newspapers, very democratic in its principles.
He had an inkling that things were not going
on as they should do, and that a republic
must be the sort of government suited to the
present wants of man. Yet, strange to say,
he connected with his ideas of reform a return
to those things which the liberality of the
British Government had abolished, forced
labour and flogging at the discretion of the
headmen!

The priest was of a far different stamp:
not an educated man, in an European sense of
the word; but still with some glimmering
of mind within; just serving to render
internal darkness visible. He, of course, could
read fluently; for it was a portion of his
duties to recite verses of their Pitakas or
sacred writings, morning and evening, in
the Vihara. He possessed a fair share of
curiosity, and a desire to know something
of other places and things. Nay, more, he
frequently heard me read a whole chapter
of the Scriptures, with which he was much
pleased, and frankly admitted that Christianity
was the best religion next to Buddhism.

His Vihara and dwelling were at one end of
the range of little hills, on the slopes of
which the village of Malwattie was situated,
though above them considerably. It was the
only roof covered by tiles; and, unlike the
rest, might be seen at some distance, peeping
out from amidst a whole bunch of foliage.
To arrive at it the traveller had to wend his
way along a weary length of loose stones
that led over low swampy ground, round the
edges of rice-fields, and up the sides of rather
steep hills a slip from which bid fair to
plunge the wayfarer down some very ugly
places. It was a path that should be trodden
by none but a tight-rope dancer, or a native
of the country.

The view from the door of the shrine was
highly picturesque, commanding a survey of
many miles of mountain, forest and prairie
country, through which herds of cattle were
dotted like so many very small mice. His
abode was mean in the extreme, with scarce
sufficient to make life supportable. The rules
of his order forbad him to acquire any
property, and he subsisted from day to day on
charity—just as did his friend the Korale,
though needing it much more.

The priest often visited me in the
plantation, and examined with much curiosity
the various books and pictures about the
bungalow. On one of these occasions an
incident occurred which threatened at first
to cut short our intimacy; but was
eventually forgotten or laughed at. I had
frequently pressed my yellow-robed friend to
partake of my meat, and taste a little port
wine, of which I knew most of these people
are very fond—but in vain; he professed the
utmost dislike to any strong drink,
independently of the restriction laid on them by
their rules. One day, while conversing with
him, I was called away to the coffee-store
by one of the labourers, and left him alone,
sitting by my little jungle sideboard. As I
was returning immediately afterwards, and
when near the door, I heard a great coughing
and spluttering, and strange choking noises.
Upon entering, I found the priest almost dead
with a fit of coughing. He had staggered
against the wall, his eyes were streaming
with water, his hands clenched together,
while, down his long golden robes, a jet black
stream had found its sable way. A bottle
lay at his feet, The truth flashed across me
in a moment. The wary priest had gone to
my sideboard to steal a taste of the forbidden
wine, and had, unfortunately, taken a good
draught from a quart bottle of ink.

Next in village importance to the characters
already named was one Ranghamy, the head
constable, deputy-sheriff, tax-collector, and
there is no saying what besides. He was
right-hand man of the Korale, not quite so
stout, but more thick-headed, save when his
own interest was concerned, and then it was
remarkable how his faculties brightened up,
and illuminated the social atmosphere of
Malwattie. Ranghamy was not a native of
the village, nor of the district; nobody
seemed to know whence he came, except the
Korale, and he had long since forgotten.
The hydra-headed official had a numerous
progeny of Ranghamies of both sexes, besides
a large herd of sleek, well-favoured cattle;
yet, oddly enough, he had neither lands
whereon to pasture the one, nor salary
wherewith to feed and clothe the other. Still
they were all fed, and clothed, and pastured.
The junior head-constable, and the little
female deputy-sheriffs, and the tax-collectors
in arms, were clad in whiter robes than any
other young villagers. As for the cattle,
they might have been exhibited at the
Smithfield show, and won all the prizes by several
stone of fat. Whether they grew thus corpulent
from any miraculous interference of
Buddha, or were fattened by some scientific
process upon constables' broken staves and
collectors' decayed tax-books, or whether they
were daily driven upon other people's lands,
who dared not complain to the Korale, and
if they did, could not expect the head-
constable to impound his own bullocks;—which
of these might have been the case, I never
learnt, though I had my suspicions in the
matter. Ranghamy was said to have realised
considerable sums by hiring out his cattle to
the moormen, who convey rice and salt from
the sea-coast on pack-bullocks to the interior.
Of this prosperity his dwelling gave abundant
proof, for he had not only English crockery
and cutlery, but a decanter mysteriously
covered up with a floor mat, in which it was
whispered wine was once seen. Two pictures
in frames, in glaring colours, graced the walls;
while on a kind of shelf was placed, by way
of ornament, a chemist's white ointment jar
with a faded gilt label.

Not far removed from the constable in