136 THE EAGLE OWL. 



THE EAGLE OWL. 



A GLIMPSE OF CEYLON. 



We wandered to the river as the sun 

 Was setting, now the sultry day was done; 

 We saw the purple darkness close around, 

 We watched the river mist from off the ground 

 Rise as a mantle o'er the shadowy palms 

 That swayed their feathery heads and rustled soft 

 Rocked in the night wind's arms. 



IF the reader will accompany me in spirit, 

 we will saunter along a jungle path 

 together in the Low Country of Ceylon. 

 The month is January, and the North East 

 monsoon has fairly set in, with little prospect 

 of rain for some few months. The time is 

 between ten and eleven at night, and it wants 

 but one day to the full moon. 



To the left are low hills, covered with the 

 densest jungle from base to summit. Stately 

 palms stand out in relief against the clear sky, 

 shaking their serrated leaves. Clumps of 

 bamboos sway and nod their feathery heads with 

 a murmuring rustle, as the night wind creeps 

 gently over them. The air is filled with the 

 sound and conversation of the insect world; 

 noisy cicadas, and stridulating beetles almost 



