Two axe-men to small trees; three, and
sometimes four, to larger ones: their little bright
tools flung far back over their shoulders with
a proud flourish, and then, with a "whirr,"
dug deep in the heart of the tree, with such
exactitude and in such excellent time, that
the scores of axes flying about me seemed
impelled by some mechanical contrivance, and
sounding but as one or two instruments. I
observed that in no instance were the trees
cut through, but each one was left with just
sufficient of the heart to keep it upright; on
looking around, I saw that there were
hundreds of them similarly treated. The ground
on which we were standing was extremely
steep and full of rocks, between which lay
embedded rich veins of alluvial soil. Where
this is the case, the masses of stone are not an
objection; on the contrary, they serve to keep
the roots of the young coffee plants cool
during the long dry season, and, in the like
manner, prevent the light soil from being
washed down the hill-side by heavy rains.
My planter-friend assured me that, if the
trees were to be at once cut down, a few at a
time, they would so encumber the place as to
render it impossible for the workmen to get
access to the adjoining trees, so thickly do
they stand together, and so cumbersome are
their heavy branches. In reply to my inquiry
as to the method of bringing all these cut
trees to the ground, I was desired to wait
until the cutting on the hill-side was
completed, and then I should see the operation
finished.

The little axes rang out a merry chime—
merrily to the planter's ear, but the death-knell
of many a fine old forest tree. In half
an hour the signal was made to halt, by blowing
a conch shell: obeying the signal of the
superintendent, I hastened up the hill as fast
as my legs would carry me, over rocks and
streams, halting at the top, as I saw the whole
party do. Then they were ranged in order,
axes in hand, on the upper side of the topmost
row of cut trees. I got out of their way,
watching anxiously every movement. All
being ready, the manager sounded the conch
sharply: two score voices raised a shout that
made me start again; forty bright axes
gleamed high in air, then sank deeply into as
many trees, which at once yielded to the sharp
steel, groaned heavily, waved their huge
branches to and fro, like drowning giants,
then toppled over, and fell with a stunning
crash upon the trees below them. These
having been cut through previously, offered
no resistance, but followed the example of
their upper neighbours, and fell booming on
those beneath. In this way the work of
destruction went rapidly on from row to row.
Nothing was heard but groaning, crackling,
crashing, and splintering; it was some little
time before I got the sounds well out of my
ears. At the time it appeared as though the
whole of the forest-world about me was
tumbling to pieces; only those fell, however,
which had been cut, and of such not one was
left standing. There they would lie until
sufficiently dry for the torch that would
blacken their massive trunks, and calcine
their many branches into dusty heaps of
alkali.

By the time this was completed, and the
men put on to a fresh "cut," we were ready
for our mid-day meal, the planter's breakfast.
Away we toiled towards the Bungalow.
Passing through a few acres of standing
forest, and over a stream, we came to a small
cleared space well sheltered from wind, and
quite snug in every respect. It was thickly
sown with what I imagined to be young
lettuces, or, perhaps, very juvenile cabbage-
plants, but I was told this was the "Nursery,"
and those tiny green things were intended to
form the future Soolookande Estate. On
learning that we had reached the
"Bungalow," I looked about me to discover its
locality, but in vain; there was no building to
be seen; but presently my host pointed out
to me what I had not noticed before—a small,
low-roofed, thatched place, close under a
projecting rock, and half hid by thorny creepers.
I imagined this to be his fowl-house, or,
perhaps, a receptacle for tools; but was not a
little astonished when I saw my friends beckon
me on, and enter at the low, dark door. This
miserable little cabin could not have been
more than twelve feet long by about six feet
wide, and as high at the walls. This small
space was lessened by heaps of tools, coils of
string, for "lining" the ground before planting,
sundry boxes and baskets, an old rickety
table, and one chair. At the farther end—if
anything could be far in that hole—was a
jungle bedstead, formed by driving green
stakes in the floor and walls, and stretching
rope across them. I could not help expressing
astonishment at the miserable quarter
provided for one who had so important a
charge, and such costly outlay to make. My
host, however, treated the matter very
philosophically. Everything, he observed, is good
or bad by comparison; and wretched as the
accommodation appeared to me, who had been
accustomed to the large, airy houses of
Colombo, he seemed to be quite satisfied;
indeed, he told me, that when he had finished
putting up this little crib, had moved in his
one table and chair, and was seated, cigar in
mouth, inside the still damp mud walls, he
thought himself the happiest of mortals. I
felt somewhat curious to know where he had
dwelt previous to the erection of this unique
building—whether he had perched up in the
forest trees, or in holes in the rocks, like the
wild Veddahs of Bintenne.

I was told that his first habitation, when
commencing work up there, was then
suspended over my head. I looked up to the
dark, dusty roof, and perceived a bundle of
what I conceived to be old dirty, brown
paper, or parchment-skin. Perceiving my
utter ignorance of the arrangement, he took