286 TWO YEAES IN THE JUNGLE. 



been taught to consider necessary to the welfare of the soul ? After 

 such an exhibition of bigotry and bad temper among the official 

 followers of our meek and lowly Saviour, I thought that, should I 

 die in Ceylon, I would first request the omission of the burial ser- 

 vice. I would rather have a single tear shed above my gi'ave than 

 a hollow ceremony performed thereat. 



Shortly before noon we halted at the Bentotte rest house for 

 breakfast, a little more than half-way to Galle. The rest house is 

 charmingly situated on a pretty httle knoll close to the beach and 

 the mouth of the Bentota Ganga, partly surrounded by a grove of 

 tamarind-trees and cocoa-palms, commanding a fine view of the 

 cool and refreshing ocean. We breakfasted, chiefly on fish, with 

 the music of the tumbling surf in our ears and a delicious breeze 

 from the ocean fanning our cheeks. Who would not hke to sjoend 

 a whole summer at Bentotte ? Thence, onward, the road lay about 

 as close to the beach as it could get and jjreserve its straightness. 

 1 watched that endless strip of yellow sand, mile after mile, but 

 truth compels me to say that I did not see a single living creatvu'e 

 upon it, nor even a good shell. 



The cocoanut grove along the shore seemed as endless as the 

 shore itself. From Panadura to Galle the road is lined, nearly the 

 whole way, with native huts and bazaars, so that it seems like a 

 ride through a continuous village. To the slow-moving and slow- 

 thinking natives our rapid passage must seem like the passage of 

 an express train at home. The Royal Mail Coach has the right of 

 way, and on we go at a gallop, the wet sand flying from the whirl- 

 ing coach-wheels, dashing through one bazaar after another, the 

 bugle blowing every now and then, the children and old women 

 scattering to right and left, and the bullock bandys hastily drawing 

 off to one side to let our coach dash by. We started at six o'clock, 

 changed horses twelve times, halted forty-five minutes at Bentotte, 

 and at 4 p.m. drove across the draw-bridge which spans the moat 

 of the old Dutch fort, dashed up the main street of Point de Galle 

 with a grand flourish, and pulled up in front of the hotel. The 

 coach was wretchedly uncomfortable, but otherwise the ride was 

 all that could be desired. 



Galle is a small place, but its natural advantages are immense. 

 Aside from the beautiful harbor with its fringe of cocoa-palms and 

 sandy beach, I was most interested in the wide coral reef which lies 

 along the southern waU of the fort. At low tide, when the sea is 

 calm, one gets from the Hght-house a beautiful bu'd's eye view of 



