310 Mr. E. L. Layard's Rambles in Ctyhn. 



hidden by the water, which came up to the seat of the gig, but now, 

 high out of the stream, they really look impassable. Tomorrow will 

 decide. 



The river furnished me with abundance of Paludomus spiralis, a 

 species which I found at several of the rivers as far north as Madde- 

 watchy. 



Dambool, April 26. 



Safe and sound so far, thank Heaven ! over the worst day's journey 

 of the whole road. The old time-worn rock, enfolding in its cavern 

 temple hundreds of Buddhos of all sizes, from forty feet to as many 

 inches, is frowning upon me in the dim moonlight : the night hawks 

 sit churring and gobbling on the tumbledown rails of the Rest House 

 fence : the large white bullocks of my cart lie ruminating at my side : 

 and extended at full length, and covered with a single cloth, tucked 

 under their heads and toes, repose my retainers ; they look horribly 

 like a line of corpses, but the nasal mvoluntaries that they play dis- 

 pel the illusion. How fresh and beautiful the night is after the rain, 

 and yet I cannot fancy myself in any place but the tropics, cool as it 

 is ! In Old England not a sound would break the stillness : in the 

 words of a beautiful evening hymn, there "Night and silence reign," 

 indeed ; but here, the words of the Psalmist, " Thou makest dark- 

 ness that it may be night, wherein all the beasts of the forest do move," 

 strike one with double force, I certainly think the stillest season of 

 the twenty-four hours is from 1 1 a.m. to 3 p.m. As I sit, there are 

 such a variety of sounds that it is hardly possible to distinguish them 

 one from another : stop, let me try. There's the lesser fern owl (C 

 asiafieus), the larger (C Mahrattensis), the little Scops Lempiji, 

 tree frogs, marsh frogs, crickets by scores, and seated on my table is 

 an attenuated green grasshopper, whose pipe is as shrill as any of 

 them despite his leanness. But there's a sound I can't make out ; 

 I think it is the cry of the Brachystoma. I heard it on my way 

 down, but could not detect what made it, nor could I this evening, 

 though I hunted well for it ; it is very like the cry of the cuckoo. 

 Oh ! of course there go the jackals ; a night in the East would not be 

 perfect without them. "Dead hindoo-ooooo," howls one ; " Where, 

 where, whet-e," drawls a famished wretch, impatient for a bit ; "Here, 

 he-re, he-e-er, he-ar" (a mouthful rendering his articulation imper- 

 fect) yells a third ; and then comes a general chorus, in which "Hin- 

 doo-ooooo," "ivhere" and "he-ar" are happily blended. But what has 

 checked the noisy wretches in their concert? "a-a-archf a-a-arch!" 

 That's a new note, and not far off either ; whose is it I wonder ? " Here, 

 Muttu ! Muttu ! you lazy beast, Muttu !" — a shove, which sends him 

 rolling over and over. "Eh! d'ara?" (who is that?) growls the 

 sleeper, awakened. "Here, Muttu! enna chattam/"' (what is that 

 noise?) "Ah! Dorray" (master), and the winding sheet sits up- 

 right. "A-a-arch, wa-a-arch" again from the jungle. " Pully" 

 (leopard), coolly replies Man Friday, and the winding sheet is re- 

 sumed again. Such is habit ! he is sleeping in the verandah of this 

 lonely bungalow, with no protection in the world. Well, that loaded 

 rifle yonder is some little comfort to me ; so now for the events of 

 the day. 



