence of this glowing mass of course became speedily scorched and dried up. So speedily did they dry up, that their leaves and twigs became the means of continuing the run of fire until it came upon another dry tree, where the same occurrence was repeated, and so spread on.. TOO MUCH or A GOOD THING. r~ ~ '‘The coffee is on fire ! ” shouts Mr. Brown, but what can he or any man do ? They are all nearly choked and blinded with smoke. They cannot even see where the fire is, or rather fires, for they seem spreading in every direction. His bungalow and lines, both thatched with grass, are not far off. What if a spark should fall upon them ! A dozen coolies are ordered up to sit on the ridge- pole of the bungalow with buckets of water, and green branches of tr^ es, and the same on the top of the lines. Mr. Brown, with a wet silt handkerchif fastened over his face, is seen here and there and everywhere, gliding about amoiiM^t the smoke. Wherever a spark falls, ‘.oolies with mamoties (large hoes) dig down into the ground for damp earth which they heap on the top of the incipient fire. But all along the belt, the cof- fee is on fire, no doubt about that, and it is spread- ing, and gaining sti'en^th and force. Great present sacrifices have sometimes to be made in order to gain or obtain ai^y important final result. This axiom passed through Mr. B'*own’s mind, and such are the vagaries and flights ol the mind even under very grave and important events, that he actually remembered how he had paid Mr. Solomons’ account by selling his gun! He send« down to the store for two dozen good sharp billhooks. Twenty-fou)’ men, each with a billliook, and not an inch of elotb of any sort about their bodies, literally naked to the skin, are ordered to stand by and cut a line through the coffee ti ees, thirty or forty feet broad. This is done, and the cut trees carried away. Brooms are now made of the branches of tlie, coffee trees, tied tight together. This line is swept clear and eh‘an of all leaves and dr3^ wood, as clean as a pavement. Not a hit too soon. On comes the fire in the coffee, greedily sucking np and catching everything combustible; slowly but surely scorching every coffee tree that it passes by. It reaches the line cut through the coffre ; it has no more fuel or food. Gradually it dies out, or at all events is now easily put out, but the w hole atmosphere is a dense mass of smoke, hang- ing here and tliere and everywhere ; nothing can be seen, so that some idea can be had of the amount of damage done. ^ There can, however, be no manner of doubt but that Mr. Wildgoose has had a good burn, and that Mr. Brown has been well burnt. He judged it necessary to advise Messrs. A. B. 0. & Co , of what had hap« pened, who duly informed him to appoint some dis- interested party to asses the da-nage done, and report the same to themselves. And as, even in the jungles of Ceylon, disinterested parties are always easily to be found where there is a fee to be attached to their disinterested opinion, this was not a difficu/t THATCHED ROOFS. duty for him to perform. The “ disinterested party duly arrived, looked carefully over the place, made a good many jottings in his pocket-book, asked Mr, Brown a few casual unimportant questions, just as if it was necessary for him to say something, tooktiffiin, smoked in the verandah, and went away, but Mr. Brown never heard what was settled. Even Wild- goose would not tell, and always shuffled the subject. Of course this behaviour just tended to make Mr. Brown and his friends the more curious to know. Messrs. A. B. C. & Co. ordered him to render an aC“ count to Mr. Wildgoose of the cost of coolies employed in checking the fire. A straw shews which waj the wind blows. Mr. Brown came to the conclusion that Mr. Wildgoose was going to pay the value of damages assessed by the “ disinterested party” and the cost of his coolies in putting out the fire, but he never ven- tured to ask Wildgoose, who was a very close fellow about money matters, and nothing would annoy him more than to ask him. In fact he would nob tell ; it was no use asking him. A day or two after the fire, there came on a good shower of rain. It has often been noticed that it very often rains not long after a big fire. < an there be any atmospheric disturbance which induces or draws rain on ? * Whether there is or not, the rain caused a disturbance inside the bungalow and cooly lines. The people who had been on the roof to prevent dan- ger from fire had made holes in the thatch, their feet and legs going through the dry crisp grass. Through these holes the wet I’an down, and it was evident the whole of the buildings would have to be re-thatched, Mothing injures a thatched roof more than any one walking on it : it is almost impossible to make it watertight again, especially if the thatch is of any age, and any of it partially rotten ; even if rotten un- derneath, it will last a long time if not disturbed, but if it is once broken up, however, slightly, the more you try to patcli it up the more it becomes damaged, because the action of the feet of those who try to repair it merely increases the damage. ^ The heat of a great fire produces a vacuum, which the air from every quarter rushes in to fill np. Hence the friction gives birth to electricity, which probably acts on moisture clouds, causingtheir particles to coalesce and be deposited as rain. We well remember the cannon firing of a sham battle on the Galle Face bring- ing on a ' tremendous downpour of rain, whilst it was notorious, during the Austro-Prussian and Franco- German wars, that battles in which artillery was much employed were followed by ‘‘heavy wet,”--EIp, NEIGHBOURS. Mr. Wildgoose gave a ‘‘ great spread ” on the even- ing of the fire. Of course Mr. Brown was invited, but he declined, on the plea of being quite ‘‘ done up ” with the day’s , exertions, but actually he had not for- gotten the after results of the last spree, and had no wish to incur or run to the risk of incurring them again. In replying to the invitation, he jocularly re- marked that ^‘Wildgoose was a cool fellowg after setting fire to his coffee, and neaidy burning him out of his bungalow, on the very same day to invite him to dinner. When Mr. Wildgoose received this note, he and some of his friends had just returned from the fire. Of course they were tired and thirsty, so they finished off some bottles of champagne, which seemed to rouse his w*it, which indeed wois always rea(>y for a spark. So in. reply he wrote Mr. Browii, that he was not done with him yet. He had only been partially successful in burning him out, but he was going to persevere, so he wmiild be over immediately and now do his best in trying to smoke him out ! He would bring no tobacco with him, so if he had not a good suj)ply he wmuld smoke him dry, and it he was smoked dry it would not require much press- ing to come hack with him and get wet with two botiles of champagne which had been stowed away in a hide, on purpose fo- his sj)ecia] use. Mr. Brown laughed; his neighbour luctfi “ such a fellow,” but,- although his name was Brown, thei’e was not much “gr(>eii” in it. Two bottles of champagne were nothing be- tween two strong young fellows, but what would it lead to? His friend would not let him off witli this, there would be plenty m'ue of ‘‘other stuff'” on the side- board, Mr. Brown knew his friend better than his friend knew him. Mr. Browm was a Scotchman, and Mr, Wildgoose vvas English, hut perhaps many of our readers could catch this fact, without being told of it. It was a long time before it was safe to walk in the newly bnrnt-off' clearing, because, although it bad generally died out, yet in certain places hidden embers weae still glownng, and the passer-by m'ight suddenly pat his foot into a hot mass of ashes, which, if it did nothing worse, at all events spoilt his shoes. But, after a time, when work might be with safety commenced. The first job Mr. Wildgoose did, was to trace and cut a road, on the shortest route and easiest gradient up to the boundary of the ‘ ‘ Peela Tottam’^ coffee. Of course Mr. Brown could not do less than connect this road with one of his own, so that his neighbour could mount his pony at his own bungalow and gallop over to Brown’s in less than haif-an-hour. When Mr. Wildgoose felt dull and lonely, he would now never invite his neighbours, as the invitation was GEEAT -AND LITTLE' SEE EADS/'’ more frequently rejected than accepted. He would order his horsekeeper ■ to saddle the pony, take it. over to the Peela Tottam and, bring the ^^dnrai.’’ He rarely even wrote a slip of paper, but just sent a verbal message, ‘‘Master’s salaams. Come over and dine.” Brovi n was completely caught in this trap, he was a good-hearted fellow, and could not hurt any one’s feelings, tie might easily have put a stop to this, by sending the pony back, with “Mi)ster’s salaams. Not coming,” but he didn’t, he always went. It did not do him any harm, however, but a great deal of good, as there never was any spread or spree at these un- ceremonious requests for a visit. It was just “Beef steaks, curry and rice, and a glass of beer,” and while at this plain dinner, Wildgoose often said he enjoyed himself more, and had greater satisfaction, both present and after, than at any of his great din- ners. His friend said, “Give them up. Why do you give them?’ “Ay,” says he, “there’s the rub. I cannot answer your question, for when I ask myself, I cannot tell. The fit just comes on me sometimes to give a flare up. You know it is thought to be ‘ the thing’; it is considered necessary for one in my position, and with my means to it sometimes. Otherwise my friends would say he ’s a scrubby fellow, he turned a ‘screw,’ “No, np,” says Brown, “your friends would not say that ; they would say you have turned a steady sensible fellow. At least I would say so, and so also would Jones. By the bye let’s go over and see Jones. It is a great shame we so seldom visit him, but you know he is always out at his work, and considers visitors rather a bore.” So away they went to visit Jones, who was, of course, out at his work. During the time they had sent for him, the bungalow was inspected. It was in the usual style, only clean and neat. Everything was coarse and rough, but neatly set in its proper place. When Jones came in, he asked them to spend the afternoon and dine, which they did. There was no shooting at old doors, but they walked down to the store, and had a turn about the coffee. When dinner was served, it was ample for three, a good dish of beef steak, sweet potatoes, curry and rice and glass of brandy and water, two or three if the guests chose, but Mr. Jones himself never took more than one. So of course his guests did n’t either. Mr. Jones never gave any great dinners, in fact he never even asked any one to dine with him. His idea was, that if you formally asked your friends to dinner, you must provide something better and more expensive than usual, but if a neighbour popped in, of course lie, came to see ,^mu, and get “pot luck,” he^ did not come to dinner. The evening was spent in social con- SPENDINa MONEY. versation on various subjects, and tbe two departed at nine o’clock, well pleased with the pleasant even- ing they had spent. Wildgoose acknowledged he had enjoyed himself far more than at any of his heavy spreads ‘‘but then you know poor Jones can’t afford that sort of thing.” Mr. Brown was fully of opinion, that, even if he could afford it, he would not give them, “ but you know, Wildgoose, it is impossible to convince you on these subjects, or if you are con- vinced, ‘ A man convinced against his will, Is of the same opinion still. ’ ” Mr. Brown had remarked that his neighbour Wild- goose had not “been himself” for a long time; he was silent and thoughtful, and seemed all of a sudden to have given up all “nonsense” and “gadding about ”; he was always busy with papers and accounts : in fact, was quite absorbed in business. It all became explained, after it could hardly be concealed any longer, when on meeting him one daj^, he said : — “Brown, lam going to leave you. lam going home, and am not sure if I shall ever come back again.. Coffee planting does not suit me ; it is too slow and plodding a life. In fact, it does not nearly come up to what I expected, unless in the spending of money : in this respect it certainly bas far exceeded^ my ex- pectations, and the worst of it is that I have nothing to shew for thousands I have spent on this wretched place. Beally, I don’t know where the money has gone to. Will you believe it now, here is somewhere about from 100 to 130 acres of coffee, and it has cost me in all, or rather the ‘ governor,’ close upon £10,000?” Mr. Brown asked the very natural question, if he had kept a separate and distinct account of his own personal and private expenditure apart altogether from estate expenditure, but he had not. “Why,” says he, “the money is spent. I have been living on the estate, so it ’s all one,” and he made an attempt at a smile and a joke. “The money has been spent upon the estate, and they tell me,” says Wildgoose, very sorrowfully, “ that the estate is not worth it. No- body will give that price, and that the place must just be carried on under agents, in the most eco- nomical manner, in order that it may yield the ‘ go- vernor’ a fair interest for his tin. Upon my word, how I am ever, to face him I know not; for it was not so very long ago I wrote him, to make his mind quite easy, for I was sure to be home in a couple of years with an income of £2,000 per annum. And the worst of it all is, that I fear the money he has given and sent me is all borrowed, or at all events a great portion of it. Oh dear, what is to be done !” A OHANaE OF SUPEEINTENDENTS. Brown suddenly fired up, “Donel” says he, “don’t he done. What ’s the use of going home ? It ’s never too late to mend ; turn over a new leaf. A strong young fell »w like you to be so chicken-hearted ! Give up all this stuff. Don’t ask any of your relations for a penny ; don’t go home. Look out for a superintend- ent’s berth, and set to work like me and Jones, and then mind, if the estate is economically managed, the debt will always be decreasing and of course the interest. Take a more hopeful view of matters. Never give in. My advice to you is : Go down to Colombo, with a plain written statement of your affairs, and perhaps you will find some agency house who will not consider them altogether hopeless. Who knows but some of them might take up or take over your account?” But Wildgoose shook his head mournfully ; he packed up a couple of trunks, left all his things in the bun- galow, as if he was to be back very soon. He went down to C dombo, and the first and last his friends heard of him was his name in the shipping list, as a passenger to London round the Cape. Shortly after this event, a stranger arrived at the bungalow recently occupied by Mr. Wildgoose. He seemed to be under strict and stringent orders, but all debts and accounts were duly paid. The stranger neither gave nor went to dinners, and seemed to de- vote his whole attention to the estate, but, it had been so long neglected and mismanaged, or rather not managed at all, that what the stranger was doing or what he had done was never noticed, or rather was not perceptible. At last it was no longer concealed that the estate was a very fine property, with a pro- spect of becoming finer. It survived all the crashes and smashes of 184-7-48. Somebody was making or going to make a good thing of it — who that some- body was nobody knew, but it was perfectly well- known neither Mr. Wildgoose nor his governor had any interest in it; their names were mention^ no more. There were no Ceylon Directories in these days, so the curious could not turn up a page to see who was proprietor. It was the case with many estates : no one knew who the proprietors were, or if they thought they knew they were wrong. Many gave themselves out to be proprietors, lived on the estates, ueemed to command any amount of money, and to possess full power in every respect, and yet they were not proprietors, only paid managers or agents of some one in the other countries. The deception was never found out, or even suspected, until the up-country managers or agents suddenly disappeared, and others took their place. Even then it was not perhaps 8U«* THE LAST OF MR. JONES. pected ; for those who took their place to be consi- dered agents of their predecessors who had disappeared, ‘‘gone home with a fortune.” Fortune indeed!! Mr. Jones now commenced to have long conversa- tions with Mr. Brown on the prospects of superintend- ents. He did not believe there were any be3’ond ten, twelve, or fifteen pounds a month, and what were they to do, if they lost their health or got old in harness ? They could not save, and unless they had any prospects of money fv’om their relations could never become proprietors, and, even if they could, what was the use? Whoever made money by coffee plant- ing ? Hid they not see that all those with capital who invested, instead of inakiog, lost. The whole affair was a humbug and delusion. He was determined to cut it and go to Australia. Would Brown come with him? But Brown said : “No, I have faith in coffee, if people would only do it justice.” He then stepped a little wav out from the bungalow, and shewed Jones half- a-dozen of trees, and asked him what he thought of them. “ Well,” says Jones, “they must have at least at the rate of ten or twelve cwts per acre on them, and if you only could get all the estate like that, it would be a fortune. ’ Brown said: — “The whole estate could be made nice that, if it was properly" cultivated. With my own bands I have regularly pruned, handled and manured these trees as an experiment, and you see the result. Depend upon it, the day wull come when proprietors and agents will come to my ideas as correct, and the sj^stem of high cultivation will become a science ; educated and intelligent men wdli be sought after as managers, and salar es will be given on an average of from £.300 to £500 per amium. Coffee es ates will become good permanent investments, and proprietors, instead of making haste to be rich, in such haste that they always remain poor, will not sell their es- tates, but look upon them as the. best investment for money. The superintendents will share in the pro- sperity. They will have good bungalows, plank floors, and even glass windows ! They will.” But Jones stopped him. ‘ ‘ A truce to all this nonsense. I don’t believe a word of it —coffee planting is on its last legs, it’s a failure. I’m off to Australia.” He held Brown with the right hand, with the left he pointed to the “Peacock Hill” and the “Sentry Box.” “You see those two hills : they may meet : some convulsion of nature may throw them together, but we will never meet again. Goodbye, old fellow.” He sailed from Colombo to Port Philip in the TorHng- ton, along with a number of others, and was neither seen nor heard of any more by his former associate in Ceylon. CHAPTER XIL Estate A cnouNTSj and how to Prepare 'them with Greatest Ago racy and Least Trouble s— The Royal ^oad to Well-kept Weekly and Monthly Reports. Mr. Brown was now left alone ; Ms new neighbours were not ^\his sort of people^ ” be had no community of sentiment ” with them. He did not associate with thenij nor did they make any friendly advances to» wards him. The reserve was mutual. The position and prospects of coffee became worse and worse. He was afraid to send in his accounts. They werealwajs found fault with, as being extravagant in the extreme^ and the idea of asking for money was only an idea* because it was useless putting it in practice. He had tried it^ had at first received a reply that his requisL tion would be attended to shortly^ but it was not. Latterly he got no reply at all. After a time several strange gentlemen woufd pay him a visit, walk over the estate, go away, and say nothing. At last one visitor did enter into conversation. He told him the estate was for sale, and he had come to inspect it, with a view to purchnse. He knew nothing about coffee planting, and so would be glad of Ms ’ opinion as to what the capabilities of the estate were, if it was properly worked, and a fair amount of money expended upon it. Mr. Brown shewed him the trees about which he and J ones had their last conversation, and said: — ‘^The climate and soil are both good and suitable for coffee^ and I have no doubt the whole estate could be made something like this, were it properly cultivated. It is merely a question of money in bringing the coffee trees into this state, but I can say nothing as to wdi ether or not it will pay the pro- prietor. Of course I know nothing about the present state and future prospects of the London markets. All I can say is, if you, or any one, v/ill agree to spend so much money, I can almost guarantee you a certain amount of crop.” After a long conversation the visitor noted down all Brownes calculations, gave him hia address, told him his name was Sharp, and that he would probably both see and hear from him before very long. But instead of seeing or hearing from him Mr. Brown heard about him, as the following letter ho received from Messrs. A. B. C. & Co. will explain: — * Andrew B.own, Esq., Peela Tottam. ‘‘ Deah Sir, — We beg to advise you that John Sharp, Esq., has become the purchaser of the Peela Tottam coffee estate. As he takes over the property on tht H A NEW PEOPEIETOR. first proximo, you will be so good as to have all your accounts balanced up to that date, and sent in, in order for their immediate settlemenf. You will also forw^ard.a list of all the movable property, such as tools, furniture, pulpers, bags, mats, &c., as all such are to be taken over by Mr. Sharp, at a valuation. ‘ ^ We may further add, that yourself and all coolies and vrork-ppoj)le of any description on tlie estate are under orders from, and responsible to, Mr. Sharp, who in his turn undertakes all responsibilities incurred, pecuniary and otherwise, subsequent to the first proximo. “With all good wdshes, w^e take leave of you, and are, “Yours Iruly, “A. B. C. & Co.” After this letter Mr. Brown had a busy time of it. He might be seen here, there, and everywhere, with note-hook in hand, taking inventories, until at last all w'as completed, and the inventory sent in. When Mr Sharp again arrived, everything was in order, in so far as Mr. Browm’s instructions went, and so his visit w'as merelj’^ a formal one, intimating formally that he was in possession. He had no sort of reserved secrecy about him, but frankly to'ld Brown he was afraid he had paid rather a high figure; He referred to his note-book, and said: — “There are about 20© acres in coffee, or rather in weeds, and 300 acres of forest, all of which is very suitable for coffee, indeed much more so than wbat is at present in cultivation, or rather in an uncultivated abandoned state. The- tools, buildings, machinery, &c., are all out of order, iu fact, done for, nothing hut a lot of rubbish, and for all this I have paid down in hard cash, on the last day of the month, £^1,500. Now, Mr. Brown, what do you think of my prospects ? I put myself in your hands for advice, of course reserving to myself "the oiffion of taking it or not.” This was a good beginning, with plain speaking, for all who ask advice make this secret reservation : they insist upon having your advice, and never take it, unless it agrees with their own opinion. Mr. Browm’s advice w^as this “ The. very first thing is to get down the weeds, and keep them down. We will tat e on a large force of coolies and roughly go over the whole estate. This will ease the coffee, and save it from being choked, at least such of it as is not already gone. But you will be surprised at the vitality and vigor of the coffee tree ; so long as the stem and primary branches are not dead, no fear but the tree will come round. After this, give the trees a rough touch with the knife and saw, where such is needed, such as double stems', double tops, or excessive height. Then take^ SQ to 50 acresj as much as we think can be managed INCREASE OF SALARY. specially, but if tlie whole estate can be managed so much the better. But we have uot the coolies. Take 50 acres, keep constantly weeding it, say once every three or four weeks, never allow the weeds to get over three or four inches high. Stick to that rule, and we will soon get them under. In the meantime never mind the buildings-, they will be patched up, till we see how the coffee comes round. After that takes place, we will be better able to judge what will be the requirements of the place.” Mr. Sharp was satisfied wifh this advice, and told Mr. Brown to “ go ahead,” that Y. Z. & Co. in Co- lombo were his agents, he would find they would always promptly meet all his requisitions. As for himself, he was off to Bombay, ancl would probably be back in three or four months, when he would visit and make up his mind finally as to what was to be done. But,” says he, ‘‘by the bye, what is your own salary?’ Twelve pounds ten shillings per month,” says Biowii. Mr. Sharp looked very griive, almost sad, and Mi-. Brown thought he considered it too much, and it was “ all up ” with him, but Mr^ Sharp at last said ; — “ For the work before you, if you do it thoroughly, as I believe you will, this salary is too sniadl. Put yourself down for £200 per annum, that is monthly pay at that rate, and it will remain an open question, subject to the state of the work and prospects of recovering the coffee, whether or not, when I next see the place, you will not receive a I’urther advance. 1 am quite con- vinced that one of the great present obstacles to the planting interest is the low rate of pay to superin- tendents. They take no interest in their situations; Make a man’s place worth keeping and taking care of, and he will naturally endeavour to make his own ser- vices worth your retaining. I merely briefly give you my views on this matter. If you attend to my in- terest, you will find it is your own interest to do so, and that, while attending to my interest, you are also doing so to your own ? But although I am liberal I will have no money wasted, nothing is to be done for show or brag. I hear some managers boast of the sums of money spent, without any reference as to how it is spent. Beware of this. Rather boast of your economy, and of the comparative cheapness any work has cost, as set against the original estimate.” Mr. Brown asked, “ What is the meaning of ori- ginal estimate,?” Mr. Sharp looked hard at him and put both his hands into his pockets, where he kept them in mo- tion as if he was trying to find some coin, but could n’t. “Do you mean to tell me,” said he, “that you — you entrusted with the charge of a very import^ NEW EEGULAriONS; ant property, Y«rith tlie control of an expenditur® of thousands per annum, make no calculations of what this expenditure is to he, or give no advice to your employers, in anticipation of your pecuniary requirements. liovr do you get your money?’* Mr. Brown replied, that, when he wanted money, he used to write to Messrs. A. B. C. & Co., say for £100 : sometimes begot it, sometimes 1< ss than he asked for j aud occasionally, hut these occasions were rare, more. Whatever the sum was, he just acknowledged receipt of it hy letter and entered the same in his cash-hook. This was all. ^‘A very loose sysfem, a veiy loose way of doing business,” says Mr. 8harp. “ There is to be no more of this sort of thing. Let me see yonr account form.** So Mr. Sharp explained all about the account cur- rent ; hov/ there must either he a balance due, or balance on hand ; if the former, he would receive it, if the latter, and he required more, he would get what he wanted, hut, unless on an urgent occasion, no money was to he paid, unless a regular system of monthly accounts was entered upon and rendered. Mr. Brown did not seem satisfied with this new regulation. He explained to Mr. Sharp ihat he had so much to attend to on the estate, that he had no time for this perpetual working aw'ay at accounts. ‘^No time 1” says Mr. Sharp. Absurd. Why, what do you do during your hour after breakfast, and during your solitary evenings ? I ’ll tell you what you do. You lie down on the couch, or walk up and down the verandah, stupifying yonr brain with tobacco smoking. Now, rest is needful, hut rest does not always consist in doing nothing. A very whole- some process of rest is change of occupation, and your accounts furnish you with this change. Don’t pore over them, but take half an hour or an hour occasionally, and you will find you will be astonished how easily they are got through. You, I suppose, entei, or will enter, your distribution of labour in your journal every night. Well, before closing your book, take your printed form of monthly account, and enter it there also, or make a rule to copy and enter it weekly. Thus, when the month is done, instead of having a formidable array of figures to copy out, it is all done, and you have nothing to do but work up, and fill in the analysis. The same way with the check 'roll s as you have half-an-hour’s spare time, fill in the rates of pay, enter the rice issues weekly, and also the li umber of days the coolies have worked. Take tlie week’s work, and in the Sunday column, if the man has v/orked four or five days during the week, mark the number in pencil^ OEDEK ANB METHOD,’ eay fonr^ six, five : the number of days is thus at once reckoned, twenty, insttad of going oyer the whole line of thirty days. ^ Maay superintendents consider the making out of their accounts the disagreeable and unpleasant work they have got, simply because they put off every sort of work in the way of figures to the verj^ last, until they are obliged to be at them, and thus find themselves compelled to undergo a heavy accumulation of arrears of work* and then they blame the accounts, those awful accounts. It would just be the same Vfay with any other of their works, were they to defer them, and put them otf till the very last moment. I met with a smart mao on my way up, who never had any difficulty about loading his coffee carts, and he told me the secret. Whenever he had advice of a batch of carts being forwarded to load coffee, he took a note of the time when they were due. Long before this time, he had his bags all arranged, coffee measured, and a great -portion of it despatched, and temporarily stored in a respectable man’s shed, who, for the consideration of one penny per bushel, took charge of, and was re» sponsible for, the coffee, until the carts arrived. When they did, the coffee was loaded and despatched at once, amdj had it not been fur this little tact, manage* ment, and foresight, the carts would probably have been waiting ten days or a fortnight, and even then the coolies utterly exhausted with crop transport day after day. And so it is with everything else^ tact and management carry the day. Hard work t your hard-working man, who never uses his head, that is to say if he has any to use, gives himself a very great deal of unnecessary hard work, and is always in trouble and difiicu ty about something. Good bye, Mr. Brown, good b^/e, and recollect order must be attended to, and I know perfectly well, on my next visit, you will be quite of my opinion, and we wiQ hear nothing more of no time for accounts. But there are exceptions to every rule : if you should hap* pen to get an overflowing bumper of a crop and have to work night and dav, pulping and washing, we will excuse you then. We are not unreasonable. There are exceptions to every rule. My remarks only apply to the usual roudiie of life. You will find no difficulty in getting money during crop season, on requisition^ or on the statement tiiat you are so busy with crop operations, that indulgence is requested in the matter of accounts not being forwarded with the usual punctuality. ” The day after Mr. Sharpie depar-^ure Mr. Brown com* menced to make out all his arrears of accou Its took him no small time, trouble, and difficulty, but THE NEW SYSTEM. time, patient perseverance, and determination, overcame, as they generally do overcome, all obstacles. All arrears were sent in. The new system was commenced exactly as Mr. Sharp had suggested, which he found entailed no trouble at all, and he actually began to laugh at some of his neighbours, who v/ere always sighing over their figures. He advised them to do as he did, but they would not. There was always some- thing to prevent them, or, if not, was it not time eiiougli to undertake an arduous and disagreeable sperity induces a craving and striving for more, until many of the upper and even lower classes of Sinhalese have now in a great measure adopted European cusLoms and habits of life. Their houses are furnished in European fashion. Call in upon any one. You will be handed an English-made chair, and asked to take some refreshment, in English bottled “Bass,” a glass of sherry, or brandy and water. Even in Oreat Britain is it not a fact that when the bul;<. of the working men commence and devote much n tteutioii to politics, disclaim against grievances real or imaginary, is it not a f ict tint their work is apt to liecoine neglected, and their earnings less, and as a matter of course their homes less comfortable? From these causes many other evil results arise. The^^ consider themselves oppressed and underrated by their su2:)eriors and employers, and all the ills under which thoy suffer arise they imagine from this cause, whereas, instead of blaming others for the low state of their posi ion, were they thoroughly and impartially to examine themselves, very likely, in many or at all events some instances, there is some latent cause or causes within themselves, which, if shaken off, would make them step onward. How often do we see that an increased rate of wages brings no increase of com- fort or contentment, but quite the reverse. Increase of wagvs or remuneration of any sort is hardly an advantage to any class of labourers of any nation, colour, or climate, under the sun, unless they have knowledge or discretion how to manage it. I have know many a good native servant, and even coolies utterly spoilt and rendered almost useless by the master raising their pay. The writer once had a very good servant who had been in his employment for many years. He SPOILING A GOOD SERVANT, asked for no increase of wages. But, thinking he fully deserved it, he was told his monthly pay was increased by ten shillings, and from that day a very marked change for the worse giadually took place in the man. He got careless, in fact even impudent, and after a few months declared his pay was a great deal too small, and requested more. Now had the man been let alone and even kept up to the mark by an occasional reproof, whether lie needed it or not, it would have helped him to keep him sharp and attentive. He would not have become confined to an idea that he was a “very good man,” and that master could not do wdthout him. It is exactly the same, perhaps even to a greater extent with the Malabar estate cooly: to a greater extent, because he is more uninformed and ignorant . Raise a good man’s pay, and very likely you make him a bad one. It is not so with Europeans ; quite the reverse ; and it may be a curious and interest- ing subject of inquiry, Why is it tliat if you tell a Malabar cooly he is a good hard-working man, and intimate a rise of pay, that man is henceforth quite spoilt? Of course their are exceptins. I do not write of these, but of what is the p’ule, and in my own experience the rule used to be pretty general. CHAPTER XIV. Up-country Cemeteries : One Secret of their Fre- quently Neglected Appearance. The mortal remains of those Europeans who die in the country are on the same day, or, at any rate, generally within twenty-four hours of their death, consigned to their last resting-place. About towuis, where cemeteries are large and spacious, funeral ar- rangements are easily carried out, but up-country it is different. The bulk of Europeans whose death takes place in the Island are generally during their last illness, unless indeed it be very severe and sudden, convened into the towns for the sake of greater comfort and advice from the best medical authorities. Thus deaths are comparatively few in the jungle, but they do take place, and. to meet this emergency, a piece of ground around every up-country chapel is consecrated or set apart as a burial place. If these burying-gronnds are not well and regularly kept in good order, rank grasses and jungle underw'ood encroach upon them, over- running the graves and spreading up to the very door of the church. One of the more immediately adjacent residents generally takes in charge to keep the church- CEYLON OHUECHYABDS. yard in order, a small annual fund being raised for thi^ purpose. But new arrivals take place, old residents depart, tlie few sleepers in the lonely churchyard are forgotten, and after the lapse of some years the question of Who lies here ?” is scarcely ever asked, and, if it is, the answer brings back no memories of the past, for the inquirer is a stranger. Not so with the old resident : he remembers the day when a young man fresh from the old country, full of strength, life, and hope, laughed at the old-fashioned system of toiling for a quarter of a century, in order to retire permanently on an independence, with prob- ably the sacrifice of health ; he was not so slow as to sacrifice his health and happiness ‘‘for the sake of gold.’^ He would go home every three or four years, see his friends, enjoy himself, spend his money, and return to make more. He would not separate himself from parents, home, and country : he had been better advised. He “ reckoned without his host.” With a constitution not yet fully developed and cer- tainly not hardened or trained to endure hardships, fresh from all the comforts, perhaps luxuries, of home life, needing these comforts all the more, during a sudden and perhaps first illness, — for most new arrivals generally have what is called a “seasoning fever” : if they come well through this, they will probably after- wards enjoy very good health, but in some even many cases they don’t, — he goes home before the anticipated three or four years. He is carried to his last home on earth, not by loving friends and weeping relations, but by a few strangers, who close their remarks after- performing the last rites, by inquiring “ Who is to write to his mother, and what is to be done with his watch and clothes? Well, he had the promise of a good planter ; he was not a bad sort of fellow ; it will be a sad blow to his friends.” This is all, and he is forgotten. On up-country estales a death often caused no little anxiety to the one on whom the duty devolved of carrying out the last duties. There may be no planks for a coffin, and, even if there are, there may be no carpenter. When it is considered that the funeral must take place as soon as possible after the death, the difficulty can be understood. An express is sent off to the nearest neighbour, probably a good many mile® off, for the loan of his carpenter. On his arrival, there might possibly be no planks or nails ; in this case some old packing-cases are broken up, either for the sake of the wood or nails. Black cloth is not a usual article to be had or in use in the jungle, so probably some old clothes, a remnant of which was brought from “ home,” coat, trousers, or both, are cut, up, and nailed A LOW-COQNTEY TRIP. on the eoffi-Q, failing which, a dark-colored mantle or plaid is thrown over the rough planks, and with it consigned to the grave. Oh ! little did the poor fellow think that his suit of light black clothes made ex~ pressly for the climate, and in which he would appear at the Grovernor’s ball in Kandj, were never to be worn, until nailed to his coffin : that he went to Ceylon to die, and carried his shroud in his trunk ! But the bright side is not so bad. If one comes well through their first fever or illness, it will probably? do him good, and, ' with ordinary care, he afterwards enjoy as good health as any in England. As a rule European women do — or rather did — not keep their health on coffee estate. This in a great measure may -arise from a want of any occupation or work, anything to do. They cuinot go out during the day, unless in a carriage, and comparatively few estates have carriage roads approaching to them. There are plent.y of serv- ants t ) do, over-do, or undo, all the house work. In this department she is a superior amongst many supernumeries. Well, what can they do ? The- hardest work of all is — nothing. The seasoning fever previously referred to may be brought on, us it frequently is, by over- exertion, or too much exposure, on a fresh or after a brief arrival in the country.^ The writer had a very severe one : — Early in 1845, coolies being very scarce, my em- ployer determined upon sending me down to some of the northern roads to try and meet immigrant coolies. So, mounted on a good stout pony, with a change of clothes strapped to the saddle, accompanied by a Sin- halese man to act as interpreter, we proceeded to Kandy. Having waited there for a few days every uiorning visiting the “lines,” without any success, tlmre was nothing for it t)ut to make another start, so we deter- mined on going out the north-western road leading to and beyond Kiirunegala. About half -a mile out of Kandy, we leave the Peradeniya road, and turn sharp •off to the right along a winding road, with (then) dense brushwood above and below it. A short distance further we have to cross the river by means of ferry raft. At a distance of about sixteen milesf from Kandy we reach the town of Kurunegala, at which we halt for a few days, to try if any coolies c m be picked up. At that time the restbouse contained merely a table, a few i chairs, and some bedsteads. Travellers were expected * to take their own provisions with them, or order them ^ , as they came ; as for blankets, it was too hot for - fi. * Is there really and necessarily a seasoning fever for arrivals? We doubt it. — Ed. t 26 miles rather. — Ed. KURTJNEGALA. such ail article. This used to be a good district for capturing elephants in kraals, and some were to be seen in course of training. The keepers seem to have acquired great power over them; on throwing down a rupee before one, alter sunclr^^ goadings and punchings from the rider, and some gro ming and grunting from the elephant, the coin was lifted and given over to the driver or rather rider. Remaining for a few days at Kurunegala, and n@ coolies to be seen, we determined to continue our - journey. Shortly after leaving the town, the road presented a dreary, de-ertdike appea' ance. There was little or no traffic ; we were getting beyond the bounds of the white man’s country. On ihrough flat wastes, with here and there rice-fields in the distance, scrub and low jungle on all sides, the road gradually loses itself, or dwiinlles into a mere track. My companion, however (a Sinhalese), was invaluable. He always managed to mike some conveuieit native hub for the night. Evidently this sort of work was not new, to him. After his holding a short conversation with the owner of the hut, I was always made welcome, a mat was spread, upon which we squatted, rice was boiled, with occasionally a little curry. There were no dishes or sjioons ; the leaf of a plantain tree served as a plate, but for a spoon, how could it be managed? After sevei-fd trials, during which more rice was lost than eaten, my^ Sinhalese friend, with a grim smile, pulls from under his cloth a horn spoon, Avith the remark, “ 1 knew master could not do it, therefore 1 borrowed a spoon from my sister’s house in Kandy.’ Never was a spoon more acceptable, and I began to think aloud, “He’s as considerate as a white man.” “Yes, sir,” he says, “ plenty considerate, ” on which he pulled out froih his cloth a small bottle of brandy, of Avhich I partook of a spoonful, but nothing w'ouid induce him to touch it. “ It must be kept for master after a long journey.” After a few days’ tiaA^el, one evening, on rounding a corner, we saAV a column of smoke ascending out of some jungle, upon which my guide exclaimed, “ Here are coolies at last! ” This was the smoke arising from their encampment, where they were cooking their evening rice, and so it proved to be. On arriving at the spot, some 50 to 100 coolies were found, all at their evening meal. On asking them where they were going to, they said they did not know, or very likely, Scotch-like, they asked where I came from, and what was my business. So after explaining, and a great deal of talk and chatter got over, they agreed to go with me, and would be ready to start in half-an-hour. The backAvard journey was during the night. MAECHING WITH COOLIES. Arriving in Kandy Tery early in the morning, ou proceeding to the hotel (Queen's), the coolies were told to rest in the stable-yai*d, until I could get a little rest and sleep, but half-an-hour had hardly elapsed when the whole stable-yard was in a commo- tion. Some one in the adjoining bedroom had been disturbed in his sleep by the talking of the coolies, and catching hold of his large riding-whip (travellers generally brought their saddles, bridles, and whips, into their bedrooms for security) kept laying about amongst the coolies, until be had them all dispersed, remarking, in very atrong language, that he was not to be done out of his night’s rest by a ‘‘lot of black rascals.” Judge of my consternation on seeing the result of so much time, labour, and trouble summari- ly treated in this w^ay. The Sinhalese interpreter and myself did all we could to explain and pacify^, but the coolies refused to be comforted. “ Had they not engaged to go to the estate, was not 1 their master, and had they not been beaten in my service, without any great crime ?” Such is the general reasoning of the cooly. It was difficult, impossible, to bring them to see than I was in no way to be blamed for the treatment they received. Upon assuring them, if they would only wait till daylight, their wrongs would meet with redress, such was agreed upon. Having ascertained the name of the aggressor, as early as possible, I waited upon “ Loku Banda,” a descendant of the Kandyan royal family, and at that period Police Magistrate of Kandy. On stating the case, he issued a summons, or warrant, I forget which, to bring the. gentleman, guilty of this assault, up before the Police Court. But the gentleman had been too sharp for us : he was nowhere to be found. Having had an inkling of what was going on, he had quietly proceeded to the stable, with saddle and bridle, from his bedroom, mounted his horse, and was probably at the time many miles off into the interior. It may be remarked, “What about his hotel bill?” Hotel proprietors were not particular in this respect. Bills were allowed to lie over, or run on, until another visit from the coun- try took place ; almost every one had his hotel account. Of course, with this loose system, money was frequent- ly lost, but the charges were such that a few occasional losses would never inconvenience them. It was quite evident that, instead of pursuing my adversary with a warrant, the wisest policy was to get the coolies out of town and on the march as speedily as poS" sible. So, having settled by bill, we once more take the" road via Peradeniya, Oampola, and Pussellawa, which has already been described. One hundred or thereabouts, men, women and children, with only a JUNGLE-FEVER. i’ag round their waists, earthen chatties for cooking, and a little rice for food, all carried on the top of the head, a straw or grass mat for sleeping on at night, rolled np, and slung o^er the back, marshalled in line, two deep. The order was given to march, myself and the Sinhaiese interpreter bringing up the rear. On arriving at the several resthouses, where rest and refreshment were required, both for myself and coolies, while taking care not to bring them too near the building, in case of a repetition of what had happened in Kandy, a spot of ground was selected for them, so that they might nob be out of sight. In due time we presented ourselves before my employer. The coolies were sent over the rock. Much to my surprise the excitement which kept me up, led me to go to bed, and a medical gentleman who resided at some distance off was immediately sent for. On his arrival, he pronounced me to be fairly in for a shaiq) and strong attack of jungle fever, stating at the same time, it was a wonder how I had ari-ived : that, if another day or two had been allowed to run on, I would have been laid up on the road. This jungle fever more or less attacks coolies and masters all along the immigration roads. Generally on a soft short green !) sward of grass, in the opening of the jungle, maybe sseen the graves of the collies who have died on the I road. Sometimes, a rude sort of cross may be seen I erected at the heads of some of them ; these are Christi- If ans — x^robably, almost invariably, Roman Catholics. These graves were dug hurihediy, without any proper tools, in a hard, scorched-up ground, were very shallow, and of insufficient depth. The consequences were that jackals dug into them and fed on the corpses, some- times even drawing them out of the graves, so that ther«? might be seen, scattered about, bleached skulls and bones. It was even not unusual to see dying coolies and dead bodies, lying along the roadside ; during the onward journey the sick were frequently left behind, in order that the whole gang might hurry on to the estate as speedily as possible. After being locat.-d there, a requ^^st would be made for a few of the men to return, and bring forward those that were left behind sick. Coolies have natural feelings and affections, often leaving aged parents in their native Aullages, depending on the wages which they hope to earn on the coffee ^ estates. When the sad news reaches them, “ Died on y the road,” or when the return gang are reported on their way back, friends and relations come out to meet * All this is a very old story, referring to a state of things long since improved out of existence, — Ed. ^‘DIED ON THE ROAD.’ them, and the question is asked : Where is my son ?” to which the reply is given : “Died on the road.” It is heart-rending to hear the wailing and lamentation raised the relatives of the missing cooly. Yet he was “only a cooly.” The bones and skeletons of cattle might also be seen along these roads. Droves of coast cattle imported from the Indian continent passed along, on the journey to Xandy, where the owners hoped to realize a sale, at a good profit. Great numbers of these die, or are left behind in a dying state ; on these the jackals prey; after finishing off all the outside flesh, they get inside the carcass, and it was no uncommon sight, on sud- denly coming round a corner, on the carcnss of a dead bullock, to see one or two jackals crawl out of the body, run a short distance off, turn round, and stare at the unexpected and unwelcome intruder. In this position one scarcely felt comfortable. The jackal is a species of strong fox or wolf, and if two or three were fero- ciously to attack a man, he would have little chance. This however they never do, unless he is in a helpless or dying state. Few gangs of coolies arrived on the estate, without some deaths occurring on the road, but more took place after arrival on the estate, being worn with the journey, and the sudden change of climate, from tbe hot and dry one of the low-country to the cutting winds and heavy rains on the mountain ranges ; it is generally some time before the cooly gets hardened.. But what with good warm house accommodation, plenty of rice, and a considerate master, he soon regains, or rather gains, strength and muscle, and it would be sometimes difficult to recognize the strong stout mus* cular man, as the same being who arrived on the estate, six or eight months before, more like an animated bag of bones than anything else. In fact several have stated that, on returning to their villages after some years’ residence on a healthy coflee estate, it was with some difficulty even their own mothers recognized them . It is now very different with the immigrant coolies : the north roads through the Island are comparatively rarely used, or, when used, good Hccommodation is to, be found, at stated spots, in the shape of “lines” erected by (Government for the benefit of the coolies. In these they may comfortably rest, until ready and' fit to resume the journey, but these roads, as compared with former years, are rarely used. Steamers, and well appointed boats, are always calling for passengers at the different emigration ports, along the coast. These take on board gangs of coolies at a rate of passage money not exceeding tw'o or three shillings a head, landing them in a day or two at Colombo, fresher COOLIES’ BURIAL. and stronger than when they left their native village. When landed there, if they should be in want of any money they have only to call at the agency office of the estate to which they have agreed to proceed, and will receive any reasonable amount of advances they may require, the agency firm placing the amount to the debit of the planter’s account, and advising him by post of the arrival of the gang. All the anxiety of the planter now is that the coolies may not cause him some trouble, by going off to some other estate, so, if they do not make their appearance within a reasonable time, he has to be on the outlook as to what has become of them, or wdiere they have gone to. They are not even under the necessity of going through the march to Kandy, a distance of 72 miles along a good road, fine climate, and healthy country. The railway will take them up in a few hours, at about sixpence each. Once in Kandy, they are all right ; they meet friends, and are within a few days’ Journey of most of the estates, along good roads, with plenty of accommodation. Now, strange as it may appear, there are coolies who will suppose “the former days W’ere better than these,” at least who will persist in coming down the northern roads, so utterly de- ficient are they in calculation, that the expense of the train determines them to proceed by the “old route,’ because pecuniarly it costs them nothing. They never reckon the value oftime. On every estate, a detached piece of ground, on the patana, or if there are no grass lands, adjoining the forest, is voluntarily selected by the coolies themselves^ as a burial-place. If a death takes place, during the night, at the morning muster the master is informed of the event, as those who are the same caste, or are relatives or friends of the deceased, do not proceed to work. The interment takes places as soon as possible after the death, the same day or the succeeding night. The corpse of the eooly is rolled or swathed in a white cloth, and laid out in his room ; men then pro- ceed to construct the bier, done thus: — Two long sticks or young trees the thickness of a man’s wrist, are cut from the nearest jungle. These are laid on the ground at a distance apart from each other of about two feet, "then sticks are tied across this, about six inches be- tween each other, sufficient to retain the body, leaving the four ends of the large pole free. The simplest w’ay of describing it may be to say it very much resembles a long narrow hand-barrow. The body, rolled up in a white cloth, without coffin or any other covering, is laid upon this rude bier, which is hoisted upon the shoulders of those appointed to carry it. A loose white cloth is now’ thrown over A FUNERAL OF IMPORTANCE. the body and bier^ and the procession proceeds; gener- ally , torn -tom beaters bring up the rear. These tom.- toms are a sort of rude drum, made of a dried, sheep-skin^ strong tight on a round wooden hoop, one or two feet in diameter^ suspended by a string round the neck of the beater, or he holds it in one. ' hand, while he beats with the other. The beating stick is a small light piece of wood, with a good hard pad at the end, with this the beater strikes sharply on the sheep-skin, producing a sound somewhat similar to a monotonous sound without (to the European ear) music, thus: — Rap, rap, rapf rap, rap, rap,-^tat, tat, tat. Of course they have quick and slow variations, but one soon gets acquainted with the sound of the tom-tom. It is heard at a great distance off, and from the sound of it all the ordinary estates are quite aware that a death has taken place, and the funeral in in progress. On the procession arriving at the grave, which, has been previously dug, the bier is lowered from the shoulders of the bearers, and the body, rolled up in a cloth as before described, laid in its last resting- place ; the earth is then filled in and the bier laid on the top of the grave. This may be meant to keep off the jackals from digging up the corpse, althougii it has not always that effect. The ceremony being over, the coolies retire to the nearest stream, wash all their cloths, and spread them out to dry ; then they bathe,’ and carefully wash themselves, clean out the room of deceased, and all is over. They will n®t likely, however, proceed to work that day. The fu- neral described is only that of a poor cooly, and of the lowest caste. Of course there are variations in the style and expense, according to the rank and position of the deceased. Any one of importance has a very different funeral. In such a case, all the works on the estate are stopped for at least half-a-day, and the superintendent may consider himself lucky if he gets off with only this or even with one day. Most of the same caste people from adjoining estates assemble, and there is quite a gathering. Large pots and boilers are borrowed from the bazars, rice in great quantities is boiled, and strangers after the ceremony is' over are entertained with curry and rice. A requisition is made to the master for as many leaver of the plantain tree as he will allow. These are cut or torn into temporary plates, which are placed l)efore the visitors, and heaped up with boiled rice. All the guests then collect amongst themselves money, and so liberal are they in this respect, that, after expenses are paid, there is often a surplus, and it is no unusual occurrence for the representatives of the deceased, after MASTER’S GOLD.” paying all expenses, to find a (for them) considerable »um of money at their own disposal. They have some curious ideas on the relative position of soul* and body, which a short ancedote will illustrate. An old woman and her daughter lived in one room, and were most industrious money-making, money-loving, folks. They saved a good deal of cash. The elder woman had attained a good age, and was evidently, in the course of nature, not long for this world. At last «he was laid up, and her frieaads considered her dying. A deputation came up to the bungalow to inquire if the master had any gold money, or sovereigns. On asking what they were wanted for, I was told, to melt and pour down the throat of the dying woman? It would cure her, because, as she was so fond of money when in health, if the melted money was now put into her, on her soul touching it, it could not have the courage to leave the body. Of course they got no gold from me for any such purpose, but they pro- cured it elsewhere, only, instead of melting it, they filed it down into dust, washing it down the woman’s throat with water, notwithstanding which she died. On endeavouring to expostulate with them on this absurdi- ty, they would not be persuaded, stating that the reason the charm did not act was *‘It was not master’s gold.” This was a lesson always to humour them in any harmless absurdity, as there can be no manner of doubt amongst themselves, they were any- thing but satisfied with tlie unkind (?) refusal of the master.