igures and many groups.
None of the Indian topes are more than half as large as these Ceylon
dagobas. The latter were solid, hemispherical masses, standing upon a
raised square platform of granite six or eight feet high, and
approached by broad stone steps. The incrustation of the dome-like
edifice was after the fashion of our modern stucco process, except
that it was very much more thickly laid on. The preparation consisted
of lime, cocoanut water, and the glutinous juice of a fruit which
grows upon the paragaha-tree. This compound was pure white when dried
and hardened, receiving a polish like glass, and was remarkable for
durability.

We were told of, but did not see, carved stone capitals and
elaborately draped monoliths, found among the ruins of Bintenne, which
represented early perfection in architecture as displayed in a region
now indeed barbaric, but where a civilization flourished in the far
past in all the pride and pomp of oriental grandeur. To-day, the
jackal and the panther, unmolested by man, prowl about the spot in
search of prey.

When the hosts who formed the population of these long-buried cities
disappeared we may not know, nor what fate befell them. There are many
intelligent theories about the matter, but very little positive
evidence. The most plausible supposition would seem to be that a
devastating famine must have been the fatal agent. Most of the works
which these people left behind them, except the bell-shaped and nearly
indestructible dagobas, are now covered with rank vegetation. The
first structure of this character erected at Anuradhapura is still
extant, and is believed by some writers to be one of the oldest
architectural monuments in India. With this conclusion we certainly
cannot agree, as the chronicles tell us it was raised by King Tissa,
at the close of the third century before Christ, over the collar-bone
of Buddha. The author has seen at Benares many sacred structures, some
in ruins, which are much more ancient. After all, these milestones of
the centuries afford us little data by which to unravel the mysteries
of the past in Ceylon. They are only isolated mementos, forming
disjointed links in the chain connecting us with by-gone ages, mute
but eloquent witnesses of a former and high degree of civilization.
The most erudite antiquarian finds no coherent or reliable history in
such crumbling monuments; generalities only can be deduced from them,
however suggestive and interesti