110 
THE ORIENTAL ANNUAL. 
a few seconds, as if by a magic spell, tlie whole aspect 
of nature was transformed. A brilliant flood of sun- 
shine was spread across the scene ; the cliffs rose still 
higher and more majestically over our heads ; the deep 
leaden waters were converted into a rippled flood of 
gold ; and as our canvass filled to the favouring breeze, 
my spirits regained their wonted elasticity. 
“ Make all sail, you Manji ; and here, tell me, what 
are the glittering buildings which so thickly crown 
yonder cliffs P ” 
“ That place. Sir, is the famed city of Ettaiah, for- 
merly the capital of this district. It is of very great 
antiquity, and strange tales are told of its ancient inha- 
bitants. Your honour will find it worthy of a days 
tarry.” 
I instantly ordered out my little wherry, and taking 
four oars on board, I had rounded the last reach just as 
the sun touched the horizon. The scene was grand 
indeed. Buildings of all dates and ages — the ancient 
and the modern, the ruined and the still unfinished, 
were heaped together in strange confusion, and were 
spread over about twenty hills to the height of eighty 
or a hundred feet above the water-mark. 
I landed upon one of the principal ghats , and throw- 
ing my gun over my shoulder, I strolled from ruin to 
ruin, and from street to street, until at last, upon a 
flight of newly-built steps leading to the water, I des- 
cried an aged Brahmin performing his evening worship 
with his face turned towards the still glowing west. 