^ CHAPTER XV. The Malabar Cooly. Where, at the present time, or rather what would have been the present position of coffee planting with- out the Malabar cooly? Would it have been in exist- ence now ? At all events, certainly not to the same extent. The general character of the cooly is just human nature, and every one knows wha*. that is, in its original uncultivated state; of course, in human nature as in everything else, there are various degrees of good, bad, and indifferent. It would be a useful piece of general infortiiation if some authentic state- ment could be given by any one, as to who first took * But had the master consented he would have been accessory to manslaughter. Sending particles of indi- gestible and irritating metal down a sick person’s throat is the surest method, next to strangulation, of producing death. — Ed. COOLY IMMIGRATION LONG AGO. means to introduce coolies into the coffee districts, and what those means and inducements were, as the earli- est recollections of the writer do not extend further back than to remember a free, full and voluntary immigration without any advance whatever, the im- migrants being pledged to no master or estate, freely following the bent of their own inclination. If they had decided upon going to any particular estate^ no inducement would alter their decision, and on arrival at the place of their choice, if their ser- vices were not required or refused, nothing could ex- ceed the disappointment which this refusal created. Rather than proceed to any other estate even for a few months, they were quite ready to agree to work for a certain period, merely for their rice, without any wages at all, on the condition or rather implied understand- ing that, when crop set in, they were to be taken on at the usual rates of pay ; or, it they objected, the other alternative was, three da \ s’ work in the week, which just allowed them about sufficient funds to pay for their rice, as three days’ work at sevenpence was just the price of a quarter of a busbel of rice at seven shillings, but many estates charged only six shillings, which left only a small surplus over, to buy curry stuffs. Oumbiies were supplied at about a shilling each. On many estates, Saturday was a half-holiday. The reason for this was difficult to account for, but it did not last long, and subsequently became, or was made use of, as rice issue day, and, if this commodity had to be carried for any distance, it was the reverse of a half-holiday to those who were selected for the trans- port work. Many of the coolies would only take three- quarters or even half a busbel per month, actually starving themselves in order to receive a larger amount of x>ay ni the balance due. We used in many^ instances to compel them to accept of rice issues, continually leading them to understand that, whether or not they accepted of a full issue, they would be made to pay for it. What a contrast to the present time, when, at least before the railw^ay was initiated, rice was one of the greatest pests to the planter, the coolies always in- sisting that they were starving for want of food, even for some days before their usual issue of rice was due. What fine gangs of able-bodied men used to come in, thirty, forty, or fifty under one kangani, with few, frequently no, women and children. In this case, it was no difficult matter eating or making out the check roll, for all had worked about equal, at the same rate of pay ; and my memory is perfectly vivid yet of some fine gangs of from thirty or forty, who regularly every-pay day received on an average a balance due j ’ A FAIR DAY’S WORK. from ten to twelve shillings each, but they did not do half the work of what is done now by those who only receive the half of this balance. It was not altogether the fault of the coolies : it was in a great measure, if not entirely, the fault of the superin- tendents, who did not understand the proper method and system of working coolies in those times. In fact, we were utterly ignorant of what a fair day’s work should be. And I do not think, in any occu- pation whatever, more money has been uselessly lost, and recklessly paid away, than in that of coffee cultivation, after it had been originally commenced. A fear and undefined dread of an insufficient supply of labour has always more or less pervaded the plant- ing community. This has always been “ the rock aheul” on which the vessel of coffee planting was about to be shipwrecked. The tale of immigration was stv)pping, or about to cease, ‘‘there would be no coolies, or insufficient supplies to pick the crop but, unless in some exceptional cases, this chronic fear has never been practically realized. On the con- trary our general labour supply seems more plentiful than ever. On large estates, yielding good crops, there will always be what is called a push during crop season, perhaps two or three, but the loss of crop during these pushes is a good deal dependent on the state of the weather, more so than on a liberal labour supply. But as the weather is never to be trusted, the p ' an ter usually prefers to lean on a liberal cooly supply if he can get it. It has been often, not only remarked but proved, in the current of eveiy-day event' in life, that no man knows what he can do initil he is pushed to it, and put upon his mettle, and this remark is specially true in respect to the picking of coffee crops. When one is short-handed and liU' a good crop to pick it is wonderful, if pro- perly directed, with what spirit the coolies will enter upon the work with a proper and liberal incitement in the shape of “ready cash.” On the last estate which I managed during a heavy crop, the kanganies unanimously made a request that I should do away with morning muster, on the plea that it was so long ])efore the people could get to the picking. To hu- mour them it was tried for a day or two, and orders were given the evening before, where the pickers were to commence in line. Before daylight, they were all out and wxre distinctly seen in the grey of the morning all in line with the empty bags on their backs. This was all very well, so long as the task of two bushels and a penny for an extra kutti METHOD IN PICKING CROP. sack could easily be gathered. But one never knew the number of pickers gone to work, and so, of course, did not know when they had all coine in. The lazy fellows would begin to get tired of it^ and either not go to work at all, or quietlv slink off at seven or eight o’clock to some quiet corners “ fly picking.” So this loose system does not answer ; it was and (if still practised) is still abused. There is nothing- like method, system, and discipline, in picking, as in. everything else. Master the people and march them off to the picking field. If after being mustered and told ofl‘, instead of marching, or rather crawling to the spot, they make a bolt of it and run shouting and laughing, as they try to outstrip each other in the race, in order to procure and settle upon the best line, so much the better. It shews a spirit and heart in the work. In this case, there will be no (appa- rently involuntary) choice of the longest road, wind- ing round turns and zigzags, at the slowest possible pace, but it will be up or down the short cuts: those short cuts from the road above to the one below-, always in use when the coolies come from their work, but seldom w^hen going to it — unless it be to task work, which they know must be performed wiihout reference at all to four o’clock. Task work, when practicable, is always desirable, as it gives the cooly an object and aim in his work. Many object to it on the plea that it is seldom, if ever, properly done, but whose fault is that ? Some superintendents take it quite easy because the works are tasked. In mv opinion task work requires as much or perhaps more supervision than the mere day labour, not for the quantity of work done but for the quality of it. Where is the saving in weeding by task 200 trees as compared with 150 on the day’s work, if the former is so hurriedly and badly done, that on the next round you cannot get more than 100 gone over ? Depend upon it, there are very few^ works which can be given out on task that do not require a close supervision, so that I am neither condemning nor disapproving of task work, on the contrary, rather favouring it, provided it is understood that it in no w'ay relieves the super- intendent from the responsibility of insoecting and checking the quality of the work per for neck An active working cooly likes it : it is better fur himself and better for his master. A lazy fellow dislikes it, be- cause it is worse for himself insofar that he must do hiswmrk, and perhaps worse for his master, inasmuch as bad work may be concealed so as to appear as good. One basket of manure will be emptied into two holes, instead of one, and thus the trees have only half of their allow- PROMPT PUNISHMENT NECESSARY, ance. Patches of weeds will be left in corners unpiilled up or covered over with prunings, eartb or anything else to serve a temporary concealment. This of course merely eventuallv accelerates their growth. A tree will be left unpruned, or insufficiently, in order that he may keep up with his fellows. When a gang of coolies are tasked at any work, it is extremely advisable that they should all be able to accomplish their task about the same time, as, when a few of the smart workmen begin to drop olf, those who are behind them either lose heart or begin to hurry on the work too much, in order to get after their fellows. But there are exceptions to every rule, a general idea. All transport work should, if possible, be done by task, because the quality of the work is not in any way affected injuriously by the quuntity actually done. The transport of coffee and rice is especially alluded to. In these works, by insist- ing on a certain fair daily task, of bags or bushels to be carrried, a much better result on the day’s work will be attained botn to master and coolies. The former will get a bag or a few bushels more, in work from his labourt-rs, and the latter, although having a heavier amount of work to get through with, still accom- plish it in less time than on the four o’clock system, and so have more leisure during the afternoons and evenings. The s^^stem of task work was utterly unknown, or at all events never practised, in the olden times. If coolies did not do what was considered a fair amount of work, they were either put absent, or half a day, in the check-roll, or kept out at the workimj place, not at w^ork, till it- was dark. With regard to being put absent in the check-roll, the men frequently did not be- lieve it ; they considered it merely an idJe threat, and even if it was true, as the consequences did not immediately follow, they were not held in very great dread ; they were more in dread of being kept out till dcirk, than of the threat of having their pay stopped, because the results of this were immediate, the punishment suc- ceeding the fault. Here, again, we have just human nature stfoiigly developed. If the consequences of evil or evil deeds linger in coming, how apt are all men, even although they are of a much higher standing in life and in position than the coolies, to be drawn into evil. They reason thus: — “ From this act we will derive an immediate ad- vantage (?) apparent, at all events, any evil consequences •will not speedily follow, and after W'e have reaped the advantage, we will have time to consider, and ward them off, or at all events greatly modify them,” and so, as a matter of course, follows the expediency or rather necessity that where punishment of the cooly MASTER AND COOLY. is necessary it should follow as speedily as possible on his fault. And it may be from this cause, that the writer has always found, when it was necessary, better to inflict some punishment on a cooly or coolies. The punishment of being kept out an hour later at work, and made to work, was far more effectual, and held more in dread, than when they were told of the act of having- been marked absent in the check-roll, and that they had been out at the working place during the ten working hours just for nothing. After a few days, a cooly would forget all about it ; not fo with being kept out till dark. That was a punishment so very practical and speedy in its operations, as to leave on his memory a very vivid remembrance. The cooly has much more confidence in his master now than in the olden times, and the master has more confidence in the cooly. They know each other now, which they w to take him, and when to take him. That it is not the master has been frequently proved, in coolies continuing tf) arrive at, and depart from, the same estate, after their old master had left it. Of course, there are exceptions, but as a rule this has generally been the case. If the new master is kind and considerate, the old one is speedily forgotten. In fact, in this respect, they re- semble cats, get accustomed to, and attached to, the place — not the master. Even in many instances, where coolies have followed the master, on his leaving for another estate, it was quite evident thay were not comfortable for a long time ; they seemed unhappy, there was something wanting, which the pi esence of the old master could not supply. They wanted their old. neighbours ; they very much missed the bazar-man, for at the new bazar they could get no credit. Tdiey were Unknown, and not to be trusted. Then again, when coolies became known, as being annual visitors to a certain estate, they could much more easily com- mand creditf tliey could even leave for their country, and promise to pay that bazar account when they came back. Not only this, but, better still, they might bor- row money from the bazar-man. There can be no man- ner of doubt that the cooly becomes accustomed and attached to certain places. Hence the remai-k so often heard in planting matters, that such an estate has a good labour connection. . PETT7 FAULTS. But while pointing out this fact it is by no means intended to in any way depreciate the master, for he has much, everything indeed, in his power in creating and increasing this labor supply, because an estate that is or has been for any time short-handed is en- tirely dependent on the manager, or the means used by him for increasing the labour force. But after this fo''C8 is fully established, and the coolies get settled, and like the estate, the same superintendent, who took so much trouble in initiating the labour, were he leaving the estate, would probably be unable to induce any of the coolies to leave with him, especially if he was going to some other district. The only w^ay in which he could do it would bp to take them suddenly, pay them up to date, and tell them he w’^as leaving to-morrow and they had better come with him ; but leave them for a week, and they would not move. Of course amongst the planting community such shabby acts are unknown, these possible contingencies being merely written to illustrate the character and dispo- sition of the cooly, which was, as it still is, a strange mixture of two extremes, honesty and dishonesty, truth, and falsehood, cleanliness and dirt. Give a coolj a sum of money, send him off with it, to make a pa^yment, or delivery, and, as a rule, one may have no fear of the result. He takes a pride in his commission, and in the punctual and exact execution of it. Ask the same man at the pay table, on handing him eight shillings, if his pay is correct. “Yes, sir,” is the prompt repl}^ but, if you should have made a mistake, and a sixpence slip amongst the four rupees, he will walk off with it, saying nothing. He does not consider this conduct dishonesty, Eeverse the case, and he will stick out for his rights, ‘sixpence short.’ Task them a given number of coffee trees to prune, or wned, they will most likely execute the works quite correctly, as to quantity, with little or no respect to the quality, unless strictly looked after, so that the master, if in his bungalov^ at his accounts when the cooly presents himself, stating his task is finished, would do well to rise, go out, and examine the cpiality of the work done — not if the task his done, but how it is done. It is the same with regard to truth and falsehood : triist a good man on any matter of importance, he will generally be found perfectly truthful and correct, in- deed much more so than many other classes of people, who would scorn to be put in the same balance of principle with the cooly. But he makes light of petty falsehoods, or what are called in European parlance “ white lies,” while at the same time they attac much importance to the character of being considere CLEANLINESS AT A DISCOUNT. truthful. After having given utterance to a glaring untruth, he will frequently clinch the subject, as, in his own estimation, admitting of no manner of doubt, by the remark, Master knows very well, I cannot tell a lie !”^ Cleanliness and dirt; how clean and neat some (not all) keep the inside of their little rooms 10 x 8, while up to the very verandah posts, outside, is an accummnlation of all manner of filth and dirt. So much 'so, that, for the interest of both mister and cooly, it would be, as it frequently is, considered advisable for the former to put on scavengers once a w^eek to clean round the lines, pajdng them wages to keep the surroundings of their dwellings clean, and, as far as possible, free fi’om unwholesome smells ! Most of them are very particular and regular in bathing after work is over : they may be seen taking their turns under the regular bathing spout, erected for that purpose in one of tilt most convenient adjacent streams, but after this is done they will rub their bodies over with a good coating of coconut oil, and thus appear under its influence sleek and shining, but after this operation the European, if he has any regard for the sensation in his nostrils, would be wise to keen, if possible, and as far as possible on the weather side of him. Again, their hair after weeks and months of neglect will get somewhat into the shape and appearance of an old i-ug, or door, mat, until it become intolerable to its owner, from causes that can ivell be understood, when, on a Sunday, they may be seen sitting at (he streams, one shaving the other’s head, with some old razor, failing which, the sharp piece of a broken bottle will do. After the incumbrance is cleared away, it is just allowed to grow as before, until another shavingppe ration becomes necessary. CHAPTER XVI. ‘‘ A Gentlemanly Assistant.” Mr. Alexander Sandy was a young man of very gentlemanly demeanour and deportment. He was very tall, several inches over six feet, and very slender in proportion to his height. One had only to look a,t him, and at once come to the conclusion that he was a gentleman born and bred, and, on entering into ooDversation, this conclusion was found to be quite a correct one. Who be was, or what were his ante- cedents, no one knew, and as he himself never spoke * This is painted true to the life. — En. AN ASSISTANT’S LUGGAGE. on the subject, but always avoided it, there seemed to be some mystery in connection with his arrival in Ceylon, which was rather a sudden one. Humours and reports, which are always sure to have something to say on all matters, stated that he had come from some of the Indian Presidencies, in order (o get away from the unpleasant pending results of some youthful follies and indiscretions. But whatever rumour and report or the busybodies said were neither affirmed nor contra- diciedby Mr. Alexander Sandy, who seemed to treat with perfect nonchalance all that was said about him, either good, bad, or indifferent. How and by what means it came about was ^ quite unknown, but Mr. Sandy obtained the ear ” of an agency firm, yHio sent him up to an estate as an assistant 'to an up- country manager. He was to receive no pay, and was topiy for his board, in return for which, it was expected that he was. pledged to undergo, for some undefined period of time, all the arduous duties of a junior assistant. After his introductory preface, it is only necessary to state, that Mr, Sandy presented himself at his manager’s bungalow, and was duly installed in a bedroom 10 feet by 12 which was given over for his own private use. But, before Mr. Sandy installed himself in his room, it was necessary to instal his baggage, of which he had an immense quantity. After stowing away any number of boxes below the b-M, there were still a number left out. So all the furniture was cleared out, and trunks put in their places. Two boxes placed in the middle of the room, one above the other, served as a table, and, in the same way, against the wall, forming a very good dressing table, with a small look- ing-glass placed on the top. Two single trunks pro- jecting from the general pile formed very convenient chairs. And thus it was arranged, that while all the furniture, with the exception of the bed, was ejected from the room, to make room for the luggage, the luggage was made to take the place, and answer the same purpose as the furniture. It also seemed to be useful as taking the place of a door bolt, for if Mr. Sandy w’as suddenly wanted to go out, especially if it rained heavily, a box would tumble down, so that the door could not be opened. Very probably, in getting it in its proper place, other two would also give way with a crash. So that, if time was an object, and anything of importance had to be attended to, the manager was fain to leave Mr. Sandy and his boxes to settle matters as they could, at their own time, seize his hat and umbrella, and' go out to the working place himself. On his return, tired, wet, and probably irritated, the irritation was not at WOESE THAN USELESS. all lessened or smoothed down finding Mr. Sandy quite dry and comfortable, seated at the dining-room table engaged in skinniog and stuflSng birds, and, to save time and trouble, the boy had set the tiffin, so that the breads or biscuit plate was standing beside a saucer full of arsenical soap, and the raw skin of a bird opposite the coffee pot. Of course, the manager was excessively angry, and freely stated his opinion that this sort of thing would never do. Mr. Sandy would immediately call his boy, for he had brought his own boy with him, and order the table to be cleared and cleaned, and in the most polite manner apologize for the freedom he had used, so that it was impossi- ble to be angry wfith him for any length of time, especially when he took his hat and umbrella, begging for instructions, as it was bis turn now to go out to the work. He evidently meant well, but could not do what he meant, for, when he got out to the work- ing place, he joked with the women, played with the children, and cuffed or even thrashed some of the men, until the coolies, when they saw him approaching the working place, used to grin with delight, quite sure of having some fun, for even tbe cuffing and thrash- ing of the men was looked upon as nothing serious ; he did not hit hard. The manager, finding that his assistant was worse than useless in the field, determined on giving him other employment, and told him to keep to the house, do up the check-iolls and accounts, and he himself would look after the out-door w^ork. Mr. Sandy tried his best, and sat day after day poring over the check-roll, the result being, that, after it was finished, the manager declared it all to be so utterly wrong, as to necessitate the drawing out of a iiew sheet altogether. Mr. Sandy’s education had either been neglected, or, what is much more likely, he had neglected to attend to it himself. vVhat was to be done with him ? He was quite useless, more than useless, at everything at which he had been tried. And so it was. Mr. Sandy was told as he v/as a bit of sportsman and naturalist he could do as he liked, and, when his services were required for any purposes, be would be told. When crop set in, as the most use- ful way of employing his services, he was told to station himself in the cherry-loft, and take in and measure the coffee from the pickers. One day, the manager seeing the gangway leading into the cherrj- loft all blocked up with coolies, waiting their turn for measurement, supposing that there might be some push or stoppage in the work, elbowed his w'ay in for the purpose of rendering assistance. He found the platform filled with coolies, standing behind their bags. AN ARTIST. which were opened up, but no measuring was going on. Mr. Sandy was seated at the table quite absorbed in the perusal of a novel, perfectly oblivious of the pressing calls which everywhere surrounded pressed upon him. The manager pulled a bag of coffee close in to the table, seated upon it, took up the pickinii~book> and did his assistant’s work. The latter, hearing an extra bustle, looked up, said nothing, and resumed his reading ; it was evidently some very interesting passage. When the push was over, Mr. Sandy made many polite excuses and apologies for the trouble he had given, stating that he had merely taken a book to put off the time, until a sufficient number had arrived and to get through with it all at once. Notwithstanding this explanation, books were prohibited from being tafcn into the cherry-loft, but Mr. Sandy had other resources. The demand for writing paper at the store became extensive. What could be the meaning of the increased consumption of stationery ? The manager determined to take a sly peep. So in the early part of the day, when the cherry-loft was all clear, he pulls out the table drawer and examines its contents. He, then, for the first time, becomes aware that Mr. Sandy is a bit of an artist. Sheet after sheet of writing paper presents itself to his astonished gaze, covered over with all manner of caricatures, very neatly md cleverly done. He had no difficulty in re- cognising himself as playing a very prominent part, and not a very dignified or refined one, in these lively sketch- es. Nor was this all : a number of letters were there, and Mr. Sandy’s replies to them, sealed and ready for posting, no doubt written on the very paper which was supplied for store use. The great demand for paper was now all explained. Mr. Sandy had converted the cherry-loft into an office or writing-room, wherein he carried on all his correspondence, and 23ractised his. talent for drawing caricatures ; very neat, pointed, and clever, they were, if he had only confined himself to the cooly men and women, but the manager con- sidered those in which he was a prominent figure as very stupid and awffiwardly done, shewing very bad taste, or rather no taste at all. It was evident Mr. Sandy was a bit of a blockhead. It would have re- quired very little tact to have known that it was very unlikely the manager would never peep into the table drawer. It was just about one of the likeliest places he would examine, so to leave caricatures of him there .showed little wisdom. Mr. Sandy kept a very small pony of a very peculiar colour. The main colour of the animal was wdiite ; over this were large spots of red, very similar in appear- A SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE. I ely venture has been taken advantage of by some one sharper than yourself. You slowly draw your hand from your pocket, still lovingly clasping the rupees, loath or afraid to part with them, b' lowly they tinkle back into the pocket, slowly the hand is raised, you look up, and find — the prize is gone! “Too late.” “Too cautious.” These four short words have probably ruined as many MR. STEDIMAN. chances as “Too soon,” “ Too rash.” Much has been said and written upon rash speculation, so a word, in conclusion, maybe said, on the very cautious, procrasti- nating man. If he lives long enough, he will probably obtain a competency, but will never be rich. I question much if he will enjoy the fruit of his labours. From long habits, he will be afraid, always in fear of losing it, which will in a great measure mar the pleasure derived from its use. CHAPTER XVII. A Prodigy of a Scotch Superintendent. Mr. John Stediman was quite a different character from Mr, Sandy: he was a Scotchman, and Mr. Sandy was English, which may in some manner account for the difference.^ Mr. Stediman did not come out on chance. He was engaged for a term of years, upon five pounds a month, a free house, which was always given, such as it was, and his passage paid out. Arrived on the scene or site of his labours, he devoted his whole and sole attention to them. Such a thing as amusement, recreation, visiting, or receiving visit- ors, never once entered into his mind. Not that he was the least inhospitable in the way of treating his guests : far from it, but he made no difference for them in any way, told them to amuse theme elves as they could during his absence at work. At dinner,, it w^as just plain fare, the invariable curry and rice,, with a piece of salt beef, or pork, out of the keg. Mr. Stediman, although in all points quite con- sistent in his habits of steadiness, was always willing- and ready to make all allowance for those of a contrary habit; he condemned none : all he desired and required was that he should also be let alone, and follow his own line of conduct. Pie generally was allowed to do so, for all seemed to have a respect for his thoroughly correct, persistently correct course of life. He seldom refused any invitation to a spread or spree. He would sit up till past midnight at tbe hotels in Kandy, and seemed to enjoy himself more than any one else, while never once making a slip at the social; table ; tbe bottle never passed him, whether it was’ * Mr. Millie may be thought to be rather “rough’ on those of the planters who are Englishmen, and are neither spendthrifts nor neglectful of business. He is referring, of course, to a past generation, bufe even then the remark is a too sweeping one — Ed. MERIT AND PROMOTION. sherry or champagne, but he never drained his glass, his lips would merely touch it. The result was, he had always his wits about him, and just from this very fact he not only seemed to but did enjoy him- self far more 'than others, who had not their wits always about them. Whatever might be, any one who wished to see Mr. Stediman, between the hours of 6 A.M. and 4 p.m., never once dreamed of going to the bungalow: that was about the most unlikely place to find hint. He frequently had his breakfast sent out to him: at all events, there was no fixed hour for it ; the nominal time was ten o’clock, at which it was ready, and at that period of the day, or from it till noon, half-an-hour would be devoted, as it best could be spared. He generally spent his Sundays at home, reading, or taking a quiet walk during the cool of the evening: in fact his neigh- bours said he was a religious man. Notwithstanding this, during the push of crop, when Sunday work might be considered a necessity, in order to save or secure coffee, which otherwise was in danger of being lost, he would spend the greater part of the day in the pulping-house, measuring in Sunday -picked coffee, and in a general way superintending store work ; in the evening, when all was over, he would read his Bible, and some other good book, his prin- ciple being, that, fif, from his position, or sense of duty to his employers, he could not properly observe the whole sabbath as it ought to be, there was no reason why he should not keep a portion of it. He thought it no offence to work in order to secure his employer’s property from loss, but he did think it wrong, immediately after having done so, to walk off to his next neighbour’s to dine and spend the evening. Thoroughly consistent men will generally always have the respect of others, and thus it hap- pened that, although Mr. Stediman was not what is called a popular man, he was respected and esteemed by all who knew him. He asked for no advance- ment or increase of pay: he knew neither of these would be forthcoming in his present employment, but he plodded on in order to gain a character and experience which would undoubtedly procure, in course of time, remunerative employment ; nor was he disappointed, for^ after four or five years of this weary apprenticeship, his employer one day told him, if he chose to accept: of the situation, he was offered one for him, or bad procured it, as manager on a large estate on a salary of £360 per annum with horse-keep and other allowances. Of course he ac- cepted it, and so it was that, at the close of the. A GOOD TRAINING. month, on receiving his pay of five pounds, he awoke next morning in receipt of a salary of thirty. Months and years come and go, and during the slack season some of Mr. Stediman’s friends deter- mined upon paying him a visit ; they find just the same man, only living in a larger and better furnished house. He had an assistant and conductor, but they were merely to assist him in, not to do the work themselves. He went about the same as ever, in rain and sunshine, and not only ordered work to be done, but saw that it was done and done properly. Such are the effects of original training, even if principle should be deficient, but when the two are combined they are generalJy impregnable, a strong fortress which can treat with indilference and con- tempt ail attempts made to carry it by assault ; and so it generally is. Any one on the outlook for a superintendent should by no means overlook the very important question: “ Where and by whom was he originally trained?” And so it was and stdl is, that any sharp clear- beaded manager on the lookout for an assistant would do well to consider not only the ability of the applicant, but the character of the estate he has been on, and who first was his superior. For it is beyond a doubt that all or nearly ail in every trade or calling must, in some degree, and to a certain extent, more or less, adopt the habits, views and opinions of those to whom they served an apprenticeship, or under wFose instructions and regulations they were originally “brought out.” There are some managers, and it is to be hoped many, from whom an assistant may wdth confidence be received, merely on their brief recommendation, the bare fact that tiiey have been a few years under them being quite a sufficient one without any other notice whatever, as there were some managers, and no doubt are now, from whom no recommendation whatever would be any inducement to receive an assistant who had been, however nominally, under their training, if training indeed it could be called. Perhaps these remarks are too severe : they may be, if circumstances are considered, for we cannot or could not expect those to train or qualify others foi- any calling, who never were trained or qualified them- selves. It is just reason and common sense, and applicaMe everywhere in the old country: those who understand their business, whose plain principles are “^Business first and pleasure after”; ‘‘You can’t eat your pudding at night and have it in the morning,” are more than likely to turn out their apprentices monfe the same eampt .Only, as we are all crea- AN OLD PUL PER. tures of habit, take care you don’t get into a mere methodical working machine ! That is as much to be deprecated as the other way. The machine will make money, and will never use it. He will be like a well-set pulper, take in steadily any amount of palam, throw out behind all the refuse and skin, deposit all the good coffee in the receiving cistern, and when the season’s work is done, if with him it ever is done, what the better is he of it at all? None: but on the contrary the worse; he is all 'Covered with pulp and slime, teeth of the cylinder all blunt, possibly a good many wires out of the sieve. And others, strangers unknown, are making .fine profits out of his grinding, creaking, rattling labours and evolutions. It is just thus .with the animated working machine. Every year, he must have some repairs, until at last he becomes worn out, leaving others to spend, or most probably squander, the fruits of all his hard-earned labours. The old-fashioned planter of the days gone by, is now extinct, or, if not, is rarely to be met with, and more rarely noticed ; but do not cast out utterly the old planter and old pulper, both haA^e done good services in their day, and may be called upon to do so again. The writer once had an old raltle-trap pulper; it used to grind away, night and day, slow and sure, at the rate of twenty bushels an hour. Times changed; it was stowed away in a dark corner ©f the store, a water-wheel and crusher took its place, pulping sixty to eighty bushels with ease. Some neighbours wanted to buy the old pulper. I always said ‘‘No,” for which no definite reason could be given. It was probably looked upon with a feel- ing of respect, or with some foreboding that an old 'friend might again prove a friend during a heavy push of crop. So it proved; some trifle went wrong with the new machinery. This sort of thing just requires a beginning, and, do what we could, as fast as one delect was put right, another would take place, more serious than the previous one. The new machinery would not work. Picking could not be stopped, the coffee was rotten ripe, the cherry coffee rotting, steaming, and mouldy. What was to be done ? It suddenly flashed through my mind, “Where is the old pulper ! ” It was discovered in a dark corner of the store, and speedily brought out, set in posi- tion on the pulping platform, with temporary spouting- attached ; no regard was paid to its rusty, dusty, dirty appearance, a little oil was applied to the 8<:rews and bolts, handles fixed, and four coolies put on to drive. It creaked, groaned, and shook, as if it THE OLD PLANTER. would fall to pieces, but did n’t. After a short lapse of times it just went as smoothly as if it had not lain in a dark corner for a few years, but twenty bushels an hour seemed, for a time, to make no impression on the large heap of coffee. The old pulper was uorked day and night by relays of coolies, it was never stopped, until the whole mass of coffee was fairly pulped off. When this was done, the new^ machinery was set agoing and the old pulper replaced in the dark corner of the store. Who would ever have supposed, when looking at the hue w^ater- wheel with machinery attached, that there would ever have been any occasion to call out the old pulper, or if so, that ifc could ever have done what it did ? Just so with the old planter : he may be partially wanting, not “up to ” all the scientific and wonderful improvements of the present time. Most certainly he is not a- double pulper and crusher with water-wheel attached, but do not crush him ; if he won’t be con- vinced, let him alone ; those who don’t or can’t float with the stream current will probably, after a time, find themselves in some quiet eddy making regular and monotonous circles under the shade of the bank. Why should those who are going with the current disturb their quiet and harmless life? They are not in the w^ay ; nothing they do or can do in the quiet eddy will disturb the onward course of the river. It has frequently happened that even those who were loudest in their sneers as the old planter have sometimes been fain to seek him out for consultation and advice on some difficult question, and even if his advice or opinion, if acted upon, turned out of no avail, it was an after satisfaction to the sufferer that he had consulted the old planter ; he had done all that he could, he had taken the advice of one who ought to know something on this matter, and so he was relieved of some mental responsibility, or it may be self-reproach, if he had failed to consult or de- spised the consultation of the old planter. Besides much of their advice on intricate or doubtful questions was somewhat similar to a little gold specked over u quantity of quartz. A little discrimination would easily separate the gold from the quartz, while at the same time you could not obtain or procure the former without also accepting of the latter. Although the old planter was somewhat bigoted, as a rule he seldom gave out that his advice and opinions were all gold, and contained no quartz. ’ He would say : “ I have done so in a similar case. I have found such a course of action answer, and leave you to judge whether or not to do and act as THE INTELLIGENT YOUNG PLANTER. I did.” Although at the same time it must be added, he was evidently convinced his opinion was right and unasailable, and expected you to act upon it ; if you did n’t, but did otherwise, and still did not get out of your trouble, be ould look wisely, while talking with a friend, cutting! up his cavendish tobacco, and rubbing it up slov/ly between the palms of his hands, muttering bet een his teeth, clinched on his tobacco ihpe, “Just as I expected.” “I told him so.” ‘‘He would not take my advice.” But whether his advice was takm or not, it was perfectly evident he was fond of being consulted. It may be, that, although he would not admit it, he could not help feeling that he was getting into the quiet eddy, that the crowd was pass- ing him, and he was made light or little thought of ; in fact, that he began to feel himself “small,” and not the big man and great authority of the da37-s gone by. And a little consultation or deference paid to his opinion, whether acted upon or not, tended to please him, and lessen the feeling of smallness that was graduaily creeping over him. Old planters, don't be offended. The writer is an old planter too, and knov/s all about it. This sort of feeling is not con lined to old planters : it is to be found in the seniors of every profession. Not always, however. There are many exceptions, of which the Editors of the Observer are notable ones. They l?avealw£iys gone on with the stream and tide of improvements. More than gone on, they have led, or shown the way, -and sometimes even diverted the stream into a different channel, which turned out a better and shorter one than the original course ! This somewhat ludicrous sketch of the old planter may also serve as a warning to the younger ones. You can’t be alwa,ys young. If you remain in Ceylon either from choice or necessity, in course of time you wdll become an old planter also, but this does not involve the necessity of retaining old habits and customs, merely because they are old ones. The intelligent young planter has the prospect before him, if he has the power, of superseding old habits and customs by new ones, provided they are better, and can be proved to be better. No doubt, in all times and ages, every novelty or innovation which is or is supposed to be an improvement has had, and ever will have, much to contend against, but these very contentions which will engage it, if the improvement is a sound and correct one in prin- ciple, will tend to expose, confirm and consolidate the fact that this said improvement is an improve- ment. It is no use saying, as many do, that there can be no further improvement on an act, it is per- A GOOD SON, feet. Scarcely any improvement was yet effected, but what in some future age has been further improved upon. And I perfectly recollect, when the circular sieve was applied to the rattle-trap pulper, in place of the up and down shaking one, many declared no further changes could be effected in pulping ma-. chinery ! I think I hear some exclaim : ^‘A nice fellow is this, to liken an old planter to an old rattle-trap pulper. Why, he ’s just an old pulper himself, and that by his own showing!” Just so. Just an old pulper, laid aside in a corner of one of the world’s stores, concealed from the view, or rather hidden by the dark dusty reek of Auld Reekie.” But should occasion, necessity, or temporary expedience, require,, the old pulper is quite ready and fit again to take his stand on the pulping platform. The dentist, at Bogam- bra Mills, v/ill soon sharpen his teeth or put in new ones ! A good scrub down will take off all the rust, and a coat of paint will make it look like new. Never mind the sharpening of the teeth, or the new coat of paint if the structure is sound and free from rot. The work that the old pulper had done befoi’e can be done again, perhaps only, and naturally, a little groaning and creaking at first, but that will wear off. This discourse on old planters and pulpers has led; us away from Mr. Stediman. If the brief sketch of his opening career was purely a fiction, it would be easy to end it as such, by stating he saved money, bought an estate, re- tired to the old country, and lived happily all his days or was alive still. But this is no fictitious sketch : it is a story of life. Mr. Stediman lost his health during a trip to the coast for coolies. We all know, health once lost in Ceylon is difficult, frequently impossible, to regain. So, he began to droop in that quiet, insensible way which settles down on one so gradually, that he himself is not aw^are of it, until it has gone too far on to admit of a cure. While in this weak state, he was seized with a sharp attack of dysentery, was sent down to Colombo for medical advice and the benefit of the sea air, where he died and was buried. In arranging his aftairs after his death, his friends, were surprised to find, albhough he had been called a “ screw,” stingy, and money-loving, he had saved nothing, left nothing. Where could it all have gone to ? This wms discovered from his papers. He had periodically remitted to his aged parents, and other relatives, in the old country, wffio were in poor cir- cumstances, all his savings. We now knew why he. GOOD AD VICE. had never invested in coffee, and those who gave the matter their attention knew that he had invested in a more permanent investment than coffee, for what is the promise in the fifth commandment, or rather the reward? “That thy days may be long in the land that the Lord giveth thee.” Those who take a merely limited view of this promise will say it was not fulfilled, for he was cut down in the prime of the days. Let such consider, the promise does not say what or where the land is. Who knows ? The theory is a beautiful one, that for his reward he was taken away from the evil to come ; taken away to a bet- ter land prepared for him, where our threescore years and ten are but as a dream or shadow, where he will be satisfied indeed with length of days, for he will live for ever and ever. It used to be a frequent custom amongst planters to laugh and scout at the saving ones amongst them, calling them “stingy screws.” But take care how you wantonly or lightly apply the term. A man’s heart is a deep well, often apparently dark and gloomy, but there is generally water at the bottom, although you do n’t see it ! As a rule people do n’t talk of private matters, which don’t concern strangers, and because you do n’t know what a man does with his money, you have no right to come to the conclusion that he locks it up, is afraid to use it, and is a miserly fellow, un- less you can positively prove it. If you cannot, give him the benefit of the doubt, and remember Mr. Stediman. Having discoursed upon the old planter, we will con- clude with a few remarks to the young ones, which of course, and as a matter of course, will probably be laughed at. Never mind. I also have been a young planter, and laughed at old ones. Be patient and keep your temper with your coolies. If you are bursting with rage, do n’t show it, keep your mouth shut, and say nothing, if you cannot say it with coolness and temper. If you feel inclined to give him a cuff ram your clinched fists hard into your belt, until you become cool and steady. Do n’t be too great hurry to move on. Once establish a charac- ter and position, and there is no doubt but you will he moved on. Despise not small savings, for every thing must have a beginning, and most beginnings are small : — ‘ ‘ If thou canst dine upon a crust. And still hold on, with patient trust, Nor pine that fortune is unjust ; If in thy progress to renowm, Thou canst endure the scoff or frown Of those who try to pull thee down ; “BIDE YOOR TIME” If thou in darkest days canst find An inner brightness of the mind To reconcile thee to thy kind ; Whatever obstacles control, Thine hour will come. Go on, true soul, Thou’ltwin the prize, thouTt reach the goal. ” CHAPTER XVIII. The Value of Vigorous Lines of Stirring Poetry. During my passage out to Ceylon, in 1844, on board the steam-ship Precurseur via the C;ipe, in some of the ship’s old magazines, Ijing about for the use of the passengers, I found the small scrap of beauti- ful poetry with which the last chapter concluded. It was never forgotten, but always remembered, and often repeated in many a trying and diflScult position. Its work may not jet be done, and the remembrance of what it has done may perhaps be still the means of inducing others to keep heart and courage, and if they cannot, under existing circumstances, ‘‘ go forward ” at all events hold “their own, ” don’t slide back ; they may, even, like the old planter, get into a quiet eddy, for a time, but take care that it is only for a time, and so “bide your time.” It is not generally, or perhaps not at all, thought so, but quiet eddies have often proved very useful places, and wdiy should they not be so still ? Being not altogether w ithout motion yourself, although it maj' be considered a useless one, still you are in action, you are not stagnant, and a stagnant position in any calling whatever is, in every sense, if possible, to be shunned and avoided. Besides, from the quiet eddy you see all that is going past, very probably a good many “ fine catches,” and you curse your hard fate, tliat you can’t get out of the eddy to catch a catch ! But stop a little, listen to the dis- tant roar and rush of water ; what is all this coming tumbling dowm ? A flood, or water-spout, has burst : a crisis, a crash in coffee planting ; on it comes carry- ing everything before it, and you are thankful you are in the quiet eddy ! Now is your time to get out of the quiet eddy and into the stream before the flood subsides and leaves you there, or rather “as you were.” But you must he careful not to get out too soon ; in that case, you will just be washed away in the current; neither must you put off too long, or the flood will go down, and leave you worse than before, for it will probably have washed you up higher and HAPPY RATS. drier on the bank, beyond the reach of any future flood, or chance, for many a long time to come, if ever. Bide your titne and watch your chance. Mind chances are fast passing, and won’t wait your time ; out with you : at it, grasp it, and off you go ! There was, but it is now extinct, another class of old planters, not very numerous. They came down the stream, none knew from whence. Into the pool (Ceylon) with a great splash, splutter, and dash, round and round they v^ejit, one week at Colombo races, another at Nuwara Eliya, and then in a few days elephant shooting, or some other sporting excur- sion. They were anywhere and everywhere, except on their own estate, for these were proprietors. Round the pool they go ; sometimes, at the spill-water (Colom- bo); it would be thought they were off, but they were not ; they had cheated the current, apparently going off with the gentle suction, they would again shoot p)ast and dis- appear on the old routine. When tired of all this scurry, this planter would return to' his estate to rest, and gain strength for another cruise. Big com- fortable bungalows they had, with every comfort and luxury They were hospitable in the extreme, and often when spending a Sunday with them have I been astonished at what pleasure they could have in rummaging about the country living in bad resthouses and tents, neglecting iheir estates, when they might be so comfortable there. Sometimes Avhen the butler with a bunch of keys at his belt, opened the store-room door, to take out some necessary supplies, have I gazed in, as has been remarked about coolies going for rice, with a hungry visage. For there w\as revealed to my wondering eyes shelves placed along the wall on which were ranged rows of pots of jams, pickles, sauces, and wRat not ; from the rafters hung hams, bacon, and smoked tongues ; on the ground were piles of bottles, containing all sorts of wines and liqueurs ; and in a back corner stood some tall fellows, capped with tinfoil, evidently containing champagne, but almost covered over with earth, excavations of rats. For the rats held wild revelry here : open casks of salt-butter perceptibly ‘contained their marks, and it was quite certain they had been tasting all the cheeses to see which were best. They had such a choice of good things, that they had become nice and particular as to the quality of their food. We would turn away a!id sigh; — “ flippy rats! To-morrow morning we must return to our curry and rice, and mud bungalow and hard work. When can we ever hope to attain to this perfection in plant- ing life ? What a fine thing it must be to be a pro PROPEIETOEY MANATEES. prietor!” This class of planter managed (?) his own ■estate, during his brief, uncertain, and periodical visits; during his absence, a conductor mismanaged it. He was always short of coolies, and the neat, well-kept, welh furnished bungalow used to present a contrast to the cof- fee, all covered with weeds, unpruned, uncultivated. Dur- ing crop a great loss must have taken place. I have known estates, with say eight hundred to a thousand cwts of crop on the trees, and only thirty or forty coolies on them. No wonder the proprietor could not bear the sight, and, as a last resource, ordered his conductor to beg or borrow coolies where he could, packed up his travelling-box, and took himself off. On his return, knowing from past experience that he would feel dull and lonely, he could bring troops of friends with him, and have a regular “ kick-up.” It w^as a curious fact, that estates managed by their proprietors and conductors were nearly always short of coolies : one would be apt naturally to suppose that it would have been quite the reverse. And no doubt it would have been had the proprietors acted in a different manner, for how can, or could, any one at- tend to his business, espe' ially such a business which requires such constant and careful supervision, when he was never at home ? There used to be a current saying, that no proprietor could manage and wnrk his own property. If you substitute the word would for could, you would be nearer tlie mark. The same or much about the same principle applies to laud- owners at home. A landed proprietor farming his own property frequently can’t make ir pay. He gets into debt and ditticidty, and lets it out to an enterprising practical tenant at a good rent. He, after paying Ids rent, and his own personal expemlitui e, makes it ysiy ; he saves money. The principle is the same in both eases. The landed proprietor at home or abroad is his own master, ametiable to no one, he can do what he likes, ancl it is only human nature that he should prefer amusement to work. Theie is little or no excuse for the landed proprietor at home, but great for the one in Ceylon. The latter is in an. unsuit- able climate, where it requires some incentive power to work; the constitution gets dowm, and work is not advisable, if it can be avoided — hut it • is no use going on, we know ail about it. Many who read this will, like myself, probably have had some very prac- tical feelings in this experience. The superintendent must rouse up and exert himself, or he will he roused out of his place, lose his character, and find d dif- ficult to procure another situation; not so with the L UNSUCCESSFUL SPECULATION. proprietoi*, and thus is very easily explained what, at Urst, seems a strange anomaly. Two gentlemen leaped into the pool, into the very centi'e of it, with a great dash, which finally ended in a smash ! They were going to perform wonders : tough beef and stringy mutton were soon to become a matter of history. ‘‘ Bass ” and “ Alsopp ” would be ruined, for who would drink their decoctions w’hen better stuff would be brewed in the Colony at one- half or one-fourth the price ? They bought land in Nuwara Eliya, and first of all built a ffine and very expensive house. What a curious starting that used to be in almost every undertaking, however uncertain and hazardous, the building of an expensive house I One would have thought that this proceeding should or vAould have been the last thing gone into, that people would have waited until they saw whether or not their operations or speculations presented any chance of success. Besides, building in those times was very expensive ; it sank money, yielding no returns. Mow often have I and many others also seen the reinaliis of a very fine bungalow standing in a wilder- ness of wffds and jungle scrub, wdiich had once been coffee. What a melancholy sight, what painful re- code lion- it called up, especially if a few years before you liapp'iied to have been a guest in it, when the hopeful owner w^as in all the pride and zenith of his pov^., r. It is my iniention at some future time in these writings to devote a chapter to this subject, headed “ The Dying Confessions or Bevelations of an Old Bungalow.” Toe Eamboda Pass was thronged wiih bullock carts laden with, agriculty.ral instruments of every demi iption, direct from England ; inside the carts Avere pens contain ing English sheep, pigs and poultry and all manner of grain seeds in bags and stocks. Tue eves of the old planter travelling down the Pass wuuld he astonished and gladdened at the sight of real English cattle and horses being led up the Pass to liie farm, and, in order that the Avhole affair migid be completed in slap-up style. English- built carriage and English horses were only a reason- able jinalc, of course all the establishment could never be managed or worked by natives. English men and women servants were amongst the attaches. But it is 110 use going on : all old hands must recollect this undertaking, and all new^ ones must have heard of it, and all about it. But somehow this dashing specula- tion did n’t do, it soon fell through, the stock did n’t breed and fatten, and the beer did not take the market, people did not drink, or what was more likely drank it once and did not do so any more! They actually FAILURE OF THE NUWARA BLIYA BREWING. had the bad taste to prefer the tmte of Bass and Al- sopp, although it was more than double the price. It was even hinted that the gentlemen did not drink their own beer, as sundry casks of “Bass” were seen peeping out of the casks as the carts were ascending the Pass ! Their men-servants began to open their eyes, and soon saw theirs was no fit position for them in a Colony like this, and so they wisely got out of the position as soon as they could, and started for tliemselves in a more humble way. llie women also found the same objections t® the position, and as opportunities were numerous they caught bold of what seemed to their idea the most suitable, nnd changed their position. The English carriage and horses tumbled over a pre- cipice on the Bamboda Pass, the former being smashed to pieces, and the latter killed. (Mr . Editor, do you recollect what became of the groom or driver? 1 don’t think any human lives were lost.’^) Never did any undertaking result in such utter shipwre(.‘k : not one fortunate or redeeming point, and the amount of money lost by its originators, utterly, hopelessly lost, could not have been less than £25,000, at least so it was said. They disappeared from the scene, and were no more heard of. Yes, one has been heard of, not very long ago. All this hard cash sunk in the mud of the pool, beyond recovery. For the curious peculiarity of the mud was that money sunk in it not only could never be recovered, but was converted into mud, which only increased its muddiness and tenclenc}^ to absorb more, until at last the pool showed some very alarming signs that it would become quite choked up with mud, and nothing else. The failure of the undertaking above recorded by no means implies that a similar one, conducted on a more rational and reasonable system hy 'practical men, would m't meet with some degree of success. Not in Nuwara Eiiya, for the climate there is too wet, and the natural grasses too poor ; but further down the Pass tow'ards AYilson’s Bungalow, or even in the plains where the soil is first-rate, and the climate dry and pleasant. Just observe the sleek fat appearance of the native cattle pasturing in these plains, and ob- serve the plentiful crops of vegetable^ they easily raise in their small gardens. The great drawback how'ever is the wind, which certainly does blow, as it blows nowhere else. When superin trdent of Wedde- inulle, I myself had an idea of entering into some- thing of this sort, and even w'ent so far as to apply for a piece of land, but circumstances occurred w hich necessi- tated my removal to another district, ai d the idea was given up. It was to start a stock buy None. — Ed. ' FAEMINa ON THE HILLS. lean cattle from the coast cheap, remove them to the station, and with a little care and attention, without any great expense, why should they not become sleek and fat, ready for the butcher too ? They would then sell for double or treble the price they originally cost. If my memory serves rae aright, Messrs. Kellow and Cotton adopted this plan on a small scale, with great success. The potatoes that grew there were very much superior in qualitv to those grown in Nuwara Eliya : they were much drier; and thel cabbages, although not 90 large, of very much finer quality. These gentlemen purchased land in the forest immediately behind Wilson’s Bungalow, on which, they were not content with growing potatoes and vegetables, but also planted coffee, which, when last seen by me, appeared to be very promising. . But I have since heard the promise was not realized, and it eventually did not turn out well; it could not have been the fault of the soil, than which none could be better : I suspect it was the climate, a little too high in elevation, for it. was certainly cold there, before the sun got up. Let the practical result of coffee planting at Wilson’s Bungalow not be lost sight of by ‘‘the fellow who said it.” Why should not my own idea of starting a stock station even yet be taken up, and of course improved upon, by some others, by some who have a good idea of stock? The want of water may be urged, but there is plenty on the adjoining forest ranges, where the Australian plan might be adopted of having a home station, growing all sorts of vegetables, Indian corn, &c., and the stock driven out occa- sionally to the far-off “runs,” The same drawbacks of transport would not exist now, with a railway to Gampola, and I should suppose a good and steady market would always be found in Colombo and Kandy for fat beef, mutton, pork, poultry, and all sorts of vegetables. The failure of the Nuwara Eliya farm ne^^d not deter anv practical man, for is it not a fact that some of the original subordinates ill the undertaking have done very well . made money, and retired from Ceylon, but in somewhat the same way, only on a smaller scale, than what is here proposed, and since it has been proved to answer and be remunerative on a small scale, why not equally so on a large one, that is always provided the demand will not be under the siippl^^ ? I should think not, but on the contrary the greater the supply the more also would be the demand. It has always been one of the great complaints of the Island, the want of a full, regular, aud cheap supply of vegeta- THE EUTURE. bles, and it has even been asserted, no 'doubt with truth, that this want has been the origin of some of the diseases of the country, induced or produced after a long residence. It was not only as was often sup- posed the tough beef and the curry and rice that pro- duced dyspepsia and other complaints, it was also a total want of or an i^’peguLir or insufficient sujiply of vegetable diet. When we look back on tlie changes that have taken place during the last thirty ^ears, changes wdiich, if the^^ had been predicted to that generation, would have been received with shouts of laughter and scorn, as the emanations of a madman, may we nut look forwa,rcl and speculate on changes which ^iiay take place in the thirty years to come. They are possible, just as possible as wdiat has already been realiz d. We may see the wdiole upper valley of Piindaliioy a planted in coffee"^'; no doubt the trees will be very luxuriant in leave?, and we t ope they will also have abundant crops, but we will never see, wbat may be, but mot in our time, comfortable bunga- lows with tall chin neys, standing at the ba>e of tlie forest-clad mountains which bonnet the Wilson's Bunga- low Plains, sending forth blue curling smoke, plainly perceptible at a great distance off, against the dark background /)i forest ; the interior and eternal surround- ings of these bimgaiows present all the appea,rance of an Australian settler’s locality, only with, this eliffer- euce— the Uva Railway sfation I Only fancy, green peas, cabbages, potatoes, fine fat beef, pork, ami mutton, just down by train from the Uva farm. Yes, fancy this advertisement appearing in the Ceylon Observer of 19U5. Y^ou, Mr. Editor, who like myself have s^en such changes, do you think it impossible? The fellow who said it ” may live (I hope lie will, for lie is but a young man) to see a'li this, or even more. If he does, and a memory of olden time passes like a dream through h:s mind, perhaps he will call to mind ‘'Thirty Years Ago.” He may then be writing similar remini- scences of the present time, under the ^ame title, for he himself will then have become “Thirty YYars. Ago,” and the writer of this will have been, not be, “the fellow wdro said it.” What a difference the two brief words, was and is^ make. He was the fellow who said it! I cannot, never will, see wBat may be thirty years hence. I can never comment on the thirty years to come, after they are gone, as has been done, and hope may still continue, on thirty years ago ; only, seeing what has been done in the past, scarcely any limit can be affixed to what may result in the. future. Having closed the last chapter with a few' lines of poetry, addressed to young planters, or rather advice *If not, with tea and cinchona. — Ed. AN ISOLATED ESTATE. to them, we would close this, at the close of another year, in the same way, only in memory of the old planters, and if readers, in their minds, would substi- tute the word years for planters (as the latter will not make correct metre) it will make a very fitting termination to the subject : — “Silently passed away the years in their shrouds; Nor heeded the cheers, w-hich the young New Years Were welcomed by the crowds ; Nor knew that ihey left behind, In the thoughts that never can die, Of good and of bad, of merry and sad, A ghostly memory . To the memory of old planters in the years that have gone, and success better success, to the young vmes, in the years to come. May they also become old planters too, and successful ones, is the New Year’s wish of their old friend and well-wisher, even although they may never have seen him, and never will. Even when writing, an old plante)' has passed a way at Elgin, on Christmas day. Sad news for Ceylon, for he was known and deservedly esteemed through the length and breadth of the land. Three months ago, I saw him talking of going out again I but instead, be has 20 ne home. O CHAPTER XIX. An Estate Ix\ Olde.v Times. A Puison with Forest Trees for Retaining Walls. In these days, there was an estate, no matter where, it was there, and to any inquiry as to where the only reply is somewhere. On this estate, there was, of course, a supeiTiitendent ; shall we say, his name was Brovv^ii ? Wnat ? Andrew Brown, back again ? It was even before Brown’s last exploits, further back than that. W e shad say, as we must say something, that his name '"vas Green. We have it, say some knowing ones. It is the writer himself? We have heard that he once was green, very, about these times, but that as he got bronzed with the sun, and climate, he became hrown ! Say away, say anything you like, we will have no dispute about names. What ’s in a name? A man must have one, and as well be called Mr. Green as anything else, provided you are not green ! This estate was an isolated one, entirely surrounded by jungle, a spot cut out of a vast surrounding forest. All round the clearing was a wall of standing forest : as far as the eye could reach, nothing was seen but MR. GREEN. dense forest up to the very mountain tops. On the back range was this everlasting forest, beyond ; the hill-tops was nothing but blue sky, when it could be seen ; and that was seldom, except in the dry cold months of the north-east monsoon. Mist generally enveloped the top of the mountains. No other estate was near, so that it could be likened to a iarge pri- son, whose walls were standing jungle. And what a email object even a large estate looks, when it is only a spot, cut out of a mass of forest. The extent seems so small, as compared with what meets the eye, around and beyond it. On this estate, of course, there was a bungalow, in the (then) usual style, from the verandah of which Mr. Green had gazed, during his leisure hours and on Sundays, until every tree, with any s]3ecialty, or peculiarity, in the surrounding forest, had become quite familiar to his eye. He had become quite tired looking out on the monotonous scene, in fact had turned the back of his arm-chair to it, reclining on which, after breakfast, he now, for a change, hxed his eyes, steadily, on the mud wall of the bungalow. In this dreamy state, he heard a faint sound, a well- known one, which made him start suddenly up, all animation, and strain and stretch his eyes over the vast extent of forest. Eagerly he looked, looked in vain, listened, and sat down again. “ It must have just been an old dhn tree, rotten and decaved, which had tumbled down in the forest.” Frequently one used to be st trtled wdth this sound, in the silent jungles, the curious fact being that it was generally always on a calm quiet day ; or was it that it was only heard on a calm day. An old tree — wdio can tell how old, how many centuries of time it had seen — had be- come perfectly rotten in the smm, full of decay : it was wonderful how it held togetl3er at all, but its time had come at last, and down it came suddenly roaring and crashing, the echoes of its fall making the whole surrounding forest resound, and the dust or “ stour ” created by its fall rising out of the jungles far over the tree-tops, like a cloud of smoke. The next day, after breakfast, Mr. Green was again startled by two or three faint distant sounds of falling trees. He could not understand it, or, rather, he began to have some idea what it was, and became very hdgetty. On stretching his eyesight over the unbroken expanse of jungle in the direction where the sounds came from, he fancied there was . some charge in the unbroken view — in fact, he fancied, it might be only fancy, that a portion of the forest seemed lighter, or somewhat different, he could not tell what, from FELLING FOREST. what it used to be. He could not take his ejes off the spot, and even as he looked a wider space of light suddenly opened out, succeeded by a crash of falling trees. There was no mistake about it now ! It was the fe]]in<4 of forest. He had neighbours, or was going to have them. Some one was opening an estate in the immediate vicinity. Taking out his pocket compass, he took the bearing of the small light open spot, also of a big tree at the edge of bis own coffee. To- morrow morning,” says Air. Green, “ I will solve this mystery, or my name is not Green.” At morning mus- ter four coolies, with Mr. Green behind them, pro- ceeded to the big tree, at the edge of the clearing. They commenced cutting a path ihrough the jungle, Mr. Green, compass in hand, jjointing out the direc- tion. No matter what the ground was, down steep rocky banks of rivei-s and up the other side, still on, on the same course, until the compass was no longer necessary, for the constant ringing of axes, and the falling ti-ees, kept them to their course, wliich brought them out into a mass of felled timber, unlopped. Mr. Green clambered along the trunk of a felled dtin tree, and then up one of its ragged branches, and saw a large clearing, in iirocess of lopping. At a rough guess, it must be considerably more than lOO acres. A few gra^s and talipot lints were standing at the edge of the clearing, and on making inquiry there, as to who w^as the master, no satisfactory response could be elicited. The only definite information given, or distinctly understood, was, that they had not been paid for two months, neither had they any rice ! Mr. Green turned on his way back inwardly re- marking ; — ‘ ‘ Always so, go where you will. Pay and rice ! They can speak about nothing else. I wonder if they ever think about anything else or of anything that is not immediately connected with these tw'o all-im- portant objects of life.” Yes, they do speak of some- thing else or rather solnebo(!3^ and that somebody is the master, although, of course, what tiny do say is a secret amongst themselves, a sort of freemasonry, and perhaps it is just as well for the master’s peace of mind that it is so. There was now nothing for it but to wait with patience until the clearing was burnt. After this event, of course roads would be cut, a bungalow built, which, also, as a matter of course, would have an inhabitant, and many a quiet surmise Mr. Green had, as to who his neighbour would be, and what sort of a fellow, and as to whether they would be neighbourly, or adopt the usual proceeding of near and dear neighbours, which was to quarrel. In due course of time, after a long spell of dry THE EXPENSIVE STYLE. weather, a dense mass of smoke arose ont of the jungle : the new estate was fired. It burned away in the usual style, which has already been described in a previoas chapter ; indeed, on the upper slope of the mountain range it caught in the bamboo underwood, and burnt and scorched the trees for a good way into the forest, an occurrence not at all desirable, for the forest trees, so scorched, die and stand so, bleached and blackened, for years, rendering it very unsafe to work or walk under their shadow, especially on a windy day, for who can tell, how, when, and where, a large limb or branch may come tumbling down, or even a ver}^ small one, which, dropping on one’s head from a great height, would be just as effectual in causing an unpleasant accident as a larger one : perhaps more so, as it drops in a quieter way, with no premonitory signs. Mr. Green sometimes took a walk through the jungle to see what was going on. They, whoever they were, had certainly commenced in style ; beautifully traced roads were in course of cutting ; no respect was paid to the nature of the ground : rocks were no obstacles, they were blasted ; precipices were looked upon with contempt, they were cut through, and as for convenient crossings on the rivers and streams, they were never looked for ; it was quite evident they intended going in for expensive bridges. The lining and holing was perfect, as far as regarded straight lines ; if a rock or boulder was in the way, if it was possible to move it out, it would be done regardless of any expense. Expenditure seemed no object here. A neat tem- porary bungalow was put up, made of wooden planks, and it had actually glass doors' and windows, made of jackwood, and sent up from Colombo ; it had also sawn rafters, plank floors, even the verandah was planked. The plan was in the usual style, sitting-room in the centre, with bedrooms on each side, and a verandah ail round. This, for these times, was con- sidered a first-class bungalow, something “ bj^ com- mon.” But what specially struck one was the large number of sawyers employed. Scattered all over the clearing, were temporary saw-pits ; timber of all sorts and sizes, lay about in heaps. It was quite evident that buildings of no ordinary style and structure had been decided on. Of course, Mr. Green made the acquaintance of the resident European, who although not decidedly saying so, certainly, from his conveisation, led one to suppose that he was either the proprietor or a co -proprietor, a piece of silly pride, or self-sufficient importance, ■which in these times resident managers of ten adopted,^ a deception frequently carried on for years, with success -FERGUSON’S DIRECTOR!. if once established, for there was nothing to expose it. In those times there were no monthly visitors, and few visiting agents. If they did turn up occasionally, their visits were passed off as those of friends, and cer- tainly, in general, they partook more of and looked more like the latter than the former, in fact nothing could be more difficult than to ascertain who was the proprietor, or were the proprietors, of a great many estates. ‘‘Ferguson’s Directory” was not then in existence, and if it had been would n’t the compiler have had his difficulties in filling up the proprietor’s column in his list ! This led to many abuses ; those who were con- sidered owners, and, as such, had incurred heavy pecu- niary responsibilities, suddenly went off we will say. “ The proprietor” had been sacked from some unknown source, and it was then discovered that he was not the proprietor, when bills were presented to his suc- cessor, wffio refused to have anything to do with them. The successor, in his turn, would perhaps give out that he had bought the estate, and would probably succeed in the deception, until he himself also got his “ walking-stick.” What a different state of matters exists in our present times, and how well-known now are all partnerships, owners, with their names, absent or resi- dent ; and with this knowledge how secure are traders, chettiss, &c. , intheir dealings with estates, as compared with “the days of old.” This state of matters has been mainly brought about by “Ferguson’s Directory,” a w’ork which has arrived at a perfection of correct- ness, and which must have entailed no ordinary trouble on its editors ; not only this, but the constant annual revision and correction, induced by the repeated changes always going on amongst the planters, must entail a work of no small difficulty and trouble, especially when we take into consideration that, even when the work is in the press, changes are taking place, so that per- fect accuracy in this book is simply impossible. The nominal proprietor, or rather the actual manag- er of this estate, finding the demands for pay be- coming excessively troublesome, packed up his boxes and went off to Colombo, on the very plausible pre- text that he was going to procure funds to pay up everything. He went off, and was neither seen nor heard of any more. No doubt he managed to arrange the little sum due himself, and left all his subordinates to manage for themselves. This they did by hanging about the estate, in the hope that something or somebody would turn up, but nothing or nobody did,, until at last they were starved out, and went away, leaving the estate desolate. After some time a com- mon uneducated man arrived as superintendent, but A FISCAL’S SALE. as he had no coolies, money, or rice, of course he oould do nothing. So he lived in the bungalow, as the man in possession. Rather dull work, but he was an industrious fellow, and set to work on all the waste pieces [of ground, with pickaxe and spade, clearing and trenching for vegetables. He grew capital cab- bages, carrots, turnips, and what not; and, more than that, lived on them, and when he wanted some cash, he filled a gunny-bag -with this garden produce, went round the neighbouring estates, and returned lighter in load, but heavier in pocket. This sort of thing went on for months, until the whole estate lapsed into a wilderness of weeds and jungle. Our resident superintendent, finding all his demands for cash, even for his own pay, quite useless, goes into Kandy, and procures a fiscal’s warrant for the sale of the property, to cover his own claim, in the shape of arrears of pay due. This was placarded on the door of the bungalow, and advertised in the local papers, as the columns of the Observer of that date, if still extant, can testify. The day of sale duly arrived ; and when the fiscal or bis deputy made his appearance, there was only one planter present, his assistant. The claim of the plaintiff amounted to about £40 : at this sum the estate was put up, and for this sum it was knocked down. 150 acres cleared and planted, 100 acres felled, and it would be hard to say how many more hundreds of acres in forest. Of course there were no title-deeds ; but the fiscal declared that his receipt for the money was the very best title that could be given, and so all matters appeared satisfactorily concluded. Mr. Green was installed as resident superintendent, two hundred coolies were at once put on to put the 23lace in Older, and all was bustle and activity, where silence and solitude had so long reigned. Two hundred coolies soon made a hole in the weeds, and gradually the place began to look once more like a coffee estate. Mr. Green had finished breakfast and was sitting in his verandah smoking his pipe, when the unusual sight presented itself of a stout gentleman rounding the corner towards the bungalow^ riding on a very small pony, but his astonishment was unbounded at what followed the gentleman — a regiment of coolies, marching in military fashion, two deep, only instead of muskets they shouldered stout long poles ! They marched well, kept step, and so they drew up in the open space in front of the bungalow, wheeled round, surrounded the whole house and grounded their long poles, so that Mr. Green found himself in a stato of blockade or siege. The gentleman then dismounted from his pony, enered the bungalow, and addressed Mr. AN ASSAULT-AT-ARMS. (rreen, told him he was here in unlawful possession, that he was sorry to interfere, but he was acting under stringent instructions from his superiors, and that he (Mr. Green) must pack up and depart, and take all his coolies with him, or, and he significantly pointed to his regiment in siege of the house, he would be under the necessity of forcibly ejecting him. Mr. Green, with the utmost politeness, requested the head of the besieging force to step in, and have — a glass of brandy and watek The general of the as- sailing force stepped in, but would neither sit down nor ‘Giquor up”; he seemed restless and impatient, casting glances at the lines, where the coolies seemed making preparations with long sticks also. Mr, Green stated that he was here under instructions from his employer, that he could not give up or evacuate the estate without communicating with him, and asked for an hour’s truce, a cessation of all hostile intent, which, aftei* some demurring, was granted, and the besieging force, instead of standing round the bun- galow, sat down on ‘‘their hunkers.” In the mean- time Mr. Green despatched a cooly in hot haste for his employer. The hour’s truce was about elapsed, the besieging general looked at his watch, and said time was up. Mr. Green was meditating wliether it would be his duty to capitulate gracefully or submit to be forcibly bundled out, when a white hat was seen in the distance making frantic leaps and tum- ]>les over logs and rocks, and a gentleman rushed breathless into the bungalow, addressing the invader, “What is the meaning of all this?” Tiie meaning was soon explained. The immediate reply was, “Mr. Green, is your gun loaded?’ “Yes,” says Mr. Green, “both guns are loaded with ball, as I was out last evening after elk and did not get a shot.” “Bring them here.” “Now,” says the employer, “the first cooly that enters this bungalow to take possession I will shoot him dead, and his blood be on your head” (addressing the invarling chief); “in fact I am not quite sure that the proper course would not be to commence by putting a ball through your own brain,” and as he spoke the hammer of the gun gave a very significant dich. Have any of our readers ever had a practical experience of this dick^. A cold hard eye fixed upon yours, not a quiver or movement of a single feature, no ultimatum pro- posed, not “ Yes” or “No.” but “Yes” or click, click ! Whatever the invader may have felt, be kept and iippeared to be perfectly calm.' “I am acting under instructions,” says he, “but I FLODDEN FIELD. ^im not bonn^l to carry them out with the shedding of blood. I will not undertake the responsibility, and so, if you will put down your threat < n paper and present it to me, we will withdraw under protest of being in danger of our lives.” “Mr. Green, bring out your writing materials,” says his employer. They were^ ^^speedily produced, when a written note was drawn out stating that force would be met by force, and any attempt to take possess- ion of the estate or bungalow would be attended with bloodshed. ‘‘That will do,” says the enemy, “ and now we with- draw. “And,” says Mr. Green’s employer, “away with you, and be ashamed of yourselves, in a civilized country under British rule and law, for adopting this most extraordinary proceeding. If you are wronged or in- jured in any way, or suppose you are, the law is open. Resort to it, not to two or three hundred coolies armed with big sticks. That for your coolies and sticks!” And he pitched the end of a lighted cigar into the “ crupper” of the last man that rounded the corner on their departure. The lighted cigar we be- lieve had taken effect, for, although nothing w^as to be seen, we heard shouts of “ appa-appa-a-a-a!” Mr. Green and his employer burst out a laughing, and thus were ended the eventful events of the day. For some time after the estate was called Flodden Field. The case was tried in the local Courts, and there can be no manner of doubt but that it was all duly reported in the Colombo Observer of 1849. The estate again lapsed into jungle and weeds, a case of dog-in -the manger with the proprietors, for they would neither sell, cultivate, nor allow others to cultivate. One would have thought the common-sense plan would have been, as the estate was partially reclaimed, to have allowed the purchaser to go on under protest, or, if taken from him, that he be refunded for money spent in its reclamation, for it was, evident all that the proprietors cared about was their own rights, and to establish those rights. After this true story let no one say a fiscal’s sale and receipt for the money is the best title-deed. CHAPTER XX. Selecting, Surveying, and Purchasing Land, in THE Olden Days. Coffee, in order to be a permanent and remunerative investment, must always be planted on forest land. Thus, the original cost of purchase is comparatively of M applications and surveys. '«mall amount, when the after expenditure of felling and ' clearing is taken into consideration. The intending purchaser, having selected a tract of land, handed in his -application for the same to the Surveyor General’s office, ■giving a description of its locality, boundaries, and extent in acres required. In course of time a Govern- ment surveyor was sent out, who cut out the bound- aries and measured the land, not however being pledged to the exact boundaries or acreage, as desired by the intending purchaser. The object was to connect the ^ surveys as much as possible, as also, while paying due respect to the wishes of the intending purchaser, to dake care that a due proportion of waste or un- suitable land is also included, on the same principle as dhe old Scotch proverb, “Buy beef, buy bone.” Were this not attended to, the plan survey of the country would present an unsightly appearance with many intersecting portions of useless and unavailable land. The application of the intending purchaser gives him no right or claim upon the land. When the survey is • completed, the block is advertised to be sold by public auction, at the Kandy court-house, on a given day, ■ one month from the date of the first advertisement. At vthe commencement of the planting interest, about 1840, the ups^t price of these lands was five shillings per acre. Subsequently it was increased to, and still is, £1. V On the day of sale, the applicant proceeds to Kandy, where the Government Agent, at the court-house, puls it up to jjublic auction. If there are no bidders, the apxjlicant has it at the upset price. If there are, he takes his chance in the bidding, along with others, un- til it is knocked down to the highest offer. Then, in addition to the cost of land, the purchaser has to pay cost of survey, cost of plans and title-deeds ; a deposit of one-tlrrd of the purchase money has to be paid down, the ])alance within a month. Failing payment of the balance, or in event of the purchaser changing his onind, the deposit is forfeited, and the land lapses to the crown, again to be put up on the application of any -one else. When the upset price of land was five shillings per acre it gave rise to a great deal of speculation. Par sis in Bombay, civilians of Bengal, and many others who had plenty of money, sent orders to agents in Ceylon to purchase frequently thousands of acres, wdiich they had no intention of cultivating, but merely to hold and resell at a profit. In after years some made money in those blindfold speculations, and many lost. To the poor, industrious, and practical planter, this system liad its drawbacks. Probably after years of honest labour lie would save as much as would buy himself a piece 4>f land. Those with money and no experience would LAND-SALE ADVERTISEMENTS. take advantage of this, attend the sale, on the principle* that the applicant was a man of experience and knew what he was about, that, if it was worth so much to him,, it was worth as much or more to them, f»nd the original applicant, after all his trouble, frequently found, it had been of no avail, that some one with a longer purse had' taken advantage of his experience and outbid him. However, as a rule, amongst neighbours and friends, one would not offer for his friend’s application, that is. to say if the friends were on friendly terms, which was not always the case The intending purchaser,, however, if resident near, had generally evei\\ thing liis own way. . In former times, indeed, it frepiently happened that he cut the boundaries of the land he re- quired himself. So, with a gang of coolies siipjjlied' with axes and catties, he proceeded to the jungle and' commenced to cut. He paid no respect to the straight lines, but cut out as his inclination desired, zigzag north, south, east, and west, avoiding what he considered bad or unsuitable land, and taking in all the best. When, this was done, he reported to the Survey Office that he had cut a piece of land which he desired to be put up for sale, and, when convenient, a surveyor was sent out,, who measured out and laid down on the plan the ap- plicant’s lot, which after being duly advertised in the Government Gazette was put up for sale. It is the writer’s opinion that the Ceylon Govern- ment have lost to themselves a great deal of money in the sale of their lands by neglecting or I’efusing to ad- vertise in the local newspapers these land sales. Few’' of the general public read the Gazette^ or even see it. I have known many instances where the first that was^. known of a portion of land having been sold w^as the statement of the purchaser that he had bought it at the upset price of £l per acre, and I have frequently heard the remark, or remarks, “ If I (or we) had only- known, you would not have got it for £5 !” The com- plaint of the public on this negligent system of ad- vertising lands became so great that the editor of the^ Observer, with a laudable desire to oblige his readers,, commenced to insert copies of these advertisements, extracted from the Governmmt Gazette, in his own. paper, receiving nothing from Government for so doing. But he soon gave it up, as they declined to pay foiv the advertisements, and I have a distinct recollection o^ . corresponding with the editor on this subject, my owm view, at that time, being that he was wrong in giving'; it up, that, as a public journalist, it was his duty to give, all and every information in his power to the general* public, especially on such a very important matter as the sale of land, a matter on which the progress and' THE SUEVEY DEPAETMEIS^T. prosperity of tlie Colony was so much dependent. Hk view of the case then was, that, while acknowledging the truth of tbe remark, still he did not see why he should advertise Government property for nothing, nor why his paper should he the means of putting money into the Treasury, while the authorities refused even to pay what, to them, considering the advantages they derived' from the advertisement, was but a very paltry sum indeed. Quite right. Much to be said on both sides. Tliere could be no doubt that Government lost money by not advertising in the local papers, and that the local papers displeased their readers by not inserting the land sales. The loose system of intending purchasers of land cut- ting out their own boundaries at last became an intoler- able abuse. The original purchaser of piece of a land, if he did not proceed to cultivate it, would sometimes discover that some one else had bought a portion of it, a second time, from the crown. The original boundaries would all have become overgrowui, and any intending purchaser of an adjacent piece of land would, quite unwittingly, cut off a portion of his neighbour’s, and so as he termed it make an encroachment. After a few years one would find his neighbours had built a bungalow^ or store on a corner of his patana, or had cut down and planted some of his best forest land. It even happened, and that much more frequently, that this would take place on crown lands. In the latter case, no very serious consequences Avould ensue, because, if it could be proved to have been done in ignorance, as of course it always was, the authorities w^ere fair enough in always allowing the trespasser to purchase. The only l isk the latter ran w as at the public auction. If he had any enemies, they would probably bid him up, knowing that he must have the land at any price, or if he had an unfriendly neighbour, who thought the corner would fit in nicely into his own property ; but these instances w'ere exceptions. The system of purchasers cutting out their own boundaries at last began to give way, as the demand for land in- creased, it was found this sort of thing would not do. The surveys were not connected and would not connect, spaces of crown land were left between adjoining pro- perties, wdiich neither owner would buy, and which would be of no use to any outsider, and this, of course, was a dead loss to the crown. The Survey Depart- ment, with every wish to oblige purchasers, declined pledging themselves to give every man the exact portion of ground he desired. They went in for straight lines and connected surveys, they would not make any deviation in their work to please the purchase BOUNDARIES. er, if there happened to be 100 acres of grass, orbar^ rock, or scrub ; nevertheless they were in general fair, just and reasonable, giving you as much of the land as they possibly could, which you wanted, to suit you, as the same time insisting on your taking with it a portion of unsuitable ground to suit themselves, which was just. It has even been said, but I decline vouching for its truth, that upwards of thirty years ago some of the Government surveyors did not complete the cutting of the boundaries of lands they were ordered out to survey, but connected the boundaries and calculated the acreage on paper. This, of course, could be done in a some- what approximate way by merely cutting one boundary on a scale, laying it down on paper, and on the same scale fitting in on paper or plan the other boundaries and then calculating the total amount. In fact, what has not been done in the old original days ? Of this there can be no manner of doubt, that the Survey Department cost Government a great deal of time, trouble, and money, in putting to rights old plans and measurements, if they are even put to rights still ; for it may be even now, that a good many old pro- perties, if put under the chain and theodolite in the hands of modern surveyors, would made their pro- prietors feel a little uncomfortable. The assistant surveyors, when out on their extensive surveys had a hard time of it. I have known many of them, and visited them in their talipot huts. It was about the hardest work, and apparently, to me, disagreeable occupation it was possible to conceive. Few who were kept at it for any long term of years were able to stand it. One of the hardest working men at it, a clever man at his work, and one who did good service in correcting and remodelling the surveys, about 1846-7-8, was Mr. Charles Wilson. He was popular with the planters and in favour with his superiors. What has become of him ? Is he dead or alive, for he has long since left the island and the service ? [Re- tired in 1864, and still draws a pension of £241 per annum. — Ed.] Most of the jungles are full of streams and small rivers of all sorts and sizes, and it was generally considered the best plan to take some of them as boundaries, in all cases where it could be conveniently adopted, because they were permanent ones. The jungle might grow and flourish to any extent, but still there was the stream boundary, it could not be choked up and obliterated. So the surveyor of the olden times, being pushed to get through with his work in 'order to proceed to some other locality, to meet some x^^’essing ■ DISPUTED BOUNDARIES. .^nd urgent call for his services, would take a stream 'for one of his boundaries, and having chained up .its course through the jungle, say, twentj^ fifty, or a hundred chains, and finding that its course so rfar was all in one direction, would probably stop, ^making a memo, is his field-book of the course of the streams, which was connected or found on in his .plans by this presumed course. Now, supposing this stream after this surveyor had taken his last sight, .and departed, instead of running on the supposed ‘Course, suddenly took a sharp turn, or a round sweep, dhe result, in future altercations about boundaries, will be easily imagined, or, as was often the case, ttlie stream divided itself into several branches, then 'the question would afterwards arise, which was the real stream, for all these mountain streams had names, and were known to the natives and native headmen by those names. Two proprietors were once engaged felling large extents of forest ; the sound of the axes waxed nearer and nearer, they were fast meeting hi the small .portion of forest left between them. In this small patch of forest one day the two proprietors met by mutual appointment. Says one of them, “What is the meaning of your encroachment upon my land!” The other replies bj just asking his neighbour the very same que-stion ! “What!” says one, “I have '500 acres of reserve forest here.” “ Indeed!” says the ^other, “for I have or ought to have 600, and it seems there is birely from one to two hunrlred acres left between us. I have been working by the title-deed plan.’’ “And so have I,” says the other. Well, after some consulration, it was agreed to make a reference to the Surveyor Generars (Jtfice, as to the rights and merits of the case ; in due time a surveyor came up, and spent many days on a careful survey of all the localities, and the result was eventually declared that «both proprietors had very considerably encroached upon < crown land! Here, indeed, was a nice conclusion to their reference! a case of “out of the frying-pan and into the fire. And thus it was in general ; if any one thought he was wronged in a small way by ^errors in boundaries or encroachments, better far to submit to it or settle by arbitration, than to have a ■re-survey. Once call in a regular surveyor to trace out old boundaries and settle disputes, who knows where it would end or what new features in the ^question it would open out ! It might be that, while positively certain your neighbour had encroached on ;your land by five or ten acres, the result of the survey would convey to you the intelligence that you had NATIVE EXCUSES. encroached on his hundred acres, or that half of your coffee was crown land! Again, this sort of thing only needed a beginning, like the letting out of water. If one survey w^as wrong, even slightly so, the next survey taken, adjoining it, would be worse, because many of the surveyors, in cutting out lands, availed themselves of the boundaries cut by their predecessors, insofar as they were necessary to connect. Why, and justly why, should they go and cut and measure a new line when here was an old one cut by Mr. ? The working surveyor, having discovered this fact, writes down to the Surveyor General’s Office for a copy of Mr. ’s plan of the land adjoining, which he receives. Perhaps tliere is some small error, of no great importance, in the copy plan received ; at all events the working surveyor could not get his ov/n lines to fit exactly on the copy, but the difference is so very slight as not to be worth bothering about, so he makes it fit. Perhaps before very long the plan that w^as made to fit is also in requisition, in order to join on another piece of land, and of course it will nob fit either, and the difficulty of fitting is always increased as the surveys were extended. The reader can thus, without any difficulty, imagine how this sort of thing, from a small and trilling beginning, increased and extended. The natives were always very much averse to land sales taking place in the vicinity of their villages. They had always some plea to offer why the land should not be sold. ‘‘It was temple land.” “It was the hunting-ground of royalty.” “It was necessary for cutting their timber or the grazing of their cattle.” “ It would stop or otherwise injure the supply of water for their rice fields.” As all these complaints, however frivolous, had to be considered, it was often no small trouble entailed upon the Government Agent of the district, to visit the localities, and report as to the truth or otherwise of the appeal. But even the favourable reports of the authorities in regard to land sales did nob always satisfy the native mind. The writer was well accquainted with one of the surveyors who originally cut out the, or a portion of the, Pundaluoya lands, and has beard some anecdotes of those day’^s in support of what he has said. This surveyor had pitched his tent on some of the grass lands below Harrow Estate, the whole of the existing estates being then, of course, forest. He had had a weary toil and tramp from Pussellawa, as there were neither roads nor bridle paths. When he passed on, troops of natives came up in his rear, and mr. NATIVE INTERESTS. rcumded him on all sides. They, however, offered no violence, ^ but talked and bewailed and lamented as '«)nly natives can do. They would not go away, but nSuiTOunded his tent, after it was pitched. The next morning he commenced wieh theodolite and chain, but the natives stood in front of the former, and threw themselves down on the ground before the course of the latter, saying: “Pass over our bodies, our dead bodies, before you measure and sell the hunting-grounds of our forefathers.” So, without any actual violence being used, the work was stopped, and the surveyor liad to depart and report the state of affairs at head cpiarters. Does this feeling on the part of the Sin- halese still exist ? I think not. They have been brought to see, and be aware, that the proximity of the white man, instead of being antagouistic, is quite the reverse, and that where the European fells forest, plants coffee, and flourishes, so also in some way or ways will they also^ flourish. I think they have been brought to see that the money and general prosperity brought in and caused by a settlement of planters is of much more permanent advantage to the native interests than the preservation of large tracts of forest, merely for the purpose of hunting down elk, deer, &c., for the sake of the dried flesh, or for the benefit of honey, the result of the labours of the bee hunter. Of course whei-e the native interests have benefited so largely from the influx of European enterprise, it is to be expected that some small counteracting evils, or rather inconveniences, will also exist. For it is ^juite true, the natives have a difficulty in procuring timber for their building and fencing purposes, that their cattle cannot be allowed to roam about untended, or they will trespass on the coffee estates, which they often do, and then be caught, tied up, and owners made to pay a fine, or damages, before the animals are released. But what are these but small drawbacks and petty troubles, as compared with other advantages realized ? In my own opinion, one of the greatest evils natives are subjected to, in the vicinity of coffee estates, is one whichIhaAm never heard them state, although, no doubt, they are quite aware of it, and that is, the pollution of water by coffee pulp. As the native lands and villages are ahvays in hollows and A^alleys, below the level of estates on the mountain ranges, they are liable to have their water not only all polluted but even eliminated and diverted and turned off from its original source. Of course, this has reference to watercourses diverting streams from their course, in order to supply power to the planter’s machinery, or to wash his coffee. Thus water, ux^on Avhich the native sets so much store, for the EESEEYATIONS. cultivation of his rice fields, is sometimes cut off and sent down another stream. Has the question ever been ask- ed, or proved, whether or not blackened, smelling pulp water is beneficial or otherwise to the irrigation of rice fields ? The reservation of forest for the use of natives used to be a somewhat sore subject, both to them and the planters. In calmly reviewing by-gone times, it seems to me, in many cases, Government were somewhat inconsistent in their general action in this matter. Take, for instance, the Peacock Hill, behind Pussellawa, originally completely covered with forest, and standing like some huge island completely surrounded on all sides by extensive rice fields, and a very numerous native population. One would naturally suppose, here is a, fitting locality for at least some native reservation, in- stead of which the whole has long since passed into the hands of European proprietors ; not a stick is left. And also, with regard to the great question of water, every river and stream descending from this bill must, in some measure, affect the numerous native residents around its base, and it cannot bo called in question, that, during crop season, every one of those streams, more or less, is polluted with pulp. Hot only during crop but foi' long after it is finished, the pulp slime will cling to rocks and stones in the beds of the rivers, so that it may fairly be questioned if the water in these streams ever is in a fit state to be used either by man or beast. In contrast to this, there is a considerable extent of chena ground, at the Sangilipalam, below Choisy estate, on the road to Pundaluloya. This is considered a fit subject for native reservation. On what grounds? There is no water on it : not a drop. The timber is merely a lot of brushwood ; it can be of little use for the pasture of cattle, as the patches of grass-land are but few and scant. Since the Pundaluloya road was opened, as a matter of course a considerable number of natives have opened patches of coffee here. But whether or not the land belongs to them is a question, as also whether or not their title-deeds are correct, that is to say if they have any. The real fact is, at all events was, that the question as to the sale or otherwise . of land rested in a great measure, in fact altogether, with the report or sanction of the Katemahatmeya of the district. Ho matteT how necessary any portion of ground was in or for the rights of the people, if the intending applicant had “ the ear ” of the Eatemahatmaya it was all right. It may be, the latter often passed his sanction to save himself trouble, to which all native minds are most decidedly adverse. For if the applicant was a persevering man, he would not submit to the simple negative of the headman. He^ AN OLD BUNGALOW. would call for the personal inspection and report of the Government Agent for the district. To the headmen there was some risk of unpleasant results to themselves^ in this proceeding. For if the Agent found there was no just reason why the land should not be sold, the headmen would probably come in for a “ wigging,*’ a ^severe reprimand for having needlessly caused all this trouble and expense in calling for a personal iuspection from the Agent. Again, if the applicant was in favour with the headman, even although the application was needful for the use of adjacent villagers, there would be no difficulty in the matter. The Batemahatmaya had merely to give his consent and recommend the sale. If this was known he would be a bold native man who would step in and make any obstacle ! They have too much respect for the powers that be to oppose them or it might be, — who knows? — the unpleaeaiit results, that in many quiet ways might, and no doubt would, ensue from any such opposition. For amongst the inlying native villagers, it would not be said — Bight was might. The saying was quite reversed : it was — Might is right, or rather shall be. CHAPTEB XXI. An Old Bungalow under Examination and Made TO Tell its own Story. Having in No. XVIII. of these writings given a promise, on some future occasion, to submit to your readers the dying confessions, or revelations, of an old bungalow, we will now proceed to fulfil the same, and keep clear of any further promises, as promises un- performed are apt to hang on the memory, and clog the pen while writing on other matters. How can an old bungalow speak*? There are various modes of speaking apart altogether from the actual power of speech, as generally understood. Speech may be disguised, and often is, so as to conceal the thoughts, and a sharp glance at the speaker will often at once determine the hearer that the truth is not spoken, and sometimes even that glance will convey a very correct idea of what is to be spoken, so that the truth of what is forthcoming is quite well known, before it is spoken. We would just appeal to the editor of the Observer. He must have had some feeling remini- scences on this subject. A ‘‘ subscription ” has been long overdue ; gentle reminders have been frequently tendered, until, at last, one more urgent than any of the others brings the defaulter into the “sanctum,” and the dread “presence.’’ The editor looks up, and THE BUILDING. after a searching glance is quite prepared to hear that the small affair will “meet with attention next month,” and he has a tolerably correct idea that it will be forgotten, or rather unfulfilled. But, not to wander from the subject, and to put it briefly and concisely, an old bungalow can speak through the tongue or pen of one who has formerly inhabited its walls, or enjoyed the genial hospitalities of its owner, one who has known its history from the lay- ing of the foundation-stone to the tumbling in of the roof. Yes, old bungalows can speak, and volumes might be written of what their silent and- solemn ruins distinctly say. On returning from a snipe-shoot- ing expedition on some of the rice stubbles, or as we call them paddy fields, tired, weary and thirsty, we suddenly find ourselves in the vicinity of the ruins of an old bungalow ; the garden grounds around were rank with weeds and jungle, the roof had fallen in, and the posts and pillars stood up like ghosts. A buffalo was picking at the short green sward over- running what had once been a garden, and some cows were “chewing the cud” in wdiat had once been the spacious verandah of the house. Getting under a grove of guava trees, which seemed to flourish amid the general desolation, and gathering, or rather knocking down some of the fine ripe fruits, proceed- ed to rest under their shade. While resting, we gazed at the remains of the old bungalow. Sad me- mories stole over the mind. The ghostly looking posts and pillars seemed to look sternly on us, as if in reproach, and the sighing of the wind through the piimalo trees seemed whisper forth words from the old bungalow. They were these: — “You who saw my birth, or beginning, have you come to see my end — end — end — ended now ? Thirty years ago my present site was a pleasant grass expanse, com- manding a fine view over the surrounding country, behind was a large track of jungle, out of which in the early morning, elephants, elk, pigs and many other animals used to come forth to crop the short grass or drink of the clear water collected in a pool close by. My first recollection of anything was a corner-stone popping up a few feet above the ground, and disclosed all around in a mass of confusion^ great heaps of stones and sand lying about every- where. My progress towards maturity was very slow for there was always something going wrong. The master, after being away for a day or two would return, and after inspection would declare all the work performed in his absence bad, ordering it to be pulled down again, -^and the pay of the car- MASONS AND CARPENTERS. penters and masons stopped. These gentlemen only gave a grim smile ; they had received two months’ wages in advance, and had their passage and expenses paid from Cochin. They were under an agreement, but found that if they could only get q^uite of this agreement, they could make a very considerably amount of wages more, elsewhere. It was quite apparent they wished to irritate and annoy their employer in order to procure a discharge and be set free. There were cases in court, and stoppages of w^ork, a few days’ drunkenness after receiving further advances of cash, and it would be endless to state all the deten- tions entailed on the work. One day there was no lime ; another there was plenty of lime and no sand; the next, when both these articles were in abundance, there were no stones ; so after having made a collec- tion of stones, which was done by sending out gangs -of coolies to collect and bring them in to the required spot, each cooly carrying a stone on his head, of course as small and light a one as he could con- veniently find, often so small that he had to pretend it was very big and heavy, by putting both hands to his head to support a stone not the size of one of them, walking heavily as if in great distress, and at the working place letting it drop from his head with 41 sigh and groan, the expectant mason, standing ready w'aiting for the stone, h immer in hand, in order to stress it, gives it a slight knock and off it goes into two or three pieces, quite useless. The mason shoulders liis hammer, takes a chew of betel, waiting the arri- val of another stone. At last the masons would be ordered to stop work, until stones were collected. Surely now there were no obstacles. Why, matters were worse than ever. The coolies, having become disgusted with the work, had all run away during the night, so that there were none to pound lime, carry sand, supply the masons with stones, or the carpenters with timber, quite a gala time for them : in fact ; all the work was at a stand for some inde- finite period of time. A fresh supply of coolies having been procured, it was now difficult to collect the masons and carpenters, as having no work they had gone off somewhere. At last all were collected and ready to resume operations, when it was suddenly ■vdng in all the damp wet air from the pulping-hoiise, and not the fans drawing in the. heated air from the store. Clerihew’s Patent never took. The modern system of building stores, so as to allow of a free ventilation of air throughout, by means of fixed open Venetian blinds, sloping downwards to prevent the drifting in of rain, is now in general use, it being considered better to have a thorough passage of air, even although it may be damp, than having no air at all, or the hot steamy atmosphere produced by Clerihew’s patent. Are there any of such extant or still in use i We have not heard of them for a long time. It is curious no improvement has ever been attempted on Clerihew’s original idea (if it was one). -An idea has just occurred to myself, which may be open to consideration, especially as it would involve no very great expense in adapting stores, as at present con- structed, to Suit it. It is this : — Lay down on the ground floor of the store, about six inches aj art, metal pipes, say six or eight inches in diameter : perhaps the ordinary galvanized spouting, well soldered up, would do. On the top of these pipes, which, if strong enough, might even serve as joints, lay the Elate iron or wire netting. At one end of the store ave a furnace and large boiler from which the pipes would be constantly kept full of hot water ; the pipes would be plugged up, at the far end from the boiler. The heat arising from the hot water in the pipes would communicate itself to the plate iron or wire floor, which would speedily dry wet coflee spread out upon it, or even cure that in a more advanced stage. The store would not at ail require to be boxed up, or air-tight. Indeed I am not sure but a small de- tached cheap shed erected on this principle close to the pulping-house, into or upon which the w^et coffee could be thrown, would be a better plan than making any alterations in stores. Any sort of shed would do, so that it would be little expense ; the chief cost would be the pipes, boiler, and baiiding of the fur- nace, and chimney stalk. Here is an idea ! Can any one improre upon it? There can be no doubt as to the correctness of the principle, for, on passing along the passages of some of our public buildings m the old country, on a, cold winter evening, heated by hot air pipes or water, it has sometimes struck us, on passing over the per- forated escape air-holes, here is heat enongh to dry any amount of w’-et coffee. Now if such a vast amount of heat rushes up through an iron perforated ais -hole, of about one foot square, what wmuld it be if the whole floor was filled with them, or was made of perforated zinc ? “ LINES.” The principle is an old well-established one, and we may yet live to see the day when, in talking or writing of stores and pulping-houses, this heading will include another item, ana will be written thus : “ Stores, pulping-houses and drying-sheds.” What do some of my old planting friends think of this “no- tion ” ? The very wet crop seasons which have of late prevailed should have some effect in turning the attention of planters to the subject, especially during present high prices, when so much attention is given by purchasers to colour. Coffee must deteriorate in colour, hj being kept for clays, often weeks, quite wet. In niy own experience, coffee always presented the finest colour, the colour highest in estimation by the London broker, wdien it was taken straight from the washing cistern, out to the mats, exposed to the sun, and dried thoroughly, so that the parchment cracked, and the silver skin became started and quite loose ; but, as we cannot command sunshine, we must try a substitute, and that substitute I herewith re- spectfully submit to the consideration and discussion of my planting friends. CHAPTER XXIII. Why Cooly Habitations are called “ Lines.” Why is house accommodation for cnolies called “ lines ” ? What is the original definition of the word t We never exactly knew how it was first designated by this term, only, from the earliest planting days up to the present time, such has it been called, and I suppose most planters, if asked the question, would feel somewhat at a loss for a definite and prompt re- ply. In the times of which we write, any sort of iiouse accommodation was considered good enough for a cooly, and they never complained : very diti'erent from present times, for how often is the excuse now- preferred, for men uot proceeding to an estate, that, the “ lines ” are bad, although w’^e have a tolerable correct idea, that, when an excuse of this sort is of- fered, it is merely coolv politeness, and, were they to speak the truth, that truth would he either that they did not like the locality of the estate, or some con- tingent probability of hard work in new clearings ; possibly the master himself was no favourite. In fact “ The lines were bad ” was a very convenient excuse and just simply meant to infer that for some or an- other known only to themselves, or which they wished to keep to themselves, they would not engage on the estate. They are not singular in this respect. Many HOW COOLIES BUILD. ■a, time, on meeting with and transacting business with others, we never could get a solid reason for some apparently unreasonable proceeding, or course of action, some trifling subterfuge, which indeed we would have been very green to have swallowed, was offered as a tangible or apparent excuse. We thought upon the old saying so often drilled into the ears, until at last it became as much dreaded an expression as “No rice,” “ The lines are bad,” which just meanSj “We don’t want to engage with you.” If a gang of coolies take a fancy to yourself or estate, you are full-handed, with lines well packed, and not wishing to hurt their feelings tell them you have “ no lines,” or the “lines are bad,” they will soon speedily volunteer to remedy this defect. Give them a few (lays ajid they will build lines, or will thatch in an open verandah. The corner of a cattle shed, the store, or pulping-house, will do very well, until something is settled. Being sometimes pushed for labor at other works, we have, taken on ooolies, on the understanding that they were to build their own lines, please themselves and not blame us afterwards, they of course receiving pay during any reasonable time they took ,at the work. But these ■eventually proved to be the most expensive buildings that could have been erected. The coolies would pro- ceed into the jungle, and look out for young trees, or branches, where a forking branch sprung out at a pro- per distance ; this would be cut down and carried away, as a corner post, the fork at the top an- swering for the reception of the cross beam or ridge- pole, and thus doing away with ' all necessity for a carpenter, with his adze and chisel ; four forked posts to support the wall-plates, and tw’o for the ridge-pole, rafters tied on with jungle rope ; thatch, mana grass, which being a far way off and it being the month of February, fine clear dry weather, they adopted a somewhat novel system of thatching. In the adjacent jungles they collected large quantities of twigs covered with leaves, chiefly nilu, or any branches that were thick in leaf, carried them in bundles to the new lines, and thatched them. So long as the leaves and twigs remained green this answered very well in keeping out the cold, or night dews, but they soon curled up and dried with the heat of the sun, but when the holes in the roof got very bad they were just re-covered with more green stuff. They were at last driven out of this habitation when the April rains set in, as this sort of roofing is no protection against rain. Then we would send for grass to cover the roof, under the weight of w*hich the posts and rafters would give way, so that we w^ere obliged to do what should have been done at first, put up a new OLD-FASHIONED HUTS. tset of lines, and have nothing more to do with allowing the people to build their own. However, these old lines, with patching and repairs, a post here, and a prop there, woulfT or't^ 11 last a wonderfully long time ; they always seemed to be just on toe eve of tumbling down, but •never did, the coolies seemed to take to them, and, when we built better ones to look at, the old ones were un- sightly hovels. And as always around them the coffee trees were very luxuriant, they certainly did seem a dis- grace to the estate, at all events spoilt the appearance of it. Now we don’t mean to say that the ordinary old: fashioned cooly huts did this — quite the contrary. We were and still are of opinion that the old-fashioned mud- and-wattle walls, thatched roof, &c., if well built, and kept clean, had a much more domestic, com- fortable, homely look than the modern ones of stone walls, shingle roof, and verandah posts of sawn timber. S') it was not the old-fashioned huts, it was the d lapidated tumble-down appearance they sometimes presented, with the roof thoroughly black- ened with smoke. A thatched roof for any in habited building is in rnaii}^ ways the most comfortable for the inmate ; during hot weather, it is the coolest T-oofnig you can have ; and during wet, the most comfoi' abh, provided it does not leak, because the rain descends upon it without any noise : in fact sitting inside so far as noise is concerned you never know wlien it rains. Quite the reverse with shingles, tiles, or any other hard roofing, the spattering dash- ing noise made by the heavy fall of rain on which is frequently a great annoyance. But thatched roofs are now rarely in use ; although they are comfortable ones, they require constant renewal, and thus, al- though comparatively cheap at first, during a course of years, are the most expensive that could be used, besides danger from fire. Many of our readers must recollect how cool and comfortable they felt in getting under a thatched r^^of , during a hot day ; as compared to what it would have been, had the roofing been of other ma erial. But, in olden and modern times, it has ever been found, if practicable, that it is much betier, in many ways and for many reasons, to have several small ranges of lines, in different localities, than to have one large set ; the latter, however, is comparatively cheaper in cost. A large set of lines is generally never so healthy, simply because its general surroundings are not so easily kept clean. Then, where a large number of people are congregated, there are generally quarrels; coolies from the same parts of the coast and of the same caste, should have, if in sufficient numbers, lines to themselves, care being taken that they do not over-crowd, for rather than mix SANITARY MEASURES. in with others, members of the same gang will pack into one room, until it is positively unwholesome, while perhaps, in the adjoining room, one or two will be' found by themselves, but they are a different set ; hence the packing in amongst their own people. W e heard an expression the other day, that the craze of the age was “sanitary measures.” We thought of the packing and crowding of coolies in huts, how they never at all events asked for medicines, and certainly how few the death cases were ; most decidedly, sickness was not so general or rather prevalent amongst gangs as it is now,*^ We provide stone walls, tile and shingle roof, plank doors actually on hinges, instead of the port- able grass one, and we provide medicine chests. Now, we by no means imply any satire or contempt for the comfort of the ccoly, quite the reverse, but we mean to assert that sanitary measures and sanitary reform does not always bring about or effect what it gives out. It is the same way in this country : dirt some® times seems healthy ! The healthiest parts of Edin® burgh, at least where the mortality is lowest, are the dirtiest most confined portions of the town, where the working people are packed and crowded, where there ii least air, and no pure air at all ! We met with a man the other day, in very poor health ; he had a great aversion to dirt in any shape, and gave out that he washed or bathed his whole body daily, and he would just as soon go out without washing his face as go without his general bath. “Weil,” says another, “what better are you of it ? Look at some of these strong fellows working close by ; let ’s ask them about it. Hard dirty work you are at : we suppose you take a good bath when you go home, after the day’s toil.” H© paused, rested his foot on his spade. “Na, na,” says he, “least whiles on a Saturday night I’ll wash my feet, and, if its vera warm i’ the summer time, take two or three rubs down in the burn. ” So that here was a case in which dirt was healthy and cleanliness the reverse, but very likely this case would not apply in a warm tropical country. With regard to personal cleanliness, although we ourselves have seen very dirty coolies in just as robust health as others who regularly bathed and washed, there can be no doubt that when disease does get amongst dirt it is apt to linger and become worse ; but that dirt causes disease is doubtful, as a rule. We have been in the resident management of some estates where it was determined to make the coolies ♦ For once we must pronounce our correspondent utterly in th® wrong. Does he not remember the dread- ful times of 1847-49 ? — Ed. A SMOKY ATMOSPHERE. very comfortable in respect to roomy house accommo» dation. Expense was not spared, large and very com- modious lines were erected, store walls, shingle roofs, doors and door frames, with locks and bolts. Pour or six men were located in a room 20 feet by 16. After some time, on making a visit of inspection, to our sur- prise and disgust we found that these men whom we supposed had been made so very comfortable in this modern erection had, inside this spacious room, erect- ed small huts ! So they had stripped the bark off some Ldrge dhn tree, cut in lengths of four or five feet, in breadth four to six inches. With these pieces ef bark they had constructed small rooms, or huts, inside the large room of the original building : in fact, (juite a small village inside the room. Sticks were laid longitudinally across the floor and five feet above it, and the strips of bark erected against it, and tied to them small passages were barked in, and off these were the huts, with a hole left to creep in ; through this hole two or three men would creep into their bark hut, where all was utter darkness, except from the glowing embers of a fire on the floor ; they would just be of sufficient length to allow the cooly to lie down at full stretch, and the breadth would be as much as to allow for a fire and cooking utensils- before which he would sib down on his hind legs en, joying the smoke, of which there was an abundant quantity. We are of opinion this love for a smoky atmosphere must in some measure, if not altogether, ^ause what most people with general knowledge of the cooly character must have observed, that is, to use their own expression, ‘‘Can’t see in the dark.” Very like an Irish observation, but we must explain that it means a total want of all visual perception after nightfdl, or at all events very indistinct as compared with ours, and so it happens, that if necessi- ty requires that they be called out of their huts to proceed to execute any instructions, or any jour- ney however short, even to the bungalow, how rarely it is you see one man come, always two or three in company, and we iiave sometimes been not a little amused, perhaps irritated, at being disturbed at the bungalow, after nightfall, by the arrival of three or four men in great form, in front of the house. One stands forth, and says in a few words briefly ; “The pulping is finished all right.” The other two or three stand in the background until the speaker has done, and received the brief reply: “All right.” The speaker then fails hack into the main body, and they all walk off, together, as they arrived. Now the lines were quite a short distance off, and there was nothing to have hindered the responsible spokesman from NIGHT VISITS OF COOLIES. taking a run to the bungalow and back by himselL, but they don’t like going out in the dark alone. It may be also some undefined fear or dread of evil spirits, a something which cannot well be expressed, a feeling not altogether confined to coolies, but which is generally allied to ignorance, a fear of something in the dark of they don’t know what. Again, in the early part of the night, when they would be visiting from on© set of huts to another, much to our alarm during the dry season, for fear of fire, they would have a lighted firestick waving about in the hand, from which the wind would blow sparks all round. This could quite well be understood as a necessity during a very dark cloudy pight, but it was very often just the same during a bright clear full moon, when there could be no manner of doubt that they would have seen very much better without the tire-stick or torch- light at all. During a dark night while sitting in our verandah we have often seen a bright red spot far away in the murky black. On calling the servant to ask what it could be, he would gaze in consterna- tion, and firmly pronounce it to be some devil or evil spirit, something that boded us no good, and beseech- ingly implore the master not to look at it. After ordering him off as a fool, we would proceed to take observations. The light, being a good distance off, seemed stationary. But having drawn a chair and sat down in a position so that the verandah post was be- tween us and the light, so as to obscure it completely, in a very short time the light would slowly appear : it was then, of course, perfectly evident in what direc- tion it was proceeding, as, although, from its distance, we did not see it moving, yet the verandah post was stationary. We would then set another fixed mark against the light, until we had a very correct idea where it had come from, and where it was going, as also our own surmises what it was going to do. The next day we would roundly tax some of the inhabit- ants of one set of lines, with visiting another during unseasonable hours of the night, which they could not deny. But their curiosity used to be great as to who could have told, when we used quietly to affirm we had the gift of second sight, which in many cases was believed ! A quick observant master, keeping his own thoughts secret and putting “ this and that to- gether,” could sometimes manage to pump out a good deal of what was going on, having joined a few con- necting links, and then boldly taxing the coolies with the conclusion he had mentally come to, would ver\ frequently bring out the truth. These old-fashioned huts sometimes took fire, indeed; LINES ON FIRE. the wonder was, they did not do so ofteiier ; if they were of any age, nothing would save them, because the stick walls would have become a sort of touch- wood. They would sometimes be on fire for days and nobody know it 1 Thus, the cooly would light his cooking fire against the wall, some of the outside mud-plaster having crumbled off, one of the rotten wall posts would catch slightly, it would glow and spread, communicating itself to others, without being noticed, it might simmer in the wall this way for days until it got the thatch, when the whole building, of course, would burst out into a blaze, and speedily be consumed. One night we were awakened by a loud chattering of coolies in the lines ; this being nothing unusual, we were just putting the pillow over the head, instead of below it, in order to deaden the sound, when the bed-room seemed in a lurid glow : there was a glass window and no shutters. Starting up and looking out of the veiandah we saw a bright stream of light shooting lip into the darkness. There could be no doubt on the subject, a large set of lines, one hundred feet by thirty, was on fire ! It did not take long to dress and be on the spot. Too late. The fire had caught in the thatch, it roared and crackled, the blackened rafters were tumbling in, there was no hope, it must burn out, and take care it does not catch on the coffee. There was upwards of one hun- dred men in the lines, who were running about round the burning building, shouting and screaming, but doing nothing. The sight brought forcibly to mind our boyish experiences, at home, in the burning of a wasps’ bink. Of course no clue was ever obtained as to the origin of the fire, but it was a long time before we heard the end of its final result I Did one ask another for that small debt due, “ how could he when he had lost all his money in the fire ?” The women must have an advance of wages to buy bracelets, for had they not lost all their jewellery in the fire ? Touchingly and with many tears the dusky beauty would spread out her bare arms, which used to be hidden under a load of armlets and bracelets, all gone. We were tender- hearted, and knew^ the weakness of the ladies in favour of jewellery, and gave as an advance of wages, the sum required to purchase more, and were rew^arded with a flood of thanks as the ‘‘protector of the poor. But next day, on passing along the road, we met our fair friend, off on some excursion, loaded with jewellery, a walking shop, and, strange to say, the identical orna- ments that had been lost in the fire ! The exclamation came out : “Glad to see you have fouud your orna- mencs, so you had better return that little balance.” A toss of the head, a laugh, and a rush past, was COOLY GAUDEN^S. all the answer. We had been done. Never mind, it will be recovered some time : put it down in the advance-book. We used always to encourage coolies in cultivating small gardens about the lines. Sotue superintendents do not allow them, on the plea that they are so unsightly, and also nurseries for weeds, which in many cases is quite the case, because the cooly has no idea of order or neatness. Any little waste portion of ground would be ienced in, no matter how. Upright sticks of all lengths and sizes, outside planks, even brushwood, would be heaped up around ; of course, these fences were in general nurseries for weeds, in which they came to seed, tall and rank, and from which they cast their seeds amongst the coffee. Then it was all very well 80 long as they cultivated these saiall patches of ground, but from various causes they would some- times be temporarily abandoned : the owner might have taken a lazy fit : he might have left the estate sick, or from some other causes ceased attending to his small patch of ground, the weeds would spring up into a perfect nursery — in which case we very often (of course, after due warning of what would be the result, if the punctual weeding of the gar- dens was not attended to) pull up the fences and burn up all the weeds, and issue an edict against any more gardens, but after a while some industrious fellow would petition that he might be allowed to cultivate a small garden. We would be firm at first and say no, but our friend would persevere. “He was quite a differ- ent man from any one else, and would never allow a weed to be seen,’’ and so we would evetitually give consent after a short time, merely to have a repetition of the old story. These small gardens sometimes led to a good deal of quarrelling amongst themselves in respect to paltry thefts, one stealing vegetales from the other. This was of course referred to master, who might be put to his wits’ end to decide, as to who stole a pumpkin, which after all perhaps was not stolen at all, but had been secretly cut by the proper owner during the nighty made up into curry and eaten, and a charge made to master next day against his enemy, who he declared had stolen it. “And was it not perfectly true, for here were witnesses who had, along with himself, seen the skins of the vegetable lying behind the door,” which skins had been secretly placed there by his accused himself early in the morning before any one was up. We have some times been very much annoyed at their pumpkin plants. This is a quick-growing creeper or runner with large leaves, which soon seeks out and verruns everything in its way j it wffl run up the NOTICES TO LEAVE. lines and spread all over the thatch, looking very picturesque in its way, hut eventually rotting all the thatch. It will send out runners into the coffee and completely cover up and smother a number of coffee trees, the somewhat ludicrous sight sometimes presenting itself of a large round pumpkin as big as one’s head growing, or rather seeming to grow, on the top of a coffee bush. We would then, as in the case of the gardens, make a raid on the pumpkins, and commence tearing them up, or off the coffee, the owner sometimes looking on speechlessly sad ; at other times, with a loud wail, he or she would come rushing up, prostrate themselves in front, and entreat “ the protector of the poor,” ‘‘the friend of the miserable,” to have compassion, and spare that pumpkin, and they would be careful, and there would be no more complaints, they would keep their garden properly, which they did until the next complaint. Another in- tlucement for us to bear with the coolies in their gardens was, we found it was generally the industrious hard- working useful fellows that had them. After work- ing hours, and on a Sunday, instead of going about idling their time, and getting into all sorts of mis- chief, they would be quitely working in their small patches of garden. Besides, it was a sure sign, when a cooly took to gardening, that he was satisfied with the master and estate, and intended remaining in the em- ployment. When about the time of giving notice to leave t he estate, we used to have a good idea of who were going or staying, by the condition of the small gardens. It used to b^e a very common practice, and maybe still is, for coolies to give false notices to leave. A day or two after they were paid up, or off, they would come up to the bungalow, and give in their their names to remain : they were not going. This notice to leave proceeded from various reasons : first, they had their wages paid up, and thus had more money in hand to deal with as they thought fit. Again, after having been paid off, they would find that some of their debtors could not pay up that little sum due them, and therefore they could not go. We always knew very well if the cooly continued to work and keep his garden that he was not going away, even although he had given notice that he was ; and on the other hand, if wo saw some gardens getting out of order, weedy, and in an abandoned state, we had a very correct idea' that the owner was intending to leave, even although he had neither given notice nor said anything at all about it. We used sometimes to be very much put about with these notices to leave : nearly the whole labour force on the estate would give notice ; arrange- ments would be successfully entered into to fill up A SOCIAL ANIMAL. theii* place with other gangs. Then, afier they were paid off according to their notice, none would go, hut declare they all intended remaining, and so we would find ourselves with a double labour supply. Not much of this sort of thing I should think, during present times ! The cooly is a social animal : as a rule, he does not care for or appreciate what we call domestic privacy, not but that they like having a room to themselves or their own set, but no amount of noise or chattering amongst their neighbours in adjoining rooms seems to annoy them : they rather like it. Suppose a room 10 or 12 feet square is allotted to a mnn, his wife, and a couple of children, one would be apt to fancy there was no spare space left, but before very long he will have erected in one corner a sort of cage, with sticks, in which, during the night, will be confined a few head of poultry ; in another corner will be tied up a pet goat, or sheep ; in the third a nasty, ugly, barking dog Avill be fastened u)) ; outside, in the verandah, a pig may be lying, and also, in some cases, a small cow. They say that in Ireland the criw and pig sometimes inhabit the same room as its huiuan occu- pant, but the coolies are rarely so bad as this. They always were very fond of keeping pigs, so long as the master whshed or took no notice about keeping them up, until the pigs became too numerous and mischiev- ous, whm we would issue an order that all pigs seen running about the lines and coffee would be shot. This order the cooly would probably take no notice of. He reasoned, and very likely with some measure of truth, that master was too kind and considerate ; it was only a threat, a threat that often before bad been threatened, but ne\"er put into execution. He pesumed, as they always do, upon former forgiveness : hence the importance of always keeping your word with the cooly, Take care what you say, or how you issue an order if you are not firmly determined to act up to it. In a moment of great irritation, on finding a pig had wandered up to our very bungalow, and grubbing away amongst the attempt at flowers in front of the house, we would seize hold of a gun, and lay the invader low. We were not to blame: we had often gn^en forth warn- ing, notwithstanding v^^hich a pang of remoi se would seize us as we sorrowfully surveyed the poor fellows carrying ofl the carcass, without a word of complaint, probably with an apology, which just increased our self-reproach, that the pig had, unknown to them, broken out of its sty. The plan we subsequently adopted is the best : never allow coolies to keep pigs, or at all events, unless the master builds proper pig-sties, they will not do so. A very good plan is foran estate to p VEGETABLE SEEDS FOB COOLIES. build sties and even feed the pige, and for ihis eventu- ally the value of manure obtained will in course of rime more than return the expenditure incurred. We used always to discourage pigs, and encourage gardens; a great help and incit anent to the latter was pro^ curing garden seeds. Often, when personally working in the bungalow garden, in the cool of the evening, with a packet of seeds which had just come out fresh from England, would a passing cooly stand and look, others would be attracted, until quite a group would be collecting at the extreme novelty of m jster working, actually doing cooly work ; then they would volunteer to do it for us, and persistently hold out the hand for a rake or hoe. Sometimes we would humour them and sometimes not ; in either case it would generally end in a modest requisition for some cabbage seeds, which was always granted, or, if they were too re- spectful to ask, we could easily guess by the longing eye cast upon the packets of seeds what the heart " w^ashi ig t eir chatties (earthen pots. ) I'he kan^unies w'onld then come out, completing tbe'r toilet in a great hurry, which consisted in roll- ing an immense quantity of red cloth round their heads, until it finally assumed the aspect of a turban. They would now join the master in the shout of “ Vd vd !” until at last a few men would appear in 'he verandah “ girding up their loins ” with some rolls of cloth, that had once been white, bat it would be difficult now to pronounce wbat the colour was! Thekan- ganies would rest their chins upon a long stick (we never knew a kangani without one : they seem to con- sider it as a sort of official badge), gazing with an earnest look into the doors of the lines, as if they expected some, or all, to respoud to the call and come out; but they didn’t. As the kangani was now abused and urged by the master, “it was getting late,” he would, stick in hand, make a sudden plunge into the rooms, from which would speedily emerge a number of men, women, and boys, putting one very much in mind of rabbits turned out of their holes by means of a ferret ! We have said this plan of mustering at the lines was l ad : it was so in many ways. Thus, of course, the master returned to his bungalow, with the cheek -roll, or more probably to have his coffee and roti, and no. sooner was he turned round the corner, than a num- KANGANIES’ PKESENTS. ber of coolies would probably ‘‘take a leaf out of his book,” and return to their rooms. “Where igno- rance is bliss ” &c., the unconscious master being un- der the impression they were hard at work weeding, and that he need not be in any hurry, he would just take another pipe. Bad in another way, because the people never thought of moving out until the master presented himself, so that, if he happened to be late, or oversleep his usual time, they did not move at all. “ Master had not come.” “They never were called.” And again, after the roll was called, and a number of absentees marked absent, the distribution to the differ- ent works arranged, the delinquents would emerge from the dark boles, hun iedly washing the hands and mouth, and request their names might be put down, which was generally done, but the doing of which of course required an alteration in the field-book and check -roll. One day, after work w^as done, Mr. Jimson brought in a bullock’s horn: a beautiful horn it was, with a fine round curve; he had been admiring it, in the possession of the kangani, and that functionary, having a keen eye to busi- ness, seeing that the heart of the sinna iicr ai was capti- vated by the hoin, and with the inward firm assurance that he would ultimately get ten times the value of it out of master, the kangani in a mild humble manner begged the favor of its acceptance as a present. Mr. Jimson was enchanted. What a capital fellow this kangani must he ! He had yet to learn what presents from k iiiganies meant : he had forgotten his Latin, ^^Timeo Daiiaos et dona ferentes.” So^Mr.