and evergreens—concealed amidst leaves and
flowers as snugly as though they were so
many huge red-bricked birds' nests.

It is seldom, indeed, that anything occurs
to break the dull monotony of life in the
East. With no public amusements, no public
promenades, colonists seldom meet each other
save at the churches. There are, however,
a few days in the year when a little change in
this clock-work existence takes place amongst
the burgher population; when grim-looking
Dutchmen relax the stern rigidity of their
bronzed features, and assume some gay suit of
many colours. When portly sleepy dames
rouse up for the emergency, startle the quiet
family halls with their busy tongues, and
scare the old watch-dog with the vivid
brilliancy of new ribands and clean lace. One of
these very few and much-prized occasions is
New Year's Day.

In the afternoon of the first day in January,
1850, I strolled out from the old,
rambling, crumbling fort of Colombo, over a very
shaky wooden drawbridge, through the broad
prim-looking streets of the native town. The
weather was fine; that is to say, parchingly
hot; the sky was undimmed by a single cloud.
The bland sea-breeze played coyly with the
feathery foliage of the tall palms and arckas,
and waved against the azure sky many a
top of broad-leaved bright green bananas.
The native bazaar, at the corner of the town,
with one end jutting out upon the sea, was,
for once, clean and gay. The dealers in fish,
fruit, and curry-stuffs, appeared to have put
on new clothes with the New Year. The
huge white turbans, and gilt-edged muslin
scarfs, glistened in the noonday sun; and
gorgeous, many-coloured vests and wrappers
vied, in the brilliancy of their tints, with the
many-hued piles of fruits and balmy flowers.
The very fish and vegetables appeared cleaner
than usual; while spices, condiments, and
sweetmeats looked down from many a loaded
shelf to tempt the passer-by.

Leaving this motley scene, where the song
of the Hindoo dancers blended in wild
harmony with the Cingalese tom-tom, or drum,
I passed on to the heart of the dwelling-place
of the middle-class of Burghers.

Before every house was an ample verandah,
partly veiled by an open bamboo curtain. In
these lofty cool retreats, were seated the many
families of the place, receiving or paying the
good wishes of the season. Once upon a
time, the streets were graced by rows, on
either side, of shady spreading souriya trees,
bending over the footways, and peeping in at
the verandahs, to see how the inmates were
getting on; winking the large eyes of their
yellow tulip flowers at the daughters, and
enticing pretty birds to come and sing
amongst the leafy branches. But this was
in the good old days of sleepy Holland. Now,
all are gone—green boughs, winking flowers,
and singing-birds. More's the pity!

As I passed along, I met many groups
of old, young, and middle-aged, evidently
families, in full burgher holiday costume.
They were, in each case, followed by two or
more turbaned fierce-looking domestics, bearing
enormous trays, piled up with something
hidden from vulgar gaze by flowing veils of
muslin. I could not help calling to mind the
processions of slaves, in the Arabian Nights,
which we are informed followed the steps of
caliphs and sorcerers, bearing with them
huge presents of precious things from
subterranean worlds. I watched some of these
domestic embassies, and perceived that they
entered the houses of some of the neighbours;
there was a great fluster and bustle,
and no end to the talking and laughing in
the great verandahs. I entered the dwelling
of a Dutchman to whom I was known,
and found one of these family groups within.
A rare merry scene it was. The deputation
had just arrived; friends were shaking
hands; the great black slave of the "Arabian
Nights" uncovered the hidden treasures on
the tray, and, lo! there were discovered—not
piles of glittering sequins, and emeralds,
and rubies, as I had expected, but a few
bunches of yellow plantains, some green
oranges, a handful of limes, half-a-dozen
pineapples, and a homely-looking cake frosted
with sugar. These were the universal New
Year offerings amongst that simple
community, given as tokens of good-fellowship
and neighbourly feeling; and, as such,
welcomed and cheerfully responded to. Little
corpulent glasses of cordials, or schiedam,
were handed round amongst all arrivals, rich
or poor; good wishes were exchanged; a few
stale jokes were cracked; inquiries were made
for the grandmother who was too infirm to
join the party; and away went the neighbours
with another slave and another heap of hidden
gifts, to the next acquaintance. These
presents are not confined among equals; the
most humble menial scrapes a few challies
together for the occasion, and lays at his
master's feet an oblation of fruits and flowers.

The very "grass-cutter," the miserable
hanger-on of stables, contrives, somehow,
to get a few pines and plantains on a blue-
and-white dish; and, poverty-stricken though
she be, pours out her simple gifts before her
master with gentle dignity.

Group after group went through the town.
Gay parties continued to amuse themselves in
many a dusty verandah. Scores of
meerschaums sent forth circling clouds of fragrant
white smoke; while many a dreamy Dutchman
nodded in his high-backed, richly-carved
chair of ebony. The hour of vespers
approached. There were heard dozens of little
tinkling bells; and forth came scores of
damsels clad in pure white. Again the dusty streets
were busy and alive, and many of the good
Catholic verandahs lost their chief charmers.

Straying onward from this bustling
neighbourhood, I reached the outskirts of the town,
where are to be seen some of the prettiest and