The seventy miles between Colombo and Galle is traversed the first third of the way by rail, and the remaining two-thirds by a somewhat primitive stage coach. Natives are in front and in the rear, but we have the whole interior to ourselves, the horn sounds its inspiriting strains, and we are off at good speed over excellent roads. We are never far from the sea. Sometimes we drive on the shore in sight of the rolling surges, again we see the gleaming blue water through the palms, and whenever we pause we hear the deep undertone of its mighty voice. The plantain, the mangrove, the dark, glossy, broad leaf of the breadfruit are almost the only varieties of foliage we have in contrast with the ever-present cocoanut, which casts its shadow on the ground with a central stem of light, instead of shade, running through the immense frond. The population of Ceylon is twelve times as dense in the western as in the eastern provinces, and all the inhabitants of the coast are supported by the cocoanut. The natives have a saying that the cocoanut palm loves the sound of the human voice, and, like the magpie and robin, will not flourish away from the habitations of men. Like the palmyra palm in the north of Ceylon, the cocoanut in the south yields most of the necessaries of life. Its fruit furnishes food, its shell drinking vessels, its juice palm wine and sugar, its stem materials for building, its leaves roofs, matting, baskets and paper. The number of these trees in the island is estimated to be twenty millions, which yield from seven to eight hundred million cocoanuts annually, and are worth ten million dollars. These trees are carefully guarded at night when the fruit is ready to pick. The natives climb these tall, smooth trunks with great agility, partly by the aid of bamboo ladders, and oftener with the help of a short band of cocoanut fibre between the feet or around the loins. Along the route we passed half a dozen or more school houses, admirably constructed for the climate, with a substantial roof, wooden walls about six feet high, and the upper portion left open to all the winds of heaven. We could see the blackboards and the teacher and the pupils as we dashed by. On the summit of Richmond Hill, two miles from the town of Galle, where the Wesleyan mission is situated, we can not do better than pause and await the steamer which is to bear us to Hong Kong and Yokohama. A broad verandah, furnished with tables, rattan couches and easy chairs, commands a magnificent outlook. A waving sea of palms leads up to distant mountains on the one side, while on the other a sea of palms stretches away to that far-flashing ocean which is soon to bear us on its bosom.
[To be continued.]
[ART OF CONVERSATION.]
The art of conversation so essential to every one who wishes to mingle in society, can only be perfected by frequent intercourse with the polite, yet great assistance may be derived by an intelligent person from the observations below, and no important blunders can possibly be made if the rules here given be attended to.
Under favorable circumstances, and among persons who know how to train a conversation, there are few if any amusements more grateful to the human mind. Every one knows something which he is willing to tell, and which any other that he is in company with wishes to know, or which if known to him, would be amusing or useful.
To be a skilful conversationist, one’s eyes and ears should be busy; nothing should escape his observation. His memory should be a good one, and he should have a good-natured willingness to please and to be pleased.
It follows that all matter of offense in conversation should be avoided. The self-love of others is to be respected. Therefore, no one is tolerated who makes himself the subject of his own commendation, nor who disregards the feelings of those whom he addresses.
There is as much demand for politeness and civility in conversation as in any other department of social intercourse. One who rudely interrupts another, does much the same thing as though he should, when walking with another, impertinently thrust himself before his companion, and stop his progress.