hour after), and if it is already engaged, bullock hackries can be had at a still cheaper rate.

The story of King Pandukabhaya (437 B.C.), who first founded the city of Anuradhapura, is as full of excitement as the old legends of Greece. His grandmother the queen gave birth to ten sons and one daughter, Chitta, who was the youngest, and of whom it was foretold that her son should destroy his maternal uncles and usurp the throne. Naturally they wanted to put her to death, and oddly enough, considering the times, they did not do so. But to make everything safe, she was confined in an apartment built on a single pillar. However, as she was of course exquisitely lovely, the pre-ordained prince soon made his way to her secretly, and she "carried on an intrigue by sending him presents of betel leaves, and receiving from him fragrant flowers and other gifts," until the intercourse was discovered by the brothers. As the suitor was of high birth, they agreed to let their sister marry him on condition the expected child were slain if a boy. When the child was born, the mother (as in all fairy tales) conveniently substituted a peasant's daughter and handed over her son to be brought up by a peasant.

When in course of time the bad uncles discovered how they had been tricked, they hunted diligently to find the boy's whereabouts, and learned that he was in the habit of bathing with other boys in a certain marsh, so they gave orders to their attendants to kill all boys found so bathing. Pandukabhaya, as the lad was called, dived under water and slipped up inside

a hollow tree, and so escaped. Once again he miraculously escaped a similar fate in later years. When he grew up he married a beautiful princess, who had the charming gift of turning the leaves of trees into gold. He also captured a "Yakkha," or witch-mare, who carried him to victory, so that in time he met in battle and slew eight of his uncles. Observing the skulls of his eight uncles surmounting the heap of heads (of the rest of the slain), he remarked, "It is like a heap of fruit." Such a young man was naturally destined to go far. . . . In course of time he called upon one of his remaining uncles at Anuradhapura. This gentleman, after giving up the palace to him peaceably, was allowed to live, as was also the eldest uncle, Abhaya.

"Having consulted a fortune-teller versed in the advantages (which a town ought to possess), according to his directions, he founded an extensive city in that very village. On account of its having been the settlement of Anuradho and because it was founded under the constellation Anuradho, it was called Anuradhapura." (Mahawansa.)

Major Forbes in his admirable book refers to this in a note, saying:

"It is the general belief of uneducated natives that the name of the city is derived from Anurajah (ninety kings), but it was from the name of the constellation, Anuradha."

1 Eleven Years in Ceylon. (Bentley. Second edition 1841.)

But it was only from the time of Uttiya (267 B.C.) it became the settled capital until A.D. 729 (with an interlude of Sigiriya in A.D. 477). Then Polonnaruwa was the capital to A.D. 1013, and again, with breaks, up to 1314. King Pandu's second son was Tissa, in whose reign one of the most momentous events in the whole history of the island took place, for, as already related, Ceylon was converted to Buddhism by Mahinda, son of the great Asoka. The king met him on Mihintale Hill, eight miles from the town, and when he returned, bringing with him the great missionary, the people were naturally anxious to see him, and clamoured at the palace gates. If we could only know to-day exactly where that palace stood! The king said to his noisy subjects, "For all of you to assemble in this place is insufficient; prepare the great stables of the state elephants: there the inhabitants of the capital may see these theros." The people, however, declared "the elephant stables also are too confined," and so they went to "the royal pleasure-garden Nandana, situated without the southern gate, in a delightful forest, cool from its deep shade and soft green turf."

Subsequently, after addressing the multitude, the saintly stranger went "out of the southern gate of the Nandana pleasure-garden to the Mahamego pleasure-garden by its south-western gate." There (on the western side of the spot where the bo-tree was subsequently planted), furnishing a delightful royal palace with splendid beds, chairs, and other conveniences in the most complete manner, he (the king) said, 'Do thou

sojourn here in comfort.'" The king then dedicated the Mahamego pleasure-garden to the priesthood. Thereafter he marked the limits of the ground thus given and ploughed the boundary line with a golden plough.

Exquisitely painted vases, gorgeous flags tinkling with the bells attached to them, mirrors of glittering glass, festoons and baskets of flowers were carried in procession; triumphal arches were made of plantain trees, women carried umbrellas, and hundreds ran waving handkerchiefs. The whole scene is so human and natural we can picture it without difficulty, and we even know whereabouts it happened, for the bo-tree stands to this day and gives us a landmark.

The planting of this sacred tree-Ficus Religiosa-was one of the earliest events in the history of the city. And to-day the road from the station passes it. It is in the centre of the ground mentioned above which was given as a pleasuregarden by the king to the priests.

Come and visit the courtyard, passing through the ugly portal described on the first page of this book. Outside there are vendors of temple flowers and of pyramids of the unopened buds of the lotus, white and pink, looking like piles of fruit. It is a work of merit to buy these and turn back each petal lovingly until the flowers are fully opened before they are offered.

It is more than likely we shall be beset by beggars in the courtyard beyond the entrance, but Cingalese beggars are as a rule easily repulsed, and are not so audacious as those of India.

Under the shade of innumerable bo-trees, sprung

from the parent-tree, sits a calm Buddha, close by a curious wooden lintel and posts. This is the only fragment of ancient woodwork remaining in Anuradhapura amid all the brick and stone, and, though of course not ancient in comparison with some of the latter, is interesting on its own account. Mount to the higher terrace, and from there again up a steeper flight of steps to another, where there is a walk all round the tree, itself on a higher level still. In fact, the masonry consists of four platforms, each rather smaller than the one below, so as to leave a walk or terrace round it. It is said that originally the sacred tree was on the ground-level, but it has been built up by rich and special soil until the roots are far below the present surface.

Through two sets of railings, between which runs a narrow walk, we can gaze at the twisted stems of this amazing tree, carrying still a goodly crop of large pear-shaped leaves, resembling those of a balsam poplar. The wall of the innermost terrace is banked by ugly glazed green tiles, such as are used for the sides of suburban fireplaces.

When I visited the sacred spot a second time, after many years' interval, a line of devout worshippers was swaying and bowing, chanting monotonously on the outer terrace; while, alone on the inner one a monk, in a robe toned by frequent washing to an exquisite cinnamon colour, strode up and down. A mother-monkey, clasping her baby to her breast, ran down the sacred tree, but hurriedly scrambled back on seeing the monk in such close proximity. Her antipathy