I journeyed this time by another and rather shorter route. Instead of taking the Matelle road, I struck off to the right, past Davy's Tree, celebrated as the scene of the massacre of a large body of British officers and troops by the treacherous Kandians, and crossing the Mahavilla Ganga, at Davy's Ferry, made the best of my way across the beautiful vale of Dombera, and thence toward the long range of mountains forming one flank of the Kallibokke Valley. At the period of my former excursion this long tract of fertile country was one unbroken mass of heavy jungle; now a dozen large estates, with bungalows and extensive works, were to be seen, enlivening the journey, and affording a much readier passage for the horseman; for wherever plantations are formed, good jungle paths are sure to be made. The ride was a most interesting one; mile upon mile of coffee lay before and around me, in various stages of growth, from the young seedling just put out, to the full-bearing bush, as heavily laden with red, ripe coffee berries as any currant-bush in England with its fruit. It was then the middle of November, and the very height of the planter's harvest. All appeared busy as I rode along, gathering on the old properties; weeding and "supplying," or filling up failures on the young estates. I halted but once for a cup of good, wholesome coffee, and gladly pushed on, so as to reach my destination in good time for breakfast. The many lovely prospects opening before me caused some little delay in admiration; and, by the time I had ridden through the last piece of jungle, and pulled up at the upper boundary of "Soolookande," it was not far from mid-day. The sun was blazing high above me, but its rays were tempered by a cool breeze that swept over from the neighboring mountain-tops. The prospect from that lofty eminence was lovely in the extreme: steep ridges of coffee extended in all directions, bounded by piles of mossy forest; white spots, here and there, told of bungalows and stores; a tiny cataract rushed down some cleft rock, on one side; on the other, a rippling stream ran gently along, thickly studded with water-cresses. Before me, in the far distance, lay outstretched, like a picture-scroll, the Matelle district, with its paddy fields, its villages, and its Vihares, skirted by a ridge of mountains and terminated by the Cave Rocks of Dambool. At my feet, far below, lay the estate, bungalow, and works, and to them I bent my way by a narrow and very steep bridle-path. So precipitous was the land just here, that I felt rather nervous on looking down at the white buildings. The pathway, for a great length, was bordered by rose-bushes, or trees, in fullest blossom, perfuming the air most fragrantly: as I approached the bungalow, other flowering shrubs and plants were mingled with them, and in such excellent order was every thing there that the place appeared to me more like a magnified garden than an estate. How changed since my