THE BURIED CITY
I watch the light dawning on this silent wilde me ss of green from the summit of a hill that rises like an island out of the plains. It is India of the forests and the jungles, though veiled in mist. In the centre of Ceylon, sheltered by interlacing trees, there is a spot of profoundest peace: it is the place where the marvellous Anuradhapura stood-the city which was buried in a night of leaves more than two thousand years ago. The day breaks siowly through a leaden sky, thick with storm and gloom. The midnight hour is striking now in France, but here the earth presents this region of crumbling ruins to the sun once more.