^, Jimson sat in the verandah polishing hi d rubbing the horn ; he bored a hole at the tip, and began to practice blowing on it, until he was quite a proficient in that art. How his senior did not at all like tins sort of thing ; it disturbed him, bothered him in reading, and doing up accounts. But a thought seemed suddenly to strike him. “Jimson,” says he, “what a capital thing that would he to turn out the coolies of a morning ; it would save a deal of trouble ; it would save ns going to the lines.” Mr. Jimson brightened up : an idea flashed through bis mind that it would save himself an im- mensity of botheration, if the coolies would respond to the horn : it would save him going to the lines, it would give him half an hour longer in bed in the morning, it w^ould in fact what w ould it not save him? He quickly responded: “eTnst the very thing. First rate, and it will do for leaving off work. Blow it at four o’clock, it will he heard all over the estate.” “Just so,”’ said his senior; “and in order that the coolies may he impressed with the dignity due to the horn, it is only to he used for the purpose BLOWING THE HOEN. herewith arranged, and as it will be necessary to blow two horns, or twice in the morning, the first as A orfc of warning to prepare, you will have to get up^at a little before five, an hour sooner, in order to sound the first blast. Of course you can turn in again after the first horn, but take care you don’t go T,o sleep and be too late for the second,” Our friend’s heart sank- Why, this was worse than ever ; instead of getting up at a quarter to six, it was now an hour sooner. But the plan did not seem to answer. The coolies declared they never heard the first horn, very likely on the principle of the old Scotch proverb, “ There’s nane so deaf as them that winna hear.” So the senior issued a fresh order. Just a little way in front of die bungalow was a small round knoll or rising ground, about fifty yards off. Without consulting the junior at all, it was arranged that at five in the morning he should proceed to the top of this knoll and blow the first horn. Now this rising ground was inside 'he coffee, and any one who has had any ex- perience knows full well what it is to walk through cofie-j trees early iu the morning with the night’s dew still on, or, it may be, after noct'irnai rains. One may just as well walk through a pool of water. Of course our friend was often laie, he would look at bis watch and find the hands had a good deal passed the dead hour of five, it w^as nearer six. What if the senior should awake and call out, as he had often done before, ‘‘I Sciy, Jimsou, what o’clock is it.’’ So he makes a rush fcr it in shirt, trousers and slippers. On his return he was as wet as if he had tumbled into the river. There was nothing for it, but to pui on dry clothes, which was no sooner done, thin it was time to go out again to muster the people, after which ho returned to the bungalow, evidently very much in need of a third change. “Jimson, it’s time you were olf,” but there was no response- ihe senior turns round and sees him bending on his chair ; his hands are over his face, drops are seen trickling through his fingers. Can it be possible! or is it only the wet trickling down from the rain-soaked hair. In scarcely audible tones he is heard to murmur : This is coftee planting: what a wretched life. If she saw me now what would my mother think.” The senior was touched, he knew what was the matter, for he had come through it all himself, and, although now he was seared and hardened, yet still he respected Jimson’s feelings and went out into the verandah, in order to leave uim alone. He knew his young friend would have several repeated attacks and relapses of this complaint, but that they would gradu- BEWARE OF « fiORNS.’’ ally become weaker, and at longer intervals, until they wore themselves out. The best way was to say nothing, but leave him alone. All attempt at consola- tion, sympathy, or even laughter at the “softness of the spoon,” Just makes matters worse : take no notice of him. The senior in an off-hand matter-of-fact sort of way says, ‘‘ I wish you would stay in this fore- noon, and copy off those accounts, give me your field- book. I am going out myself to look after the work.” He does not care a straw about the rain, he prefers it, it is nice and cool and much more healthy than walking about in the sun. On coming in to breakfast at ten o’ clock, he found Mr. Jimson with a bright cbuntt nance, he had Just finished the accounts and wriiing, and, on being com- plimented on the neatness and correctness of his work, he actually laughed and said he could do better than that, if he was in proper trim. Now, if he had been allowed to go out in the wet and rain in the humour he was in the morning, no saying how long the, fit might have lasted, it might have become chronic and eventually incapacitated him from progress in his calling. Respect should be bad for the great change of life to which young men newly arrived are subjected, and they should n T all of a sudden be urged to go in for the burden and heat of the day, unless as is very frequently the case they are urgent for it themselves. Only take care this respect is not carried too far, so as to induce habits of indolence and sloth; this may Just as easily he done, perhaps easier, as excess of discipline in the other direction, in making an assistant get up at five in the morning and go out in the wet rain to blow a born. Beware of horns ! Take care, when you are polishing up a horn in the verandah, that it does not subsequently become an unpleasant infliction. Take care when you polish off a horn under the same circumstances that it does not inflict itself upon you in the early morning. A very pleasant occupation or relaxation is polishing up or off' horns in the verandah. Whether in a hard or liquid state, beware of horns! In due course of time Mr. Jimson got through his troubles, and as he had promise of having the stuff of a good planter in him, he was promoted to the charge of a separate division. He had the gift of the gab. Before many months were os^er, he could talk away in Tamil like any cooly, this gift was some- times an annoyance to him, as he used to be con- siderably in requisition to act as interpreter. It was also bad in another way ; be became a great gossip. He talked with the coolies ; and knew every- thing that was going on on^ all the neighbouring A QUEER VISITOR. estates ; he knew everything that was going on on his own ; knew occurrences that would have been better, infinitely better, had he not known them — in fact his propensity for cooiy news became a sort of craze. On visiting a neighbour on a Saturday evening, the next morning he would be up early, and down about the store or lines, talking with the coolies ; he would find out all about their pay, rice, &c., and perhaps give a quiet hint that the estate where he was gave better. He would question them and find out all about their private family matters; in fact, what did he not find out? When this, after a time, became known, Mr. Jimson received very few invitations ; and eventu- ally none at all, but he would not take a hint. He invited himself, and went, asked or not, until at last a neighbour whom he constantly visited on a Saturday evening to stay over Sunday, on seeing his head hopping lip and down amongst the coffee trees, on the path to the bungiilow, would run out by the back- door, and hurriedly tell his servant, he was off to his next neighbour to dine and sleep. Just then Mr. Jimson would step in in front and receive the in- formation : “ Master gone and not coming back till to-morrow,” but Mr. Jimson did not take the quiet hint to be gone also. Oh ! no, be was not going. He was going to dine, “ anything would do for him,” he would stay all night, and perhaps the master vvonld be '>ack before he left to-morrow evening. So his dinner was served, and, having nobody to talk to, he retired early to bed, took his absent host’s bedroom and bed, as they were larger and more comfortable than the small stranger’s room, with its little camp bed. He was an early riser, and, although it is Sunday, was up before six, bawling out for coffee and toast ; much to the disgust of the inhabitants of the kitchen, who, naturally enough, in the absence of their master, hoped to have had an extra hour’s rest. Our visitor, having ffiiished his morning coffee, began to suspect he would have a rather dull day, so he goes into the office and inspects the check-roll, and at a brief glance is aware of the number of coolies on the estate, the rates of pay, and charges for rice, (&c., all of which he makes a mental note of. Hav- ing received this small whet to his curiosity he ex- amines the pigeon-holes, looks over the duplicate cart- notes, and notes the hire of rice and coffee. Really he IS obtaining a great deal of information. He now observes a bunch of keys on a corner of the office table. The host had departed so suddenly the evening before, he had forgotten to put them in his pocket ; he takes them up and tries a drawer, which gives way, and discloses to his admiring eyes lots of private A NEW EXPERIENCE. letters and papers spread open out on a file, so he had merely to turn over the leaves as he would those of a book, in order to read them all easily and with despatch. But he was not unobserved : the servant had perhaps a hint from his master : at all events he was. busy with a long broom sweeping the lobby and ver- andah, a very usual circumstance with him, on a Sunday morning, when master was absent. He was so intent on sweeping that none would ever suspect he was watching, but he was, and saw everything that was going on. The servant stops his sweeping and stands looking in behind the door, which opened considerably from its frame on the wide-set hinges. Now a good Tamil servant is always particularly zealous in his master’s cause and for his interest during his absence ^ so he makes a great noise and bustle in the passage, and by the time Mr. Jimson has shut and locked the drawers he steps into the room and states his master had sent him a cooly express with instructions to find and forward his keys which had been left lying about somewhere, and would he assist him in looking for them. So our visitor commenced to rummage ail over the room, and strange to say could find no bunch of key^s! “Your master must be mistaken,” says he. Replies the servant very sharply: ‘‘ Master forget very soon After master read all the papers in the top drawer, you shut and lay the keys below tins news- paper,” at the same time stepping up to a small round table, removing a paper, and taking up the keys. He says never another word, but leaves the room with the keys. The visitor thinks it was time he was leaving also ! So he left and never said be was gone, never even said: “Don’t cook any break- fast.” He did not go back to that bungalow again. Mr. Jimmn’s employer had occasion to leave the island for a few months, so it was arranged that he was to live in his bungalow during the period of his absence, and see that everything was all right. The keys of the store-rooms and cellars were deposited with him, on the understanding, that, if any of his employer’s friends “came the way,” they were to receive all hospitable reception, and be entertained in the usual way. When this circumTance became known, Mr. Jimson suddenly found he was becoming a very popular fellow. He had a great number of visitors, and, from entertaining his employer’s friends, he commenced to entertain his own, at the expense of his employer ; in fact all the stores, solid and liquid, began to go very fast. The keys would be left in the doors or lying about, and the servants, thinking they had just as good a right to help them- selves and entertain their friends as the sinna “ALL DONE.” durai, did so, whenever they had an opportunity, which was pretty often. It would happen so, while Mr. Jimson and his friends were at dinner, he would say: “Boy, bring out a bottle of wine. Here are the keys.” So the boy would take the key, pro- ceed to the store-room, which was just along the passage, so that those sitting at the dinner -table could see him quite well: he could not steal anything without being observed, oh no ! The servant wouid take the key, smartly unlock the door, and just as smartly and sharply bring out bottles: one with a sharp turn behind his back be would hand to the kitchen cooly, who was standing in the passage, wait- ing his duties, with a towel over his arm, and this towel very promptly received the bottle! The whole transaction was done in an instant. There was no stoppage or delay in proceeding into the room with the other bottle, which was supposed to be the only one brought out. This sprt of thing, going on day after day, would soon tell on the contents of any cellar, however largely stocked, and so it was, that when Mr. Jimson was advised of the speedy return of the proprietor, and when he examined the cellar, as kotnpared with the stock-book, what had become of all its contents? Surely he could never have used so much ? When his employer arrived, he put out a small stock of wine into the side-board, went back to his old bungalow, and took the keys with him, which was just prolonging the arrival of the evil day. Mr, Jimson s employer was a gentleman of very considerable position and standing, and, after his long absence, a number of his friends came to see him, and of course he entertained them at dinner. One day, or rather evening, at dinner, the employer says : “We must have a bottle of champagne. Mr. Jim- son, you have the keys, go and bring it.” But the keys had been left at the other bungalow. This sort of thing went on for a week or so. The keys were always forgotten. At last, in anticipation of a social dinner on a grander scale than usual, such ]3ositive orders were given about the keys that it was impossible to evade them. After dinner the host said to his guests : “Come, we will have a glass of rare old port, the like of which we won’t get often. There were two dozen left, when I went away. Jimson, bring out a couple of bottles.” But Jimson made no signs of a movement ; he got very red in the face. “ Come, look smart and bring them out.” There was a hollow response: “There’s none. All done.” The host and guests looked each other in blank amazement, and echoed: “All done! Well we POISONED BY ARSENIC, will have some champagne. I am quite certain there was a dozen or two of that, in the back corner, it must be in fine drinking order now. Bring out two bottles on trial.” As before, the response was: “All done.” The host, from being amused, now began to shew considerable signs of irritation, and said: “If we can’t have any wine we will have a glass of grog ail round, on a meeting of friends. “Boy, bring in the hot water, a lemon, and the sugar. Jim son, bring out a bottle of brandy, or perhaps some of you would prefer whisky toddy, a bottle of whisky — or stay : better bring both and you can please yourselves.” No need to say: “Stay,” for Mr. Jimson had never moved, and shewed no signs of moving. His response, as before, was: “ All done. ” Matters, or rather ex- posures, had now become so serious, that the guests said it was time to go, and they went, and the resi- dent told Jimson he intended having a complete overhaul of everything to-morrow, and would certainly call upon him to give an account of all unreasonable shortcomings in the bungalow stores. After this Mr. Jimson went to his own bungalow. The result of the complete overhaul and examination of the store, room, after whan has been written, can easily be imagined, so we need not further enlarge on the sub- ject. One evening, just at dusk, Mr. Jimson arrived at his senior’s bungalow ; he went straight to the couch, lay down, and said; “It’s all over now : my trou- bles are over ; I ’ve swallowed a dose of ars nic.” A thought hashed through the senior’s brain: “He will die here, there will be an exammation, arsenic will be discovered iu his stomach.” He looked up to a shelf on which were a number of cooly medicine bottles, and standing amongst them was a round bottle labelled “ Arsenic. PoisoKS.” He had had a serious^, quarrel with Jimson a few days before, and this was well-known, it was well-known that on account of the foolish talking propensities of the junior they were mostly always quarrelling. What could be that every natural inference drawn from Jimson dead in his bungalow, a post-mortem examination verdict “poisoned by ar- senic,” and a bottle of that poison standing, half-empty on the shelf ! Many a one had been hanged on less evidence, hanged : and just then visions of three Sin- halese murderers rose up in remembrance, whom last week the senior had seen hanged on the grass flat between the lake and Bogambara Mills, Kandy. What if their fate should his ! The idea was intolerable ; he started up, go^ hold of a piece of tape, went into the pantry, cut a' small piece of fat off a cold joint of meat, tied ik to the end of the tape, rounded it off into a smaU ball ; he then took Jimson by the AN EMETIC. shoulders, and said: ‘‘Swallow this,” which he did, then the tape was slowly pulled up, and the result was, a copious vomiting. Jimson then had some hot tea, went to bed, slept well, and was all right next mornin,^ ! Bat as his employer did not exactly like this sorb of going on he was discharged, and left the country, and none of the present gen oration know who he is, never ev^ou heard his name. Beckoning a Ceylon generation at seven or eight yeai’S, four generai^ions must have passed since then. Jimson ii dead, dead long ago. Otherwise this story would nob have been writ ben. Eroin it we would point to a lesson. Don’t put very young men in a position of trust and re- sponsibiiiby, before they have had some knowledge and evpericn e in the ways of the world. It is not doing theui justice. Again, beware of the first temptation, however s.nail. it seemed a very light matter taking a bottle of wine from a store-room, with ihe full in- tention of replacing it immediately. This surely was no great harm. Bui: look to the after result, as shewn in this “ower true tale.” The proprietor wdth whom Jimson engaged is alive, and reads the Observer. When he reads this he will at once recognize the whole facts of this story. But who was bis sen i or? Woo was the fellow that dashed cold water over his head and shouders, and sent him out to blow a cow’s horn at give o’clock in the morning, and did many ether wonderful exploits, recorded and unrecord in this reminiscence ? G-uess who he was. He is still alive and hearty, has many friends in Ceylon, where he is very well known. But what is the use of guess- ing ? A guess is not a certainty. Bead it ‘ ‘ black on white,” and if the printers’ ink makes no blot or error in spelling you will read P. D. Millie. CHAPTEB XXV. A Turn in the Kaleidoscope of Mr. Millie’s Me- mory : Proprietors Once More “ to the Fore.” A friend has just said : — “ You have written a great many wonderful stories about superintendents and coolies, but, with the exception of Mr. Wildgoose, none at all about proprietors. Now, you don’t mean to say that he was a correct specimen of them in those times ; he was surely an exceptional oddity. Come, this won’t do. Spin us a yarn about the proprietors of the olden times Don’t screen theirs faults and failings because you have joined their ranks ; small credit to yourself in having done so, for, if what we hear is true, that act was more the result of sheer luck than ‘ gude guiding.’ ” PEOPHIETOK PLANTEES.” Come, come,” we reply, ‘Hhis won’t do, ‘Sheer luck* indeed ! Don’t you remember what I wrote «ome time ago about chances passing by, and how every man certainly has had some, but he either did not know it, and they floated past, whispering softly ‘Catch me, catch me,’ or he did not hear the whis- per? If he did hear something, what more probable than to give his ear a brush with his hand, mutter^ ‘ Confound those mosqitoes,’ and pass on, in the opposite direction 1” Some of my friends did all they could to prevent my becoming a proprietor. They reasoned with me on the absurdity I was about to commit. “A sensible fellow like you,” &c. [For really, absurd and impossible as some may imagine it, the writer was once considered a sensible fellow, or at all events we were told so, but very likely this was only before our face, and no sooner was the “sen- sible fellow ” gone out of the room, than the one remarks to the other, “ Isn’t he an obstinate old fool?” Well, obstinacy i^ not a had Ipoiiit, if you are in the right. An obstinate man is entitled to more respect, even should he be wrong in his views^ than your soft pliable fellow who is never sure about anything he does being right, and always ready to is turn aside on the argument of any sensible fellow (in his own estimation) who insists upon giving advice. Such a one is sure to And himself before very long in the same position as the old man and his ass, as described in the nursery fable, and had better go back to ihe nursery, which he will find a more suit- able residence than the “cinnamon isle.”] This preliminary flourish having cooled us down a bit, we state our opinion to be that we are hardly fit to write fully on a proprietor’s life in the olden ^times, being only a junior assistant, and as such held in small esteem by, and considered no fitting associate for, the great “big-wigs” of the time, big in their own estimation, so big that, ofteiier than otherwise, they burst and collapsed, “ Only a poor' assistant,” for then the superintendent havi not th© same.^oc'ia^ stanclioi^ as he nas now, which may be briefly shewn in relating an anecdote that actually occurred at the Gampola resthouse. “Boy,” says a traveller, dismounting from his horse, “is there any one in the public room?” “ Yes, sar,” was the reply: “one gentleman and two coffee planters.” Ey using the, words “coffee planters,” the way in which he did he meant to infer that they were only super- intendent?-. Proprietor planters were great swells, the great bulk of them being retired naval or military officers and <8X«ConimaiLders of vessels in the Bombay and China Q CAPTAINS, COLONELS, AND GENEEALS. trade. Almost every other proprietor you met was styled “Captain/’ Take the Kamboda district m 1845. With the exception of the estate above the bridge, they were all Captains from Kondegala down to well into Pussellawa, and even there also the Captain flourished. Not only this, but a Colonel would be found here and there, and even a General. No wonder that Kamboda was called “a nobby district,” and that resident propietors were considered “quite the thing,” but although they were considered this in the social scale, it did not seem to make planting pay. It was just the old story, which is so mcomprehensible to many, that a proprietor cannot manage his own property so well as a paid manager. We can trace the after life of most of these Captains, and also bow and where some of them died, with one exception, and this was in the ca-e of the resi* dent proprietor of Monaragala, above the Eothschild Estate, in Pussellawa^ who was a Capiain Jacob, and was resident on his estate about the years 1845-46. Can any one tell what became of him, or how the property went out of his possession They always had a superintendent of some sort to do all the common dirty work. Catch them issuing rice, Plea- suring coffee, or mustering the coolies. Not that they were lazy in the mornings : quite the reverse. They would frequently be up long before the superintendent, even before daylight, and startle the boy with shouts for coffee, for they were off, either with their own dogs, or with a neighbour who kept a pack, away up into the jungles to hunt for elk, or down the chenas towards the Kotmale-ganga, in search of red deer. If, as was generally the case, good sport was obtained, the sportsman would he back about noon, for bi-eakfast, and, having had quite enough hard work for the day, he would rest in the house till the cool of the evening, then a canter along the high road to exercise the horse, and have a glass of sherry and fifteen minutes’ gossip with some neighbouring planter, wliich would give him an appetite for dinner. As it Wrt.s always a case of early rising, so it was like- wise early to bed. The dinner hour would be seven, and under ordinary circumstances to bed at nine ; ten would be considered unusually late. But the proprietor — when he had nothing better to do ! — would sometimes take the whim into his head to work very hard on the estate and have a thoiough overlook and examination into everything. He was begiiming ^ If our recollection serves us, he was Mr, Pogson*8 ►rcdecessor In the Ofiice of Governmen*^ x^stronocaeri dadras, dying there of cholera. — Ed, ME. MEEK. to suspect that his man Mr, Meek was not quite up to the mark: he^ himself, must devote more time to the estate. Meek was a very well-meaning fellow, but he was too soft : he did not pitch into the coolies half enough. Then he would suddenly make his appearancee at very unusual hours, say :at three or four o’clock, no doubt with the object in view of satisfying himself that the work was not stopped before the time. On looking back on these times, how absurd it seems the exactness with which they used to insist on the last minute, as if that was any criterion of work done. We well remember feeling like a criminal caught in some evil deed, when, ‘on unexpectedly meeting our employer a few minutes .after work was stopped, he took out his watch, and said in a very reproachful way : “It is not four •o’ clock ,1 it wants five minutes to it. I have had .all Uie trouble of coming out for nothing. You have left off work too soon. ” It was useless our explain- ing that the people had finished their task, had worked well, or that, as they had started work in the morn- ing with our time, they were entitled to go in the afternoom by the same time. ’ He would shake hia head doubtfully, and keep saying : “You .are too easy with the people ; it is not four o’clock, your watch is fast. I am going to Kandy to-morrow and will take in your watch, to have it cleaned, regu- lated, and set.” Mr. Meek said very meekly his watch had undergone a thorough repair a few weeks before, that he was very well pleased with it, and in fact that it kept capital time ; but his employer would take no excuse, the watch he must have, th© result of the discussion being that the proprietor, .as a matter of course, had his way. Mr. Meek’s excellent time-piece was put into the hands of a Kandy watchmaker, and most old planters know the result of that ; the fact was it now went very slow, which pleased the proprietor, as far as regarded 4 p.m., but what about the 6 a.m. ? Ah ! he never saw that, but the fact was our knowing proprietor had lengthened his rope by cutting off one end and sewing it ©a to the other ! Keeping coolies late at work of an afternoon, be- •cause they were late of turning out to muster in th© morning, as a rule, is just playing at “ see-saw,” for the next morning they will be late, because they were kept late the evening before, and so on it will go, trouble and turmoil, grumbling and growling, day after day. In this case let the superintendent taka the initial step, and some fine sunny after-noon con- sult his watch, tell them to look at the sun, it is l^arely three o’clock. “ Viligl dda .i away you go ; only /" NEW PLANS'. ®©e, you are «>n lionoar, and out at mu-ster sharp six to-morrow morning.” ’My word for it, won’t they do it ! You will find thenj all ready waiting for you you will be fain to run without your second cup of coffee, in case the coolies sheuld look reproachfully,, which, as plain as possible, says, ‘‘^We are waiting - keep up to* the mark,” and beware in time of any tendency to a relapse, of which there is always a likelihood and tendency. The writer has often had some ‘‘disagreeables” with his neighbours on account of letting his men ©if “so soon,” hut then they never said anything about when they turned out in the morning : they did not see that,. Where could they be ? One proprietor, whose name was Mr. Perean, was^ alw’ays cutting about the country, visiting his friends, and on his return was generally quite full of some new plan or project which he had seen somewhere, or which some one had told him. One day, very close upon crop, and with his new pulping-honse not nearly ready, he calls his superintendent, saying, “Mr, Meek, you had better stop all that work. iViake out the carpenter’s’ and sav/yers’ accounts, and discharge- them, I have discovered a new method of pulping, which does away with the necessity for pulping-houses and pulpers ! ” Mr. Meek represented that the new plan had better be tried before this rash step w^as taken, as, if the artificers were once paid off, it would be a difEcult job getting them back again, should their services be required. But Mr. Perean declared there could be no difficulty in the matter,, unless Mr. Meek created them himself, but, as he was such a slow fellow j he would hirmoux him. So at morm ing muster Wr. Perean, much to the astonishment of all the coolies, was present ; in fact the majority of the people felt rather alarmed, as such an unusual occurrence could bode them no good ; they expected nothing less than a regular methodical beating all round. Sacks and kutti sacks were ordered to be all thrown down on a heap on the barbecue, and in their place were issued baskets, just the usual sort in use for transporting manure. The coolies looked at each other with very grave countenances, quite at a loss to understand what “ was up,” but with true cooiy foliteness preserved their gravity, and said nothing, f European labourers had occupied their place, one would have winked to the other, thrust his tongue in his cheek, or in a rude independent sort of way exclaimed: “What’s up now, master ?” But, what- ever a cooiy may think, he is far too polite and respectful even to question an order, especially one PULPING IN THE FIELD. from such a very high and irnpcrfcant au- thority as the periya durai. - Mr. Perean himself accompanied the coolies to the picking place, set them in line, and commenced to explain the use ol the basket. With their fingers and thumb they picked one ripe coffee berry, then moved the hand to the basket, gave the finger a squeeze, out popped the parchment coffee into the basket, leaving the pulp between the finger, which was then dropped, thus also saving all trouble and expense in manuring from the pulpp-it, for was not this an application of manure, free from all costs and charges? Now w© all very veil know the eccentric darts and flights made by a coffee bean, when suddenly squeezed out ef the puli), and so it happened that, far oftener than otherwise, the parchment coffee did not pop into the basket at all but popped away out amongst the weeds, and was lost, leaving only the useless pulp between the finger and thumb. And what a pity it was our intelligent proprietor did not take in a moral lesson, which was so peculiarly adapted to his own case, and which was so plainly shewn forth in the behaviour of the useless pulp and good parch- ment coffee. Many a one besides him has gone to a good deal of trouble and expense in order to get their manure applied for nothing, at the expense of losing ail their parchment coffee. Our readers will no doubt understand the point of this plain reason- ing. Mr. Perean was not to be beaten so easily : he saw what was wanted. A tailor was sent for, who covered the mouths of the baskets with canvas cloth, oiie^ half sewed on, the other half buttoned over the rim, so that, when it got full, it had merely ta be unbuttoned and emptied ; a slit was made, v/ith a knife, in the cloth, and into it the picker was to place his hand, squeeze his fingers, draw it back again with the pulp between them, leaving the bean safe in the basket. What a capital plan 1 No need of watching the pickers now. Certainly 41 good deal more came into the store, but, strange to say, it had passed through a very close-set pulper, in fact it was cut and bruised fully fifty per cent, and Mr. Meek received instructions strictly to watch the pickers, and find out what was wrong. This was .soon done. The pickers, in utter ignorance that they were doing any- thing wrong, made no attempt at concealment ; they picked a few handfuls of cherry coffee, then sat down on their hind I'^gs, having previously got hold of a flat stone and a round one ; between these stones they pulped the coffee just exactly in the same way as they wmuld have ground up curry stuff’s, and then put the brui.sed coffee into the basket. Our reader LET WELL ALONE. cau easily imagine the state of the coffee,, and tho state of Mr. Pei?ean’s mind at finding all his plans and schemes so persistently bafSed. As usual, th& whole blame was attached to Mr. Meek. He was not half strict enough ; had he attended thoroughly to his instructions from the very first this could not hava- happened. Mr. Meek had got so accustomed to ba ^-blamed for the shortcomings, that, as a matter of course, he bad come to the conclusion that everything, that was wi-nng must have been his own fault ; but really this latter accusation was rather too much for him. He made the reasonable retnark that since he was such a fool,^ it was clearly to Mr. Perean’s in- terest to get rid of him as soon as possible, and re- quested a settlement and his discharge. This natural request merely increased the wrath of his. superior. ®‘Meek/’ says he “you were bad enough before, but 1 never thought you possibly could be so unprincipled as this ! To throw up your situation just as crop is well on, everything behindhand^ everything to do,, and nothing done. Meek, you are worse than useless to me, all the good I try to do is. undone by your folly, but as I cannot countenance- a want of principle in such a very young man as yourself and solely and wholly for you own good,, although it is to be feared to my loss, you cannot be allov/ed to leave, until after crop, that is to say if yon then are still of the mind to go. But if we get well through this crop,, perhaps out of a sense of gratitude at the trouble I have taken in teaching you planting matteis, perhaps we may understand each other better.’^ The reply to this was, “ Very well, we will see how we get ou.’^ The curious result of this little conversation, was that the two certainly did appear to g-'t on very well indeed ; in fact nothing could be better, and it all proceeded from Mr; Perean merely letting his. subordinate alone, or at all events ceasing to issue absurd and ridiculous orders. How is it that in these times proprietors would never let their superintendents alone ? M they were doing right, they often would interfere and compel them to: do wrong ; and if they were doing wrong, they would stop it, and make them do worse. What man of any mind could stand being always nagged at and found fault with, do what he liked ? And so arose the dislike to take service on an estate where the proprietor was. resident, or, as it frequently happened, where the pro- prietor made periodical visits, and staye«l. How con- strained and uncomfortable the superintendent would- feel during his residence, and how light and free after his departure. Now this was not a right feeling : there must have been a screw loose soiaewhere to induce PAY-DAY. for one would naturally suppose the very reverse of this would be the feeling. Could it be that this sort of feeling was increased and added to by the fact the manager was only second, when his employer was resident, that he was not periya durai ? It may be, something of a feeling of, smallness would enter into his mind, for we are not at all times conscious of what is, or may have been, the root of many feelings constantly springing up in the human heart ? Who can know^ it ? It is a mystery even to its owner. Mr. Perean was very punctual in paying his people : he always did it every month. A short time before pay-day he would say: “Meek, how much money will you require ? The people must be paid on Sa- turday.’’ The reply would be : “ The check-roll is done up, and the balance due is £90, and on reckon- ing my own pay and other sundry items £100 at least will be necessary.” “ One hundred pounds !” says Mr. Perean : “ absurd, impossible. Why I have £80 in the house, and have made the calculation that £70 is ample for estate payments, which will leave a balance of £10 to pay my own servants. You will find I am quite right, and it is enough. Here it is, take it away and pay the people at once.” Mr. Meek shrugged hit shoulders, but knew very well it was useless remon- strating. He took the money away, paid it out at far as it would go, and, when it was done, shook the empty bag in the sight of the fellows whose names stood at the bottom of the roll, leaving them to wait until such time as a further supply was foi th- coming. When next pay-day came round, a repetition of what we have stated took place, with this additonal aggravation that the balance unpaid in the month before had to be paid also. Of course Mr. Perean could not understand this : he was under the impress sion everything had been paid, at all events ought to have been. “This will never do. We shall get a bad name Mr. Meek. Why are you so careless and negligent ? You ought to have paid every one last month, and you know perfectly well the calculation I made was most liberal and ample.” Mr. Meek could have said something in his own defence, but he did n’t, knowing that it was quite useless. Poor fellow ! What a pity nobody taught him the simple form of estate accounts : would n’t he soon have had the upper hand of Mr. Perean, for all he would have to do would be to request payment of his balance due, or that his accounts be challenged, questioned, and examined. In the disputes he had with his superior about the amount of money required, the former never would look at the check-roll, declaring it was useless; he had paid £80 last pay-day, and STEIKING AN AYSSAGE. there were only thirty days in the past month and five Sundays, so that £70 must be quite sufficient, ample. “ Meek, you are such a dull fellow.” Mr. Perean had often remarked that Meek took a very long time to pay the coolies, in fact upwards of an hour, sometimes even two ; and he was quite confident lie could do it himself m ten or fifteen minutes. In order to prove this, he undertook the duty of paying when next pay-day came round. Having seated bimself at the table, he looks over the pay-list, and finds the balance due to a number of names to amount in various sums, chiefly six, seven, and eight shillings. There were, of course, sums both above and below, but he had calculated that this was the average. “Now,” says he, “Mr. Meek, pay strict attention to my system, and you will observe the great benefit of it is no small money is required, nothing under a shilling. We don’t even require to call out their names. Call the people all here ; call the roll, as at morning muster. Yes, they are all present ; very well, take this bag of money. We will both stand up, so as to formas it were a gate- way through which the coolies will be marched, and each, as he passes by, without being allowed to stop, or pass any remark, seven shillings will be put into his hand, from which there is to be no appeal ; it is the aver jge. Coolies, of course, don’t understand anything at all about averages, so it is quite useless explaining it to them, and, by the bye, have a few sticks ready in the corner of the verandah, in case it may be necessary to use them. I hope not. How- ever we must be prepared, as in their ignorance they may kick up a row.” But they kicked up no row ; only next morning, it was found the first-class coolies had gone away, as it is called, “run off,’* and the lazy idle fellows seemed to be very pleased with their i 'ay : they even went so far as to say it was not defici nt : (kuraivdna i led). Mr. Perean was qu'ie enchanted with the success of his experiment in pay- ing. True, some of bis best men l)ad run off. “But it was all owing to that fellow Meek, who no doubt had marked them absent by mistake, or to gratify some private spite. But you know we must just put up with that sort of thing ; you can’t get a perfect man in every respect ; besides all new systems are disliked at first. Next pay day we will do better.” Mr. Meek declared be had no doubt of it, and that a few more pay-days like the last would be even more successful than it, and leave them with nobody to pay at ail. Our readers will now ea^^ily conceive how the pre- judice amongst superintendents and coolies againsi TROPICAL CLIMATE ANT) THE TEMPER. resident proprietors first arose, and why resident proprietors, as a rule, were short-handed. The extreme and somewhat absurd picture of Mr. Perean is quite true, not as repre-euting one solitary instance, but many. If there a<'e any old planters of “thirty years ago,” who read this, there is no doubt that this description will recal to their recollection some Mr. Perean or Per ans, and some fellow who, like Meek, was so dull and slow as to be incapable of acting up to his employer’s instruc- tions, not so much from incapacity, as a sort of feeling of dislike we might almost say shame, at be- ing the means of enforcing orders, which even to the meanest capacity amongst the coolies must have evidently appeared ridiculous and impracfci cable. A good many of the Messrs. Perean, before very long, began to open their eyes, and inwardly come to the conclusion to let the working of est des a-lone, that it was better to get a l ood practic l1 superintendent and not needlessly and heedlessly interfere ith him. If such a proprietor chose to live on liis estate, it did not by any means involve the necessity of constantly meddling with the manageme’d and work ; not that we go so far as many, who say a proprietor has no business to meddle with his superintendent. “Just as if,” as an esteemed superintendent of the writer’s once said to him, ‘ ‘ a proprietor had no right to issue an order or express an opinion on the culti- vation of his own property.” Now, the objection is not in the issuing of orrlers or expressions of opinions, but the way and manner in which they are given and expressed. Whatever a man’s ii^sitiou and call- ing in life may be, if he is a gentleman, he is most certainly entitled to both expect atul receive treatmeut as such, A good many disagreeables sometimes arise from temper. It is a fact the climate of Ceylon has a strong aetion on the nervous system : after a long residence, the nerves get unstrung, one easily gets irritated, so that, as would naturally be siippposed, after a long residence, one having got used to all the troubles and vexations would treat them with indifference. Not so : the longer yon live on a coffee estate, the probability is the more irritable you will become, and less able cooly and calmly to carry on your work. A very good plan after a vexatious day’s work is to order yonr horse and take a good fresh gallop, even if it was for only fifteen minutes. You will feel great relief, and if on dismouuuing you get under the bath spout, so much the betlar ; the re- mainder of the evening will be eoeit. m. a pleasant and cheerful manner, in a very different way from what it would have been, jja clirowu yours fff MR. EASY. down on the couch, burst out into a tirade of abuse against the “boy,” so that the boy warns all and sundry not to approach the bangiiow, for “Master is angry.” We well remember tue day, not thirty years ago, when our iieighboarsson sidered us “daft,” after a hard day’s work, toiling about that dreadful hill. “What was he doing? Only look.” And three or four glassses would pop in position from the verandah of the bungalow opposite. “ Only fancy ! Why he is galloping his horse round the beat or drive in front of the bungalow. Did you ever?” Just so, the best rest is not rest, but a change of occupation, and after a few turns round the “drive” and a cold bath we felt fresher than if we had rested on the couch for an hour. When you feel an:>ry, out of temper, dirty, and irritable, take a ten miuntes’ gallop, and a cold bath under the spout, and take my word for it, you will siy that is not bad advice from our old friend P. D, Millik. CHAPTER XXVI. Ay “ Easy ” Proprietou, and the Hard Work hb Gave his Superintendent. Mr. Easy was a planting proprietor of a very dif' ferent stamp from Mr. Pere in : his bungalow was just a shed of a place, consisting of a “but and a ben,” not even a bed in it, for he slept in a hammock, and his visitors, when ho had any, which was but seldom, on a couch. This shed, however, vvas a perfect model of cleanliness and neatness, everything in its proper place, and everything had a proper place, which any one with an eye to order could at a glance at once perceive. Any junior assistant of the present day would have scouted the very idea of living in such a bungalow. He would refuse to engage with such a “ stingy old screw ” of a pi-opriefor w^ho would not provide better house accommodation for the very superior class and position of young gentlemen who felt in- clined to devote their time and attention, for a brief and limited period, to the coffee enterprise, and the benefits that the “stingy old screw” derived from their impoi tant services were not for a inomeot to be put in the scale against the very small amount of benefit they received, if indeed they received any at all, which was doubtful. However Mr. Easy intended to build a better bun- galow after his estate was fairly established, and, hav- ing this end in view, he amused himself in the cool of the mornings and evenings in laying out shrub- AMATEUE EOAD-TRACING. beries and garden grounds, for which occupation he seemed to have a natural taste and talent. He had planted out fruit trees, shrubs and flowers from all parts of the world, he had made periodical visits to the Botanical Gardens at Peradeiiiya, until he could obtain nothing new even there ; he had written to friends in China and South America, and, no doubt, numerous mysterious, looking boxes, partially covered with glass, were now tumbling about over the salt sea foam, and so he was generally busy getting the ground in order for some expected arrival, some tree, plant, or flower, hitherto unknown in the Island, He very seldom visited, or had any visitors ; during the heat of the day he was busy drawing out plans of his pro» jected buildings, tracing out roads on paper, which traces were eventually to be put into the hands of Mr. Smith, his superintendent, with instructions practically to carry out the work, which it was not at. all times possible to do, as the chief essential in road tracing is first to take a careful look over the ‘‘lay of land,” second suit your trace as far as possible to the nature of the ground, with respect to the obstacles in the way, and how to avoid them, such as rocks, precipices, steep banks of streams. Mr. Easy having, quite to his own satisfaction, completed the trace of a road, on paper, would request the attendance of Mr. Smith, in order that a thorough explanation might be gone into, personally. Into the room which he used for an office Mr. Smith was ushered, and all the details of the work fully commented on, and instructions given that the trace was to be commenced and completed the next day. Mr. Smith departed with the sketch trace in his pocket, mumbling something which sounded very like, “ I just wish I had him up the new clear- ing in his pyjaaias and red slippers.” About noon next day Mr. Smith called at his proprietor’s bungalow, his face and hands so blackened with charcoal, his clothes torn and dirty, minus one shoe, and altogether present* ing such an unusual appearance, that, to use a com- mon expression, “ his own mother would not have known him.” He represented to his employer, that it was impossible to carry out his trace, that it just appeared as if purposely it had been made to cross right through large boulders, over precipices, and as for the crossing of streams, it was impossible to do so, in the usual way, by what is called paved crossings, the banks were so steep'and rugged that nothing less than a suspension bridge would be requirM- But Mr. Easy poohpoohed the whole report : — There is plenty of powder in the store, get out your jumpers, blast off all obstructions. And, by the bye, Mr. Smith, just-go aw'ay up to the CROSS CRITICISM. top of tbe clearing immodiately ” (it was noon, Mr. ‘Smitli had hiid no breakfa^ft, notldng but a cup of coffee at 6 A. M. ) : “ take two coolies wdth you, a piece of rope, and measure what span of a bridge would be required for that stream. I see advertised in a London paper a verv nice description of suspension bridges ; we will bridge the streams, and, as Sir Edward Barnes said of the Kadugannawa Pass, blast the rocJcs,^^ So Mr. Smith again took his departure, speaking a little above his breath, lucky his employer did not hear him, or he would have said, ‘‘ Why, surely he has mistaken me for. the rocks !” When Mr. Smith and his neighbour Mr. Meek met, of course tbe.v had a talk on the merits and demerits of their respective employers, end in these conversations, the curious feat- ure was, that the one saw all the good points in his neighbour’s situation, and none of the had, in fact each thought that if he only had his neighbour’s place, how jolly he would be, would n’t he get on, &c. Isn’t this a curious feature in human nature, for it may he reasonably presumed that liad the two occu- pied each other’s situation, had their positions been reversed from the first, just exactly the same conver- sation and wish for change would have been the result. It has gometimes been remarked it is a good thing proprietors don’t know or hear the remarks passed upon them by Iheir superintendents. But has the saying ever been reversed ? What would sup- erintendents say, or do, if they knew all the hard things said or thought about them, when tbe accounts come in! Depend upon it, Messrs. Smith and Meek, your employers talk a great deal more about you than you do about them, and if the talking should not be in your favour, which it more frequently is than other- wise, on the game principle as the old saying about being always “sure ^o hear ail the evil about a man whether the good is ever mentioned or not,” it stands harder with you than it does with them, for if a rumour once goes forth — and wbo can keep in rumours ? ' — it may eventually do much damage to the superintend- ent, whereas u hat do Messrs. Easy and Perean care about rumours, so long as their estates give a pi-obt. If a proprietor gets the name of being extravagant and expensive, who cares, so long as he pays his way ? The only- rumour which can affect seriously Messrs. Easy and Perean, is a doubt of their solvency, or being able topaytiieir way, twenty shillings in th(i pound, and that is very easily tested ; if it sbould befall, it is soon forgotten, in fact their position is stronger than before. It is a curious fact, that your easy-^oing fellow On a coffee e">t:.te, before very long, generally becomes Un« ea.sy in bis health. One vvould naturally suppose that WANTED~A CHANGE. it would be quite the reverse, that Mr. Easy, wbo took such good care of himself, never went out in the sun or wet, if he could possibly help it, who lived at home, at ease, enjoyed every comfort, until actuary his comforts were no enjoyment, but a wearisome routine of dull inaction, would never be ill. Neil3aer be was, but when one lives for any length of time this way, a feeling of lassitude creeps and grows over one, that eventually tells on the nerves and muscles and produces a state of depression akin to disease, or at all events rendering the whole system prone and liable to catch it, whereas your bustling up, runabout fellow, who cares not a straw for sun, rain, and wind, if he is bless^^d with anything ■of a good constitution, keeps it up, and hardens it^ Don’t be always taking excessive care of yourself. If you do, it will become chronic, and, from merely the fear of getting ill. it will in all probability lapse into a reality. Rattle about in. all weathers, go where and when duty calls, use an umbrella for the sun, and always change wet clothe^ for dry, without sit- ting in the wet, and you will enjoy far better health than those who are always taking such care of themselves, that they almost «eem to cart for nothing •else. Mr. Easy did not feel well : the least ex- ertion knocked him up ; he ate very little, without any appeti e, he used a good deal of beer, and took “a nip ” before meals, to give him an appetite ; at last he considered it advisable to take a run into Kandy and consult a physician as to the symptoms of his debility and failing health, the result of which was, an order for a complete change for a week, or month — a sea voyage t^ any of the Indian presidencies, China, or Australia. But he could not see his way how to get away; peo- ple in his case never do, they have always (in their own estimation) so much to do, and — how could he trust Mr. Smith, who would go all wrong, without his constant supervision ? At last, a bright idea struck Mm, so he mounted his pony, and rode over to his friend, Mr. Perean, in a few words stating to him his difficulty, and asking him if he would undertake the supervision of Smith, during his absence, “he would do as much for him any day,” &e. Mr. Perean put his hands in his pockets and burst out alaughing. “Why,” say he, '‘what ’s up with Smith now ? Take my advice. Go away home at once, pack up your traps, and tell Smith you are off, and all you «ay to him is ‘ Do your best, or what you consider for the best. And here is a cash credit for you, in case you may require money.’ The very worst thing you could possibly do, is to put ^r!e on the overlook over Smith ; he will at once see you have not confidence LOW SPIRITS. in him, and will be soured and dispirited. Trust hlmv trust Inm implicitly^ that will put him on his mettle,, and I tell you he will work harder and better than when you are present, because he will know well that in any error of management the whole blauie will rest upon him, so, on. the contrary, all correet mtm- agement will b? wholly and solely to his credit. Kesponsi- luiity sir, responsibility is a great spur to a man, and it is -often vepy surprising how it developes one’s good, qualities, wdiieti unless upon the pressure of responsh bility would never have been squeezed out go away, iDY friend end tell Mr. Smith, as I have directed,, and yoq may also loll him, if in any case of emerg- ency he wishes advice or directions, to come and con- sult with me, as an adviser, not a superior, and I will do my best tomssist him. But he does not need it ; Smitlr knows as much about planting as- I do, and a great deal more than you do, Easy, a great deal more. Give yourself no anxiety ; take my word, for it. Yon may be away for six months or more, come back and find not only everything all right, but so much improved, on account ofl ymir absence^ that I quite expect you to exclaim " The best thin 2 I can do is to go again.’ ” But Mr. Easy shook his head mournfully and .said, “It ’s all very, well' for you to talk if yon were in my position you wovild feel very different.” However, ke packed up* his box, ordered a trap from Kandy, and next morn- ing took h!3 departure as if he were going to be executed. But the loom of the scaffold that threatened his execution soon faded away. All who have come through the same experience can tell how, as the last sight of the coflee faded away in the gloom of the horizon, or was lost to sight, to memory dear,” behind the spur of a mountain range, at every turn of the road new scenes appeared, the fresh air, the rapid motion, created as it were new life and raised the spirits. At the hotel in Kandy, he met with a number of old friends, old stories were told, past re- minisceuces long since slumbering or asleep were re- called to memory, until he surideniy remembered next morning he must be up at half -past four in time for the coach and that it was time to turn in. “The coach !”' says a friend ; “ where are you off to ! ” “ Colombo, and a sea voyage by medical orders for my health,” was the reply. Your health ; a good joke. Wlio ’g your doctor ? Why, man, he ’9 taking a rise out of you. You are looking better now^ than you did ten* years ago.” Mr. Easy being, reminded 01 the state of his health suddenly collapsed, put his head between lu* hands, leaned forward on the talde, und de- clared he felt so ill, he was doubtful if would be able THE TRIP TO BOMBAY. .'to proceed on his journey, bade his friends good bye, he would =ncit see them in the morning, perhaps never would again. However he slept well, and the boy had to rap rather. hai d at the door next morning before receiving any reply. We need not describe the coach journey down ; .most^of our old friends know all about that, all about the bad breakfast at Ambepussa and 'the feeling of freshness and delight caused by the first glance at the sea. Our patient ate a good dinner, en- joyed the fresh fish, went to bed early, slept sound, and had a ride or drive round the Oalle Face before breakfast next morning ; after breakfast there .w^as no lounging about, but a carriage was ordered, .and he made a whole round of visits, and in the • evening went out to dine. This sort of thing went on for a few days. One afternoon just as he w’as dress- ing for dinner a post-letter was put into his hands ; he at once recognized the handwriting of Mr. Smith. It will naturally be supposed that he at once tore open the letter to see what was wrong, for something must have ^one amiss ; hadn’t he been away for three days? He did nothing of the sort, did not even open it, but tossed it aside on a corner of the di essing, table with the exclamation: “Bother that fellow Smith. He need not have been in such a hurry scribbling away before I am well off ; it is not likely anything can have gone wrong already, I ’ll read it to-morrow morning. Boy, send out for a carriage immediately.” To-morrow morning duly turned up, and some friends - also turned up at the morning coffee and cigar, then a ride out, then breakfast, and Smith’s letter w^as either forgotten or at all events still unopened ; at last he re- membered that it might be advisable to read it ; it w as not a long one, only a few lines as he had been ordered to write, and wishing to know what his employer’s wishes were with regard to that road trace, which he had promised to consider of and let him know. But Mr. Easy had no heart now for roads and traces, so he wrote Mr. Smith just to do what he considered best, and no doubt it would be the best. During the times of which we write our costly pearl, the steamer Pearl, was not in existence, as this vessel did not arrive for the coasting trade till July 1858, so a voyage i^’ouiid the Island was not at all times or easily to be got, so we cannot say how our sick man proceeded to sea All we know .about it is^ that Mr. Smith in due cours(3 received a letter -dated Bombay, intimating that the patient was quite restored to health, that he was afraid the climate of Ceylon did not agree with him, and that really he did not know when he would be back. Not .'a word was.said about the estate, roads, or traces, whicli so.;astonished Smith that he went over to Mr. Pereaii’s THE RETHHN TO^ THE WATTIE. to have that gentlemnn’s opinion as to whether Mn, Easy was dangerously ill or not. Perean glanced over the letter in his shrewd sharp way, threw it down on the tabloy chuckled and rubbed his hand's, and said : He ‘s all light ; never was better.. Just what I thought ;• dangerously iH, ha ! ha !; It ’s my opinion, Mr. Smith,, that he is dangerously well ! and he will be grudging money for the estate; wanting it all to- spend himself, but if there are any signs of this state of mind turning up turn upon him. Say roads are traced and must be cut, blasting is^ expensive work, and if he grumbles it all his own orders. Stir up his memory as to- when he said ‘ Blast the rocks,’ and then you know with a douhle force you will get through with them, for while you are blasting them here when he gets your letter, won’t he be doing the same in Bom- bay ? But perhaps better let bygones be bygones; he will never trouble you, and it ’s not likely when he comes back, if ever he comes to reside at all again, that he will ever trouble you or trouMe himself in the way he used to do. I don’t think he will. Easy will come back a changed man. The spell as broken.” About three months had now elapsed since Mr. Easy’s departure, when one afternoon Mr. Smith re- ceived a letter from him, intimating his arrival at Colombo, and stating that he would be on the estate to-morrow afternoon to dinner. Of course Mr. Perean came over to meet him, and welcome back his old friend. The two gentlemen were pacing up and down the verandah, occasionally looking at their watches,, and statiiLg their opinicm that, fromj the bad state of the roads, the ca^iage which would without doubt be hired from Kandy could not turn up for some time. They even hoped Mr. Easy would not have forgotten to procure some pillows, and cushions for the jolting would be very bad, but, just as they were hoping, the sharp clatter of a horse’s hoofs was heard. They looked out, and a gentleman was riding up the road at a sharp canter. “ Who can that he ? ” says Mr. Perean. It looks like Easy, but I don’t think he can ride, and the fellow coming up certainly can ride. Oh, just look.” and instead of coming round the drive, Mr. Easy — for it "Wfas he — leaped his horse over the rose fence, and came cantering over the grass-field straight up to the bungalow, waving his cap and looking the very picture of health. After a hearty shaking of hands, the conversation turned upon the horse, and all his good and bad points were discussed. There’s another one com- ing,” says Easy, “of a shorter stouter cut, forestate work, in fact for Mr. Smith’s especial use. I was thinking it must be hard work for Smith toiling A SURPEISE, that hill twice a day : it will be the sanie time yoh know, and instead of him arriving at the Working place tired and done out, he will be quite fresh, and in fact the value of the horse will soon be repaid, if we take everything into consideration. But, by the bye,” says Easy, looking up the hill, as the setting sun cast its rays on the red earth, cutting off the new roads, what a lot of nicely traced roads are cut. Pereanj I did not expect you would have trou- bled yourself tracing roads for me ; I am for ever indebted to you.” Perean laughed and said, “This is the first time I have been on the estate since you left.” “Well,” says Easy, “who traced them, for any one caii see, even at this distance, that they are well traced ? Bid you employ a man ?” “Well,” says Perean, “the man that traced them was Smith.” “ Smith ! None of your joking. What does he know about roads ?” The reply was, “ Wait till to-morrow morning and see ?” To-morrow morning came, and Mr. Easy was up long before the sun, all rigged out, long staff in hand, for a toilsome ascent up the hill. After partaking of coffee with his friend — who had remained the night, he goes out to the verandah, and is somewhat startled at seeing the two horses, sad- dled, standing at the door. “ Why, w^hat is this”? says he. “To ride up the hill,” says Perean. “You can ride up to the very top.” “But how are the streams crossed ? Y'ou surely have not ordered the bridges that I was going to write for from England.” Mr. Eas3r’s astonishment may be imagined, when told that bridges there were none ; they Were quite un- necessary, and, as they rode up the hill, it was ex- plained to him, how Smith had looked out for good natural crossings, and had conformed the trace of his roads in order to meet them. So that all these crossings required was a mason, d uring the dry season, to lay down flat slab stones, which, if well laid and packed, would stand any ordinary flood, arid then, in event of continued rains, large blocks of step- ping-stones were laid on the crossings, so that one could step across, dry-shod. Mr. Easy said no- thing, but, as he approached, and crossed the crossings, paused and took a good look at them, and seemed to be thinking a great deal; at last he said, “I had no idea Smith was such a sharp fellow. In fact, I think I had better go away again.” But Perean replied, “Why go away : why, if you prefer it, not stop on your own estate, and amuse or enjoy yourself, and let Smith alone ; leave him to manage and work the estate, just the ®ame as if you were absent ?” Mr. Easy said he did not believe either himself or PEEIYA AND SINNA DX3RAIS. any planting proprietor could live long in this way. What a meanin^h ss, purposeless existence ! To loun^a about, looking on, and neither saying nor doing any- thing, in fact a peri’ect nonentity on your own estate : quite enough to make any one ill, or at all events predis- pose one to disease. The question may be asked, why be a nonentity on your own estate ? Get away out and look after the wnrk. Then what becomes of the superintendent ? It is not very likely he will be of much use ; the coolies will ignore oi- make light of his instructions and orders, and appeal to the big master, and if any appeal has even the smallest sem- blance of being sustained, or even listened to, a blow is struck at the usefulness and authority of the superintendent from which he will never recover. Again, whatever your own ideas in private mny be^, take no notice of the appeal, and say you never in- terfere in estate matters, r^fer them to your super- intendent, what do yon become? A nonentity in the essimation of your coolies, who, of course, cannot understand your principles of non-interference, and impute it altogether to a wrong motive or motives : incapacity, laziness, very probably even a feirofyour own su|)erintendent ! So tliat very probably they may be talking amongst themselves, “ A pretty periya. durai is he. Why he is afraid of the sinna durai.. He is afraid to, give an order, and everything the sinna durai says, no matter how absurd, must be done.” dhat, or something like it, is very probably KamaswPvmi s opinion of the periya durai. They cannot understand, or rather thoroughly comprehend,, tlie policy of non-interference on the principle of /‘no- man being able to serve two mast>-rs.” The periya durai, when dismissing a complaint, taking the complaint to proceed to the sinna durai, may even be taunted in a side whisper to a compari- son, for it is rarely one single man makes a com- plaint, he has always a witness, or witnesses, is gen- erally in company, although his companions may be mute, silent witnesses. There will be a slap at the periya durai, “He ’s afraid of the sinna durai. He does not understand, or cannot work, himself, he’s afraid of the sinna durai, in case he may be angry and go away,— and then what will he do, for he does not understand the work himself.” “Does not un-- derstand the work himself.” Few can be aware of how much is c >mprehended, in this expression ! For there is no greater swing-power or authority a master can have over his coolies, than to show and prove* that he quite understands his work, and how to do it in all its departmen's. If vou are master of your- work, and how to do it, you are master also of your COOLY CEITICISM. coolies, they respect you ; every one respecfs a mau who understands his business, and goes at itwith a will. Suppose your pulper or machinery goes wrong, get a man to set or put it to rights, cannot you tell almost ar. the first glance, whether he can or will do it, or not ? The practical way in which he takes off his coat, tucks up his sleeves, gives a few sharp shrewd glances at the faulty machine, tells at once he is master of his business. You feel confidence in him, you know he will set your machine, and you don’t trouble him. On the contrary, there is a something almost indescribable, that you can at once stamp the man who does not and cannot set your pulper, a. something that tells you, the moment he takes the wrench or screw hammer in his hand that he will nob do it, and you are right. All of our readers must have noticed, when there was anything difficult to be done and anybody could do it, when the job devolved upon the master, as the last and only resource, and he undertook to do it, how he was watched by the coolies, every motion and action. If he was successful, what bright happy faces they put on, talking amongst theselves. “ Our master did it.” “ Our master can do it.” *• Our master can do anything.” And how cheerful they go away under the confirmed opinion “Our master can do everything,” and what an additional power it gives him in possessing their confidence. But if the master should be baffled, or puzzled, the cooly is too polite to pass a rude or discourteous expression or opinion. But is n’t he like “Jack’s parrot,” who, if he did not or could not speak, just thought the more ? They will think their own thoughts, and speak them too, amongst themselves, but of course you bear nothing of them, all the time wondering how it is y^u cannot command the same respect and attention that some of your neighbours do. The reason is, you don’t un- derstand how to do your work. Judge of Mr. Perean’s astonishment, when one day Easy called and said, it was all settled, he was going home ; he had been going into his accounts, and found his living on his estate cost him over and over again more than it would in England, while he had neither occupation nor amusement : in fact the money was just wasted ; he would go home for a couple of years, and then come back again to see how matters hnd gone in his absence. He would leave Smith in full charge, subject to the Colombo agency, who would have his power of attorney, in case, and only in case, any- thing went wrong. Judge also of Mr. Easy’s asron- ishment when Mr. Perean clapped him on the shoulder, “Hurrah, old boy, that ’s right, and I will go with you, for I am tired of this sort of thing too ; we wiil GdiNG HOME. give our youngsters a chance, and see how they get bn without us.’° So Messrs. Easy and Perean went away, and were no more heard of, until after a time long letters turned up every mail, grumbling about excessive expenditure, expenses were frightful, far more than were ever spent during their residence, and that they must come out again and retrench;, and put a stop to this lavish waste of money. However they did not, they had probably looked at the other side of the questioii, which was larger brops. Estates pro- mising a longer established and more remunerative in- vestment, an investment which could bear an invests Ration beyond that mysterious epoch in coffee plantings called “next year.” Or very probably, in their calm moments of reflection in the old country, they had privately come to the conclusion, that they could not^ or would not manage their own estate, because who- ever they met with engaged in conversation about feoffee, Messrs. Smith and Meek were never mention ed^ it was all what they had done. But they never said a word about what they had not done, or done Wrong or if they did it was Messrs. Smith and Meek that did it. Most proprietors were the same ; we know brie exception, he is P. Do Millie, CHAPTEB XXVII. Showing how CeVlon Coffee Estate Ways anh Manners Unfit a Man for Law-protected England and for Mixing in Polite Society. “ Gone home.” Often have we received this reply lo an inquiry as to the whereabouts or some old friends whom we had neither seen nor heard of for a long time. “ Gone home,” which means left the Island, and gone to the land of his nativity, after an absence bf twenty or thirty years, the result of Which is by rib means what the words imply. Often quite the con- trary, for it may be truly said he has gone to meet, if indeed there are any to meet, the friends with snow-white hair “ whose locks were raven when they parted.” Gone to what appears for a time a harsh cold ungenial climate, gone to assume an entirely new riiode of life, probably uncongenial, new habits and customs, apparently stiff, formal, unnatural, and not at all in accordance with his idea of comfort and sociability, gone to be represented and excused amongst his friends as a peculiar fellow, a sort of odditjq “ one who you know has lived all his life amongst black people, who is ignorant of our customSj blit not such THE PLANTER IN THE OLD COUNTRY. a bad fellow on the whole. He will come round by and by no doubt, and, in the mean time, we must just bear a little with him.” Supposing onr friend, as is generally the case, times his departui-e so as to arrive in summer. He, as a matter of course, gets up at five or six in the morning ; looking out of his bedroom window how beautiful everything appeal's, the fresh green foliage, so different from what he has been aceustomed to gaze on, the song of birds, the bright cheerful sun, without the burdensome heat, how pleasant to go out and have a stroll. So, having finished his morning toilet, he steps out into the public room, and also steps into utter darkness, for no one is up, and the shutters of the room are all close barred. After some difficulty, stumbling over chairs, and knocking his shins against sofas, he reaches the door, or window, fumbling about for the bar catches, and not knowing their way he lets them down with a crash, which alarms the whole house. If ressing-gowns and night-caps peer through the murky light on the stairs, the owners therein being evidently under the impression that a gang of house-breakers have commenced operations, but at last, when aware of what is going on, they say one to the other, ‘fit is only that queer fellow up at this time of the night." Doors are then heard to slam, bolts and locks to turn, as much as to say, “We will keep him out here at all events.” A flood of light having been admitted into the sitting-room reveals, to say the least of it, an uncomfortable sight. In anticipation of a morffing cleaning, the night before the carpets had been taken up and rolled up in a corner. The tables are covered, or rather heaped up, wdth coucli pillows and chair mats, the coqches themselves are standing up one end, and the chairs all piled up in a corner, pne over the other. A feeling that he wants some- thing now comes over him, a somewhat similar one to what he felt when he used to shout out : “ Boy, bring cqfFee ” — but there are no boys here. The girls are all in bed, from which wmre they to be rouseri at that untimely hour, it would probably lead to a request for wages due, and a discharge, or at all events a notice to leave. The kitchen fire is black out, so our friend sighs, lights his pipe, or cigar, mechanic- ally takes an umbrella, unbolts the door, and walks out into the fresh morning air, which is all, or moi e than all, he expected to find it. He probably walks out, into or through a densely populated district, but all is still as the regions of the dead, shutters and blinds all closed, not a being to be seen. By and by a few doors will open, and servant women, with i?are heads and arms, may be seen, dowp on their UP IN THE MOENING. knees on the door-steps. He looks curiously, and thinks, surely they might have attended to their re- ligious services, before leaving their rooms, or is this some new custom or, — “ they are only scrubbing and cleaning the door steps.’’ But, if he looks curiously at them, so also do they at him. Perhaps they are thinking : “ Here ’s a queer man, been up all night, been keeping it up with ‘ We won’t go home till morning,’ probably not quite sober, hardly safe to look at him. Going home to bed at this time in the morning !” Then they will rise, go inside the door, leavinu' it just chinked, and through the chink, a nose and two eyes may be seen peering at our friend, until he turns the corner, and is lost to sight. He leaves the town, and takes a turn into the country, where all is equally still and quiet. A painful feel- ing of depression comes over him, and he feels any- thing but refreshed and invigorated by his morning walk, and makes up his mind to give it up. On his return he meets a few ploughman and carters going out lazily to commence the labours of the day, who stare at him, as if there was a price set on his head, and they would like to catch him ; gangs bf women just commenced to work in the fields rest on their hoes as he passes, and give him a good look, then they all commence to talk, still looking at him. What can they be saying? There is nothing odd in a gen- tleman walking along the public road. Yes there is, at that time in the morning, it is not “the custom of the country.” We need hardly remark, our friend returns, not in the best of humour, and anything but refr^^shed with his morning walk. He had gone out without his customary coffee and toast, had been smoking on an empty stomach, and had no appetite for breakfast. He is fain to give up these morning walks as the worst of two evils : if he can’t lie in bed, or sleep, better keep in the house, and employ him- self in reading or writing, until respectable people are astir, although it did seem a puzzle why respectable people should judge it expedient to sit up at night, and burn coals, gas, or lamps, with all their doors and windows barred and bolted, and lie in bed in the early and even late morning, or forenoon, in good daylight ! Gur friend is, however, told that this sort of life is ciiieiiy confined to towns, and their vicinity, and that if he took a trip into the country districts he would find matters different, and more in accordance with his former mode of life. Acting upon this hint, he packs up, and takes his departure per train for some distant country station, bent on having a ramble amongst the woods, hills and lakes. In due course of the train puts him down at & remote country FISHING AND SHOOTING, station, and, having secured comfortable quarters at the hotel, be unpacks his gun and fishing-rod. It is well on in August, grouse shooting had commenced, and he had taken care to provide himself with a shooting license, although he did grumble, j^et still he was told it was the law. On making inquiry about shooting grounds, he was told, if he had not rented a shooting, he must obtain leave from the landed proprietors, or their representative. As for renting a shooting, such was far beyond his pecuniary means, and how could he obtain leave when he knew no one, so under these explanations his gun w’as tossed aside as useless, under present circumstances. He could see some fine rivers and streams all about, which he was told were all full of fine trout. Yes, he would try his hand at fishing. He used to fish ever so long ago, when a boy ; he would try his hand at it again. So, having provirled himself with fishing tackle, and after a night’s rain, when the streams are rolling down, of an earthy colour, turbid and tossing, and the sky abov^e with a leaden hue, in full fishing rig-out he sallies forth, on to the small beaten foot- way, winding through the grass, along the edge of the stream. A few casts are made, the fish rise well, and, what is very satisfactory, are well hooked and landed. His fishing basket is fast getting filled. On and onward he goes, completely unconscious that some one is watching him on the top of a knoll, not very far off. After a short time, the man who seemed so intent on watching the progress of the fisher sharply discends the hill, walks up to our friend, touches his hat, saying, “Beg pardon, sir, but I suppose you have leave from the proprietor, which he always give, in writing ; kindly show me your permission.’’ Our friend looks round, and sees a stout thickset man, dressed in drab gaiters and moleskin jacket, a short gun under Ids arm, and at his heels half-a-dozen rough ugly-looking terrier dogs. He asks him as to what his rights are for questioning, and is curtly told “I am one of the keepers, and my duties are to see that no trespassing or poaching goes on. But I suppose, sir, it ’s all right with you, only I must see your lines ; it’s the master’s instructions.” Our friend begins to feel rather discomposed, and is obliged to admit that he has no leave, either written or verbal. “ In that case,” says the stout thickset man, “I must walk you off the grounds,” at the same time opening the fishing basket, and transferring its contents to his own capacious pockets. “Now, sir, if you please, address.” His card was handed as at present residing at the Cross Keys hotel in the village. Our friend was longing about, at a loss what to do with himself, ^•PAY AND LEARN.” for wRat is there for a man to do about an up-country village with neither shooting fishing, or any one to speak to ? He had made up his mind to leave next morn- ing, and returned to the inn to pack up, and get ready. He finds some one there, wishing and waiting to see him, who thrusts a slip of paper into his hands, and immediately slips off. On examining the contents of the paper, our friend finds he must postpone his de- parture, as he is summoned to appear before the “Bench,” on a charge of trespass and poaching. The case did not occupy the Bench long ; our friend ad- mitted everything, all the charges were true, he merely pleaded ignorance. Although he was called a Scotchman, from having been born on Scotch soil, yet, from his long absence, he was in a great man- ner ignorant of all the customs, usages and rules of the land. He did not know he was transgressing the laws of the land in walking along the banks of stream, in a remote mountain district, and catching a few fish, but he was told ignorance of the law was no excuse, and that he must pay the penalty, or go to jail. He did the former, and mentally remarked, that the old saw “Live and learn ” was incomplete, and that attached to it should be the additional remark — Pay and learn.” Our friend has had enough of the country ; he is off to town ; be is not indicted for trespass in walking along the streets, and can always get some ^ sort of amusement of society, as he feels the inclination. Sauntering along the street one afternoon, an ac- quaintance puts his arm within his, and asks what has become of him, for “ this ever so long.” “Oh,” says he, “it’s along story, and I ’m just going to smoke. Have a cigar?” “No, no, not here, not here,” says his companion fearfully, pushing aside the cigar, “ but come vrith me and I will show you a place,” and Buddenly he pops down a stair into a tobacconist’s shop. A few chairs are standing in front of the counter, for any one that chooses to sit down upon ; our friend sit down, and proceeds to light a cigar, but the companion says, “ Not there, not there, people passing along the street will see us — it won’t do ; come in here, ” and he disappears through a back door into a dark closet, quite concealed from the observa- tion of any, even of those who may enter the shop- Our friends follows him, but he can’t smoke. The little air in the closet is saturated with tobacco smoke —it is almost quitejdark, and he feels very uncom- fortable, even sick and unwell. “ Let ’s get out of this,” says he; the reply to which is, “Stop till I’m done, I can’t smoke in the street.” “ Why not V* says our friend. The reply was, People would see me, and they would talk about it.” “ Well, but is TAKING CAKE OF ONE’S OHAKACTEK. it wrong ? Why slionld tliey talk about it. I always do it.” ‘‘It’s all very well for you,” says he, “you are an independent man, with a source of income from foreign parts. I am a man in town, business well-known, and must take care what I do. . I must take care of my character.” Our friend mildly represents that he does not see how- smoking a cigar in the street^ can detrimentally affect a man’s character ; if there is anything really wicked or sinful in smoking tobacco, it is just as bad to smoke on the sly, in fact worse, for to commit a wicked action in secret and then go forth, pretending innocence, is just the very v/orst sort of hypocrisy. The reply was, “ Argument is all very well for you, but it won’t do for the like of us. But I am thirty and must have a glass of beer, come on, and have a drink.” Out they sally into the street. They pass a great many very comfortable-looking, respectable places for re- tailing liquors. Our friend points them out, and says, “Let’s go inhere, here’s a nice place,” but the reply always is, “No, no, not there. Come on.” Up one street, down another, to the right round one corner, to the left round another, and the two gentlemen are in a very quiet dismal-looking back lane ; they now walk slowly until the companion comes to a stand, looks up the street and down the street, and is apparently satis- fied with the inspection, for he suddenly disappears through a glass door, which shuts ifself with a rebound. Our friends then enters and sees no one, except the man behind the counter. So he asks where the gen- tleman is who just entered, and is shewn into some back premises, all divided and subdivided into a sort of stalls and boxes ; these stalls are all boarded up, so that none can see in ; they have a plank seat round them, a table in the centre, and a bell rope hangs from the ceiling, it is very dark, the only light being from a small skylight high up, in the roof. The bell was touched and two glasses of beer ordered, when our friends ventures to ask, “ What is the meaning of all this : passing by all the really comfortable- looking places of public entertainment, and coming so far, into this den of a place ? Is the beer considered anything superior ?” “No, no,” says the companion. “ No, no, but you know nobody would see us going in here, at least none who could possibly know who I am. I know you are a rfgardles:? fellow, and don’t care what people say, but I am not, lean tell you !” “ Kegard- less fellow, indeed!” says our iiidigi: ant friend, “What 13 the meaning of all this ? I told you I saw nothing wrong in smoking a cigar, or rather in being seen smoking, and I now tell you there cannot be any im- propriety in drinking a glass, or, for that fact of it, even two or three, of beer if one is thirty, and cer- IHE CUSTOMS OU THE COUOTEY. taiiily if there is anything v/rong about it, it must be in going into low back street places drinking on the sly. If any one does see you going in or coming out of these places they are far more likely to talk about it, than if .you were seen under the same circumstances, in one of the best houses in the principal thoroughfares.” But his companion smiled, shook his head, and said, “You don’t know the customs of society here ; you know nothing about i’ .” “Well/ says our friend, “I am certainly getting a good many lessons in the ‘ cus- toms of the country,’ as you call them and, allow me to say many of them are very bad ones, at least have a tendeflcy to produce a good deal of evil, and it seems to me, that what you call your position, or standing in socie-y, has to do with all because the lower or working classes seem not under the same fear and dread. Ko one thinks anything at all about seeing a carter or working man smoking on the road, or going into li is public for a glass of whiskey or beer, provided he does not drink too much. It is though^, if any one thinks of it at all, just a matter of course.” “ That’s it,” says our ovm companion, evidently grasping at an excusej “that’s it, the wmrking or lower class of people do it, and so it wmuld not do for us.” We cannot see this, because if it is proper, in a respectable vrorking man to smoke on the road and drink in a wayside public bouse when he is thirsty are they to be allowed social liberties, which are to be denied to their superiors? “Is a man to go about choked with thirst in a hot dry day for fear people should see and talk about him entering a liquor bar because he happens to be a man in good position as to means and society ? A truce to all this nonsense, come in here, and ha?e glass of beer or soda water if you like,” but he would not : it was a very public thoroughfare ; some- body would be sure to see him. 8o tLe friend bids his companion farewell and tells him plainly enough Ids companionship won’t do for him. A man who is afraid to smoke or drink a class of beer “ before folk” for fear of what people will s iy about him has veiy probably a few other habits and customs,, not so harm- less as the smoking and the beer, which would hardly bear invesdgation.^ Our friend having made some friends ia introduced by them to others, until at last he receives an invita- tion to an evening party “Justin a quiet way.” He has a consultation as to how he is to dress, and is duly informed on this point- Having dressed himself all in black and white sb.irt with full open breast and white necktie, and glazed leather boots, he walks up and down the room, surveying himself in the mirrors. Surely his friend has not been taking his fun off him AN EVENING PARTY. for he thinks as far as regards dress, he looks very like the waiter at the Royal who served table at dinner, but his friend would never be guilty of such a mean joke as this, it must just be the custom of the country, for gentlemen to dress like waiters when the}^ go out on ceremony ; either that, or that w'aiters ape the gentemen. He calls a cab, and drives off to his destina- tion. On arrival he rings the door-bell, and is ushered into the lobby by a gentleman dressed exactly similar to himself : he is under the impression that one of the company must have risen, and have come to the door to receive him, possibly the host himself ; but having been told he must not speak to any one, without being intro- duced, he keeps quiet, and watches the course of events. The gentleman who opened the door now asks his nam% and is told, “Mr. Strange.’ After some fumbling in an open basket from amongst a number of others, a card is produced, about the size of a common visitino one, on which is written, “ Mr. Strange and Miss Stiff.” This is handed to our friend, who gazes upon it in mute as- tonishpfient. He gets very nervous, and a hot prickly heat is breaking out all over his body. “ Upon my word,” mutters he to himself, “ this is rather sharp ; my friends have been telling me I ought lo get married, but I have not had time to think of it yet ; besides it would naturally be considered advisable to seetbelidy Jffrfet. It is really a very great liberty to take wi.h a visitor for the first time, I won’t stand it. 1 ll go away,” and, whileturning round for h s bat, the dour of the drawing-room is throwui wide open and be almost me- chanically follows, or rather is elbowed in by the gentlemen in black, who shouts out with a full voice, “ Mr. Strange.” The host and hostess come up and shake hands with him. After bidding him welcome, they indroduce him to Miss Stiff, and beckon to him to be seated on a vacant chair, no doubt left pur- posely for him, beside that lady. He siis down, casts his eyes roufid the room, and regains confidence on seeing all the -gentlemen dressed exactly similar at all along the edge was ■covered with old fire-sticks, which, after having been used for lighting the pipe, were just laid down- We would gho them all a kick out into the clear space in front, and so it frequency happened that all around the bungalow the remains of fire-sticks lay scattered about, also envelopes of letter ; large quantities of waste paper, which had her n ueed in making calcula- tions, were just, thro vui out beyond the verandah posts, broken pipes, old worn out broomsti(.*k8 of all sorts and sizes, the retuains -of paper unshrellas, old shoes, and what not. So that it was advisable periodicallj to order up a touple of coolies to clean round the house. The fire-sticks would he all collected and put in a heap to serve as fir- woo- 1, and ])robab]y again as fire-st'eks, the papers, old shoes and umbrellas put m a heap and burnt. So that, for a few da> s, the pioui d all about looked clean and t andPeiiya Kiuuj»pe» T WITHOUT A SURYANT. warned to keep it so, but it was not in him, it was- not that he would not, he really could not understand what neatness was, or what was its use.. Another thing Peri v a Karuppen could never he made to comprehend was how to make a bed. He woidd always place the bed-cover over the mattress, then the blanket and sheets on the top over all, one pillow at the foot, and the other in the centre, or at the tack of the bed. Before turning in, we would call him and say it was all wrong,, and teach him personally and practically how to make a bed, but he coidd not be taught, he could not understand it. At last we lost all patience, when, one night on preparing tO' turn in, we found the blankets and sheets placed under the mattress, which had nothing but the covt on the top,, and the pillows placed ah the foot. He w.as promptly called to explain what he meant,, and his meaning was this: “It was a cold night, and the mattress would' keep master warm.” In return for this explanation he got something to w'arm his ears on this cold nik’ht,. and the final result of all these unpleasant proceedings, was, Periya Karuppen went back to the lines, and told his kangani he would not. stop at the bungalow any longer. He woidd not be master’s servant, and if it was insisted upon he would run away— he would. That night we made a light dinner, not from choice but from necessity, as there was nobody to cook any- thing, no, not so much as a plate of boiled rice. The dinner was a plateful of hard biscuits, and the last remains of a pot of jam, a few of which had been stowed away in the corner of a trunk by some of our relatives on leaving home. Our drink was water, which we personally brought from the spout behind the kitchen, in an old cracked bowl. About half-past six, it got very dark, and what was to be done for a lamp ? There was no wick, no cotton, and, even if there was, nobody to trim it. We sat down on a chair, leaned forward, with elbows on knees, and our head resting on the palms of the hands, but we were not “ greeting ” (like Jimson) : there never was anythiT)g of tliis sort about us, whatever sort of stuff our brains might be made of, there was one thing certain, very certain, in any case of great difficulty or energy, they never dissolved into tears ! On the contrary, the dif- ficulty created rather a pleasing action in the brain, which inspired confidence that they were there, and working! Having- been seated as described for a few minutes, we got up, and went out for a light : it was no use going into the kitchen : everything there was black out. So we b'oiiuht a fire-stiek from the nearest lines, put it down on the mud flour with a few dry r:Hpa of wo 'd. It Wtis soon fanned into a gentle REFUSING TO EETUKN TO DUTY. 'iflaiTne. We then pulled from under the bed, which was the general ?t'ore room, a black Pottle ! Keaders, don’t start, and ntter some exclamation or denuncia- tion about what we were about to do. The black bottle was half full of — coconut oiL Having poured some of it into a cracked tea-cup it was set on the table, taking a new cotton pocket handkerchief from a box (for there were ^ono old nes) a strip was torn ofFt, wisted uf) like a paper match, and soaked in the ‘oil. A “ wick ” was now found, w^hich was placed in the tea-cup amongst tiie oil, the top of it projecting slightly over the rim of the cup. A piece of paper was then lighted at the flame on the floor, then applied to the wick, and our lamp was lit ! A very good one it was, and gave a '^capital light.be tter, very much better, than the lamps Periya Karuppen trimmed. The next morning, of course there was no coffee, so we had to proceed to muster the people without the usual material refreshment. Before calling the roll, w^e looked -curiously for Periya Karuppen, and at last perceived his two eyes looking over the shoulder of a great big fellow, behind w^hom he stood, very probably for protection, in case of a sudden assault. The roll-call being done, before commencing to distribute the labour, Periya Karuppen was ordered to go back to the bungalow, light a fire, boil rice, and make coffee for master’s breakfast. He at once stepped boldly out from the hind rank, and stated most decidedly, that he would not, he would do nothing of the sort. No, he would ^rather submit to have “ his throat cut.” A number ■ of the coolies etaxed in utter amazement at this bold and daring breach of ' discipline. They caught hold of him by the shoulders and said “ VaiUyan ” (madman). ’We then very calmly took a pruning-knife, and sharpening-stone from a kangani, felt the edge of the knife with the thumb, rubbed it on the upper leather 'of our shoe, said it was very sharp and it would do ! “ Now you are all witnesses of the decision Periya Karuppen has himself come to, of the alternative he has himself proposed. Catch hold of him., bring him forward, in order that he may have his throat cut ! Quick about it ! and have it over at once 1” Ihe coolies : seemed quite to understand the joke, put the palms -of their hands before their mouths, and turned away ■their heads, for they consider it improper, undignified, or even wanting in respect, to laugh in presence of a superior. There was now some motion made to collar Periya Karuppen aud bring him foiwurd, but it was ;altogether unnecessary.. For our "worthy servant made a sudden rush, threw himself down in frontof “ master,” where he lay stretched out a full length each hand ^grasped one of master’s, ankles, and his face lay flat on his RESUMES DUTY IN THE COOK-HOUSE:. shoes ; in this manner he lay quite motionlbs?,, occasion- ally emitting a low groan or howl. Master could not shake hiiiT off ; if he attempted it the grasp would be become firmer and tighter, and the groaning much louder and more continuous. At last some of his; coin rades seize hold of him' forcibly, unclinch his grasp, raise him rudely up, and give him- a good shake. Sup'r ported' by two big fellows each grasping' a^ shoulder,, he is now gently led back te the Imes and’ seated upon his ^‘hind legs ” in the verandah ; he then rests^ his chin on his knees^ clasps- his arms rouTid his; shins, and commences to^ weep bitterly, whero he is sur- runded by quite a- host of his friends and fellows, alf endeavouring to console him. They are however re- minded to be to off their work ” and mas- ter and Feriya Kamppen are.' once more alone' together, and fice to face. Tlie former now goes om the other tack, and tells him he can sit there till he is tii’ed, buc to'-morrow morning he' shall go up to the top clearing- and hole, which he will' find’ rather harder work than boiling rice. He leav-es himi sitting there, and returns to the bungalow: he must get into the cook-house, and' see what like it is, but the door wdll not respond to his kick, because it is fastened, has been fastened by Pferiya Karupppn, in a wai peculiar to himself and other Karuppens, the^ spe^'ial peculiarity being that only those who fasten, the fastening can undo it. And the way' was, this.. A nail was knocked into the door near the edge about half way up, just where the handle would have beem put if a handle was to be put on ; opposite this nail another was hammered into the rough piece of wood that served as door, four inches in length, and was driven half way in. quite firm. A piece of string or- coir yarn was now wound tightly round those two nails, then crossways and cross-cross ways, in the most remarkable manner, indeed it would he quite impossi- ble for one not in the secret to undo it. In vain we finger away at the rope : it will not untie, so it must be cut ; w'e turn' round, to go into the bungalow for a table knife to do the deed : and see standing close by — • Feriya Kamppen T Not a word is spoken, but he steps; to the door, gives a few turns and twists to the string — and the door is open. Feriya Kamppen disappears; inside, and we disappear into the bungalow. 0n com- ing out into the verandah, a quarter of an hour afterwards, the cook house door is not only stand- ing wide open, but volumes of smoke rising out of the roof. Feriya Karuppen has evidently commenced his old work, so we quietly go out to ours, and say nothing. At breakfast we come in as usual, and the: tuiry and rice is Ircught. Kothing is said on either side^ ONE PROPER SERVANT.” No signs at all that anything usual had happened. But, as Periya Karuppen was not a professional or trained servant, only a cooly taken from the lines, we will now give a brief description of his successor, who was a Sinhalese young m ai, named Pieris, and who, to our various inquiries, on engaging Into, briefly replied, “He was one propei* servant, and quite different from other people. ” On expressing a hope that his ability in cooking was different from our last serv- ant’s,and wish to know what he could do in that, line he said he eould cook anything, everything — steak, curry and rice, and plantain fritters. We afterwards found out these three dishes were his own idea of ev Ty- thing. The curry and rice was very good and, so were the plantain fritters, but the same could not be said of the beef-steak. He would slice th^ beef up into pieces about a quarter of an inch in thickness, then lay them down on the kitchen table, and with a heavy mallet of wood, commence to beat and hammer at it until it was all bruised and smashed ; this w^as to make it soft and tender, while this beating of the beef was going on it served as a very good intimation of about what time dinner might be ready, indeed it was heard at a great distance off, and often when out with our gun, along the jungle edge, looking out for Jungle- fowl coming out to feed in the coffee, liave we been reminded of tbe approach of our own feeding time, by the warning sound of the smashing of the beef -steak, which was just as good, and answ'ered the same pur- pose, as a, warning bell, a quarter of an hour before dinner. After the beef was well beaten, it w-as put into a fryingpan and fried until it was quite bard, with a little lard ; as this was seldom on hand, the more common material in use would be coconut oil. Our readers will not require any further information, they will be quite prepared to understand that the beef -steak resembled more a cinder seaked in coconut oil than what it was called, and we have even yet quite a distinct recollection of never attempting to masticate the steak it was just cut or torn into small pieces, a few chips made, in it with the knife— and bolted, the only taste it h id was of coconut oil. The beef-steak would probably be left untouched, and dinner made off the curry and rice, and. fried plantains. But what matter, it would appear f>)r breakfast next morning under a different asp ^ct. It would be chopped up into mineed collops, with- out either taste or flavour of meat, and had it not been for tbe abundance of pepper and other spices with which it was flavoured, we might just as well ^ave eaten a dish of heated sa vdust ! Indeed for 1-1 we knew to the contrary it was quite possible that A W VxJH STOLEN’, Pieris might havb la .ea all the beef himself — and served up for his master’s rne ds minced meat made out of sawdust, highly seasoned with pepper, chillies, cinnamon and oth-n^ spices, One morning we wore rather late for cooly muster, and weno out somewhat hurriedly ; after the people were told off to work, we became aware that our watch was forgotten. So we return to the, bungalow. On coming in sighb of the verandah, Pieris is observed very busy sweeping it out, a very unusual occurrence we proceed straight to the bedroom, to the place where the watch was left, but no watch was there. Now, if we were sure of anything it was this, that the watcli was looked at in the morning, and, as it was late, we had hiirrindly gone away, and forgotten to. put it in the pocket. Pieris was called, and asked what he had done with the watch ,* not a muscle of his countenance changed while he declared he had never been in the bedroom, “ Did not master see him sweep-, ing the verandah ? ” Just then, some half-a-dozen of coolies were pass- ing- the bungalow^ on their way to work, in a dreamy listless state, with their he^ids enveloped in cumblies, double-folded, as if they were suffering from a severe cold, or, provided the bare legs were not looked at‘ hooded up, like the “monks of old.” On being called into the verandah, and onr difficult position ex.plained,, and on its being also explained they would have to. escort Pieris off' to the police station and help master to tie his hands, how they did brighten up. You would not have known them to be the same men,, their cumblies were thown off, and bound round the^ head, turban fashion, shoulders hared, clothes tightened rout'.d the waist. One seized hold of an old broom, another the stick of an old umbrella, and the others, for lack of weapons, and seeing it was an urgent case, pulled two sticks out of the garden fence. All now' shouldered arms and stool bolt upright in the- verandah. It promised to be a grand spree for them,, for coolies dislike the Sinhalese. But they were dis- appointed. Having called Pieris into the bedroom, he was told it was useless wasting any time in talking. The nlti-. matum was— “ Deliver up that watch, or you are handed over to these coolies, to be marched off to the police station.” At the same time, from a corner of ihe verandah, some skeins of coir yarn, were handed to the coolies, w^bo commenced to twist it up info., a strong rope, and Peris had a hint that his hands would shortly be tied up behind his back, unless that watch was. very shortly delivered up. Pieris w'as now in great, perturbation ; he examined all the bed, under the pil«^ ON THE WATCH. low, under the mattress, under the bed, he even put his fingei’ into some large rat holes, about the corners of the room, and said tiie rcits must have run off with it. Our reply was ; Time’s up. Coiue out into th© verandah and be tied up for your march ; the ropes are ready.” On hearing this, he frantically pulled out the dressing-table drawery and says, “Master, look,” and inside the drawer, sure enough, ticking away in calm repose, lay the watch ! The watch was found, much to our joy, and the coolies dismissed to their work, much to their sorrow! We saw through the whole affair at a glance.^ When absent at muster, Pieris had put the watch in the drawer, and if, as was customary, we had gone out with the coolies over the bill, both Pieris and the watch would have disappeared, and never more been heard of, and the reason he was so unusually busy sweep- ing the verandah was to watch master’s motions. The affair of the watch put us on th© watch. So one Sunday Pieris was sent down to make some purchases in the bazar, and told not to tie up the kitchen door, as he would be at home all day,, and would require a fire-stick occasionally. After he was fairly gone, we made a thorough examination of the kitchen, but found nothing, only a goed big strong wooden box be- longing to Peris, which was locked. We all know what sort of locks some of these people used to have, and perhaps still have, on their boxes ; any key that will go into the hole and turn round will unlock it, so we pull out our own bunch of keys, and try them on the lock. One won’t go in, another is too small, another turns round and round in the lock, w^e are beginning to dfspair, when the next opens it with a click, just as if it had been made for it. The box was well filled, shirts, pocket handkerchiefs, under ffannel shirts, in fact a mis- cellaneous supply of everything, and all our property!; and if there could be any doubt about it that was solved by the marking of the initials in the corners,. The box is locked, and we keep our own counsek On the return of Pieris nothing at all is said on the subject. The next morning, after muster, a eooly is sent off to Pus^ellawa for a policeman, privarely. On bis arrival the whole circumstance is explained, upon which, two coolies are called to the bun- galow as witnesses,, Peris, who is sitting smoking in the kitchen, is suddenly pounced upon, and ordered to open his box, which he refuses to do, and is extremely indignant. The key however is dangling from bis waist belt, and is taken oy the constable, wha opens tbe box and reveals all. Pieris now bewails his hard fate that some enemy must have done this to ruin him, for he bad uot looked into that box for many a “THREE MONTHS’ HARD LABOUR/ day ; ha even insinuated that master had sent him down to the bazar and then filled his box with the clothes in order to put him in jail ! What an unfortunate man he w^as : everything was against him ; no one would believe him. But it would not do. The constable took him up to the Nuwara Eliya Court, where we appeared next day, with the witnesses, and the sentence w^as, “ Three months’ hard labour, and imprisonment,” far too light a sentence for breach of trust of one in a responsible position, which very probably also involved the opening of lock-fast places. Some have said to the writer, “ What a fertile im- ag nation you must have to concoct all these little stories, for it is quite impossible you can remember all these little incidents after such along lapse of time.” But we would just appeal to those of our readers of the same age, or even older, if it is not the case, that while many, perhaps important, events in their lives, which happened ten ora dozen years ago, are quite forgotten, those that happened in early manhood and life never are. How often do we hear old people de- light in telling tales of their early days, which they do with minute vividness, while what happened yesterday is quite forgotten ! The mind and meu:ory on our first start in life is like a sheet of white paper : it takes on and retains the first impression, which no after crossing can eradicate ; on being first launched forth into the world, all is novel, all is new, it is stamped there and there it remains. Hence the importance of early and correct training. If this is done, however far one may wander from the right way, there is not only a good hope, but a fair prospect, of his return, when he comeg to himself ; and so, it is not only your first sweetheart (if you have had more than one), jmur first pound note, and your first servant, that you remember, but also the first of everything, that is if it eventually leads to any important act, or position in life. Per ya Karuppen may be even alive still on some of the estates, like his first master a grey-headed man. If be is asked “ Who was your first master ?” and shakes his head doubt- fully, sits down on his legs, and rests his face on his knees, say, “ VVhy, your master was baptizt'd a periya durai. He was a P. D. 'before he ever came to Ceylon, and is a P. D. yet.” A light will break over his withered face, as he murmurs “ P. D. Millie.” CHAPTER XXIX On the Staff. Is this expression, so very common a one in olden times, now become obsolete?^ We have not heard it •It is still the delicate euphemism for being “out of a berth/’ — Ed. *C ON THE STAFF.” used for a very long time. It is, or was, a very ex- pressive term, and simply meant, a superintendent out of a berth. It has, in a previous chapter, been remarked that, on making inquiry as to the whereabouts of some old acquaintance, the reply has been, “ Gone home,” but in these times it vas much more frequently “Gone on the staff”; “promoted to a staff appointment”; not the sort of promotion to provoke any emulation, or to give the authority at head-quarters a plain hint, that one was neglected in the calling, and you were expecting to be presented, on the very first opportunity, with the staff — in other and plainer words, with your walking-stick. Like many old sayings, this has a meaning, one which perhaps not all of our readers can comprehend in its full signification, but lh3 explanation is easily given, and it is this. When a superintendent lost his situation, he set about visiting all his friends and acquaintances in the various planting districts. He visited and remained with one friend until they got mutually tried of each other’s company. He would then “ cut his stick,” took his staff in liis hand, and started off to some other bungalow, where he would be received, and lounge about, on the look-out for any opening that might present itself, and, if no situations were vacant, or likely to be, many a bungalow in many a district w^as visited by the gentleman “ on the staff.” Now, the hospitality of planters amongst themselves and towards strangers always was, and still is, quite proverbial, but it is a very different case altogether, when a gentleman on the staff visits you for some indefinite period of time, not for the sake of social friendship or regard, but merely for the sake of board and lodging. He does not come to see you out of any regard for your friendship : on the contrary, no- thing would give him greater pleaoure than to take his departure, take a final leave of your bungalow, your hospitality, and yourself, at the earliest possible notice, provided he had the chance of securing a bun- galow for himself, in having the offer of another situation. If he remains in your bungalow for any length of time, he becomes indolent and lazy. When you come in for breakfast lie will be just getting up, or half dressed, in shirt and trousers. He may have made an inroad to your bedroom, for the benefit of your razor, hair oil, combs, or brushes ; he will remove your soap, take your towels, go out, have a bath un- der the spout, and, after scrubbing himself well with them, hang them up on your rack, and you, quite unconscious of what has taken place during your ab- sence, when washing before breakfast, and attempting to dry your hands and face with a wet towel, will ilot be successful, and go out into the back verandah THE ‘'BOY’» AND THE “YISITOE.” and blow up the boy for putting a wet towel on the rack. He will walk about the room and verandah barefooted, and when his feet get cold go into your bedroom, and put on your slippers. Now, all this sort of thing would be thought nothing of in a casual visitor for a few days, just once in a way, but it be- comes tiresome when it gets the rule. Your servant will have no love for your visitor on the staff, because he has double trouble and work, in attending to an extra bedroom, extra cooking, and service in general, and he k ows very well, when he takes his departure, if ever he is going to do so, two rupees will not tinkle into the palm of his hand, because there are none to tinkle. The boy knows very well all the circumstances of the staff officer’s case, a great deal better than his master, for all the ‘‘outs and ins” of the affair have been duly retailed and discussed in the kitchen, all the little facts, both sides of the subject, whereas “the master” has only as yet had his visitor’s re- port on the matter. But your servant will make up in some other way for all his extra trouble. Sup- posing the staff officer feels low^ which no doubt he often does, what more natural than to open the side- board and take a small nip from the black bottle, just a thimbleful? The boy is in the back pantry and sees him : in fact the action is very probably just what he has been watching for ; he is all right, so, watching his opportunity, when unobserved, he makes' a dart at the side-board, takes the brandy bottle into the pantry, and pours out a good quantity into a tea- ' cup for his own personal use, either at present, or after hours. Again, watching a fitting time, he makes another dart and replaces the bottle. When the mas- ter comes in from work, in the afternoon, he goes to the sideboard for a little refreshment, and, to his as- tonishment, the brandy bottle, which had only had one glass taken out, the evening before, is now three- fourths empty ; he is indignant, and at once steps out into the back verandah, to have some conversation with the boy on the subject. The boy had fully expected this, and was quite prepared, and he at once states, “Master’s friend had drunk the brandy; he had seen him.” So the mast'T, in an off-hand sort of way, just says to his visitor : — “ 1 s ometimes sus- pect my servant of taking my liquor. Now I don’t jnean any offence, far from it, but I would just like to know if you took any brandy to-day in my ab- sence.’