night was boisterous, and the rain fell in torrents; and at daybreak we learnt the Maskeliya-ganga was impassable. We were in the position of Jason of old on his way to Iolchos, when

"...lightly through the well-known woods he passed,
And came out to the open plain at last,

And went till night came on him, and then slept
Within a homestead that a poor man kept,

And rose again at dawn, and slept that night
Nigh the Anaurus, and at morrow's light

Rose

up and went into the river's brim; But fearful seemed the passage unto him,

For swift and yellow drave the stream adown

'Twixt crumbling banks; and tree trunks rough and brown

Whirl'd in the bubbling eddies here and there;

So swollen was the stream a maid might dare

To cross, in fair days, with unwetted knee.”

We were not, like him, fortunate enough to find a goddess to help us across; the torrent raged furiously over and

and salt in a rag, and fasten it unto a stick, and ever and anon strike it upon their legs to make the leeches drop off: others will scrape them off with a reed, cut flat and sharp in the fashion of a knife; but this is so troublesome, and they come on again so fast and so numerous, that it is not worth their while and generally they suffer them to bite, and remain on their legs during their journey; and they do the more patiently permit them, because it is so wholesome for them. When they come to their journey's end, they rub all their legs with ashes, and so clear themselves of them at once; but still the blood will remain dropping a great while after."

among the rocks and boulders, and the bridge had, months. ago, been swept away. Shortly after the burst of the monsoon, in the month of May, the floods from the mountains, checked by the bend of the river, rose rapidly to a height of forty feet, and completely submerging the banks, whirled to destruction every impediment they met with. On their subsidence it was found the bridge was gone, the masonry abutment on the right bank destroyed, and only a few logs of the entire timber work of piers and pathway, left stranded here and there on either bank.*

We at first thought the natives were trying to frighten us from going further, but on ascertaining the state of affairs for ourselves, we returned to Gilímalé, and waited to see what another day would bring forth; in the meantime a few pigeons, kingfishers, orioles, jungle crows and other birds, were shot, and a little taxidermy practised with a view to the preservation of their skins. Starting early the next day, we with some difficulty effected a passage; although in crossing the Hatula-ganga, we found that that river had fallen four feet during the previous twelve hours. The ford, where we crossed, was fully a hundred and fifty feet wide from bank to bank, and we had occasionally to make a

* A bridge has again and again been put up here; but only to be swept away as often as erected. It is understood to be the intention of the Chief priest of the Srí páda to erect a suspension bridge of a single span; raised sufficiently high to ensure it against destruction from catastrophies similar to those which destroyed its predecessors.

jump from one rock to another, in places where a slip would have been followed by inevitable destruction; unless one had the good fortune to be caught by or against a length of cable-ratan which had been partially stretched across the bed of the river, apparently with a view to rendering assistance in case of possible accidents. The worst place was near the right bank, where a mighty tree had been overthrown, the trunk of which stretched diagonally over the deepest channel of the river, a chasm down which the waters were rushing and tumbling in tumultuous foam. A large limb of the tree was jammed between the rocks on one side of the channel, while the roots were stuck fast in the other. Up this limb, and along the wet and slippery trunk, and down the roots, each one had to pass ere he could gain the opposite bank. It was a nerve trying operation, and under such circumstances heavy nailed boots certainly do not give one a feeling of security. Here the shoeless natives had a decided advantage over us. Several of these indeed declined trying the tree; and slinging their loads on bambus, waded two and

* This ratan is a species of Calamus, occasionally found 300 feet in length, an inch in diameter, and with scarcely any difference in thickness throughout its entire length. From its lightness, strength and toughness, it has been employed by the natives with striking success in the formation of suspension bridges over water-courses an ravines. Descriptions of these bridges are given by both Sir J. E. Tennent, and Major Forbes. In the work by the latter a wood engraving is given of the one which crossed the Dedru-oya, on the Trincomalee road.

two among the rocks above where we crossed, probing the depth of water with long sticks as they went, sometimes sinking to their armpits, but always so zigzagging as to find the shallowest part of the stream. They knew the river and we did not; and after all had passed, they declared that but for our determination to go on, and the number we had to render help to each other, they would not have ventured to try the passage. Happily no accident occurred, and we reached Palábaddala with no further damage than that of being wet through; with the exception of what happened to one of the coolies, who, carrying a nitrate of silver bath, the top of which was fortunately screwed on, in shifting his load turned it upside down; a slight leakage followed, which not distinguishing from the rain, he took no notice of; the consequence was, that the brown skin of his back and chest become covered with stripes and streaks of black, which, when a glimpse of sunlight broke through the clouds, shone with a bright metallic lustre, and he was very nearly believing he had been bewitched, or was undergoing punishment from Saman for venturing through his territories at so unwonted a season. It was a sort of satisfaction to our minds

to find, on the third excursion, that the natives themselves are not without feelings of apprehension, sure-footed as they are, and nonchalant as they seem to be. At this same ford, although the water was lower, and nothing near so foamingly boisterous as on our second journey, one of our coolies became completely panic-stricken. He stood trembling on a rock in the middle of the stream, perspiration pouring out at every

U

pore from sheer dread: move he could not; and we had to send two men to relieve him of his load, anything but a heavy one, and help him over: but he would go no further, he had had enough of the pilgrimage, and we were obliged to proceed without him.

Palábaddala, or according to same authorities, Palá-batdola,—stands on an elevated plateau, 1,100 or 1,200 feet above the sea. It consists of a village or hamlet, containing several small irregular streets, with sundry spacious open bungalows for the accommodation of pilgrims passing to and from the Peak. Its ordinary population, according to Baba Sinho, the intelligent Ganárachchi of Haghapola, was about 250; but thousands throng into it during the pilgrim season, especially in the months of February, March and April. In August 1866, the place was nearly all burnt down by an accidental fire; but wattle and daub huts, with cadjan roofs, are soon run up again, and one good has perhaps resulted from the fire, in that several of the bungalows are now substantially roofed with tiles.

The following legend is connected with the place, and accounts for its name. Long, long ago, a very poor woman was desirous of performing the pilgrimage to the Srí-páda, but, owing to her extreme poverty, could take nothing with her except some common jungle leaves, which in times of distress the natives occasionally resort to for food; these she boiled, and rolled up in a plaintain leaf; and having arrived thus far, when about to partake of her food, she found the boiled leaves had been miraculously turned into rice.