^ His visitor would say that he had just taken a nip. So his host would say nothing, but be under the idea that he had teken a rather large one, and would watch him narrowly for some time, but could see no reflects of liquor, “ Ho must have a strong head to EXTRA SUPPLIES, stand half a bottle of, brandy, and it never be noticed t The boy would take advantage in the same way in ordering some supplies. We all know that two can live together comparatively much cheaper than one, because there are many little things requisite and ne- cessary to prepare for one which would likewise an- swer well for two. The master, when filling in the pass-book, with the boy at his back, stating all his requirements, would pause and look up, in mild re- monstrance. All this* beef. What ? Sugar and tea all done. You had a pound of tea and twelve pounds sugar three days ago. This will never do/’ The re- ply will be prompt and decided : ‘‘ Master forget master’s friends.” The master himself would in all probability have some sort of feeling, always to have plenty of something for the credit of the house ; if he was alone, anything would do for him, be could easily make a shift. ' So he would write in accordance with the boy’s dictation, and the surplus was bis perquisite, and thus was he made up for all his ex- tra trouble and the lack of the two rupees which the staff officer did not put into his hand, when he took his departure. But the one great objection the boy had to the gentleman on the staff, was, that he was always in the house, lounging about with his eyes and ears open. What if the visitor should quietly notice all the little peculiar habits of the servant, and report them to the master ! But, if the visitor had any wisdom at all, he would refrain from doing tbis, depend upon it ; in the end he would have the worst of it, and his position be made so very uncom- fortable that he would be fain to resume the staff. Now the boy, when, after breakfast, he saw master disappear over the hill, knew very well he had the rest of the day to himself. That is to say if there were no visitor in he bungalow. So, he would put on hia turban, take his paper umbrella, and go down to the bazar to have a gossip, or, if that was too far, he would visit the lines, and lounge away a few houra talking to the absent coolies, or making love to the ladies ; very probably a direct and mutual understand- ing would exist, that a lady would stop absent from work on the plea of having a severe headache, or heartache, and that the gallant boy would pay her a consolatory visit, after master had gone to work. Now, he could not do all this, and a great deal more, such as shutting up the kitchen door and going to sleep, for the visitor might suddenly disturb his slumbers by calling out for a fire-stick, or some tea or coffee, for he must not only be always on the spot, but on the alert, and awake, in case he should be called, for any purpose ; these were some of the ob- jections he had to the gentleman on the staff.” SPARE RED-ROOM. Sometimes, he would try to “ pump ” him as to wheli he was going away. He would suddenly stop in his work of sweeping the verandah, rest on his broom, and say : “Why does not master take a situation ? A proper master like you can surely get the very best place you choose to ask for. Why don’t mas- ter go to Kandy, and ask a place from some of the periya durais ? The periya durais surely cannot know master wants situation ; if they did, master would get plejity of letters ; indeed, not know which place to take, for is it not very well known, no master take such trouble, and do such harij work, and very cheap also, as master.” And so on. Now, however much one and all of us may protest and inveigh against flattery, we would just appeal to one and all, that although, of course, we see through and understand all this talk of the boy's as being merely gross nonsense, and spoken only in the spirit of eastern flattery from a subordinate to a superior, yet it is human nature, and one has no objections to have his ears tickled. How often have we read of some of the greatest of men as having stooped, demeaned themselves, and been led into foolish actionSj simply from flattery ; and if such is, or has been, the case with wise and great men, how can we expect a poor staff gentleman, only an ex-coffee planter, to be exempt from it ? In thinking over the matter, a good deal of truth seems under the boy’s suggestion, but, sup- pose he does go to Kandy, how is he to live there ? He would have gone long ago had it not been for this formidable objection— it would cost him well on to a pound a day living in a hotel ; he can’t afford that, and he has no friends in Kandy, at least none who would receive a gentleman on the staff. A good many planters’ bungalows in these timers had no spare bed-rooms. The visitor or visitors just took a couch in the sitting-room and went into mas- ter’s bed-room to wash and dress. Even if there was a spare bed-room, one in the position of a staff officer could hardly expect it to be allotted to him. The spare room must be kept open for more distinguished visitors, gentlemen w'ho had a bungalow of their own^ and could ask you back again in return your hospitality. • The assistant on the staff would therefore be very plainly told he must content himself with a couch in the sitting-room, to which he would no doubt reply, that anything was good enough for him. He would be late of turning in at night, sit up and read, or walk up and down the verandah smoking. What was the use of going to bed? He did not re- quire to get up in the morning, besides he had in- dulged in a good deal of sleep during the day, and A BAD CUP OF COFFEE. was not at all sleepy. So liis host would retire, and leave him, if he chose, to trim the midnight lamp. He would sit up until the oil in the tumbler was nearly done, and the lights began to touch the water underneath. We know — all planters have experienced — the disagreeable crackling noise the lamp makes, when it reaches this stage, noise which is a premonitory warning that sudden darkness will be at hand. The host himself, inside his owui room, would perhaps be awakened a couple of hours after he bad gone to sleep, with the crackling of the expiring lamp in the next room, and not be able to go to sleep again, for the strong smell of the oil wick came over the partition wall, for there was no ceiling, and it made him ver^^ uncomfortable. The crackling of the lamp, to the visitor himself, was just equal to a bell for bed, for at. the first crackle, knowing there was no time to be lost, if he wished to “ turn in” with light, he would off with his coat and trousers, throw them on the table, give his slioes a kick off, and raise his socks also on to the (aide ; he slept in the same shirt he wore during the day, for a staff officer in light marching order could not be expected, to cumber his baggage with unnecessary luxuries in the shape of night-shirts. At daylight, the host would be uj) and stirring about, calling out for coffee. This was hurriedly brought in the dull grey of the morning, and placed on the table, by the boy. The planter would come in and draw in a chair to the table, opposite the coffee-pot. But he had hardly tasted the coffee, when he would bawl out “ Boy I This coffee is bad, smells badly.” The boy would ap- proach, look curiously, no doubt, wondering, for he hatl his coffee in the kitchen out of the same brew, 'and considered it particularly good. As light broke into the room, the condition of the table, and all the clothes upon it, now became apparent. The boy would then slowl}^ say, ‘‘ Sur, coffee veiy good, bad smell is not the coffee, it is master’s clothes, master’s socks,” and sure enough the table presented all the appearance of a dirty clothes rack, or as if the dhobi was har'iig the dirty clothes counted out ! The master “ flared up,” made a sweep over the table, and tumbled all the dirty clothes off, and over the head of #he occupant of the couch, wlm merely gave a sort of sigh of satisfaction, and turned on Ids other side. “This will never do,” said the host, who was now walking up and down the room, coffee cup in hand, occasionally taking a mouthful of what was now very good cofft'C. But “there ’smany a slip ’tweeu the cup and the lip.” Just as he had pronounced the coffee very good, he stumbles over his visitor’s shoes, trips, u A LOAN OF £10. down goes the coffee cup with a crash and smash. The noise and disturbance even disturbed the occupant of the couch, who raised himself half up, and very in- dignantly declared, if this noise was to continue, he could not sleep. IHie reply, rather abruptly, of the de- parting host, would be, “ Don’t put your filthy clothes on the table any more.” At breakfast time little or notbing would be said, both gentlemen feeling that they were on the brink of a quarrel, and it merely required an opening of the conversation to bring it on. In fact, if both gentlemen would tell the truth, they vvished to quarrel, but neither would be the first to bring it on. The host could not : he had not the heart to commit a breach of hospitality, and vent bis ill-temper upon a guest, especially a poor fellow who was “ hard up,” it was a gr* at shame, no doubt, but he wou'd wait, and speak kindly to him, when he was in tem- per. The visitor, on bis part, considered himself very badly used, he would not have been treated in this way, if be had not been ‘‘on the staff.” It was evident, he would never have had his dirty clothes tumbled over his heafl, unless his host had considered him a dirty fellow, and that his clothes and himself were lilting company ! But then, on a calm reflection, how could he quarrel with his friend, who had been so kind to him. It was impossible : he would go away, take the boy’s advice, and go to Kandy, if could only raise a flve pound note. In the course of the evening, he mentioned to his host his wish, to .see if anything was to 1)6 got by Ausiting K andy — or even Colombo, and, would he lend him ten pounds ? The host, had for some time been pretty well aware that it would come to ill s at last, and was not at all surprised, in lact, he Avas rather glad the request was on/t/ for ten pounds ill veil if it was never paid, he would be a gainer eAmntually, by lending it, for the money, or the value of it : would soon go in the food he con- sumed : ge itlemen on the staff have such appetites. Besides, so long as he was his debtor for the money, there was not much chance of his eA^er coming back again ; for it is a well known peculiarity of debtors, hoAveA^er much, at the time they receive a little obligatron, they may profess a lifelong gratitude, and nob know their creditor. Can it be, that they haA^e such a kindly regard for his feelings as to do injury to their own, in keeping out of his sight ? His feelings, Avhich might be hurt by the sight of the man who owed him ten pounds. What a kind and considerate debtor ! He will waive all bis former friendship, all his old good fellowship, utterly sacrifice it at the shrine of fiiendsbip : he owes him ten pounds and will keep out of his sight. ‘^YOUR DEBTOR FOR EYER.” So his host lent him ten pounds, in return for which little accommodation most profuse professions of gratitude were tendered. “Altiioughhe would be sure to repay it out of the very first mouth’s salary, whenever he procured a situation, which could not be long now, still he would remain Lis debtor for ever.” His host replied he fully believed him, but so dull was he, that he did not take in the quiet s?orcasm contained in these few words, thinking in aii simplicity that a very high compliment had been paid him, and so on his departure on shaking bauds with his worthy host, he repealed the asseveration, “ Your debtor for ever.” In these times there was only one hotel in Kandy, the Royal, subsequently in later years occupied as a store by K. D. & Co. How the geurleman on the staff” got to Kandy is unknown : it may be he would remain all day at some of the country resthoiises and walk during the night, or he might even get into some bull mk bandy for a small consideration, and lie comfoinably con- cealed amongst the straw, jogging along at. the rate of two miles an hour, for if time is no object and one has patience to endure the monotony of the journey, moving along in a bullock bandy is a very pleasant and cool mode of travelling ; it is very cool : the covering of coconut-tree leaves most effectually keeps out the heat of the sun, amd being open before and behind a pleasant draft of air, even on the hottest day, gen-er ally passes through the cart. But whe her he wfdked or tipped a few coppers to a cart driver to give him a lift will never be a,scertained, because either course of proceeding would he considered rather undiiinihed for a gentleman of his position, even although he was only “on the staff,” and he was never heard ti:» speak on the subject. In carrying on the story it is sufficient to state that late in the . evening he en- tered the front verandah of the “ Royal ” ; there was no one in the verandah, so he sits down on one c'mvir, draws in another, on which he stretches out his legs, and thus remains for a considerable time absorbed in thought. He now feels hungry, gets up and pseps through the window, and if be was hungry the sighi that now presents itself makes him thirsty. Tiie room was filled with a whole lot of fellows sitting round the table, on which stood bottles of claret, bottles of cha npagiie, tumblers of brandy and water, glasses of sherry stand- ing beside small black pint bottles, pipes, tobacco, and cigars, all lying about and the conversation so general and very earnest, that he might almost have walked in and helped himself to a drink, and never be noticed, but he did n’t. He reasoned with himself that one in such V ON THE STAFF IN KANDY. a verj critical financial position, must be careful, very careful. If he went into the room there would be sure to be some who knew him, or if not they w’ould soon make his acquaintance. They would push a bottle and glass towards him. ‘‘Tired, eh? Have a drink?” So of course be would. He would accept of the very gener- ous preferred hospitality, for he was very thirsty, but what would it lead to? As the bottles and glasses got empty, they would begin and look all round, and then stare at him, as if they expected something ; if he did not take the hint, some more forward than the others would cry out, ‘- Ain’t you going to stand a couple of bottles of champagne all round ? It ’s your turn now.” So, as he had partaken of their hospitality, in accordance with the rules of the service, he must return it, and he could not afford it. True, Segar would give him tick, but he was not going to commence so soon, he might be forced to it at last for his curry and rice, and he would not willingly commence it with champagne. Having come to these very wise and sensible resolutions, he also resolved that the sooner be went to bed the better ; some of them might come out into the verandah, see him, and ask him, nay pull him in, and then wouldn’t he be in for it? So he quietly walks round the east end of the house, towards the kitchen apartments, where the landlord had his own sitting-room, round to the back verandah, adjoining the stable-yard, and accosts one of the appus, stating that he wants a room ; luckily he can be accommodated, and is shewn into a very small one in the corner of the west verandah. He now tells the servant to bring him into his bed-room a cup of tea, and a sandwich, who returns and says, he is requested by the landlord to state that it is the custom for visitors to be served with their requirements in the public room, and that bed-rooms are only intended for sleeping in. The landlord was evidently offended at the modest re- quest for tea, &c. Had he ordered a bottle of champagne there would have been no remarks passed about the bedroom; the next morning be was confirmed in this belief, as, through the canvas walls that divided the rooms, the popping of many a cork was heard. The landlord hacl evidently forgotten his statement of the evening before, but perhaps he was not up, and this was an infringment of the rules of the house, without his knowledge or consent, perhaps and perhaps not. What can the gentleman on the staff do ? He is afraid to go into the public room, from upright honest motives, previously explained ; he is refused refreshment in his bed-room. So he bribes the servant. “ApjDU,” says he, “get me this tea andsandwdeh, quick, and there is a rupee for yourself,” slipping one into his hand. The appusays not a word, not even “Thank you,” but retires into the; HOTEL BILLS; 0 cook-house, from which he shortly emerges with buttered toast, sandwiches, and hot tea ; he is very polite, walks up and down the verandah, looks in and hopes it is good, and after it is done, ‘ Would master like any more?” “Yes, is the reply, and more is supplied. Our staff officer then goes out into the stable-yard, sits down on a horse bucket and smokes a pipe, after which he turns in and in spite of all the noise and turmoil in the public room, which is kept ui) the whole of the night, he soon goes to sleep and wakes up in the morning all right, which he would not have done, had he gone into that public room on his arrival. After breakfast next day, there were a great many departures : in fact the hotel was quite empty. Super- intendents coming from the bank with money sealed up in small bags ordering their horses, box coolies, and settling their bills, in some way or other ; if they thought their allowance was exceeded they would just say, without looking at the bill, “ I ’ll be in next month; let it lie over,” Of course gentlemen who settled their bills in this way were not on the staff. A poor staff officer would have to make some prior arrangement, and obtain leave to open an account. It is a very easy thing anywhere in the world to get credit, provided it is pretty generally known ,or sup- posed, that you do not want or require it ! How very strange, that when one wishes to pay his bill, he is told “Your pleasure, sir, but there is no hurry ; we can wait, prefer it even.” But if you are “hard nip,” and are honest enough to say so, in fact that really ,you cannot pay, the landlord or creditor of any sort will insist upon your performing a moral impossibility and say you “ must.” If hotel-keepers were not sus- picious, they ought to have been, of men taking away bags of money to the estate, and not paying their bills. Why did they not -pay them? Was their ovm pay not also in that bag ? It was, if they had not overdrawn it, or had more pressing claims of longer standing against them. The superintendent who went for money, and did not pay his hotel bills, was always heavily in debt . In fact it was gross dishonesty, because the estate allowed him his expenses, which used to be charged at one pound a day ; when|he delivered over the money, or sent in his accounts, these expenses w^ere always charged, although in many instances they had not been paid. It may be asked how could he charge his expenses, when he had not taken over his hotel bill. Hotel bills had nothing to do with it, although it wag understood, when you charged your expenses, that hotel bills were paid. You did, insert hotel bills in the account, although, when we look back on these AT THE ROYAL HOTEL. 4imes, we think it would have been well for both proprietors and superintendents, had this been insisted upon, just the same as a copy of any other account as a voucher for the charge. What exposures ! We perfectly recollect of a superintendent, a neighbour, who was challenged by his periya durai, for charging ex- cessive expenses ^ Agoing to Kandy,” and was asked for a rough statement of particulars, and his hotel bill, but this would have been too great an exposure. He refused: “ such a demand was without precedent,” it was “unsual, ” tantamount to a question of his honesty, he would not ; a dispute ensued and he^ threw up his situation rather than shew his hotel bills ! He could not remain in the employment of one who was so mean as to ask to see a hotel bill. Now, when we think over these times, it seems what a grand thing it would have proved, had proprietors and agents, instead of allowing expenses to Kandy, insist <"d upon the hotel bills bein^'- charged in the accounts with copies attached. What a strange appearance it would have presented, that one who breakfasted and dined 29 days in the month on salt-fish or pumpkin curry and rice, v/ashed down with a cup of tea, should deem it necessary to indulge in so many expensive luxuries when he went to Kandy. No doubt, however, the low diet and generally bad food wdiich w’as prevalent on the estates only tended to foster and encourage these outbreaks, which periodically took place : it was the re-action, the bent bow broke h^ose. Nevertheless a good deal of evil might have been prevented, or at all events checked, had hotel bills been handed in, the same as any other account. If one stepped into the Eoyal Hotel about noon, it could be told at a glance who was, or was not, on ‘^the staff.” Those who were not would be busy about something, getting out their box for a start, coming in from the bank Avith money, or out making purchases ; those who were on ‘‘the staff” would be lounging about, with slippers, or wdtbout coats, reclining on the couch reading some old books or papers. If an arrival from the country took place, such as a planter riding into the stable yard, with a cooly behind him carrying a tin box, they would suddenly be all alive. Here is an arrival, last news from some of the planting districts. Perhaps some one got “the sack,” and a situation is vacant ; and the staff officers would begin to stir up. Late on in the day, a planter rode into the back, yard of the Koyal. He had on leech -gaiters, which, that morning when put on, had been white ; noAV they were mud colour, or in a case our readers may say there is no such colour, we will say coloured or discoloured with mud, and such mud as only those “CLEAR THE WAY.” know who have ridden the Holosbage and Ambagatnuwa bridle-paths in those days ; on his head was a hunting- cap with a thick vrhite cover, which hung down like a flag over the neck and part of the shoulders ; in his hand was a good stout hunting whip, with a very long lash, the chief use for which was to keep off or at bay the paraya dogs, which, wherever one passed a native roadside hut, came out in troops barking and made no end of a row, so that if your horse was new to the country, and not as yet accustomed to this sort of thing, he would likely become troublesome and retire. Thus the good hunting whip with its long lash kept them off, and after a very short time the horse would become aware that, instead of the whip and its crack being his enemy, it was his greatest friend. The whip also kept at their proper distance droves of cattle and sheep which one sometimes met on the road; it even sometimes touched up a lazy box cooly or borsekeeper. A timely crack, when meeting a string of bullock carts, was certain to make the drivers more active in clearing the way ; in fact in many little ways the long hunting-whip was a useful and necessary article for the horseman to possess, whether he used it or not, for its crack, a premonitary crack, said plainly, “ Forewarned, clear the way.” The uninitiated used to laugh, and think this whip was just carried bj the planter for a brag and bluster, to crack to make a noise ; no doubt some liked to do so, but it was nob for this purpose it was carried. The planter, having seen his horse stabled, enters the public room amongst the staff -officers ; regardless of bis muddy state, he throws him- self down full length on a couch, where he is nicely balanced by both his spurs sticking into the pillow at the bottom ! His hat occupies one ehair, his huniing whip another. He shouts out “Boy!” who responds “ Sar ? ” the reply to which is: “A bottle of beer.” Having rested for ten minutes and polished oft' the bottle he raises himself up, and some of the staff gentlemen draw him into a conversation, by asking the newest “news.” Says he: “Why, old Stick-in-the-mud of the Seedy estate has got the sack and leaves end of the week ; fine estate, 300 acres, capital bungalow, got two rooms, and actually a small spare one in the corner o the verandah for visitors. However, the walls are neither plastered nor white- washed, but that is all Stick-in- the-mud’s fav\dt : he could have got liberty to do it if he had asked, but he does not care for that sort of thing. Kick-em-out and Company of Colombo are the agents. Fine berth : if I was not under an agree- ment would apply myself, fact, would,” and he drinks off his beer, and calls for a fire-stick. The staff gentle- men now all disappear into their rooms, and a great AFTEB A BEHTH, many calls are made for the appu to bring pen, ink and paper, such an unusual occurence that even the appu wonders what ’s up. By and by, they all take their hats and umbrellas, and go out alone, and the top of a letter would be seen, on close inspection, sticking out of their coat pockets, but no one speaks to another, indeed they all seem going different directions, but the very curious result was, that they all met at the post office, and they all posted a letter, and then they all laughed: — ‘‘What’s the use of this deceit? We know all about it. One’s chance is as good as another’s. Wffiosoever gets it don’t let us quarrel.” 8o they retire to the Koyal, and toss up who is to stand “ sherry andbittervS all round.” The next morn- ing at breakfast, the staff officer, the hero of our story, was not present. This created a talk, for the actions of the last arrival were always more freely criticized than any others. The appu was called and questioned, and the reply was “ Up at four this morn- ing, and gone to Colombo by the coach.” Now this may seem a very simple and commonplace statement, but the gentleman on the staff did not seem to con- sider it as such; they all looked as if they had received some very bad news, and did not seem to care about any more breakfast. “Take away, boy. Ko curry ; bring beer.” The day after the next, at half -past four in the after- noon, the Colombo coach drew up at the Eoyal ; the gentleman who had so suddenly and abruptly dis- appeared entered the verandah ; it just seemed as if his associates of the day before yesterday had never stirred from their seats : there they all were. He does rmt creep round by the end verandah now, and ask the boy for tea in his bedroom, he steps boldly into the public room, mys he is tired and thirsty with the long dusty journey, and orders a pint of claret and some bread and cheese. The loungers now become very restless and trembl- ing, ask what the news down in Colombo was. “I heard nothing,” says he, “ being only a very short time there.” They then make bold to ask if he had heard anything, if anybody had been appointed to the vacant situation on the Seedy estate. “Oh, yes!” says he, “that is all settled, the place is not vacant now. I am the superintendent ! ” They then all come for- ward and shake hands with him, saying they are so glad to hear it (?)! And surely he will stand a dinner all round, or at all events something to bring luck. “Bring luck!” says he, “Nothing will bring luck. Did any one, or anything, bring luck to me ? If you want luck you must go and catch it as I did.” ‘'But how did you catch it?” they exclaim; “ we all wrote, we all had an equal chance.” Our lucky friend now PERSONAL APPLICATION. delivers his opinions on this, and they were these : — «« Writing letters is all very well in the usual routine of business or if time and expense is no object. But when there is any particular, very particular object to be attained or obtained like the one in question, there is nothing like a personal interview : m fact, the giver of the situation prefers it ; it does not re- quire a man of good planting mould to write a letter. So thej^ cank judge by the letter, but there is some- thing in a personal interview which is very satisfact- ory to both parties, and, if any writing on the subject is advisable, it can be done afterwards. Again, at a personal interview, you are likely to have the matter settled at once and be done with it, for it is generally found that one letter necessitates another, and so on* and if in the meantime any better offerer presents himself it may eventually end in, ‘‘We are extremely sorry,’ &c. &c.” Some may say the writer never was “on the staff,” he does not write from personal experience. But, although it is not generally known, we were once on the staff for three whole weeks ! And it was the most weari- some time we ever spent in the country ! We went and applied personally for a berth instead of writing a letter, and it was well we did so, for the proprietor, as he afterwards acknowledged, had written a letter giving away the place, it was on his table sealed and addressed already for posting, when the writer called, stated the purport of his call, went through a course of examination and questioning, and was engaged, while the letter on the table giving the situation to another was consigned to the flames ! If, instead of a personal visit, we had written, as the first impulse was, the reply would have been “The place is given away, too late,” because the letter would have been posted. Besides, is it not a very natural feeling for a preprie- tor or agent to wish or like to see the man who is to be entrusted with the charge of his j)^'operty ? Put the question to yourself. Why should not a staff oflScer also have some of the same sort of feeling with regard to his future employer ? Now, here were a lot of fellows with whom time was no object : they had nothing to do ; they did not know what to make of themselves, and yet, they would sit down and write letters and doze and waste two days until they got an answer ! The only just excuse would have been that they had not £5 to pay their coach hire, for it must be remembered, they were probably living at the Royal on credit. But if. was more likely pdolence and procrastination, for there were few even in those times who could not raise five pounds to ga to Colombo and apply for a situation. The writer BOLTED.” was once one of the few; he was not on the staff, but in these times was once very hard up. Once J Often, often ! Particularly so on one occasion when he asked a very particular friend for the temporary loan of £5, which was refused. Gentlemen on the staff, take courage, when you are told that the loan of five pounds Was once decidedly refused to P. D. Millie. CHAPTER XXX. The Genus “ Bolteii ” : Various Varieties of the Order ; including the Adventures of Mr. Skulk IN Search of Land. ‘‘Bolted,” was the answer sometimes received, when asking after some one who had not been heard of for a considerable period of time. If yon had, or felt, no particular interest in the bolter, a long gossip would take place, discussing all the details of the case; “You never could have believed it.” “What are things coming to?” “What a world it is !” But, if the bolter had been a neighbour, or friend, and had availed himself of this social position to have borrowed a small sum, on the principle that what is the use of having a friend, or indeed any- thing, unless you make use of him, or it, you would feel as if a thunderbolt had struck you, or that you were compelled to bolt something very unpleasant, and if it did stick in your throat, and nearly choked you, nevertheless it must go down, be bolted ; you knew perfectly well, at the first flash, that the small sum was gone for ever. So long as one was on a low salary, on the staff,” or enduring any of the numerous ills of planting life, that was a prospect of payment being made at some period of time however remote, but of the bolter there was no hope whatever : it was an open and candid intimation that he bad finally settled all his debts and difficulties. Not that the deed was open and candid, quite the reverse, or it could not have been carried out ; it was the natural inference to be drawn from the actions, for the man who deliberately bolts is a thief,"^ and whoever expects ^ We quite agree with Mr. Millie, and would add that not only do such thieves deserve 'to be denounced by name, but also those who aid and abet them, by get- ting them clandestinely out of the country. — Ed. YAEIETIES OF BOLTERS. a thief to come forward in after times and say, “I stole a sum of money from yon on such a date : here it is, principal and interest ? ” Bolters were of difffferent varieties, of various grades, actuated by different mot- ives, so we may briefly give a sketch of them, under their respective heads. First, there was the bolter who had made up his mind to commit the action for a longti me previously, but was in no hurry. He waited for the very first opportuni- ty that could possibiy offer, and in order to gain a good name and increased responsibility would be most particu- larly faithful and punctual in all ordinary small pecuniary mat'ers. So much 00, that he would probably not only be considered by his employers as a perfe-.tion of exactness and honesty, but held up lo and represented to others, as an example well worthy of their imitation. This might go on for along time, until the bolter’s time and opportunity had arrived, a catch had repi-esented itself which would probably be the biggest available, he was gone, none knew when, where, or whither : his plan was too well concocted and carried out ; or if they did become known, it was too late. To the greatest credit of the planting community, however, this class of bolters was very rare, and now we are h ippy to believe, is quite unknown. However, notwithstancling every precaution the bolter would sometimes miss his bolt, and find him- self “ on the catch,” or caught, for it is a stran.e fatality that evil deeds generally lay traps to catch the doers when they think they ai-e closing an t shutting them up. A very long time ago, more than “thirty years ago,” we have a dreamy recollection of an incident that hap- pened which will confirm the truth of our remarks. A superintendent, we forget his name and district received a draft on Kandy for £600 for estate purposes! What more natural and proper than to pack up some clothes, and off for the money. He drew the money in Kandjq all in silver, had it packed up in bao-g in the usual way, but, instead of returning with it to^tbe estate, he and the rupees coach it, or travel in some way or other, in the opposite direction, down to Colombo. He takes up his abode at the hotel, and secures a passage in a vessel about to sail for some foreign part the next morning. He was to be on board i hat night * one might reasonably conclude no chance for his evil deed being discovered, for his absence from the estate would cause no anxiety at all : if thought of at all it would be as a matter of course, just having the usual “spree” on going to Kandy. One would conclude, that common discretion, at least, would suggest itself to this bolter, the necessity of keeping as quiet as possible but, on the contrary, what does he do, immediately on entering the hotel, but commence to drink heavily • FAST LIYINQ. glass after glass, bottle after bottle, were called for and drunk until he also became drunk. He then brings all the money bags, lays th^m on the couch, and opens them up ; he then falls asleep amongst the rupees. He was lying on rupees, rupees were on the table, rupees were, on the floor : and this in the public room of a public hotel ! Of course the landlord felt very uncomfortable, and did not know what course to adopt. He stepped out into the street to go and call some one to advise with, and just then the head of an agency firm was pass- ing, The landlord asked him to come in, and give his opinion and advice on the matter : he went, he looked hard at the sleeping or drunken man, and harder at the rupees all scattered about the room. “Why,” whispers he, “ that is one of our superientend- iits. We remitted him a draft for £600 a few days ago, and there be is and there ’s the money ! Was he sober when he arrived? “Perfectly,” says the landlord. but as soon as he entered the room he commenced to drink, as I never saw any one do before it : as- tonished even me, who, as you may conceive, see a good deal of this sort of thing.” “ Go out and bring a police constable, or better still, two. Also some v/itnesses,” says the agent. This was soon done, the money was all collected and counted, and found to the exact sum, less Kandy bank commission, and coach hire, and was, of course, delivered over to its ric^htful owner, and the unconscious delinquent lodged ill prison. Vie wonder what he thought, or what ids feelings were, when he woke up. We cannot say what the result of this was, having no further re- cotlection on the subject. But this sort of bolting was so very rare, planned and plotted fraud and theft, that, although there may have been several other cases, we do not recollect them. One in more general use, we will say the second, was bolting under pressure of outward circumstances. These circumstances might or might not have been the result of foolish or in- judicious conduct, which the bolter bad personally brouaht domi on his own head, but whether or not it shewed small spirit or pluck, even want of principle, in the man, so lost to himself as to resort to this extremity. Probably, while in a place, be bad lived carelessly, and beyond ins small income, with every good intention to pay his bills at some period. He would have scouted the very idea of doing that. In fact such a course of proceeding, or contingency, never ended his mind. His pay^ being small, and his debts heavy, he lost his situ?iiion, and, as a matter of course, his creditors were all “ down upon him.” Excuses and delays were exhausted, his only hope and last resource was in the procuring of a situation, and NOT TO BE FOUND, seeing this hope, for the time being, was become ut- terly hopeless, in a fit of desparation he bolted. A owed to B fifty pounds and paid it by a promissory note on, or at, the O. B. 0. due in three months. B had a credit at the bank and a good name, he cashed the note at a small discount, and the money was spent. Three months passed away, and so did the re- membrance of the transaction, But it was recalled to - his memory in a rather unpleasant way, in receiving a letter from the bank, informing him the note was protested for non-payment, and charges were placed to the debit of his account, which was overdrawn, and an immediate adjustment of the same was requested. This request having been complied with, B receives the promissory note back again and finds himself just as he was, only minus payment of notary feeSj and probably also a little bank interest. He sits down and writes a long letter to A complaining of the little affair, which had put him so much out. After the lapse of some time (he letter comes back, endorsed. “ Not to be found on making further inquiry it was found he had left the country. Now this was a very mean thing for any one to do, and just shows what a hardening thing, and debasing to the general character, is debt. The x)ro- per course for A to have adopted, would bav^ been- boldly to have informed his creditor of bis unfortun, ate and hopeless position, and bravely told him, if he succeeded elsewhere, he would pao up, that there was no chance of ever doing so by remaining here. B would see he was an hon orable man, ' and enquire, what was the use of detaining him. None. Again, A owes B twenty pounds and gives him a promiss- ory note for the amount, due at the 0. B. C. in three months. A few weeks after the Ltfcle truiis- uction, A writes his creditor in a fair, open aii'l very straightforward manner, that he is leaving the country, but that it will make no difference at all to B in the small pecuniary transaction, because his friend O has promised to take up and over ali his diehls, and see them all fairly settled. Now 0 is a inan apparently of some su'ostance and stability, and past all manner of doubt, very much better security than A, and B is rather pleased than otherwise at t’le trans- ference. But to make sure he writes C on the siibjenb, who replies that it is “all right.” When A’s pro- missory note become due, C takes it up. idow d> you think ? Why, just by sending B another drawn in his own name, so that all the difference co.isists in B holding C’s note instead of A’s ! Well, thinks B, it will come all right in the end, but it does not, for 0, the man of some substance and stabili ye has long been in difficulties himself, which hav, V I PROMISE TO PAY.” come to a crisis so very suddenly that B has heard nothing about it, has never heard that he has been declared, or declared himself, insolvent, has passed through the court, and come out whitewashed, paying all his creditors a dividend of one shilling in the pound. B not having been aware of this state of matters, in fact, having heard nothing about it until too late, of course had made no claim and had of course not even received his twenty shillings, in place of twenty pounds. However he writes C, com- plaining bitterly of this treatment, and gets no reply at all, or, if he does, a very stiff formal one, stating that he (C) was not to blame ; B should have made liis claim. He is clear, and started afresh, and can- not take any notice of these old trifling affairs, B now considers the affair quite hopeless, and puts the note away in a back drawer, out of sight, but he cannot get it out of mind : in the instance it is not -a case “out of sight out of mind,” for, whemver he opens that drawer on any business whatever, that promissory note is sure to present itself to his sight, taunting him with the falsehood, “ I promise to pay.” He is “hard up,” his creditors bother and threaten him, and all for a paltry twenty pounds. Yet there is a X)aper within his grasp most candidly stating that twen y pounds is his due, even promising to pay ]}im the amount, notwithstanding which it is seemingly worth no more of no more use than just light Ins pipe with. He can’t stand this any longer, lie tears it up, and consigns it to the flames. “Now,” says he, “you’ll torment me no more.” Years pass away, when a name is mentioned that makes him start. A’s name is mentioned as a fellow who did no good in (’eylon, but he seems to have been suc- cessful else who 10, for they say, “He has made a lot of money at the Straits of Belleisle, where he had been a wliile.” B now thinks he has been rather rasli in the matter of the note, and wished be had kept it, but wishes won’t bring bring back its ashes and restore time to the state of a protested promis- sory note ! If wishes could redeem the results or every, or any, rash or foolish action, what a fine thing it would be, to be always in possession of a good stock of wi-hes, bottled up for all and every sundry re- quirements ! But as wishes cannot do this, it is no use mourning and lamenting, making one’s seif miser- able and unhappy by indulging in the very common lament. “If I Lad only known ! Oh ! I wish I had net done this or that ! ” Dry your tears, and act, for all the tears ever shed in the world will never compensate you, but a good sober matter-of-fact action may. Write, and explain the whole circum- BOLTINO TO CEYLON. stances of the case ; if he is an honorable fellow, h@ will pay you ; if he is not), he will say, he is sorry, but if you will send the note, he will pay. If you have lost or burned the note, it is not his fault, he can’t help it. If he is a blackguard, he will never answer your letter ! ' Buf if men bolted from the country to escape from pecuniary demands upon them, we are of opinion that far more frequently did they bolt to Ceylon, for the very same purpose, and they bolt d from some of the Indian Presidencies. The coffee cshites in the interior, with their walls of forest, presented a very tempting and secure refuge for the embarrassed debtor, or any one under dread of the law. It voiihl non do for them to take passage and land at any of the frequented porta : they might, and no d ubt would* be traced out, so the plan they adopted was to cross the straits in some native boat, landing at Point Pedro, or Trincomalee ; they would then buy some wretched old pony, and ride down the north road to Kandy ; they would take it easy, as time was no object, rest and sleep at some native hut during the heat of the day, and continue their stages in the early morning and late evening, or even during the moonlight. Arrived at Kandy, the immigrant bolter would keep as quite and remain there as little time as possible ; he would get quit, of his pony as soon as he could, so as to leave nothing on ‘‘the trail ; if he could get a. few Ipounds or shillings for it so much the better, if not it must just be abandoned, and he makes for the coffee districts on foot. If a man of education and some manner, what is generally called a gentleman, only however in manner and appearance he would get on very well, for a time. Of course he would give out, he was travelling on ioot, incog., to see the coffee districts. “He had heard a good deal about them, and some thoughts of investing himself, and took this very practical plan of gaining every infornia;* tion, although he did not wish it to be known. lu might interfere with his present prospects, and future pension, if it came to the ears of the service that he was smelling after coffee. “Mum is the word,” and he would give a knowing wink, “All right,” say^s the hearty, honest superintendent, with no guile- ®?r deceit in his own heart, and of course suspecting none in the guest’s. “All right, it will never be known from me, who you are, or where you have come from. What do you say now, to make the secret complete, give yourself a fancy name?” “My dear sir,” says the immigrant bolter, “what a capital idea,. I never thought of it, many thanks- for the hint ; MR. SKULK. just the very thing. What capital fun, quite a romance, so we will just arrange, that until further notice, I will call myself, and others will call me, Mr. Skulk, a new arrival, prospecting for land, in light marching order, like a regular greenhorn, as he is lost his portemanteaux, and all his clothes, and has to write to Madras for more, although when they will be Rere, if ever at all, over these wretched roads, it is impossible to say. ” ever mind Mr. Skulk, never mind, wherever you go, you will always get a change, of raiment from your planting host, provided it fits y©u, or pro vided it is not not too small ; if too big, it can be managed, and as to appearance, that goes for nothing in the jungle, you know. And thus Mr. Skulk was fairly on the skulk, enjoyed himself ex- ceedingly, and making himself very agreeable : in fact, before very long, he could chose his own host, for he received numerous invitations to “come over and spend a few weeks ; there was a lot of fine forest in our district, which might perhaps suit him ! Never mind his missing clothes and boxes, they would give him a change,” and thus it so happened that Mr. Skulk took a change, v/henever he felt in the humour to make one, but somehow or another he never could get a piece of land to suit him ; he was particular : it was either too high or too low, too steep or too level, or when it Avas pointed out to him beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was neither the one nor the other, he wuuld make a day of it, to have a thorough and complete examination, a very search- ing one, and come back late in the evening A^ery much exhausted and disappointed, for it would not do, the soil did not come up to his ideas of what soil for coffee should be, and he was a judge, or at all events ought to be. His host then said, “Judge or no judge, I Avish I had the money to buy it. I’d risk it.” “My good friend,” says Mr. Skulk, “in return for your great kindness and hos- pitality to myself, I would cheerfully lend you the money, at a very low rate of interest, but I am quite sure the land is altogether unsuitable, and it Avould be about the most unkind thing I could do, and a poor return for your hospitality, to put you on the road to ruin.” Mr. Skulk had the “ gift of the gab ” and always settled every argument which seemed to be going against him, by excessHe talk- ing. He talked his adversary down, a very easy thing to do, when your adversary is a sensible man, because all sensible man feel and know it is no use arguing any point with your great talker, because his arguments are, as a rule, not reason and common-sense, but only talk. Perhaps, hoAA^ever, it UNASKED-FOR ADVICE. was not 80 much talking his adversary down, as that the adversary sees it is no use, who does not give in one bit, but merely gives up opposition, being tired of the tiresome talking and knowing that epposition is just adding fuel to the fire instead of putting it out, for the more you oppose your excess- ive talker, in order to silence or put to an end his talking, the more talkative he becomes ! His charac- ter is at stake ; you have dared to oppose and question, him ! He must explain, and explains away at such, a rate, and gives such a number of explanations, that they all just pass in succession through the brain, which is very briefly and proper!}^ deflned b}^ * ‘pass- ing in at one ear and out at the other.” Mr. Skulk was never at a loss, always i-eady : and his weapon, was talk. After talking for a long lime on (he subject you had disputed, you had dared to question, with- out stopping for any reply, and just in the s tme run of talk, the subject of discourse would com- pletely change, not once, but often, so tJiat, -when his argument about the land or rather wdiicli com- menced with the land, came to an end, and he rap- ped his knuckles on the table, saying, “It’s the best quality I er evsaw,” the hearer would he bewildered. “I say. 1 thought you were insisting a little ago it was bacl, that land,” Mr. Skulk would give an- other indignant rap, and say, “So it is, but it’s rice, rice I’m speaking of just now.” In return for the hospitality of his host, Mr. Skulk would deem it necessary to give all manner of advice relative to the works going on. “You are all wrong in your mode of erecting buildings. How that bun- galow is just absurd. If you had only seen the one I built for myself, over on the coast. That was something like a bungalow.” So he would talk you over, and, as he had nothing to do and under- stood all about it, he would amuse himself superin- tending the work. You might give him a trial, but his demands for coolies were so excessive, that the whole force on the estate was not nearly enough to meet his requirements, and you would be fain to exclaim, “Coffee even at 100/ will never stand this.” He would casually state, he bad once been in the Engineering or Survey Department, and that the road you had traced, and were cutting would never do. Just to oblige you, he would take a turn at the road tracer himself, and, as it was hot dusty work, he hoped you had plenty of beer. Having completed a short trace before breakfast, he would come in and consume that half-dozen of beer, which you had calculated would, on a pinch, last till next “ cooly to Kandy day,” bravely stating he had exhausted A PEST. 3iimself ki your service, and you must send off for more, .d)efnre he cauld do another stroke of work. “ Would you look at Ids splendid trace?” You would point out that it ran light through rocks and land- ships, and would never do, but he would explain, that was the work to be done in cutting and blasting, and That the tracer had nothing to do with this. He unust stick to his giadients, but if you thought the cutting would be ton expensive, iie would over- look the land, to-morrow morning, to see if anything better could be done, provided, and provided only, .you sent for more beer ! You would say nothing. You had your plan ixady. He was all ready early next morning, wdien you casually remarked, you had no time, or coolies to tpare, to send for beer, upon which he would suddenly recollect, he had “slept badly last night,” and thought it would be only common prudence to postpone the work. He would take a bath and Inrii in again and you turned out to w^ork. On your return he w^ould coolly tell yon, he had been looking in the sideboard for a and found there was nothing in the bottle, and so, knowing that you w’onld require some refreshment, after yo'uv day’s work, he had, all for your own sake, taken your pass-book, and entered one bottle brandy, and tv’o of sherry, and, as that was not a load, he had penned the remark, “to fill up the load with beer.” A scowl or frown would pass over your face, upon which he would say, “Don’t be angry that he has not yet arrived, he will be here immediately, as I told him, it was your order, yon w^ere in a great hurry, and would give him a rupee if back within a stated time. Time about up ; there he is, punctual chap. Yow please hand over that rupee ! Promise you know, and, must keep faith with the coolie. Master’s word,” &c. Yon would be in very bad humour all the rest of the evening, thinking what was to be done with this pest. At last an idea w^as hit upon, and put in practice, next morning. It was this. “Mr. Skulk,” says the host very cheerily, ■*‘1 am going away for a couple of weeks, now ; in fact, perhaps for a month ; it ’s the usual time of the year for taking a trip, and if it is not taken now we can’t take it at all, dull work for yon living here alone, so I suppose you will be O P H also.” But Mr. Skulk, instead of becoming dull, actually seemed to brighten up at the prospect. “Dull?” says he. “Nonsense! The idea of me being dull? That’s a good one indeed. My dear sir, just the very thing. Leave a memo of the works going on, and I will xook after them ; stay away as long as you, like, the the better, make your mind perfectly easj^ BOLTING FROM A BOLTER. 'and comfortable, I will keep everything right, let me alone for that; just the very thing. How' lucky 1 did not leave last week, as at one time was my intention ; and by the bye, as I am a stranger ; here, people do not know me, and of course have no “credit, just leave out your pass-books at the store, keepers : and bazar I will manage for myself perfectly well knov/ quite well about all these little domestic matters. No fear of me,” &c. and so on he rattled. The host’s temper was now up, his patience exhausted, but he said never a word. He packs up a box of clothes, and sends’ a cooly off with it, desiring him to await his arrival at Gampola. He send for the kanganies, and orders them no coolies are to be supplied to the visitor for any purpose whatever ; he orders his servant that when present house supplies are done, which they will likely be to-morrow, nothing more was to be ordered, and on bis peril was he to kill any of those fowls or chickens. That the visitor may remain as long as he likes, but he thinks it will not be very long, when he tinds nothing to eat but bad curry ( ‘ ^ e sure and make it as bad as possible”) and rice, and nothing to drink but water. He even locked up all the pipes and tobacco, and, as his visitor was a great smoker, and always smoked his host’s tobaco, this was the cleverest hit of all. What would he do ! The very next morning, early, before his visitor was up, our host was off. Bolted, from his own bungalow, as the very last dodge, to get rid of a bolter. Now, when when we think over this little incident, it was rather a weak and silly determina- tion to arrive at, so to become a bolter himself, in order to get rid of a bolter : because, while putting the host to much inconvenience and expense, it is no way answered the purpose, for what cared the bolter for his host, it was the hospitality, and, if he got the latter without the former, perhaps it suited him all the better Our worthy host had just put himself to a great deal of very unnecessary trouble and expense, and had he promptly and decidedly adopted the same course of proceeding at first, which he was afterwards obliged to take, it would have been better for both parties, In a day or two, Mr. Skulk sat down to a very simple dinner, curry and rice, and the curry was very bad. On questioning the boy, the answer was, ‘‘Master ’s away, no coconuts, no ghee, no nothing. ” The plate was pushed aside, and the order given. “Bring beer.” There was none. “Very well, some brandy, sherry, anything will do. ” The reply was “ No nothing, only water,” and, as he spoke, the water rgleed out of the goglet, as the the boy poured it the nigu tumbler, and as he went out of the door, A BOLTER GETTING IN SUPPLIES. something was heard gurgling in his throat : what it could be was not diificult to say, because he had both hands flat up against his mouth ! Mr, Skulk’s light dinner served to sharpen up his brain. He went to the pigeonholes above the office table, and looked at a hole ticketed ‘‘ Kandy Accounts.” He examined them, and at once saw who the shop-kee2)er was, with whom his host dealt. The next morning he tells the boy to S2)eak to the kangani, and get two coolies to go to Kandy for supplies, but these functionaries, being quite well uj) ' to what was the game, re])lj that it cannot be done. “ Master would be angry and ininish them. ” Mr. Skulk is not to be beaten. He writes a letter by post to Mr. Baux, asking him to send up, hired coolies a number of articles, which need not be here specified, ^Aacing t hem and tlie hire to the debit of his host, and, as there were no postage stam2)s in the house (tliere were plenty, but all locked uj)), the double postage of this letter could be also “put dowui.” In due time the hired coolies arrived, with the loads, took their receipt from Mr. Skulk, and dej)arted. In due time also the host turned up, and instead of finding that Mr. Skulk was starved out, and gone as he fully expected, to his astonishment there was his visitor still sitting at the verandah table smok- ing a cheroot ; on the table stands several black bottles, a tumbler, a goglet of water, and even what our host seldom saw in his own bungalow, plates of bread, butter, and cheese. Mr. Skulk gets up, shakes hands heartily with his host, and now himself plays the host : “What will he take to eat and drink ? Don’t be bashful ; there ’s plenty in the house”; and he throws open the doors of the sideboard, and there are displayed rows of black bottles, jars of jam, cheese, potted meats, <*^'c. The host inquires where has all this come from : “Have you had a remittance and taken this plan of shewing your gratitude for past favors ?” Mr. Skulk promptly disclaims all idea of shewing gratitude : that sort of thing is not in his line. “The fact is just this, knowing that you would be sure to be back soon and unexpectedly, I just took the liberty of a fi-iend in laying in a stock of provender to welcome you back. Of course it is all at your own expense, and you may consider yourself lucky that I was here to do it. An old traveller like me, let me alone for foraging!” “ So it seems,” said the host bitterly, “at the expense of others. I’ll just tell you wffiat what it is, Mr. Skulk, as we are having a tiff, I have had enough of your company, and you just wMk out of this to-morrow morning, and that ’s plain LOAFEES. speaking, you understand,” “Understand. ” says Mr. Skulk. “Perfectly, my dear fellow. Why did you not give me a hint sooner. Intended to have gone a fornight, ago but thought I was doing you a favour in remaining during your absence. Of course when two fellows live long together they are apt to get tired of each other’s company and with a change, but I assure you this feeling is all on your own part, none of it on mine. The separation, since you insist upon it, is all of your own seeking, and should you feel dull after I am gone just drop me a note addressed Pussellawa post office, and wherever I go I ’ll write there for my letters. Will be sure to come back, whenever you like. When- ever you like, mind, and be sure and have plenty of beer. Good bye. Don’t get dull. Back again, whenever you like, you know.” But the more numerous class of immigrant bolters were very low-class Europeans. It would be hard to tell where they came from, as of course you had only their word for it, which was utterly worthless. There would sometimes be seen wandering through the coffee dis- tricts, looking out for a situation as overseers or con- ductors. “ Pay was no object ; house accommodation and food, and anything else you chose to give.” They seemed of no education, could scarcely read or write, and most certainly could not do up a check-roll. But if you were talked over into giving a very fair- spoken man a trial, a m.an who directed your atten- tion to his feet — he had no stockings and the soles of his shoes just parting company with the upper leather, and, as a necessary preliminary before engaging at -work, required a x^air of your own cast-off shoes, no matter how bad they were, for the very worst you had were better than his — you might be prefectly sure, whatever his virtues or vices were, whatever his faults or misfortunes, that he w^as very likely the victim of, or at all events addicted to, drink, If you engaged him. watch him on this X)oint, for if would soon “ crop up.” After a few days go close U];) to him at morning muster, when he was calling the names, and you would likely smell arrack. By and bve, he would not ajppear at muster, and send word he was sick. He v/ould become very often sick. Sick, indeed ! Sickness was the rule, and, even wdien he did come out, he looked very seedy and shaky, and avoided looking you in the face. But where did he get the arrack ? how did he pay for it? Who can tell? Very probably some of the kan- ganies or coolies would give him a bottle at times ; they would soon find out that was the most accept- able present they could give, and, as much as lay in his power, easy work w^ould be his return thanks. PUOPRIETOItY BOLTERS. or he might borrow some small cash at times from some of the more simple coolies ; but whatever he did, or however he got the money, he would be sure to get the drink. But we will not enlarge fur- ther on this melancholy specimen of the immigrant bolter ; all of our old hands must have seen many specimens of them, and perhaps also a good many of the new. We need say little about proprietor bolters, be- cause their bolting was a different matter altogether, because they could not bolt to avoid pajdng their debts ; if they did, they must have been reduced to a very low ebb indeed, .because they would leave something behind them that their creditors could ‘bone,’ or ‘bolt,’ only these genetlemen when they * boned’ and ‘bolted’ the coffee would sometimes find it rather hot, they could not stomach it ; and the hot coffee actually scalded their very hearts. They have found it infinitely more to their advantage, eventually, to have written off that sum of money as a dead loss, than to have ‘boned’ and ‘bolted’ the coffee. But somehow, if once boned and bolted, it could not be again ‘ thrown up, ’ it required a very strong emetic to produce this. If they could not get their principal out of the estate, why they would surely get its interest : they would go in for this. Under ordinary circumstances, a proprietor may bolt from Ceylon and nobody know until he is gone with a very easy conscience. Never mind his bills : if there is ^ anything sure in this world, he may be sure of this, his unpaid bils will find him out. In fact his creditors will not lose, but gain. They will prehaps purposely defer sending their bills after him in order that they may have an excuse for charging that little item printed in small letters amongst flourishes ; and that item is “12 per cent charged after 3 months’ credit.” So, of course, a proprietor who leaves the country in a hurry or forgets to pay his bills is a capital in- vestment ‘ ‘ Landed security ; payment on demand interest 12 per cent.” He may grumble and say, “Why did you not send it in ? How could I pay, when the account was not rendered ?” The only reply is, “Our terms of business. ” The man who bolts from his debts is either a great blackguard, or a poor-spirited fellow. Of the former we will say nothing, we have no need to say any- thing, having no wish to know him, or anything about him, having no fellowship dr sympathy with him at all. To the latter we would say. You have done an act from which you will never recover, go where you will. You may in some sense prosper, you may make a show in the world, even acquire the respect and esteem «I FOEGOT.” of others, provided they are ignorant of this escapade in your life, but that will never compensate for the loss of your respect and esteem. Your conscience will be- come easy, and you will begin to do many things now, that you would not have done before, had you made a push and paid that debt. It may not be too late yet. Do you owe money to any one, who may have considered that you bolted, and neg- lected or failed to pay him ? It may be such a long time ago that you think he has forgotten the cir- cumstances. Disabuse your mind of this vain hope, and know, if you never knew before, that a creditor never forgets the man who owes him money, and it is just the same vice versa, for however muck we may hear, or rather however often we may have heard (a great deal too often), the debtor exclaim, 1 forgot,’ ‘I quite forgot’ it is a falsehood. We believe, believe firmly, that no more does the debtor forget his debt than creditor what is owing him, and that this exclamation, ‘I forgot’ is just, in plain terms, a lie, and another of the degrading results of debt, in making one a liar. ‘I forgot’ easily said, simple words, but, if they are untrue, far from simple in their after results, insofar that they are just an additional brand and scar upon the con- science. One lie begets another, and the next one will be bigger, and leave a larger scar, and so on, all this hardening process originating in the small words ^I forgot.’ Had you fold the truth, and said, M can ’t ’ or ‘ could not ’ or even ‘ would not ’ far better than saying ‘ I forgot ’ what a very different man you might have been to-day ! If one can ’t pay one can always tell the truth, or if it be inexpedient, not advisable, or unnecessary to tell the truth, or even any portion of it, you cannot be under any circumstances called upon, or justified, to tell or in telling a lie. Just tell the simple fact, that you are unable to pay ; that is ‘quite enough for the creditor : depend upon it, it is little or nothing he cares for the why or wherefore ; the plain fact is quite enough, and perhaps more than enough, that you can ’t pay him the coin.” The debtor, however bold and manly he may have been, always degener- ates into a coward, he can’t look you in the face. He lives in f ear ! The tappal-box delivers over no welcome letters to him. The tappal cooly presumes on his indifference, and always late. What matter ? The box only contains bills, begging demands, or it may be, at times, a proctor’s letter. “ 111 news travels fast.” Late as ever he may be, the tappal cooly arrives too soon ! and an observant visitor at any of the coffee estates, if sharp in perception, KEEP CLEAR OF DEBT. might form a very f lir general idea of his host, by the manner in which be receives the tappal cooly, and the bag. Many of onr readers may not have thought of this, but let them take a hint now, and observe. For no two planters receive the post cooly and his letter-bag in the same manner or way. Some are always looking out for his arrival, and are in a sort of chronic misery until he turns up, eagerly snatch the bag from his hands, and actually break or burst the buckle or lock, in getting it opened. Others never see the post-boy, until he shoves the box into their hands. They take it in a mechanical sort, of way, lay it down on the table unopened, turn round, as if they had forgotten all about it, and say, “Boy; a fire-stick.” These are the two extremes, but there are numerous intervening ones with many different modifications. Our readers may think over this, and find them out. Tell the truth, and have courage. We read not long ago somewhere tlie following quotation which impressed itself so on the mind, that (like Captain Cuttle) we took a note of it. Here it is : — “The fearful, those who always perceive, or think they perceive, a lion in the way, are not destined to fill any high position or station while alive, or be very long' re- membered after they are dead. Resolve to keep clear- of debt, and you are all right, for such are the powers of resolution and perseverance, that without these qualites we can do nothing, accomplieh nothing of any moment or account ; with them, we will go through anything. The world is full of instances of the truth of this remark, and if we look sharply around, amongst our friends and acquaintances, we will find examples quite as striking and instructive as any that were ever published in, or read from, history.” We may also add a personal remark. Not only keep clear of debt, but have a nest-egg as soon as possible : no matter how small the eeg is, have a nest egg if there is no nest egg the bird may not return and lay another ! It will not hold in any esteem the nest that cannot retain a nest-egg ! But you must look further than the eggs. What is the use of a nest egg or a whole nest of eggs unless it or they hatch something ? Nov/ what do you expect it will hatch ? You will be sur- prised now to hear that many a good coffee estate yielding a handsome income to its proprietor has been hatched out of the first nest-egg; or, at all events, taking a wider margin, if the nest-egg had never been there the coffee estate would never have been hatched, and this is our closing moral. It is no use saying who Mr. Skulk was. The family were so numerous, that ail old planters have met with some CURRY AND RICE. of its branches. But who was the host ! Who was the silly fellow who ran away from his own bungalow, to get rid of a “sneak.” Why, he was just Mr. Green, who has been mentioned in a previous chapter. But he is not green now. Would n’t he soon dress up Mr. Skulk now ! We all pay for experience ; they say “he is the best schoolmaster,” but the fees are heavy. Say ! what is the use of saying v/hat people say ! The fact has been proved by P. D, Millie. CHAPTER XXXI. Curry and Rice. Some of our planting friends may peevishly exclaim : “Shut up. Don’t commence. We are sick, heart and stomach, of the subject. It recalls no happy or pleas- ant memories, but quite the contrary.” But we won’t shut up, and will commence, not a few passing re- marks, but a wbole chapter, at the very least on the three worOs of oui- subject. Why is this standard article of diet called curry and rim ? Wliy is the curry put before the rice : just as if the expression was meant t > infer that curry was the ps incipal diet, and rice the secondary, that rice was eaten to curry, and not as it is, curry fco rice.* Perhaps few of our readers have thought of this idea. Thiiik of it, and you will pronounce it right, and the next time you ask the boy what there is for dinner, and his reply is, “ Curry and rice,” correct Dim, and give oi-ders chat, in future, when speaking on this very important sub- ject, he is to speak of it as rice and curry, and not curry and rice. “ Important subject indeed !” you may reply, “where’s the importance of a nasty dish of rico and a plateful of oily-looking stuff called curry ?” Not so fast ; don’t go off in a fizz. We ^rant it is of no importance to you, none in the sli^ditest ; by all means make your meals off that very nice mutton and beef, which we have no manner of doubt is in your larder, it may be even, in fact we suspect it, cold fowl, ham, and (not or) tongue. You may recollect, in a chapter published some time ago, a remark was made, asking where, or in what position would the planting interest have been, at this present day, without the Tamil cooly. Would the interest * The natives give the priority to their staff of life, ' saying “rice and curry,” or they go still further and say- simply “rice.” — Ed. w SALT-FISH DINNER. have been in existence at all, &c. You will, all at once, reply, “It would not, or at least anything like the same extent.” Now, if this is admitted, which it must be, just take another step of inquiry and ask yourself, or, any other practical man, wdiere would the Tamil cooly have been at this day without rice and curry ? If you had no rice, or not enough to give him, he would never have come to your estate ; it is very doubtful even if you or I would have had any estate at all. Leave out the question of pay and rupees altogether; much as the cooly loves them, he loves his rice better, therein shewing a point of wisdom and discernment, which had some ejf his betters in position, but not in common-sense, adopted they might have been alive at this day. But enough : we have all heard sad stories of the end or some, who starved and stinted themselves in food, to save money, and it is to be hoped, for their own sakes, there are none such now. In carrying on the conversation with the boy on the subject of the anticipated dinner you might say you knew perfectly well before you asked that there was only curry — and rice, but your object in asking was simply to know what curry it was. And tbu> it happened that the curious planter got into tlie s.>stem of asking, not what was for dinner, Init plump and plain to the point at once, “Boy, what curiy is there to-day?” and the answer would be: “ySat-tish.” “ Salt-tish ! Now have you not been told over and over again, that I am quite sick and tired of that salt-lisli ? Why for the last fort- night there has been positively nothing else. Get something else. ” But the boy gravely assures master that nothing else can be got. “ Bazar-man got no- thing else, got no nothing” — which assertion admits of no further "dispute. Passing the bazar next day your attention is caught by the sight of a fine large pumpkin displayed to view in its front verandah. Rashly and without considei atioii, without asking the price, you hail the bazar-man, who is sitting behind the pump- kin, not on his hind legs, but on' his cross legs, which IS just something of the same sort of curious Xjosition, only apparently much more uncomfort- able, notwichstanding which he is most comfortable, so comfortable as not to take any more of notice of your hail, otherwise than to give you a fixed stare and put some green betel leaf into his mouth. Think- ing he does not hear you, you repeat the hail in louder and harsher tones of voice, upon which he turn* partially round and spits into a curious-looking brass box, standing close by his side, and again resumes ft fixed stone-like gaze. Very likely he considers you ‘‘VEEY FINE PUMPKIN,” are not a customer, not likely you are coming to drii^e a hard bargain about the price of any or sundry articles spread out in the front of him. You are very likely only wanting to ask him some question as to coolies selling rice, or changing rice at his bazar for an equivalent in something else. He is not going to take any notice or trouble at all about such ex- cessively impertinent curiosity in your part. But what a change suddenly comes over the wholo of his in- different dreamy deportment when you shout, ‘‘ What is the price of that pumpkin?” *He is all alive now, in fact he actually suddenly jumps up : an act which your simple question by no means called for. Relays hold of the pumpkin, turns it over, and tells you, what you don’t need to be told, wbat you ;u’e very well aware of: ‘‘Very fine pumpkin, sir. ” 'Ihiiiking he may possibly have not understood yon. llie ques- tion is repeated, and the prompt i”eply “No more pumpkins in any of the other bazars.” You admit the fact, know it perfectly well, but — what is the price of it? The reply again is: “ Hoads very bad, plenty of rain ; no coolies to carry anything.” You lose patience, and move on. Before you have moved far, a voice reaches you, “ Master can have for two rupees.” You stop if you are not very far gone, perhaps retirfti, and offer him a shilling. He scouts the very idea-** no, no, he wdll cut into slices, and sell it to the coolies at a few coppers per slice, and make far more than the two rupees ; it was only because master was master that he would '"ell it to him at such, to himself, a losing rate. If you feel inclined to carry on the game, you may probably eventually get the article for sixpence or a shilling ; if not you move off, and the hazar- man lapses into a statue until the next customer turns up or makes an inquiry- But the memory of the pumpkin haunts you, and the subject is mentioned to the boy who says he can manage the bazar-man, not only can, but will. So the boy girds up his loins, adjusts his turban, and takes his departure for the bazar, where he remains all day, and towanls evening makes his appearance in the verandah of the bungalow, and triumphantly lays down at the foot of one of the posts one-half of the pumpkin. “Ah,” thinks the master, “ half a loaf is better than no bread, but, but, what have you paid for it ?” “ Cheap, very cheap,” is the answer, “just one-half what master was asked, just one rupee.” “Well,” says master, “but as you have only got the half for half the price of the w hole, can’t you see that you have not procured it any cheaper, that it is just the same price as was de- manded from myself?” “No, no,^’ says the boy, ** master say two rupees, now only one.” “ Well” replies PUMPKIN CURRY. Blaster, “only one paid, and only half received.” But the boy adjusts his turban, and looks very gravely sit the pumpkin, as if there was something very peculiar about that vegetable which was alto- gether incomprehensible. Now the boy was very prob- ably not such a fool as he pretended to be, indeed it was more than probable he had received, or would receive, in some small way, commission from the bazar- man, for making pui-chases at his shop, at his own prices, which commission would probably be a small reduction or discount on the price charged master, paid into the palm of the boy, in ready cash, perhaps only a few coppers, but still it was a perc|uisite, however small, and boys were, and we suppose still are, fond of perquisites, on tlie principle that “ many a little makes a mickle.” But the pumpkin was purchased, the cash paid, and what was the use of making any further disturbance about it? So, as to-morrow was Sunday, master thinks he will have a better dinner than usual, and perhaps ask a neighbour to step in. To-morrow duly turns up, and a conversation takes place in the verandah about what was to be for dinner. The boy as usual says, “ Salt-fish curry, and pumpkin cut into pieces, boiled, and served up like potatoes.” “ No salt-fish curry!” says master, “ make pumpkin,” so after a good deal of talking, and mutual arrangement, it was all agreed and settled, that the swell Sunday dinner was to consist of pumpkin curry, and a piece of roasted salt fish. None of our readers need laugh, for, if pro- perly cooked, a very fine dinner it is, and we used to eat it thus: a spoon in the right hand for the rice and curry, and in the left w^as held the roasted or toasted salt-fish ; a spoonful of curry, rice and curry, and a bite off the toasted salt-fish, alternately, was the Sunday’s dinner, and a very fine dinner too. It can’t be got in the old country. Very fine rice can be got, but they can’t make really good curry, for ihe very simple and easily understood reason, that they have not got the fresh and green materials to make it with, for your curry powder in bottles does not, and cannot,, make up for this want. It is the dry material, and has by no means the fresh flavour which the green, curry stuff ]30ssesses, and another want in the bottled curry powder is coconut- We all know how wanting in flavour a curry is, when we have no coconuts, and, in ^ our own opinion, no substitute yet tried has been in the least successful in taking the place of the coco- nut. W^e never approved of the mode some boys had of making pumpkin curry, which was the pumpkin cut into small square pieces, and served u^d in the curry water. Our orders always were, and taste was, and still BOMBAY BUOK.^* iSj to have the pumpkin well mashed up, arid served in th@ dish, thick, perhaps of about the consistency of thin porridge, in fact what the Americans would call pumpkin squash,” and if you have to eat along the some well prepared “ sam?bal,” a piece of toasted fish, as already described, or a Bombay duck, you have a dinner you can’t get in the old country. ^ But talking about Bombay ducks puts us in mind of a funny thing which happened to Mr. Green, long ago. Mr. Green usually visited his periya durai’s, on a Sunday morning, and spent the day at his biin- galoWj where of course he enjoyed the good fare, which was the peculiar speciality of periya dnrais in the e times, and the periya dnrai knov/ing that Mr. Green was rather hard-iip For food during the week,, would be particularly attentive to him on his visits. “ Mr. Green,” says he one Sunday morning, ■^‘what would yon like for breakfast to-day? There is beef, mutton, tinned meats. I suppose you don’t -care about rice and curry.” Mo, no,” says Mr. Green, never mind.” “ And there is Bombay duck.” Mr. Green had never heard these two words before as applied to anything to eat ; his mouth began to water, visions of roasted duck floated before his mind’s eye. He said he would take the Bombay duck. “What, «ays his P. B. a hungry fellow like yon to break- fast on Bombay duck. Nonsense, you are not ill, are you ?” Mr. Green replied^., that, so Far from being ill, he was very well, and particularly hungry, and thought he conld .make a duck look foolish. The P. D. now began to “ twig,” and resolved to cxrry on the joke. So he asked if one Bombay cluck would be enough . Quite enough,” says Mr. Green, “ more than enough, and no need for anything else : no rice and curry.” Mr. Green’s breakfast, in exact accordanco with his wishes, was served up, the cover was removed, and dis- closed a very small fish, or rather piece of a fish ! about as long as one’s forefinger, o ly very thin. It 'was toasted crisp, and the whole was not a good mouthful, and certainly hardly two small ones, and this was Mr. Green’s breakfast, on his own choice nothing more. His P. D. had a good laugh, and gave him a piece of advice, Don’t rashly accept anything, which you don’t understand, and which may perhaps ‘•with intent convey a double meaning, so that you can’t lay hold or claim on the giver or seller.” After this, a good breakfast was made, on various good * We once ate part of a pumpkin which had been allowed to ripen to the colour of the tiles on which it rested, and the flavour of that pumpkin was what the Yankees would call ^‘some pumpkins.”— Ed. MALDIVE FISH. thtings, but Mr. Green, long afterwards, in after life frequently told the story, and said he would remember, that breakfast as long as he lived, for it had done him more good than all the breakfasts he had ever previously eaten, and he never forgot the lesson re- ceived from the Bombay duck. * Now, although we have eaten thousands of Bombay ducks, we have never yet known why this fish is Called so. What is the origin of the term ? Why should a dried fish be called a dock ? and why should it be called a Bombay one ? Is the fish caught, dried, or cured, specially or only at, or off Bombay, just in the same way as Maidive fish derive their name (we suppose) from being caught and cured off, or in the proximity of the Maidive islands, t These Maidive fish are another necessary ingredient for curry. On looking at or handling them, wdio would ever sup- pose they were fish, as they look like a small piece of hard wood, about four or five inches long, but a capital zest they give to the curry and the method of using them is to scrape them down on a rough tin grater, reduced to a rough powder, and then mixed up with the other curry-stuffs. The Maidive fish, scraped down, is also the chief ingredient in some sorts of ‘‘sambals,” and in case some may ask what is a sambal, it is just another sort of relish, eaten with rice, or, for that part, with rice and curry, in fact it is just a species of curry. There are dry sambals and wet ones : the former are made of dry scraping of all sorts of condiments, dry chillies, pep- per, scrapings of Maidive fish, and what not, placed on the t i].)le on a plate ; it is a dry powder, so you just t.die up as much of it as is wanted in a tea- spoon and dust it over your rice or rice and curry. The wet sambals are different varieties, but all con- tain something of the same ingredients; all hot to taste ; as much as you want of it is placed on the side of the plate containing the rice and curry, and as much of it taken at every spoonful or occasional spoonful of rice to suit the taste of the eater. In fact sambals, Bombay ducks, chutney, and all the little odds and ends eaten to curry, can be explained, that they are just “the sauce,’' just answer something * There is a stock story of a new arrival sending a cart to bring from the bazar a dozen of Bombay ducks. — Ed. t Any one who has visited Bombay will see the lit* tie fish after which dwellers in the western city are called duc^s ” being caught in the estuaries and dried in the sun. A considerable amounts of salt-fish is introduced into Ceylon from the Maldives. — Ed. PORKIDGE AND MILK, of the same end and purpose in giving your rice and curry a relish, as Worcester, Harvey, or any of the numerous other sauces give a relish and flavour to the old country dishes. We suspect if the old country dishes could be had in the planting districts, the sauces would be held in light esteem, farewell to sambals. Bombay ducksj &c., yet, we don’t know it might do at first, the first novelty exchange. But depend upon it curry and rice or rice and curry is the planters’ dish. It is suitable for the climate and custom, and the servants know how to make it. We have known some who abolished rice and curry altogether, but it would not be put down, it would crop up. Some hot day, the beef would arrive, tainted and unfit for food. The mutton would be or consist more of sinews and skin than flesh. Neither could be partaken of, and being dismissed from the table, there was no rice and curry. You were hungry and had nothing to eat ; you now come to the conclusion, that it had been a rash act, discarding that old stand-by, and some faint ideas of what bad and has been said of never cutting an old friend or an old pulper, because you have no immediate or apparent use for them, rise up in reproachful memory in your mind ; you put your hands in your pockets, stretch out your legs to their full length below the tab^e, and call out “Boy!” — to which he speedily responds in the usual way, and that is by your requiring to shout out in a very much louder tone, nut once, but two or three times, until he responds in the way you desire and require. “Boy. Now you understand, always after this make rice and curry, whatever there is for dinner, always have it in case it may be wanted. And, in case it is not used, why you can just eat it yourself.” This order seems to be full comprehended, for the reply is, “Yery good sir, always make, always have curry and “Come now,” say you, “Come now, recollect, always have rice and curry.” But in case some of our readers may still desire to dispute the point, some other somewhat similar ap- plications on articles of diet will now be given. Take “porridge and milk,” Porridge is the chief food, and milk merely an accompaniment to make it go down just exactly in the same point of view as curry is to the rice, therefore we say porridge and milk. Now we would just appeal to any of our old Scotch planters, if, in their early days in the old country, they ever heard this staple article of diet called “milk and porridge.” Would not ‘ ‘ J enny, ” with her bare red arms and short gown, look somewhat stupid and con- fused if you gave the order to make milk and porridge to breakfast? She would stare at you, and likely say, CURDS AND CREAM. ^‘What’s your wish sir ?” You would repeat the order, she would slowly rerire, and after a time probably bring in the porridge boiled in milk instead of water. But eay “porridge and milk” and there is neper any doubt about that. “Bread and butter”: you must acknow- ledge butter is to the bread just ]3recisely in a similar point of view what curry is to the rice, and yet whoever hears of any one with any pretension to any education at all talking of “ butter and bread” : in fact this latter expression is only in use enough the most illiterate and vulgar of our population, if it is n iw in use at all. “ Sira wherries and cream”; another ex- pression explained in the same waj^ as “porridge and milk.” None ever heard one talk of cream and straw- berries.” ‘‘ Curds and cream,” just on the same reason- ing. You would not say “ cream and curds.” And so on: we might write to any extent in proof of the ar- o-ument, that is to say if any one novp will argue the x^oint. Let him argue away, he merely argues for the sake of argument and downright obstinacy. Go your way, curry and rice, and I will joursue mine, rice and curry. We will never forget you, and thus will add you as a fourth to the three things which we have already declared a man never forgets. He may — he might (for it is wonderful how hardened and unfeeling some do become) forget his first sweet- heart, his first pound note, and his first servant, but without food, all these, however you may jprize them when you have food, are only secondary considerations when you are starving ; and thus it happens that he never can and never will forget his first rice and curry cooked by “Beriya Karuppen.” The shadow's and shades of many a long bygone year are lengthening in the distance ; our rising and struggling sun, obscured in thick darkness and mist, was°then sustained and suiD^Dorted by rice and curry, and, thus supported, many a storm has been come through, many a rough gale weathered. It was then served uj) in a blue willow pattern rice dish, and the boiled rice was seen projecting through. The dish containing the curry was cracked and its cover com- pletely broken, gone, so that, for a cover, an inverted soup plate had to be supplied. These two dishes were placed on a very dirty Batticaloa tablecloth — so dirty, so very dirty, that we had frequently to order it away and eat out rice and curry off the bare boards. As our sun struggled up from and out of darkness, mist and obscurity, all this passed away, and in the hey- day of middle life, the noon, when the sun was at its meridian, we still ate rice and curry served up in beautiful white dishes with gold edging, placed onjthe whitest and cleanest of tablecloths. It was the best INDIAN NABOBS. and best cooked that could possibly be, but somehow or other — how could it be ? — we neither relished or enjoyed it so much as that abominable stuff cooked by ‘‘ Periya Karuppen ” in the morning of life. It is. now getting well on in the afiernoon, the sun de- scends and the shadows lengthen, faster and faster our sun descends, longer and longer lengthen the shadows, it dra’ws towards evening, and how fast it comes on. My friends who are yet in your forenoon, you think the time long ; weary and toilsome is the way ; will it never be noon? ‘‘Shall we never be a P. 1).?” If your time is long, work, work with all your might, for the afternoon will come, and if you have not worked in the forenoon, you will be less able to do so in the aft( moon. Besides, how often have you heard the old saying, heard ! why experienced it over and over again — “ that an hour’s work in the morning or forenoon is worth any time in tlie afternoon.” But what is the use of working in the afternoon : in the late after- noon ? Use your forenoon well with wdsdom and dis- cretion, always keeping in view that the after- noon is coming, and that during the forenoon you must lay up some store for the evening of your days. No rest in the afternoon : what more natural? Why should you waste or squander in your fore- noon on folly or worse than folly what you most assuredly will want or feel the want of in your after- noon when obliged to work, pei-haps, work hard? In the afternoon, you may have many a self-reproach, “If I had only been careful in the forenoon, this would not have been, but it is too late now.” Yes, it is too late ; and bear this well in the mind, stamp it on your hearts, “Nothing is too late in the forenoon of life, but most things are in the afternoon, if deferred till then. ” It is well on in the afternoon of our life, and w’e still eat and enjoy rice and curry : in fact, often eat it when we could not relish anything else. So here is a case of the force of old habits and customs, upon which subject some remarks have been made, in a previous chapter. Now, is it not strange, this sudden lapse into somewhat melancholy sentiments ? What have the opening words of the chapter got to do with all this ? Let us endeavour to trace the matter to its source. In times long gone past, many of us have seen, or at all events heard of, the now extinc*". spe- cies of “ Indian nabobs.” We quite recollect them, people very irritable self-willed, and difficult to deal with ; they were always right, never wrong, and would have everything their owm way, and if than was crossed in anything, however trifling, the result would be no trifle, no trifling ! These nabobs had one special char-. YELLOW NABOBS. etaeristic, and that was, they were very yellow in the ksin, their faces had exactly the colour of saffron. Now, this shade of colour is not considered a mark of beauty in the old country, although some of the very charming Tamil ladies endeavour to add to their charms, Just as if that was possible ! for we nevei- can pass by a lady — absent or present, black or white, or or even saffron colour — without paying a compliment, whether it is deserved or not. Well, it has sometimes been the subject of many a discussion, as to how these nabobs acquired this yellow appearance, for one could never for a moment suppose they cared one straw about what the colour of their faces was, so long as the lining of their pockets was all right. Could it be that the ‘‘ yellow boys” in their pockets so permeated with delight the whole sys- tem, as to communicate a portion of their yellowness to the skin : so much so, that you could tell by the colour of the man’s face that his pockets were filled with guineas — we talked of guineas then, not sovereigns. No, it was not this : this had nothing at all to do with the question. The simple fact was that these nabobs, like the Ceylon planter of the olden times, lived a good deal upon rice and curry ; the curry, as we all know, contained a good deal of saffron, or at all events was of that colour, and had so diffused itself through his whole system as to render the appearance of the skin somewhat of the same colour. Now, if this popular opinion of nabobs was true, we may apply a similar rule or idea to the coffee planter. Personally, having lived so long on curry and rice, it may be some particles of the former still lurk about the corners of the stomach, affect the heart, or even the brain, or, at all events, that these three very important organs of the human frame, being somewhat stained and tinged with curry, like the nabob’s skin, the stomach affects the heart, the heart the brain which having no other vent, vents it all out in chapter the thirty-first, until the reader may exclaim: “Hold, enough, no more curry and rice — give us a Bombay duck ! ” But we are not done yet, and will now proceed to give some informa- tion as to what we made curry of when very hard pressed in these times. Curry has this special re- commendation, that you can make it of anything, always with the very necessary reservation — provided you have got it. That was the question then, not the quality or making of it : small store we set upon that ; if we only had the material, we would manage the cooking such as it was, although, no doubt, it would not be called cooking now. Over all new clearings, after the rain set in, a spe- ‘^PADDOCKS’ STOOLS.’^ cies of fungus used to spring up, somewhat similar to a mushroom, but they were not mushrooms, they were more of the character of what is called in Scot- land, and what our Scotch friends will quite under- stand, paddocks^ stools. These the boy used to gather, bring them into the cooking-house, and, after select- ing and washing, make curry of them. If they were soft, fresh and new, the curry was not at all unpalat- able, and made the boiled rice go down very well. Up to the present day, coolies snll search after this commodity, and we have never heard of it doing them any injury. This was bad enough, but what do you think we sometimes ate when there were no paddocks^ stools ? Look about the clearing, after a spell of wet weather, and you will see attached to the line of trees in stages of decay, somewhat like a limpet on a rock, a species of mushroom-like growth, onlj' without a stalk, adhering firmlj to the logs ; this was picked ofl, brought to the kitchen, steeped in hot water to soften it, cot into small strips, and boiled into curry. All the boiling however would not make it soft enough to masticate, so that these strips of cooked fungus, or rather timber excrescences, were just bolted and swallowed, along with the rice. We suppose this sort of thing is unknown now however, but jou may recollect- them. In the swamps, a luxuriant plant used to grow, with a long succulent stalk about the thickness of the linger. These stalks were collected, brought to the bungalow, peeled, cleaned and made into curry. A sort of wild yam used to grow about the uncleared corners and edges of the jungle in stalk and leaf; it was just the same as the cultivated yam, but it had no root. The leaves of this plant were collected, Doiled into the consistency of spinach, and made into curry. We always rather avoided this curry, as it had a very bitter taste, unpleasantly bitter. Perhaps we were wrong, and, had we eaten heartily of it, it might have proved an excellent tonic! But the great stand-by was what the coolies still use to this day and what no doubt you have frequent rows with them for not pulling up in the weeding, kiraiy Kira s were of various sorts, but the chief was a fast-growing plant with plenty of stalks and leaves, and which, when come to maturity, produced a small berry when ripe quite black and about the size of a black currant. The cooly would, after work, proceed through the clearing, hunting after this kirai and would carefully pick ail the leaves @fF it, leaving stalks untouched, in order to produce a fresh crop at some future time. Now we were some- times reduced to such extremities, in order to procure omething for curry, as to be guilty of assault and KIRAI.” robbery, and it happened in this way. Walking up and clown the verandah, in a very disconsolate state, having just been told by the boy that there was nothing for curry, and having just made up our mind to dine upon boiled rice, thankful even to have that, and if the carts had not turned up that very forenoon, we would have had no dinner at all, a cooly crosses the end. of the verandah ; his cloth round his waist is well bulged out, and evidently con- tains something. We give a searching glance, and see a quantity of small green leaves sticking out. Here is a chance, no time to be lost ; we rush out of the verandah, collar the cooly, give him a good shake, as an idle scoundred, who had not been at work that day. What right has he to go idling about the clearing gathering hlrai and the estate so short-handed? We will teach him a lesson. Out with that Idrai^ quick, instanter, swulca ; we won’t even wink at gathering kiral, unless you have b eu at work,’' and the cooly confesses he had not. We pro- ceed forcibly — no, the cooly was quite ji^ssive — to possess ourselves of a portion of tiie hirai^ and then tell him we won’t be too hard on him. We have re- pented, we can go, which he does, and in a short time gathers up more. We now call the b >y, and point to the proceeds the robbery, which he takes into the cook-house, and prepares for curry. The leaves of this vegetable are not at all bad, but, being soft, it requires a gi-eat deal of it to make a curry in any quantity. It may be asked why frighten the cooly out of a handful of kirai ; surely, had he been asked, or had he only known the master wanted it, he would have very cheerfully given up the whole, and gone off, and soon picked another suj)ply for himself. Most certainly he would, only too glad to oblige the master, but, do you recollect what was written some time ago, about ‘‘ What will folk say ?” In this instance we acknowledge having bowed be- fore this scarecrow. For what would they say in the lines, if told, as they were sure to be, for every- thing is told and talked of in the lines, that master had no curry, nothing to eat, and had asked him for his dinner ! Fancy that I Fancy a cooly giving up his dinner for and at the request of his master ! We could not stand that humiliation, anything was better than that. We thought then, and think still, that assault and robbery, under all circumstances of the case, were excusable, and that if the cooly had summoned us to court tte case would have been dis- missed, as having been committed in self -defence, un- der danger of starvation \ Another species of the curry tribe is muligatawny MULLIGATAWNY. foup ; this we suspect from its namej is a dish pecu- liar to, or originating in the Madras presidency, as all, who know anything of tbe Tamil language will at once admit, the name is composed of two words in that language, milugu (pepper) and iannir (water) Ser- water, pepper^water soup. The soup is a ^ deal in use in the old country, but those who make and use it have not the least idea of the mean- ing if its name. Like rice and curry, and for much the same reason, this soup is only to be got in per- fection in its native country or in eastern climes, and in carrying out our idea that it is specially a dish of the Madras presidency, we have always found Tamil servants from thence, cooked it best, cooked it as it ought to be done. We quite recollect this dish was wont to be used as a sort of substitute for curry, and, as such, was eaten in very large quantity. When the rice and muligatawny soup were placed on the table, the boy, on lifting off the covers, would give timely warning, “ No curry got.” Having received this in- formation. and having very grave doubts that any- thing else “got” was a very unnecessary or super- fluous question, we w^ould All up the plate about half full of rice and then a few ladles of the soup over it and eat away, and, when the first plateful was done, have another, and perhaps a third, but we don’t think a fourth was ever attempted, perhaps from the very simple reason, not that a fourth one could not have been taken, but that the soup and rice were all done, This soup was never in such gr^neral use as curry, be- cause unlike curry it cannot be made out. of anj^thing or everything : it requires, or rather is all the bett^ r of having some strength and flavour of meat of some sort in it. Our own'ddea is, that, to have this dish in perfection, it should be made of chicken, chicken muligatawny and rice properly cooked by a Madrassee will make one forget curry andHce. 8o long as we can get that soup we will manage without the curr^r — only fora change, however, for we could not live aiwa,ys on it as was done with the curry the fact being, that, make the soup of what you like, the supply of com- modities fit for making soup, as it ought to be made is but limited, as compared with the resources you have to fall back upon in making varieties of curry. So that, although 3 on have rice and curry every day, still every day you have a change of curry, and although it is the same dish, still it is of different material, differently cooked, still rice and curry, but a dififerent curry. Having been dining at a ceremonious party, not long ago, we observed among, the number of dishes always handed round our old acquaintances, X ' PLANTAIN-LEAF DISHES. rice and curry. We kept a sharp eye on them, watched them ; those who partook of it helped themselves very daintily to about half a table-spoonful of rice, and on this, they would just place a small speck of curry taken out of the curry dish on the tip of the spoon -—for you must know, our old dish is introduced here at grand dinners, merely as a sort of supernumery, a something to play with, betw^een courses. The sight of the dish did, as it always does, bring memories of the “light of other days,” of the huge platefuls hungry planters used to stow away : and then cry out : Boy, more rice.” AVe smiled ! we know it was 'uide a breach of all good manners, but it could not be helped ; the smile v/ould out. Our opposite guests looked very hard, and v^ e felt bound to apologize and explain what we overc smiling at, in case it might be supposed it wa'^ any of tlm company, and we would again be stigmatized as only a coffee planter, a man who has lived all his days amongst black people you know, and therefore knows nothing, how can he ? We explained, it amused us when we thouglit of how curry and rice was eaten in Ceylon. Of course, they were all down upon us for an explanation, they wanted to have a laugl], lo smile also. So they were told all about it : how coolies heaped up boiled rice on the leaf of the pi ntcxiii tree, and ate as much, and indeed more as would hli that soup -tureen : in fact, that a whole tureen full of boiled rice would be rather a poor din- ner for a cooly : he would eat more if he could get it ; that they always calculated the slate of their health by the >anount of boiled rice they wei-e able to gorge themselves v, i:h, that, when he says he has not eaten any rice, or e iten but poorly, he means and quite un- derstands tluit his master understands he is ill. But if you see him swollen up like a drum, swollen to such an extent that, if rather raw, you may begin to b ' alarmed as to his health, question him as to his health, a bright beam of satisfaction will lighten up his soapy visage, he will say he is well, never was better —all owing to that very fine rice, very good boiled rice. Even the little children of six years old, less or more are also allowed to stuff themselves in this same way, so that a child after a good feed of boiled rice just looks exactly like a small barrel or cask with ahead on (he top and two feet sticking out at the bottom ! “ What frightful savages ! ” was the general exclamation. ‘ ‘ But surely you planters do not act in this way ? What do they live on?” We reply that whatever they do live on now they live very well and com- fortably, but that it was not always so : that in the olden times, as also in the middle ages, they FOOD AND CLIMATE. also lived upon rice. ‘‘And how much did they eat?” “Oh! they did not consume so much as the coolies, perhaps only two soup -platefuls of curry and Soiled rice, one after the other, with three or four tablespoonfuls of curry to each plate. And if they were particular!}? hungry after a bard day’s work, they might help themselves to a third plate, pro- vided there was any left.” There was now a general expression of astonishment, and some exclaimed, “ What a barbarous set of people they must have been, and do you mean to say you have done this also?” “To be sure, frequently, sometimes three plates of rice and curry.” There was now a general turning in the chairs and a good deal of c. ligliing, and nobody spoke a word : it was quite eA’ideut they did not believe it. At last one managed to clear his throat and say, “No wonder you planters come home and spend all your hard-earned gains in doctor’s fees and prescriptions, and at chemists’ shops ! Don’t talk about climate, hard wmrk, and hot sun. What made you eat so much rice ? ” It was in vain to pro- test and explain that any amount of rice a man could eat would never hurt him. “Don’t tell us that,” was the answ'er. “Don’t w^e use rice for pud- ding, and how can or could any one keep their health if they lived upon pudding; ate two soup-platefuls of pudding to breakfast and three to dinner : It is our opinion it is all owdng to you Indian people and that curry and rice that there are now so many doctors, and they are all making their fortunes.” Just so, stay-at-home people, who have never travelled, get contracted in their ideas, they cannot undei'stand anything that does not come under their own ex- perience. They did not think or forgot altogether that, just at the very times of wdiich w^e write, the bulk of the country people here lived upon oatmeal porridge and ate it just in about the same proportions and to the same extent as the country people in Oeyioii did rice and curry. Both respectively were suitable for the people and climate. And no more could the planters (some have tried it) live upon poriidge than the people in the old country could upon rice. Times have changed and still are changing. Peof le at home, even the working classes, seldom eat oatmeal in any shape, and porridge is now like curry and rice, a dish of the past ; it has not even the same advantage in still being retained as a stand-by; it is di mi.-sed, as also all other oatmeal commodities, bannocks and cake-, as vulgar, not fit even for servants. Servants ! they are more particular than any ; they will m ike an express- DIET AND LUXURY. agreement when engaged that there is to be no oatmeal of any sort supplied, as part or portion of their food ; they go in for hot rolls, loaf bread and tea. Coffee is in no favour, tea is the cry. This is bad enough for house servants, but what shall we say of the working man at eight to ten hours’ work a day, having his tea and loaf of bread for morning breakfast, and tea, toast and butter for evening meal, and very likely a dinner and supper of butcher’s meat, and it is the same with working people everywhere, more pay, and better food, We do not suppose it is so with the cooly, al- though he is at all times ready for a catch at more pay ; you won’t catch him nodding on this point ! We suspect he lives, as far as regards food, very much the same now as be did before ; successive generations have made little change in this. It is rice and curry now, as it was a thousand years ago. We cannot say anything of any certainty about the thousand, having had no personal experience so far back as that ! But, be it oatmeal porridge, or be it rice and curry, we say,, and say decidedly, that it is not a good sign for any country, or of the customs of its inhabitants, when they they utterly discard the food and dishes upon which their predecessors for many generations lived, preserved their health, strength, and generally flourished. It is a sign of the creeping in of luxury, for you will always find the old-fashioned now forsaken dishes were simple, plain, homely fare, but very whole- some and nourishing. We do not at all mean to say, that Ceylon coffee planters should live upon rice and curry, or that Scotch- men at home should live upon porridge and oatmeal cakes and bannocks. But we assert, that both of these articles should enter into the usual diet of the re- spective countries, and not be utterly put aside, as they now, indeed, most frequently are. It was a grave error in the old planter’s life, but it was an unavoidable one, proceeding from necessity, liis living entirely upon rice and curry, and it may be, we do not say it is, only may be, an error in some planters of the present day, that they never eat rice and curry at all. We have often been told by medical gentlemen in the old country, who surely ought to know, that is not good for one, especially in a warm climate like Ceylon, to live so much on butcher’s meat, as some, and the writer himself, used to do. There used to be a great deal too much meat eaten, always at breakfast and dinner, and frequently at tifl&n, whereas, in our old home climate, the rule is, only once a day at dinner. No doubt the habits THE DINNEK-HOUE. of the planter are different from those in general nse at home, for the bulk of his work, sometimes the half of it, and the best half too, is done before breakfast, we may almost say his morning coffee and toast is his breakfast, and his nominal breakfast at 10 or 11 o’clock his dinner; for noon, with ail work- men, in all countries, is the natural and usual time to dine, call it by any name you like. If this view be carried out, the planter’s dinner at seven just corresponds with- the old-fashioned supper of the old country, which is now giving place to the meal called a real Scotch tea which will make the mouths of some of our old friends water : tea, oatmeal cakes and bannocks, and fresh or salt butter, as you will, flour scones, white as snow, with a patch of brown over the surface here and there just sufficient to show they are properly fired, side dishes of marmalade, jams, jellies, take your choice, or pitch into the whole lot, which is better, down with one, another come on, and as if this was not enough there stand fine thick cakes of shortbread, all stuck over with “sweeties.” Have you forgotten what sweeties are ? Think a little, and try and remember, when you were a boy, what was contained in that small parcel, wrapped up in red paper, which, when your old uncle or aunt came to visit “Pa and Ma,” they slipped into your hand, trembling with delight, No, you have not for- gotten the “poke of sweeties.” But, call it by any name you will, dinner or sup- per, as a rule after this meal (unless in crop time) the planter’s day’s work is done, and he is not long of going to bed. We always personally dined at seven, that was the dinner hour, and generally in bed and asleep at or before nine o’clock ; it was not a very good system, but nothing else could be done ; others have tried an earlier dinner hour, but there were constant interruptions, as long as it was light. Coolies, kanganies, cartmen, and every sort of pest, would hang about the verandah with some complaint to make, some great grievance requiring immediate redi‘ess or adjustment, so great, that you would frequently have to get up and adjust it, but what you thought could easily be settled in a couple of seconds was found alto- .gether a mistake. When you commence to talk to a black man — especially if he happens to be a Malabar cooly, or a Sinhalese cartman — it is like the letting but of water, you don’t know where, or how, or when, it will end; seconds lapse into minutes, and an hour is composed of minutes, and probably, after^half an hour’s talking, you would get out of some difficulty by tellings your un- timely visitor you must resume your dinner, ahd come CANDLES AND LAMPS. back to-morrow, and you now find dinner cold and spoilt. This is bad enough, but jou have not had the satisfaction of settling anything definite with your visitor, for have you not told him to “come back to- morrow,’’ and no doub^ he will come, and just a dinner is served. But they are to be excused ; we know very well complaints must be attended to, and the work- peope have no other time to come : they are at work during the day ; and the evening, after dark, is not suitable ; it therefore only remains with them to come at our early dinner hour, and torment the man who dines early. But supposing you ever have peace to eat your dinner, if they arrive in the verandah while you are at it, they will be polite enough to retire for the lime. Unless under very great pressure, a cooly will never disturb “master” when he is eating, for he considers this a very great and important event of the day, not a, but the, event ; he judges from his uwn personal feelings and exj ciiences when master says at the working place ‘ ‘ d here is Muttuswami a finger is pointed to a big stone at the edge of the stream, which is a sufficient answer to its question, for there is Muttuswami, rolling up boiled rice into balls, and cramming it into his mouth. A fine heap of rice it is, all spread out on the green leaf off one of your young plantain trees, which you have given positive orders to the boy to watch, and allow none to cut off a single leaf . You eye Muttu swami sternlyq but what cares be ? You know perfectly well he knows you won’t interfere with or annoy him in any way, so long as lie is eating rice. And thus it was i'l his own case, they Avould, seeing master at dinner, retire, only for a time, but they would not. go far. After }onr dinner was done, at the sight of tho. boy taking away the dishes, or of your going out into the verandah to smoke, they would be at you. It was perfectly intolerable, just as dinner was finished, when one feels inclined for and requires a little rest and peace, to be bothered in this way. You give it up, and resort to the old hour, seven o’clock, with lighted candles. Coolies never trouble or visit you after candles are lighted, unless it is something of more than usual importance, and thus it was, that after a tedious tiresome hour, or more , at the pay table — pay- ing was just done in time, for it was quite dusk, but still a number of fellows were hanging about the Veran- dah ; they did not say anything, but there they stood, all looking at ymu, as if they, instead of having been paid their Avages, had suffered some cruel wrong from your hands, and were gazing on you with eyes filled with speaking reproach. You call out in a loud voice, ‘‘DINNEE EEADY, SAE.” ^‘Boy, bring candles, and dinner,” and, as tlie candles appear, the coolies whose pay was all shortj and who had not been a single day absent, disappear, and you are alone and at peace. But candles ! whatever made us make such a mistake as this, for whoever beard of or saw candles, thirty years ago ! It was a lamp, and a very original one too — a tumbler half filled with water, oil on the top, and a floating wick, but, as the progress of civilization and luxury advanced, the tumbler began to give way. When purchasing some stores at Venn, Preston & Co.’s, in Kandy, we were induced to invest in a pair of lamp burners, and stands, grand stands they were, for these times, in fact, we were often in fear of our periya burai coming in, after they were lit, and that he would accuse us of extravagance, and living in such a style as was not warranted on a salary of £4 3s. 4d. per month. The stands were made of wood, slightly turned at the bottom, and painted a bright red, and well do we recollect even yet, how grand we thought our homely table looked, after having discarded the tumbler lamp, and brought in the lamp burner, on the red stand ; but our pride was soon to have a fail, and as is generally the case, resulting from a fall, either of oneself, or something, or somebody else. The wooden lamp stands, as all old planters know, and for that part of it young ones too, that is to say if they are still in use, are very light, and the burner on the top, filled with water, and oil floating on its top, make them what can be termed “top-heavy,” so that any unusually strong knock against the table, coming into contact with a dish, on laying or removing dinner, is very apt to upset it. Kow how often do we see it happen, when people go in for luxuries, which are beyond their means and station, it often results in anything but a happy result. At that time, we had no right to go in for the luxury of wooden lamp stands, painted red; the act recoiled on the actor and was its own punishment. Punctually at seven o’clock “ Dinner ready, sar,” was the announcement ; and there were the two curry dishes, standing on the dirty tablecloth, with, as usual, one at the top, or covers broken, which loss, as before stated, was always supplied by an inverted soup plate, if you had a soup plate, which just as frequently as not, indeed more frequently, jou^jhad not ; then, in this case, a plate on the cover of your broken soup tureen, which, in a moment of extravagant folly, Venn & Co. had persuaded you to buy, answered the purpose. The boy very smart would bustle round the table, and in a wink, as they say, off would go the covers off the curry dishes, in performing which action the boy would knock against the corner of ‘‘the table, the red NO MORE CUREYl lamps would sway, totter, and smash, but as a matter of course right into the currj dish, and all was dark. A light having been thrown over ‘ subject, it was found the burners were not broken, but that the curry was destroyed with being all mixed up with coconut oil. Never mind, it might have been worse, it might have been the rice. We can dine upon rice, without curry, but not upon curry without rice. We say ‘^Boy; more curry,” but he says there is none. Having some doubts on this subject, a sudden inroad is made into the kitchen, and we see in a corner a black earthen chatty like a large saucepan covered by another inverted chatty or dish. The upper one is removed and reveals to the admiring gaze a very large quantity of very fine curry, much finer than that which was destroyed by the lamp burner. The boy does not seem put out in any way ; he merely says he did not know there was any, it must have been the kitchen cooly’s dinner. We reply, if that is the case, he must punish the kitchen cooly, as he has often been told not to cook in the kitchen. W^here is that dog ? “ Come along old Growler. Here’s some dinner for you,” and the curry, the boy’s dinner, is poured over the remainder of the rice and speedily eaten by the dog, and we solemnly tell that boy that, if he had told the truth, we would have eaten as little curry as possible, and the dog should have got none. So he has just lost his own dinner by telling a lie. But the lesson is quite lost, lying just comes as natural to boys as truth to the master. In a tropical climate, one requires at times a stimu- lant. It is now generally pronounced by medical men, to be an old-fashioned error, that wine, beer, and spirits, are necessary to preserve the health of Europeans in the tropics. As a rule quite the contrary opinion is now held, and, so far from being necessary, they are not only unnecessary but in many cases positively hurtful, especially the habit of taking a glass of sherry before dinner, to give one an appetite. Now curry possesses the qualities of a harmless stimulaut, it stimu- lates the stomach, and does not, as liquors do, injuri- ously affect the nervous system and the brain. If you come in done up with a hard day’s work, and feel indifferent about dinner, don’t think you can eat. any- thing, just try a good hot dish of curry and rice, and you will manage to stow away a good lot of it, even without the aid of sherry and bitters, in fact after the first few spoonfuls tliat glass of sherry will be quite tasteless, and almost scald your mouth. Having enlarged to such an extent upon curry, we have no room left for even a few brief remarks upon rice which were intended to have been made, having far exceeded the usual limits of the space PATCHED UP. most kindly reserved by our excellent friend ^ ‘ The Editor.’* Reader or readers, are you at dinner, and talking over the merits or demerits of curry andrice,” and whether it should be called so, or “rice and curry ?”^ Pass the sherry, fill up a toast, drink it in solemn silence to the memory of our brethren who are gone. There are few left of thirty years ago now you: can count them on your fingers. Fill up another with three cheers for those that are left, and if you like, only if you like, before rising, you can just say “Here’s luck . to P. D. Millie.” CHAPTER XXXII. Patched Up. In these times, nobody required any patching up t all were young, strong healthy fellows, who, in fact, presumed too much upon their health and strength ; that is to say, if we ever gave the subject a thought at all, which is very doubtful, we overtaxed and overstretched our health and strength in many ways, when it was by no means necessary to do so, either on our own account, or for our employers. But it must be admitted, few overtaxed their mental or bodily powers, especially the latter, unless it might be, as very frequently was, remaining rather longer in Kandy than was either necessary or expedient. After having transacted the estate business it might fee judged more than expedient, absolutely necessary, to make a push homeward and overtax our strength in riding out to the estate, thirty or forty miles, off, during the night, especially if it was moonlight, and many *of those roads travelled during the clear light of a tropical full moon presented to the eye ever-changing views of scenery if not the most amongst the most, magnificent in the world. But the worst of those long moonlight rides was, that' the next day we were unfit for work : arriving on the estate about or after midnight, after a long ride, it could not be expected we were to turn out at half- past five next morning, and muster the coolies; the want of sleep during the night was made up for next day. It may be asked what was the use of this? To what purpose or advantage did it tend ? In the first place it was much more pleasant and very much cooler travelling by moonlight than during the heat of the sun, and; he driving dust and sand in daylight ; and again, instead of sleeping or trying, to sleep in a THE TOM-TOM. small hot bedroom at Gampola, where, even if you did manage to dose off, you would speedily be aroused by the barking and yelling of paraya dogs, which lasted the whole night. And as if this was not enough, there was always sure to be some reli- gious ceremony going on at the Buddhist temples or the swami house. The chief points in the devo- tion of the devotees apparently seemed to consist in the residents at the temple, or priests in charge, making as much noise during the whole of the night as they possibly could. The raptap of the tom-tom drum never ceased, although it sometimes ceased being heard, being utt'^rly drowned in a louder one, and this louder one was the blowing of horns. And just as all the noises seemed combined and you would say, “They cannot be worse,” the louder noise in its turn was also put down by one or rather a great many louder still ! — and this king of noises was jackals howling and shrieking close to the verandah of the resthoLise. We exclaim, “Oh! if we had only set off after dinner, during the fine moonlight, we shoi^ld have been home by this time, in a fine cool climate, and an hour’s doze on the couch would have been more refreshing than tossing about here, sleepless, eaten up with mosquitoes and other insects, and nearly driven mad by the beating of drums and blowing of horns.” And Gampola in these times cer- tainly was about the noisiest place on earth one ever tried to sleep in, not only from these causes but as it was on the great highway to Kandj from all the coffee districts ; visitors would be constantly arriving all hours of the night, calling out for something to eat a -id drink both for themselves and horses, which of course disturbed those who required and desired a good night’s rest. The lamp in the centre room was kept lighted all night, and the boys slept on the floor, ready to start up and open the door to any arrival, but the boys were heavy sleepers, and before they were started up all the sleepers in the bedrooms would be awaked out of sleep. Yet again, although the next forenoon we did fall asleep on- the couch, and did not turn out to work, what matter, the conscience was easy — it had received a sop or sleeping draught, we were on the estate : time had not been exceeded, we had returned within the usual allowance of time! We were on the estate if we were wanted, but as well, far better, have stayed away, for there was nobody wanting us, only a chetti sitting on his hind legs at the bot'^om of the corner verandah post, with a whole lot of small papers tied up in his front cloth, which he wished to PLENTY TIEED. exchange for £ s d, and in case, as very, often was the case, some others might have more extensive claims, requiring greater urgency in settling, and which, after being settled, would leave no cash surplus to credit of master, the chetti had taken time by the fore-lock, and had been patiently sitting at the bottom of that post for three or four hours await- ing the arrival of master, and all the reward he receives for this long-suffering and enduring patience is a gruff order, to “get out of that — and — and come back to-morrow.” As for the kanganies and coolies, they never did want us during working hours : quite the reverse. The head kangani would see e\ery- thing was all right; according to his own story every- thing, was right ^ nothing could go wrong so long as master trusted hint; but if he was not trusted he could not be responsible for what might happen. “Master plenty tired; no need to come out. I will take and bring all the names in the afternoon.” Who could resist this very sensible reasoning ? The master is “plenty tired” and he began to wonder what possessed him to ride out during the night until he remembered the paryia dogs, tom-toms, and temple ceremonies at Gampola. From this cause, or rather to avoid it, he had done a hard day’s work, the night previous, and so, must just turn day into night — and go to sleep. Of course there were no old residents then, in the same sense in which they are so called now : ail were fresh British blood, and didii ’t the mosquitoes increase, multiply, get fat and flourish ng ? Any one who hed been half-a-dozen years in the country was looked upon as quite an old hand, one who had come through some queer experience, and whose advice was worth taking. They had no idea, of ever requiring to be patched up ; there was no- thing the matter with them, it was a tine healthy climate, and of course they would shortly pick up a piece of land, and after this was done, as a matter of course also, they would go honae in three years ^ for did not coffee just take this time to give a very handsome pecuniary return, and what was the use remaining in Ceylon, just to watch the coffee trees, •after they came into crop ? And thus they went on. The old story, counting chickens before they were hatched. Worse than this, counting them before the eggs were laid, without ever taking into considera- tion the possibility that none might ever be layed ! There is an old Scotch saying “A stitch in time saves nine.” If people had only been cautious and careful, and put on a patch in time, how many lives would have been ^aved, and how many more of NO ASSISTANTS. our old planters would no doubt have been alive and hearty at this day. Of course they had not the means, and more certainly not the opportunities afforded now for ‘patching up.’ Even a trip to Colombo was considered as something a good deal out of the way, and requiring a great deal of serious consideration and preparation, and likely to affect one's pocket in such a way, that it would take a good many months’ pay to tide over the cost. As for a sea voyage that was out of the question altogether. There was no overland route, or, if there was, where could one lay hands on a hundred pounds for passage money ? A hundred pounds! What super- intendent ever saved a hundred pounds, or even a hundred pence, in these times ? He might consider himself a very lucky fellow indeed, and quite an exception to the general rule, if he was not a hun- dred pounds or a hundred pence in debt, that is to say if he could get any one to give him credit, but there would not be much difficulty about getting credit, provided, and provided only, it was at a Kandy general store. They read the order, sent it out, prob- bably by coolies waiting for the loads, and never so much as asked who Mr. So-and-so was, or where was the estate, or even if he was on an estate at all. Well was it for us, we were then all young, fresh, and strong; the climate on the mountain sides was healthy, or, at all events, had not had time to induce any bad effects, for nothing could be more miserable, deplorably’ miserable, than illness on a coffee estate, or even anywhere, at that period of time. But, at that time, those who were owners, or in a superior charge of estates, never seemed to take into account the contingency of illness or depression of health of the resident superintendent, not even any temporary indisposition, because no provision was made, in event of this, to relieve him of his duties, or even assist him. It was quite a common state of affairs to find only one superintendent on three or four hundred acres of coffee or even more, with only a native con- ductor, or perhaps ev^en only a head kangani, to assist him in the work. Not only this state of matters prevailed, but supposing even there were, which was often the case, some other assistants on a large estate, if they left to undertake some other charge, and so improve their position in moving on, the head superintendent would represent he did not require any further European assistance, he preferred native, and it was cheaper also for his employers. No doubt it would be very much additional trouble and work to himself, but what of that, he liked POOE QUALITY OP WORK. hard work, and he would clearly demonstrate, that a money saving of a hundred and fifty pounds per annum would be saved to his employers, and for his great additional work which would be entailed, would they give him fifty, as a rise of pay — and this would leave a saving of one hundred to themselves? In many cases, this was done, too good an opportuni? ty to let slip, raise their much esteemed manager’s pay fifty pounds, after doing so, be a hundred pounds in pocket themselves, as compared with the former money cost of superintendence! I^ow, in our present enlightened' age of improvement, how we do look back with astonishment at such a course of proceeding. Did it never enter into the calculation of those who acted in this way, the money they lost, or would lose, by the coolies not being properly supervised, or indeed supervised at all, in the work. When we look back on the very small amount of work gone through by the coolies, and the inferior quality of the same also, as compared with the present times, the only conclu- sion to be arrived at is — what ? The coolies had better wages, they were a much stronger set of people as a rule, very few women or children amongst them, rice was plentiful and cheap, many estates were overstocked with coolies, had to refuse them, or enter into arrangements that they were only to work half time, or for their rice, for a period, previous to crop : everything was in favour of the planter in the labour supply. To what conclusion then can we come ? It must be one of these two, or probably part of both ; neither master nor coolies un- derstood the quantity and quality of the work that should have been performed, where there was not a sufiicient staff of superintendents allowtd to overlook, either the quantity or quality of the works which were said to be performed, by the head kangani, who on his part was allowed a premium by the junior kanganies for allowing work to pass off as having been performed while it was not. We can’t blame the superintendents of these times, although the blame is too often put upon them. They did the r work according to the ideas of the times ; their superiors ought to have known better, but, as they did not, they themselves were the only sufferers. Theii^ the only resident managing superintendent, on a large estate, if he did require ‘‘patching np,” ora small patch, one that required or called for an absence of a few^ weeks or months, it could not be done. The result was, the sore was not very bad, it was only a little tender, it might not break out for some time, perhaps not at all, and would just wear off in the same Y A SAD STORY. gradual way that it commenced, but instead of doing this it continued almost imperceptibly, so imperceptibly that the sufferer was under the impression that it was diminishing, or perhaps gone, to extend and in- crease, until, at last, there was a sudden great out- break, and the sufferer was carried off to Kandy or Colombo, for change and medical advice, in fact, to be patched up too late, for the next accounts heard of him was that he was ‘‘ patched up ’’ for good and all, no further patching up would ever be required for him, for he was “ patched up ” in his “winding-sheet.’* We have some faint remembrance of a sad story, heard very long ago, so long, that we can hardly give it in such a way as to vouch for the exact truth of the details, but the general outline is we think that some- where about Haputale, it must have beon either on that estate or Kahagala as they were the only two properties there at the period referred to. Detached from ail other districts, remote and alone, the nearest approach to it was by a wild bridle path, or more probnhly in these times, only a native pathway cross- hig t be exit nsive grass, or prairie lands, between it and the turn of the Badulla road, a mile or so below the Wilson’s Bungalow resthoiise, from which it would be about Gfteen or sixteen miles distant, more or less. On this estate, in that far remote wild, was a superin- tendent, solitary and alone, as far as regarded his own coiinirymen : i e had not even an assistant. He had not been seen or beard of for a considerable time, when 'rome one or other thought they would look up? He was found in bis bungalow, dead, probably decomposed; he servants, if he had any servants, when they saw him dying, (.r dead, had “bolted,” afraid in case they might get into trouble, with courts, or coroners’ inquests; none knew' how he died. What it may be asked about the coolies on the estate? Surely they could not be ignorant of the event. We can’t say, having only a very hazy rer.n^ jnbrunce of the case. Perhaps, as was possible, there v*Me no coolies on the estate, or, what was more jurobable, there might have been only a very few, and tiiey were quite aw'are of the illness of the master, and took the opportunity, the very favorable one, one which might not occur again, to run away. But we can hardly think so ; w'e have a much more favorable opinion of the Malabar cooly than to suppose he would do this. Wliatever tricks he did and would play on, and at the expense of, the master, when he was well, we do not believe he would treat him so scurvily when he was sick. Probably the correct view of the circum- stance would prove to be, that the master had died suddenly, and that the servants and coolies, not know- HOLIDAYS. ing wbat to do, well knowing something must be done promptly, having no neighbouring planter before whom they could lay the case, and being seized and struck with fear, at the very unusual and unexpected re- sponsibility so suddenly devolved upon them, took the simple way of shirking the responsibility in a way which many of their betters, who ought to have known better, had done before them, and bolted. Now suppos- ing there had, as there certainly ought to have, been an assistant on this estate, the man’s life would \ erhaps have been saved, at all events it would have been known how or from what cause he died. Any shade of suspicion of foul play, on the part of the servants, would have either been confirmed or disproved, and last but not least the proprietors of the estate would not have been left without cooly labor, which for long afterwards it was difficult to re-establish. “ A bad devil is on the estate”: so said the cooliet. Of course 'we had our holidays then, as now, the patching up time, but rather a great mistake it was. Instead of being “patched up,” we generally left our estate in very good health, and returned, in order t© be patched up from the ill effects of our trip, and it would happen so. Having arranged for our absence during the holidays (1) a cooly would be sent off, in advance, with the invaiiable tin box, and, having begged or borrowed an old pony, off we start, in great glee, with the usual horsekeeper behind. W e very soon found out what sort of a nag we had to deal with, for he would not go along any faster than a slow walk. Spurs were of no avail his sides seemed quite spur-proof; the only effect any amount of spurring had was to produce a snort, or groan, and then, very^ probably, a stand-still ; if we continued to dig into his ribs, he would gradually edge sideways towards the outside of the road, right on to the brink of a frightful precipice, wdth a river rolling and tossing hundreds of feet below, seemingly quiie determined to murder his rider, even although that foul act would most certainly entail a suicidal death upon himself. He was on the brink of the precipice, and had come to a stand-still ; the more we spurred the nearer he went ; one hind foot was over, the earth and stones were rolling down the steep declivity. W e throw the reins to the horsekeeper, and throw ourselves over upon the road, upon which we trip and tumble, looking nervously up, fully expecting that both pony and horsekeeper had gone over the steep abyss; there was the animal tearing and eating away at the short tliick grass, on the edge of the precipice, just as if he had no food for the last day or two, and the horsekeeper A WONDEEFUL PONY. sitting on his hind legs, busily engaged in disengaging some betel leaves out of bis cloth ! It was perfectly evident, the korsekeeper knew the habits of his charge, and the animal knew those of his keeper, better, far better, than we knew either of theirs. The horsekeeper now bought up the pony, adjusted the bridle, held the stirrup leather, and suggested a “mount.” We look fearfully at the long extent of precipitous descent, on the low side of the road, stretching for many a mile, in advance, and say, “No; we will walk.” With reins in hand, we proceed in advance of our gallant steed, and he begins to move bis legs, but they don’t move long; he again comes to a stand-still, plants his fore feet firmly in the ground, and remains fixed there, in that position. It is perfectly evident he won’t lead : there is therefore only another resource, for an animal, even should he be of the two-legged species, if he won’t lead, he must be driven. The stirrup irons are fixed close up on the leathers, the bridle reins thrown over the hinder part of the saddle, and the pony is driven in this way just as if he were a cow ; he drives very well, always making a dart or grab at any grass, leaves, or any green thing within reach of his mouth, until it begins to strike us rather forcibly, what a very silly proceeding this is, being bothered in this way, detained on the road, all for getting’ along this unhappy animal, and what for ? What are we at all this trouble about, when he is of no use? Our indignation rises to a high pitch, a general halt takes place, and the horsekeeper is sent into a piece of jungle, close by, to cut a good stout stick, and, during these dread proceedings, the object of them is making the most of his time, and has pulled down a young plantain tree, close to a native boutique, and before the unfortunate owner has time to get up off his cross legs and keep the invader at bay the half of the young plantain tree is crunched up and down his throat. What a stomach that pony must have had, for there was nothing green which he would not make a grab at and devour! A new course of proceeding is now adopted ; we^ mount the pony once more, and once more move on. The horsekeeper keeps close behind, and on the least sign of a collapse on the part of the animal gives a great shout, and belabours the hind quarters with the big stick. This plan is found to answer, so we just settle on the saddle, legs hanging free, spurs being of no use, the bridle also is knotted, and thrown over the mane ; after some time the stick is all smashed and broken up, so, at the next convenient piece of jungle, a halt is come to, and the same NO SLEEP, <30urse of proceedings adopted in procuring a fresh stick, as has been before described. At last, as the shades of evening approached, our horsekeeper, who knows the country, points out the estate to which we are destined, apparently yet far off, up on a steep ridge, but, as the ascent is commenced, over stones, rocks, such roads, the wretched old pony begins to “fig up,” he now steps out briskly, picking his way over, and across portions of road, with perfect ease, where we would have some difficulty in getting over on foot. What a wonderful animal ! He won’t move a step on the plain well-kept public highway, but as soon as he gets on a break-neck rugged jungle path, more like a water-course than anything else, he pegs along bravely; the pony, like many of his riders, knows very well what he is about ; he knows from many a past experience, that now the bungalow and stable is not far off, and that darkness is not far off, and that it will serve no end, but quite the contrary, to lag be- hind and refuse to move. This is what is called animal instinct, which in many cases approaches the borders of reasoning power. Ho much so, that some have said it is reason, but, had it been reason, the pony would have reasoned earlier in the day, and not only saved himself many a dig of the spurs, and application of sticks, and have arrived at his journey’s end a few hours earlier, and had a good feed of paddy, gram and guinea grass, instead of sticking out his fore-legs on the edge of the road, refusing to move, and eating dried-up grass, full of earthy roots. We have met, in our clay, a good many of the human species, of somewhat of the same disposition as this pony, and if reasoning educated men at times are 1o be met with acting during the journey of life they are on in the same way we need not be surprised at the actions of a dumb animal. A hearty welcome from our friend soon makes us forget the miseries of ^ •the day, and we spend the evening very cheerily to- gether ; but our friend is living a rough life, he has no spare bed-room. What use would it be, when he has no spare bed ? The couch in the sitting-room will answer the purpose. Tired and weary with the' exertions of the day, we soon retire for the night, on the couch ; after possibly about an hour’s sleep we" awake, and sleep no more that night. The rnattrass is as if it were full of knots and stones, as if all the hair in it had become calcined, and resolved itself into rough pebbles ; this was bad enough, but we began to feel very itchy in the skin, with an inclination to ► cratch. What could it be, was it the exertions on* he long journey, bringing out a rash? No, it was FrjJ3AY NIGHT. not that, ^^e woiiT tell what it was ; it is qui e enough to cay, we slept not at all that night, and had to get up, and walk up and down the verandah. We remembered our own room and bed, with no preten- sions at all, but where we could, and did, sleep com- fortably, and we began to think seriously, that this was a somewhat extraordinary commencement of the holiday season ! Holidays indeed, far better be out with the coolies all day at home, when some com- fort, in a plain rustic way, was to be had, after the day’s work was done, but we were on our holiday excursion, and were ashamed to go back. During the day, we went about with our host, visiting all the diferent works, just the same sort of life as at home, but only without any iiitei’est in the work ; we soon got tired of this, and lounged about the house all day, when the host was absent at his work, which was a very tiresome way of spending our holidays. At last we could stand it no longer, and we went away to visit another friend, in another district, where just the same sort of way of spending the time was gone about. The only really useful and practical lesson we picked up on our travels, was, never to arrive at a bungalow on Tuesday evening on Wednes- (day morning, or on Friday evening, or Saturday morning, as, if we did, on these dates, there was no- thing to eat but rice and curry, and perhaps even not that ; these were the fasting days, and it pro- ceeded fro 01 this, that, where beef was killed and bread supplied, these and sundry other supplies were issued on Wednesday and Saturday mornings, and the coolies sent off* for the provender did not arrive till the Wednesday and Saturday evenings. Thus on these evenings, and the following days, you were always sure of, at any rate, a beefsteak. We suspect iioihing of this sort of thing exists in the present time ? When two fellows get dull on a Friday or Tuesday afternoon, after work, and one says to the other, “ Slow work this. Let ’s go over and look up old Dickens, and dine ” ; we suspect it is never said now to the t'eHow who proposes it, “No don’t, we will just bother him, and niak® him uncomfortable, Friday night, you know. ” Jt has often been said in the olden times, and where it was not openly said it was felt in the mind. We have even known a hearty good fellow of a neighbour, who perhaps had been from home a few days, probably to Kandy, and who of course had not used up the half of his supply of proviiions, and knowing that we would of course be upon “short commons,” would write a note, “Come ®ver and chat,” as the saying was, the purpose of THE BOX COOLY, which was, “ Lots of grub here, Friday nighfc with you, I suppose. Come over and lend us a hand to eat it up, otherwise it will just fall a prey to tbie capacious and rapacious maws of the boys.” During the holiday season, bungalow after bungalow was visited, in different districts, just under the same eircumstances, as have already been described. Tired of lounging about our friend’s bungalow, we would go out with him to the works, just to see, what we saw every day at home, coffee and weeds, pruning and weeding, with this difference that as we took no in- terest in the works, of course, to say the least, they were not interesting, we would even retire, and sit under the shape of a rock, until •ur friend was ready on his return to the bungalow — certainly not a very lively way of spending the holidays. We w^ere dis- gusted with our holidays, gave them up, and started on the return home, before our leave of absence was half expired. Down the old bridle path, from Amba- gamuwa and Dolosbage, rough and rugged it was in these times, and glad we were once more on emerg- ing into the high road, close to Gampola. It was raining, it always rained in Ambagamuwa, and we were wet through, on entering the verandah of the resthouse. Calling out for the cooly with the box of dry clothes, there was no response. He, no doubt, was sitting comfortable and dry in some wayside hut, bad even seen master pass, and had hidden both himself and the box, in a dark back corner ; after master had turned the corner, no doubt he looked out, to see if it was not going to be fair, and, as there seemed no present chance of it, be rolled himself up in his blanket, and went to sleep ! So, having called for a room, we strip off the saturated clothes, give them a good wring, until all the water is squeezed out, and, then — put them on again ; the heat of the body soon dries them now, or, if a streak of sunshine should burst out from behind the black clouds, a short stand out in his rays will finish the drying process. This is a somewhat brief outline of travelling in the jungle. In those times, we soon learned never to lose sight of the box cooly, with the change of clothes, espe^ daily never to leave him behind, and, if he was in advance, always to take care we did not pass him unawares ; we also learned, if possible, to have a clothes box of a peculiar shape, or colour, or with some easily discerned mark on it. So that, in passing the native boutiques, if the box cooly was lounging there, the box would immediately catch the eye, and bring us to a halt, for in no way was it safe to pass on, unless we saw the box cooly started, and passed THE GAMPOLA FEPRY. on first. The box cooly is arrived, the rain ceased, and we leave the old Gampola resthonse and old Young. It was but a short way to the river side ; it must have rained heavily up-country, for the river is un^ usually swollen, up to the very top of its banks, the water tumbles and tosses, will it be safe to cross? All old residents must recollect the old ferry boat : just an old heavy rude raft, propelled by boatmen, with long poles when they would reach the ground, and with strong oars when they were in mid-stream. Many a weary time has been spent by the passing traveller at the Gampola ferry, for it always happened, just when likely you were in some particular hurry, that the ferry boat was on the other side of the river, or, what was even worse, had just started for the other side, 'a few minutes before you arrived at the i-iver’s edge. We get into the boat, pony, box, cooly, and all. The boatmen look grave and say, Bohoma watura,^^ (plenty water oi flood). We soon found out they had more than one reason for using this expression, amd the chief reason was not the very apparent one, but had a hidden meaning, which means, if you like to take the hint, a tip to the boatmen, which we sometimes did ; the amount was small, say a shilling at a time, and as he became knowm, in return for the expected tip, they, when they saw our arrival on the other side, would speedily cross, and take us across, while others, who never gave any tips, would have to wait the convenience of the boat- men, and sit under the shadow of the bank during a hot sun, or under their umbrella, if they had one, during a heavy rain. It was a very easy and speedy affair crossing the river when the water was low, or during the dry seas )n, but a very different matter altogether when the river was in “spate,” as it was now. The strong current, of course, was always strongest in the middle of the river, so the boat, or rather barge, starting from the Gampola side would be pro- pelled by long sticks, in the hands of the boatmen ; these sticks were pressed against the ground at the bottom of the river, and so the barge slowly moved up the stream, close to the edge of the land. One not aware of the dodge would be apt to suppose, they were not crossing the river, but slowly and ^steadily going up the stream, which was the case. After having pulled a good way up, the boat would be sent right into the current in the middle of the river, and down we go, with the raging torrent ; the old pony stretches out his fore and hind legs, planted fairly on the planking, and looks very un- ^'BOHOMA WATURA.” happy ; the box cooly rests his box on the edge of the barge, takes off his headcloth and wraps it tight round his waist, fully prepared for any extremity ; we fake off our spurs, put them in the pocket, and grasp the mane of the pony, for the barge has no railings. We are now in the mid stream and full current of a raging torrent. We look in advance, and see the water tumbling in full force, until it is lost to sight in the jungle round the corner. The boatmen now stand by the oars, and pull away, to get out of the mid-stream, but their exertions seem of no avail— down goes the boat — it approaches the narrow shelving landing-place on the other side ; if it passes that, we are carried away by the stream down into the jungles beyond any possibility of get- ting up again. There is the white foam on the huge rocks and boulders ahead, the boat will be dashed against them, and we, the box cooly, and the old pony, will become a supper for the alligators ! Some- thing of the same thoughts seem to be passing through the mind of the box cooly, he is looking very grave and mutters Swdmi, swdmi,^^ and just then, as if in answer to the call, perhaps the box cooly thinks he has saved our lives, and may afterwards cast it up to the old pony, the ferry raft gives a short swing round, in answer to the sticks and oars of the boatmen, and quietly touches the landing-place, in the quiet eddy. The ferry-men, who were quite used to this sort of thing, wipe their faces and say, Bohoma watura.'"' It has often struck us as strange so few accidents happened in crossing the Gampola ferry, having only a recollection of one, but no lives were lost ; during a flood the boat missed the landing place, or the rope thrown on shore from the boat to be grasped by some one there had missed, and down goes the boat, into the rapids and jungles below, but there was neither accident nor loss of life, the only inconveni- ence being that of course the barge could not be worked up the river again, until the flood moderated. These floods at the ferry never could be calculated on. It might be a bright hot day at Gampola, in fact, no rain for days, and the river would be tumbl- ing and rolling down, swollen up to its banks, and quite dangerous to cross ; this proceeded from heavj^ rains ialling on the mountain ranges up-country, where the river passed through, and thus it was, that, dur- ing the rainy seasons, one never could be sure, when this ferry would be in flood or not. If you were pushed for time, you had always to calculate allowances for tff'sj when coming down from THE GAMPOLA BRIDGE. the interior. We used to send on our horsekeepers in advance, a few miles before reaching the ford, to tell the boatmen that master was coming, and wait, not to start until he came, which they generally did, and if coming from the Kandy side, before starting from the resthouse, he would take the horse's bridle in hand, and send the horsekeeper to have a peep, if the ferry boat was on this side. If it was not, we just waited until news came it was crossing, or had crossed. This ferry used to be a great pest if a cooly or coolies with supplies were late, or long of coming. We had no hold upon them : it was the Gampola ferry ; but, whether it was or not, there can be no doubt but the ferry men frequently ex- torted money from and oppressed the coolies, espe- cially the new immigrant gangs, who were ignorant of the rules of ferries and customs of the country. What hosts of old memories rise up, when we recol- lect of these days of the Gampola ferry* and of the time we used to sit on the banks of the river wait* ing for the ferry boat? The ferry boat is now a matter of history, if any one likes to write a history about it. The Gampola bridge was completed at the end of December 1858 ; no accident has ever befallen it, and having seen so many floods, and been so well tried, we hope nothing will go wrong with it now. We may now ride over the Gampola river, without drawing rein, and not give the subject a thought, but when you cross that beautiful bridge, and look down on the swollen river rolling below, think of the many weary coolies and indignant planters who have waited on its banks for the old ferry boat. Both sides of the river, more especially the one next Gampola, were, or was, a fa- vourite halting-place for bullock carts, either, from choice or against their will : in the former case water was abundant, for either cart drivers or cattle. The former might frequently be seen, standing up to their middle in the river, beside their cattle, scrubbing and washing them ; they would catch hold of them by the horns and rub off all the dirt and dust from their bodies, washing and cleaning even their eyes, ears, and nostrils ; most of the cattle would make a sudden bolt and start, as if they had an objection to being cleaned, and preferred a dirtjr dusty skin, up the bank of the river towards Gam- pola at full speed. The driver, tightening his thin strip of cloth round his middle, his long wet hair hanging and flying over his shoulders, would dart * Of which a view may be seen m Tennent’s book. — Ed. HORSEKEEPER IN FRONT. off in hot pursuit ; away they run right through the village, the pursuer shouting out “ Wo, wo ! ” ‘‘ Ba, ha!’’ Hitapan ! until he gets close up and catches hold of the animal’s tail ! They now both tug in differanti ways, and the driver twists round very forcibly the bullock’s tail, which somehow or other seems to answer the effect of a rudder, for a sudden side bolt is made into an adjoining shed, and the captive is led back to the river to have his wash- ing completed. Dozens and scores of carts were all ranged up in rows, on the beach ; on the shady sides of them the cartmen lay streched out at full length, asleep, or, perhaps, cooking their rice and curry, and mixing ^up food for their cattle in a large tub, which was which always carried along with the cart, and, to save space, was slung under it attached to the cross axle, when travelling along. These long strings or batches of carts used to take a long time to cross the ferry, as the raft would only take one or two across at a time, and as Europeans and horses had always the preference, if the traffic with them was plentiful, many a weary time the cartmen had to wait. However, they never grumbled, but just took it all as a matter of course. They would be pushing a cart into the boat, perhaps it was already in, when up galloi3ed a planter, and dismounted at the water’s edge ; the cart would be pushed back, and the planter and his horse taken over instead ; all sorts of foot passengers would be awaiting the starting of the boat, but they might wait a while. However, when a gentleman on horseback makes his appearance, they can get across now ; there is no further delay, and they all push in, until the raft is quite full, over- laden, i nd the rush is only stopped by the boatmen pushing off with their long poles. When we were short of rice on the estates, and the carts contain- ing it were long past due, and we were off in search of them, if we did not find them, some accounts were generally to be heard of them at this ferry. In order not to be detained in the crossing, the know- ing traveller, going down country from Pussellawa, when he reached the fiat road within a mile or so of the ferry, would despatch his horsekeeper on, in advance, the detain the ferry boat until his arri- val. The boatmen were always civil and obliging, and, if told a gentleman on horseback would be up in a few minutes, they would always wait. If you were in the habit of travelling the road frequently, it would be a good plan to tell them the name of your estate, and give them a tip at times. A few coppers would be thankfully received, and it would be well-spent NUWARA ELIYA. money, for the next time or times they recognized you, or your horsekeeper was sent on in advance to say you were coming, take an old traveller’s word for it, there would he no detention at the Gampola ferry. These ferry men had nothing at all to do with the fares or tolls received from travellers : they were merely hired boatmen, and the proprietor of the ferry in a small house at the side of the road above the banks of the river, with a toll-bar across the road, where he received the fares from the passers- by. So that you stepped out of and into the boat without any trouble or hindrance. What a meeting place for friends was the old Gam- pola ferry ! Gangs of coolies proceeding to their coun- try would meet other gangs coming in, and hear all the “home news” and state of the roads ; the immi- grant coolies would hear from their friends, homeward- bound, the state of the labour supply on the differ- ent estates, all about the “good” and “bad” mas- ters, what place to go to, and what to avoid, for the bulk of the immigrant coolies then, probably, had not definitely made up their mind what estates to go to ; even if they had, whether or not they would be received and taken on was doubtful, for these were the days of a plentiful labour supply, before crop three days’ work a week or even for their rice. Coolies going on messages, or with loads to and from all the Pussellawa, andIPamboda, and Badulla estates, met at the ferry, and bad their small talk as to what the other was carrying, and if the master often sent to Kandy for beer and brandy, it was all known at this ferry ; coolies carrying broken palpers, fly- wheels, cylinders, taking to Kandy for repairs, and others carrying out “patched up” ones, all met at the ferry, and all the smashes that had taken place in machinery on the estates were all very well known and discussed. Also, amongst planters themselves, how many here met at that ferry, and never met again ! How little did they think, as the one waved his hat in the departing raft, and the other flourished his riding-whip, as he cantered off up to the road, that they would never meet again ! This recals a personal reminiscence. Coming out of the ferry boat on the Gampola side, being bound for Kandy, two gentlemen are standing on the shore leaning on their horses’ necks, awaiting the boat. One of them we recognize and shake hands with, who introduces us to the other. A good stare is exchanged he exclaims, “ Can you be the boy I last met at — — in the old country?” And we say, Can you be ?” Just so, we are both the same. A short talk and the boat KETUENINO AFTER A HOLIDAY. is shoving off time enough however to be informed that our old boy friend has come from Bombay to try and recruit his shattered health, and he is bound for ISTuwara Eliya. He had also said, on his way back, which would be in about ten days, he would visit us, and have a talk over old times. But we never saw him again. I^uwara Eliya somehow has often proved quite the contrary to a beneficial change to visitors from the Indian presidencies in search of health. We have known a good many who, after giving ISTuwara Eliya a fair trial, have become worse, instead of better, and eventually left the sanatarium in a much worse state of health than when they arrived at it. Our own experience and opinion is that it is a very nice change for those who are in good or fair health, and if the climate agrees with them it will soon make them stronger and more robust, indeed so well “patched up,” that not the semblance of a “patch” will be left upon them. But it is not exactly the sort of place suitable for an invalid or for certain sorts of complaints, such as pulmonary, sciatic, or any sorts of rheuma- tism. This never used to be taken into consideration, and it used to be, perhaps still is the constant cry, when one required a little patching up, “Go,” or “Let us go, to Nuwara Eliya. ” Personally we don’t believe in JSTuwara Eliya, and dislike both it and the climate, but as it has become a very fashionable place, the less said of this opinion the better, being quite certain, that, if we don't believe in Nuwara Eliya, nobody else will believe us on this point. ^ These remarks are only “by the way. ” The clima* e made our friend worse, he hurriedly left the place, and of course did not write us. Thes e is an old churchyard in Edinburgh called “Old Gray- friars, ” and we sometimes go in and look at a grave in a peaceful cpiite corner ; green grows the gr.iss over the small mound, and, as we gaze upon this mound, long past memories spring up. It is nearly thirty -two years, since we waved an adieu, for a few days only (we thought), at the Gampola ferry, to our old friend ; little did either of us think then, that, after such a long peii^^d of time, I should stand over his grave, and that that grave would recal the memory of our last meeting at the Gampola ferry. He had hurried home to be “ patched up,” and was “ patched up,” but patching up seldom makes one sound again, always liable to a relapse. Our friends may ask “ Are patched, up ?” Yes, patched up once more is P. D. Millie. For persons run down by the heat of the low-coun- try and needing a change, as also for persons debilitated by fever uncomplicated with liver or dysentery, the climate of Nuwara Eliya is exceedingly valuable. — Ed. z PUSSELLAWA. CHAPTER XXXIII. De Omnibus Rebus. Our readers will remember that last chapter closed with some reminiscences of the old Gampola ferry, and of the meeting of friends that sometimes took place there. Also, that we were on the return home from an annual holiday trip. Late in the afternoon the ferry was crossed, and onwards we jog as fast as the old pony will go, which was at the average rate of two miles an hour, up the Pass towards Pussellawa. What a fine climate you get into on reaching Wagahapitiya, as compared with the steamy heat of the low-country, and as the cool mountain breezes whistle through the airholes of the double crown- ed sun hat, we felt thankful then, and feel more so now, that we Lad such a fine climate to live in, as we be- lieve it is just about as healthy a one as any in the world — that is to say if you don’t forget you are in the tropics, which one is sometimes apt to, and take ordin iry care of yourself. The old Pussellawa rest- house stood on a knoll above the high-road, and the small village, with the whole of the Rothschild and Moiiaragala estates, sj)read out to view in front, and the approach of it was at the sharp turn of the road, with the Black Forest coffee above, and the Rothschild b*dow. Xow, we had no intention at all of visiting, or remaining at this resthouse, being quite tired of rest- houses, in so far as our financial resources were at a low ebb. True we were well known, and could “pay next time” — but we were anxious to push home, which was seven miles off. “But it takes two to make a bargain,” which the pony seemed perfectly well aware of, or, if not, he was of a different opinion from his rider, and had made up his mind to have his own views carried out at all risks. He evidently knew very well where he was, and that he was close to the resthouse stable, and, if his rider did not require or desire a rest, why, he did, and was determined to have his own way. As w^e entered the bazar, the pony pricked up his ears and went off at a trot. The approach up to the resthouse was at a sharp turn of the road/, at a bridge just below the Black Forest estate, and when we came to this approach, the pony made a dart up, but, being from past experiences prepared for this action, he was checked ; he then wheels round and round, on the road, eventually backing into the drain, both his hind quarters fixed against the bank, and his fore- feet planted on the edge of the road ; there he re- remained fixed and immovable. All the loungers about the bazaar now came out, and were highly entertained at the spectacle ; our indignation at this animal now CHAEACTER AND CREDIT. became intense here we sat a show and subject of laugh- ter to all bazar residents. We dismount, get him out of the drain, but he won’t lead ; w® mount again ; round and round he goes on the road, gradually and turely ap- proaching the road up to the resthouse, until, quite before we are aware, down goes his head between his legs, and off he goes up to the restliouse, at a sharp canter. We never knew him canter before, and were quite taken aback, so jouch so, that, before onr pre- sence of mind was restored, the pon}^ was into the open stables, that stood on the right hand of the resthouse, up into a stall, and buried his mouth iido some refuse grass, left by a previous occupant just as if he was starved and, instead of having finished a large bundle of grass at Gampola, three hours b; fore, had bad no food for three days. Seeing we were fai^ ly in for it, or rather be ng ashamed to have it even suspected that the pony had run off wdtli liis rider up to the rest- house, we enter the verandah, and sit down just as we had purposely ridden up to have a rest. Theappu comes up and asks, if master will take any dinner? The reply is “No, not hungry — have dined,” or something to this effect. We may mention, however, now, at this remote period of time, that all these replies were simply untrue, because we would have liked very much to have dined, we were very hungry, and ought to have said yes, and the reason we did not say what we did was, there were only two rupees in onr pocket, and we had correct idea, that next day would find our little account very consider^ ably overdrawn ; true, credit would have been given, but we had not then got hardened, and were afraid and ashamed, in case it might be suspected we were not worth five shillings. This sort of feeling however soon wore off, and a year or so afterwards we would go in for “tick,” just the same as all the rest of thefts, with this difference however, that we always i3aid the very first subsequent opportunity, and thus at an eaiiv period of life established a character for punciual and correct payments.* Many young men starting in life * It would have been well for another young Scotch planter, who came to Ramboda as Mr. Millie was preparing to leave it, if he had acted on like principles. NTothing would serve this unprincipled scamp, wdio had probably never tasted wine in Scotland, but to ran up long bills for champagne. The resuit was a disgraceful bolt, the Pussellawa resthouse-keeper alone being cheated out of £30 to £40. The difference be- tween Mr. Millie and this man was that beiwa-en an honest man and a rogue. — Ed. PCrSSELLAWA RESTHOUSE, have little or no idea of the value of this character. If it is once established, and justly established, you can always, when you want, or require, get credit anywhere, without the least hesitation ; correct and punctual payments of yoiu* little accounts will in course of time become a habit, and as you have have been co- rect and methodical in small matters you will, as a matter of course, be so also in more important ones, and thus it may eventually result, that your habits of punctuality in pecuniary matters will lead to your being easily able to obtain credit and assistance, when you ultimately “ invest in cofifee.” “He’s never in debt, and always pays.”^ Are there any of our readers, who are in debt, and never pay, if they can shirk payment ? Give it up it won’t do, it won’t pay. We have proved it frequently in our life experience, or rather have seen it proved in others, that it is one of the fixed certainties of this uncertain life, that it does not pay, not to pay. Being impressed with these sentiments in our early years, they were probably carried somewhat to excess, in going without our dinner rather than get into debt for it. We strolled out to look at the pony. He had no thought of debt or paying for his dinner ; there he stood looking as comfortable as could be, he had fin- ished all the left grass in the rack ; and had collected with his fore-feet all the dry paddy straw litter and had eaten that up too ! There he stood swollen out like a drum, with not the shadow of a thought about payment or who to pay. We sighed as we looked at his happy frame of mind, and went into the resthouse verandah, and sat down. “ Boy,” we say, “ how is it there is nobody in the resthouse ? ” “ Plenty gentlemen in Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers’ parlour,” was the reply^ The resthouse was then kept by Mr. Carruthers and his wife, who occupied private premises for themselves close to the kitchen and servants’ rooms on the left of the resthouse, and it used to be quite the custom in this as in other resthouses, for travellers, if, or even whether or no, there was no company in the public room, to step into the landlord’s rooms, and have a “ crack.’’ On asking who the gentlemen are, we are told L , of the Peacock Hill,..R , and figliting C of Dimbula. This latter gentleman received his sur- name from his always settling every argument or dispute that seemed to go against him, byr offering, frequently insisting upon, fighting his opponent who had the best of the argument, until few argued with him, and he had his own way in everything in so far as talking, boasting, and bragging would carry him, PROVISIONS FOB. DIMBULA^ but these sort of fellows sometimes meet with a check, and it so happened, one day, on being opposed some- what more persistently than usual, it might probably be on purpose, by one who knew his man, ^^nd knew he was his match in strength, the usual offer of fight- ing was made, and accepted : the result of which was our fighting acquaintance got such a dose of it as sick- ened him of this sort of thing for some time, indeed people afterwards said it quite cured him, so that even his former victims, who used to be quite passive under his threats and offers, or rather orders, to fight, would now take up his former position ^pd ipsist upon him fighting with them, but he would not. It was just about this time the Dimbula estates had commenced. Pussellawa resthouse was the ter- minus of the carts, vdth rice and stores from Cqjopibo, which were stored by Carruthers. The only access to these estates was across the patanas down to and across the Kotmale river, and on in the same way on the other side. And thus it was the Pussellawa resthouse on Saturday or Sunday was generally fre- quented by the early or pioneer Dimbula planters, who came down with their coolies for rice and other supplies. No wonder that the Dimbula estates then could not get a sufficient supply of labour ; ^ve wonder how the coolies would stand this sort of thing now, having to carry their rice from Pussellawa to Dim- bula, over roads, or rather paths, which were rather diffi- cult and dangerous to get over without any load at all, without taking account of a bushel of rice : we forget, but surely the coolies would not be made or expected to carry a full bushel across this wretched track. But what will our readers say, when we vouch for the fact, that an old acquaintance of these days, since dead, and no wonder, having no coolies on his new clearing, which was not at all an unusual state of matters, used to walk to the resthouse on a Saturday, spend the Sunday there, and start back early on Monday morning with his own week’s supply of provisions on his back, which were half a b.ushel of rice, some curry-stuffs, and a pumpkin or §alt-fish. We never heard if he cooked them himself : in ,ajl probability he had a servant of some sort. Sp here was a case of master, cooly-fashion, carrying his own rice and curry-stuffs ; worse than this, for, while car- rying them for himself, was he not only doing so, but also for his boy ? Just let the Dimbula planters of the present day think over this ; just let them fancy-:-- fancy, it was no fancy, but stern reality — the pioneers of their now beautiful district, toiling along Jhe grass lands below Tyspane and Bogawatte estates, laden NO PINT BOTTLES. with rioe, salt- fish, and curry-stuffs, and let ns just dwell (Hi tills subject a little and also fancy what without doubt was the case. The boy at the bunga- low or rather grass or talipot hut, and feeling very hungry on a Sunday afternoon, the rice having been all done on Saturday evening, going out to the top of a rising ground or round the turn of some jungle path, casting longing glances to see if there was no appearance of master with that rice. It was get- ting dark, and nobody was to be seen, and just further suppose the bitter disappointment of that boy, at having no rice that night. He would bewail his hard fate. He would leave. He could not stop wdth a master who treated him so, who w^as no doubt enjoying himself at Pussellawa, making a “ night of it ” with his friends with plenty of rice and curry, even beer, while he w'as left here alone very hungry. It had been dark for half-an-hour ; the boy, as a last and only resource, had gone to sleep, when he suddenly W'akes up. Master is shouting out, “ You lazy rascal ; asleep, fire out, nothing to cook rice wdth, alter having carried it for twenty miles, ” The boy would start up, become all animation, and say he (lid not think that master was coming, for he had been down the path, down to the very river to meet master, and to help him to carry that rice. The master might believe this or not, as he liked, as this WTi,s thirty-one years ago. Very probably he did, and supposed he had secured the services of a most af- fectionate and considerate servant. And thus it was the old Pussellawa restliouse was a general rendez- vous of the old Dimbula planters. W e cannot get the old pony out of our head : how comfortable he looks after his feed of dry paddy straw. We a3*e getting very uncomfortable, muster up courage, and say , ‘ ‘ Boy, we will take something before start- ing ; w^e suppose you have no bread ? ” “ None,” was the prompt reply. ‘‘Well, some hard biscuits, a bit of cheese, and a pint bottle of beer. The reply was, “No pint bottles got.” This used to be a very com- mon answer. Now we don’t mean to make any posi- tive assertion, but simply suspect, had very grave suspicions, that the keeping of ‘ no pint bottles ’ was ‘ a dodge, ’ because the result of this reply almost in- variably was, “ Well, bring a quart.” The resthouse- keepers might well reason, what is the use of having pints when they just prevent us from selling quarts, double the quantity. Now here was a pretty mess ; we had committed ourselves by saying rashly we would take something before starting ; a bottle of beer would be Is 9d or 2s ; there were no pints, and THE EAGLE’S NEST. so we say half a glass of brandy and some water. The boy does not go away, but looks sternly and says “Never sell half glasses.” We are driven into a corner, and in desperation say, “ Well, bring a whole one. ” Our dinner is done. The hard biscuits on the plate are all eaten up, so is the cheese, and the last drop of brandy and water drained off, and we say “ Boy, what is to pay ? Mind the pony has had no food ? ” ‘‘ Bread and cheese two shillings, brandy one shilling — three shillings.” The two rupees are dis- lodged from their lurking place, and the boy is re- quested to bring the change ; when he returns he looks as if he quite expected us to say “Keep that shilling,” but as it w^as our last Vv^e did not say it. On the contrary, we had to ask for the change, upon which it was delivered up, with the reply “ Beg pardon, forgot.” But leaving we step into Mr. Carruthers” private room to see the company. L was going on talking a lot of stuff and nonsense. We rebuke him, telling him to behave himself in presence of a lady, upon which Mrs. Carruthers said, “ Tut, tut, let the poor man alone, there are no ladies here. I am just in charge of the resthouse, you know, and see that all you wild fellows are made comfortable when on your travels, and hard work it is at times. Tut, there ’s no ladies here, just a plain honest woman that never hears what you say, and cares as little so long as you pay the bill.” “And,” chimes in L , “ as I am just a plain honest man, and have no pretension to anything grand, and (staring well at the writer) we will all agree there are no gentlemen here, so it ’s all right.” On asking him, if he meant any personal offence, he said, ‘ ‘ If you consider yourself offended leave the room and then my remark will be surely correct.” He then came out and apologized, say- ing it was all a joke ; it was impossible to be angry with him, as he was no one’s enemy but his own. It was now about 9 o’ clock at night, and the moon was shining clearly, as we lugged the old pony out of his stall, and forcibly drove him down to the high-road ; he seemed resigned to his fate, and actually started on his usually slow pace, without a struggle. After getting through the Helboda Gap, he seemed to know where he was, and suddenly burst out into a good sharp trot, so suddenly as nearly to dislodge us from the saddle, and, on attempting to pull him up, it was impossible to do so, in fact he actually broke out into a canter. What an intelligent animal, no doubt he saw that snug little stable, a good way up the hill' at the Eagle’s Nest. The bungalow called by this name was now soon reached, and the pony THE JOURNEY^'S END. made happy with a comfortable lodging and plenty of grass, and as horseflesh then could not proceed further up the hill than this, we commence the scramble, on foot, as the moon was shining bright. We found then, as frequently afterwards, that it was' easier travelling oh foot or indeed on horse- back over bad roads at night than during dcxylight. It is wonderful how many rough stones holes, rocks, and logs, one can manage to leave behind when they are partially or even totally hidden by gloom, or darkness. Many a pitch dark night we have gone up and down that hill, before any road was cut, just on the cooly track, formerly an old watercourse straight up and down, without a stumble, or scratch, while, in good daylight, we have made many a miss, the results of which remain marked on our shins to this day. And it is just the same in the up and down hill journey of life. We firmly believe, on this journey many of our greatest diffi- culties have been passed or got over, in the dark, without any very great difficulty, never noticed until they were passed, or even never at all. Had we seen them, in a formidable array, staring us in front, plainly saying ‘‘Go back, no road here,” perhaps we would have turned ; and as we turned on a roundabout easier way perhaps we might have stumbled over a precipice ! Keep the path, rough and rugged as it may be. If you stumble you will get up again if you perserve, you will reach the journey’s end, very likely with some abrasions of the skin, or good hard knocks. What matter, if in the end you accomplish the jour- ney,’ and don’t go over the precipice ? Our readers may say, “Your argument is not sound, it’s all luck and chance, you might have been killed or mained for life.” We might have been, but were not, and we have frequently before remarked that we have little belief in luck and chance, at least not to the same extent as many. The simple fact is, that, when one is travelling over a rough road in the dark, whether it is a jungle path or the path of life, you walk or scramble much more cautiously and warily than if you saw all about and before you plainly enough. Just to simplify my meaning, many of us have heard of, seen, or even possessed (the writer had possessed many a time), a horse or pony whick it was hardy safe to ride on the well-kept high-road : he required a good sharp look-out, and if you got carelessly gazing about without attending to your bridle-hand down he would suddenly come, skinning his knees and pitching you over his neck and head. But that same horse, when on a rugged jungle path, is perfectly AN ELEPHANT. to be trusted ; throw the bridle over his neck, and let him alone, he will pick out his steps as daintily as possible and bring you to the journey’s end with- out a false step ! At that time there was a patch of jungle on the very top of the hill through which the path ran : before going through w’^hich it was well worth while to sit down on a big stone and see all the magnificent scenery below, bathed in the full moonlight. We shall never forget the grandeur of the mountain scenery in many parts of the Central Province, and have often told our friends in the old country not to talk to us about scenery after what we had seen. But they would not belive it. As we get well through the path in the forest, and just before coming out, into upper clearing, we see some thing right in front, a huge black rock : can it be, we have missed the path ? No, that is impossible, there is only one path and a w^all of dence forest on each side, we knew the path well and are quite confident, no black rock or rock of any sort stands here. Just then the huge black rock commences to move ! And we now know very well what it is, but in case some of our readers may not we may just remark it was a wild elephant. The cold SAveet bursts out from every pore. Here we were in a narrow Jungle path at midnight, not two feet broad with thick nilu jungle almost meeting, and a few feet in front of us a wild elephant. What if he should make a dash down on the disturber of his midnight ramb- bles, and finish our life, as our holidays were done What if crash, crackle, crash, stones come tumbl- ing down in great numbers. We don’t even try to escape, we are done for, put our hands over our face, and crouch in to the side juiigel. Crash crack — it does noo seem so loud ; we venture to look up, and the elephant is gone up the path, and away —instead of down. Slowly, carefully, and with as little noise as possible we crawl up the path in the w^ake of the elephant. On approaching where it opens out into coffee, all seems clear space, nothing obstructs the beams of the moonlight. We peer cautiously round the corner of the jungle, but nothing is to be seen, a breath of relief is drawm, and we proceed on our way, but, before going far, the elephant is OA^ertaken ; walking leisurely along in advance ! Here have we been, instead of running away from an elephant, as was supposed, actually pursuing him ; not only this, but overtaken him ! But we are at home now, and know every inch of the ground, being close up to where another road branches off, and, whichever the elephant choses, of course we pursue the other. The DOORS LOCKED. branch road is passed, our enemy goes straight on, bound for a large swamp, where no doubt he will have some good feeding, down a steep declivity. We make a rush and a run, on to the branching off road and off at full speed, and so was the elephant ! He had heard us, and we were both: running off from each other, in opposite directions, as hard as we could, with this difference, that the elephant was grunting with fear and alarm, and we were grunt- ing for want of breath, for it did, and no mistake, create a tax on one’s breathing, walking up that hill, and instead of getting the usual rest at the top, of fifteen minutes, a fresh demand was made upon the lungs in running away from an elephant. By the time we reached our bungalow, we were quite calmed down, and as the ricketty old building popped into view we felt thankful, that all the holiday excursions were done, our troubles at an end. But they were not. We sat down on a chair in the verandah to rest, knowing it would be quite useless to call for anything to eat and drink, for the answer would assuredly be ‘‘Nothing got,” and having a very good notion that we would not be long of sleeping in, fine cold climate and having also some idea of taking the coolies by surprise and seeing how morning muster has been managed, as to turn- ing out time, when master is supposed to be away, and being firmly convinced that this cannot be man- aged if the boy knows master has come, why we will circumvent the boy, turn in and salute his astonished ears at daybreak next morning, when all the fires are out, with “Boy, bring coffee !” We chuckle, and are quite amused at the idea, put our hand on the door-handle, but the door is locked in the inside, or else some one has the key, for there is no key in the door, the windows are tried, all the same, locked out of our own bungalow, at midnight, and so, of course, all our knowing designs frustrated. Now we have always had a most decided objection to having our designs frustrated, and when obstacles were opposed to designs the more determined we become. A very good speciality, provided only you are right — but not a safe one, should one happen to be wrong. Well, there could be no question about right or wrong here, for no one can possibly dispute, that a man must of course be right in getting into his own bunga- low, and, if no other means will do, even in breaking in. We suddenly recollected that the small window in the back writing-room off the bed-room has no bolt at all, but that the r®ugh unplaned plank window, which swings on two leather hinges, is just fastened A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTEE. inside, by two nails and a string. Getting round to this hole, or window, a push is given ; it gives way about an inch, and will move no further, it is tied tight inside with a piece of string. Foiled again ! After some consideration^ we proceed to a corner of the verandah, where a lot of tools are lying, and, get hold of an old catti ; this is inserted into the opening of about an inch wide, and, after a good deal of sawing and tearing, the string ^s cut, the window flies open, and we jump in, mentally exclaim- ing, ‘‘Well, our troubles are over now,” but they are not. The moonbeams stream into the room through the open window, and sitting down on a solitary chair (we forget, whether or not it had only three legs, or if the back was broken, for it must have been either of these) commence to undress : this does not take long, we pop into bed, but there it is some one in possession, there can be no mistake about it, our bed is occupied ! We put out our hand along the pillow, and it comes into contact with a bushy head of hair ; the hand is passed down over the face, and passes over a good strong beard ; just then the moon throws a bright beam into the room through the open hole, which rests on the head of the bed, revealing to our astonished and indignant gaze, the well-known features of the boy — yes, the boy — our worthy servant, calmly and peacefully asleep in master’s bed, with, of course, master’s blankets, sheets and pillows. We S'ive him a shake, but he only gives a moan, and pulls the blanket over his head. We seize hold of his feet and pull him forcibly out of bed, upon which he, frantically shouts out ‘ ‘ Kalian, Kalian, ” (thieves, thieves). But our choler is now up. What insult to injury ! Shut out of our bungalow, our very bed taken possession of, and when we eject the invader are called a thief by our own servant! We pull the harder, “A nice boy you are to call your master a thief. We wonder who is the thief.” The boy catches hold of one of the bed-posts, down we both tumble on the mud floor, and the bed on top of us. The boy now changes his shout and cries out “Murder,” upon which we shake him up again, and assure him that we have not the most remote intention of murdering him, but that, when all the circumstances of this case are investigated, we will not promise the same assurance or immunity from a good licking, which, from present general aspect of affairs, we are under a firm conviction he most assuredly deserves. But the boy assures master, this is the very first night he has slept in his bed (? I), he goes down on his knees and swears it, and it was A DIRTY « BOY all owing to his going to give out the sheets and blankets to wash to-morrow. We tell him to rise up from committing perjury, and as there are no clean sheets to get that spare blanket out of the almirah and make up a bed on the couch. The next morning our bed passes under a searching examination, and the result is, that it is our belief no washerman can ever possibly clean those sheets, blankets and pillovv^-cases, they are so dirty, and so thoroughly impregnated with oil and filth. The boy is asked when he went to bed the night before, and he replies at 10 o’clock. Now we have caught him, we say ; we arrived shortly after midnight, and is it possible that the bedding could have got into this filthy state all in two hours. But you| will never put out or shut up a boy. He quickly responded, it must be, because he was very, unusually dirty, not having- bathed or washed, as he intended that very morning to commence and throughly clean all the bungalow. “And no more than need,” say we, “ for such a dirty house I never saw.” “Where ignorance is bliss’t is folly to be wise. ” After this exploit, we always avoided after an absence, coming unexpectedly home. It answers no good purpose, quite the reverse ; we all know the lax and careless condition of servants in general, when master is away then, why should the master be put to inconvenience and discomfort on this account, when he can have everything comfort- able, clean, and in the usual way, by telling w^hen he is to be back, or if we could not always do this* w^e generally sent on the box cooly, or horsekeeper ill advance to say master Avas coming. The result was, we were expected, and stepped into a clean home. We even preserved such a lively recollection of the last midnight adventure, in being locked out of our bungalow, that, on any subsequent midnight arrivals, we all always announced our arrival in very plain terms, which would admit of no manner of doubt, and of course never saw any further repetitions of wdiat has been described. But sometimes even these plain announcements would meet with no response. The boy had gone down to spend the night at the lines, and had locked up the house and taken away the key. There was always some trouble and inconvenience. So we took all the keys, and locked them up, stating that now it w^as im- possible to lock the bungalow, and that, if it was locked up, it must be by the inside bolts, which course said as plain as could be that that some one was inside, and therefore, by knocking, admission would be obtained. This did not suit the boy’s RASHLY PLANNED HOLIDAYS. arrangements at all, he represented he could not be always watching, he must eat sometiraes, and he must sleep a little, ‘ only a very Itttle, and it wm very little he slept in master’s service, so little that he had become quite thin, just look,” and he stretched out his bare arm. But we are obdurate. “Well ; well, whoever breaks into our bungalow, will be a fool for his pains. Boy what is there to steal?” “Why,” says the boy, “all master’s things. The blue finger glass, the tea-cup full of sugar, the cracked water goglet, and tumbler, and — and,” here the boy became puzzled, for even he could ‘^not conceive it probable for any one to steal a table, a chair, and a couch, or a bed, and there was nothing else. Now we by no means intend to depreciate, or hold in email esteem, holidaj^s. They are not only needful, but necessary, but we do insist that some method and system is' advisable, some arrangement, before wildly plunging off for a holiday trip. These planters who are resident in a cool climate, we thinli, we have per- sonally experienced it — would be benefited by a tem- porary trip to a warm one and sea air, where they would have a complete change of air, life, habits, food, a change of everything. Where is the use of wearing oneself out scampering about the coffee estates and coming home from your holidays quite used up, and worse than if you had no holiday at all ? True, you see other methods and systems in yoiir calling, hear the opinions and experiences of others, all which is very necessary, but it is neither necessary nor expe- dient to spend the whole of your holidays at this sort of thing, which would make it no holiday time at all. It is too much the case, wherever the planter goes, all the talk is “shop” — coffee, coolies, crops, until the old planter almost mechanically lapses into an old pulper, and can talk about nothing else, at all events cares about talking of nothing else. There can be no doubt a change for a few weeks, from a cold wet climate to a hot dry one, is very beneficial, and also, on returning to the cold one, you also receive increased benefit from it. On the other hand, those who arc resident in low warm districts, on the same reason- ing, per contra^ should visit a cold climate, which they can always have, at Nuwara Eliya one of it# greatest benefits which it offers to the planting visitor is that there is no coffee there.* Here you have a change : actually no coffee to be seen, and if you take — ^ . ^ * But plenty of tea and cinchona, while coffee is no far off. — Ed. STORIES ABOUT « COFFEE.” care and don’t speak about your coffee, so much the better. If any of your planting fellows find you out and commence in the usual way, just tell them — one word for them, and two for yourself — to shut up and not mention the subject. After ten days, or a fortnight, you will return better than if you had been travelling a month in the coffee districts and had long disputes every evening upon the comparative merits of different systems of w'eeding, pruning, manur- ing. For there can be no doubt the great drawback upon the planter’s holiday is, his difficulty in getting rid altogether of the subject of coffee, because what more natural than that he should go and visit his friends, these friends, as a rule, being planteis also resident on some estate ? Thus he can’t get away from coffee, he must hear all about it, and see it too. In fact we question very much, go where the planter will, if he can ever utterly for the time being quite ignore, his calling. For casual acquaintances will say “Here is a planter, he must know all about coffee.” Visitors at Nuwara Eliya, from Colombo, will^tackl him about blossoms, crops, estimates, coolies, and what not, go where the planter will, he will be assailed by every one, or some, for some information or talk, on the all important subject. Even in the old country, one is not free from it : “A coffee planter, ” ‘ ‘ Immensely rich you know,” “All planters are,” “ Tell us all about coffee.” The planter is very happy, quite polite, and goes on giving some of the required information, when he is suddenly told to shut up and tell no stories.* “What, coffee beans growing inside a red pulp, and that Ijulp growing in clusters on a tree ! How we all know very well it is a bean, and every one knows beans are sown annually, and, after yielding their crops, the stalks are" just pulled up and thrown away. Now tell us truly, how often do you sow your beans ? Once or twice a year ? And do you give the coolies say scythes or sickles to cut the crops ?” Our loquacious and intelli- gent friend without pausing for a reply rattles on. “ What sort of threshing machines and beans have you got? And what do you do with the coffee bean straw?” We can’t, stand this any longer and assure her that there is no such a thing as coffee straw, and that we are not joking. What has been said is a fact. “Well, well,” was (he reply, “how very wonderful. But who vrould have thought it?” and she looks doubtfully and suspiciously, upon which we cannot contain a smile, The smile awokes all the former suspicions. “Oh, oh! you thought I believed you. Beans — whoever heard of beans growing on trees. Not such a fool as you think.’" And thus it is the difficulty the planter finds, go. THE PAST AND THE FGTUEE. wlidre lie will, in shelving coffee on the coffee estates,, he must enter into disputes and arguments to uphold his own views and practical experiences in many general matters. At home, or rather in the old country, should it not to he his home, he is led iut o all manner of minute details by his acquaintances, desirous of information or very likely just fora topic of conversation, or to keep the company alive and brisk. And then, if not directly told that he is ‘ drawing a long bow ’ it is very easy to be seen that they are of such an opinion : incredu- lous looks and smiles, shakes of the head, a turn of the eye, which just plainly says “ Not so green as you think.” Now, all this is very vexatious, when one is doing their best to give information, to see, to feel plainljq that the information is not believed. No, no ; the less one speaks about ‘ shop ’ the better, or, better still, say nothing at all when off on your holidays, wheresoever that may be. If questioned about it in the old country, say as little as ps'ssible (of course you can judge of exceptional cases), we mean generally, for depend upon it the topic is broached in nine cases out of ten, not for the sake of information, but merely for conversation’s sake to have something to say. And of course when talk slackens and a subject is wanting you can never fail by tackling a man for information on the subject of his calling. Then when you wax warm on the subject and commence a series of minute details, you will suddenly be arrested by a yawn, the listless eye, or “Dear me, but I did not hear your last remark.” Time now to shut up ; shut up and commence the details of some recent scandal, or some astonishing new dresses, and mark how^ the eye will brighten up ; you have found your cue now, and thank you, no more coffee, it feels luavy. We are told, such changes have taken place in the country within the last few years, that, if we were to revisit the land where we have sojourned so long, we should hardly know it, and that the manners and customs of the people have also undergone a similar change. If such a great change, such a rapid step forward, has taken place in a brief period of time, our young friends may take into consideration the changes that have taken place in these respects during thirty years. To those who have sojourned a long time in the country, these changes come on so gradually, that they are scarcely aware of them, unless they look back and compare them with the days that are gone. But let one who has been absent say only half- a-dozen years return, and he will no doubt find plant- ing life and Ceylon generally all turned upside down, and totally different from his former experienees CONTENTMENT. We don’t often quobe poetry, but cannot refrain from giving a few lines which we take out of an old paper being struck with it as somewhat appropriate to the Coffee Districts, as shewing forth the first and feeling sentiments of some young immigrant “thirty years ago—;” Gude preserve us; sic a country ! Naething here but sticks and trees, Swarms of bugs_ and vile mosquitoes, Every kind of biting fieas. Oh ! that I were back to Britain ! Friends nor foes would tempt me more E’er again to set a foot on This uncultivated shor ■. Yes, rather would I be contend with Meaner things, and sober cheer. Wi’ friends at home, than spend a life-time In this wilderness, oot here. We have some recollection of the big Ceylon officials, stating in some despatch relative to some discussion aiient the railway question, before the Colombo and Kandy line was determined on, that coffee was not a permanent industry, and what was the use of spending large sums of money on any work, such as a railway, when, before many years were past, it would probaby lapse into a howling wilderness, ’ and what use would a line of railway be through and to a howling wil- derness ? But we see no signs of this yet, quite the contrary* for the whole history and progress of the planting enterprise has steadily, slowly and surely (with a few occasional checks from which it always recovered with a rebound) been to emerge from a “howling wilderness, ’’making sure progress and advance, in spite of the howls of all those who lived in a wilderness of wceds^ which had destroyed their coffee. Well might they howl, for their own estates had lapsed into a ‘ howling wilderness, ’ beyond all possibility of redemption. But that was not the fault of coffee. It was the fault of its master, ur cultivation, or it may be a bad selection in a bad district. But did one ever know a planter who had not something to “howl” over? Ever know a contented planter ? Contentment is the true “philosophers’ stone.” Very likely, for nobody has ever found the one or the other. As life advances, and you get contented with one subject of discontent, before very long another source of trouble will break out. Have you found it so? Such has been the experience of P. D. Millie. THIRTY YEARS AGO. CaAPTEE JCXXIY. Coi^DUCTOBS AKD THEIR WiVES. Master want a conductor ? a verj good conductor?'’^ were the sounds that ^titick the ear, as one afternoon we lounged on the long arm dhair, after worh was -over, in a dreary nonentity of thought, very pro^ hably smoking, and looking over the columns of the Colombo Observer, On looking up, a man is standing a little way off behind, with his hat offj and generally in a very respectful position. He was a man of colour,’^ but dressed in eTery respect European fashion, ex- -cept that he had no stockings’; his shoes were very large, did not ht him, and evidently had been made for some one else ; an old soft felt hat was in his hands, and he kept twisting it up, rolling it round and tround, until it had all the appearance of a piece of thick rope. He seemed anxious and nervous as he repeated *•* master want a very good conductor ” : we reply, we are in want of a conductor, but judging from past experiences are of opinion it is quite im- possible to procure a good one, and much more so, a very good one. <‘Yes sir” was the prompt reply. ^ But master won’t say fjhat any more ; if master try me — Take me.” Well you seem to have a good opinion of yourself at all events, and we have generally found such people possess very little of the good ^opinion of others, and very often much worse than those who were of a more humble turn cf mind. But the conductor says, ‘‘beg pardon sir, but Europe people not understand our wa;y ” — now, I have had a great many wives,” — we interrupt him, with, that will