on foot; yet such appeared to be the case. Two or three small inns at which we applied for lodging turned us down with flimsy excuses.

In Colombia a gentleman goes always on horseback. To the simple inhabitants, therefore, of the small Andean villages through which we passed we constituted a puzzling anachronism. From our clothes and our general bearing, we appeared to be respectable foreigners, but-we were on foot, and driving a burro! No, señores, it could not be; obviously there was something crooked about the business!

Once past the prosperous town of Guaduas, we began the serious business of climbing the huge face of the escarpment, the central cordillera of the Andes. Our third night upon the trail found us camping beneath a thatch for muledrivers, after having been refused shelter at the near-by inn. All night the rain pattered on the roof, and morning found us waiting for it to clear up, so that we could proceed.

Toward noon we pushed on, and at night made Albán, a town of some size, whence travel by oxcart is possible to Facatativá. Up to this point the road from Honda had been suitable only for pack and saddle animals. With much persuasion, the lady who owned the hotel agreed to take us in, though she was obviously dubious regarding our character and probably expected us to slip out the next morning without paying our bill.

GABRIEL ENJOYS A NEW DIET

Gabriel was holding up well and had thus far shown no aversion to the corn and alfalfa which we had offered him, in spite of the very different diet to which he had been accustomed at Honda. Thompson and I were footsore, but gained new enthusiasm from realizing that we were now within striking distance of the plateau, as evidenced by a noisy party of Bogotá youths who had come down to Albán by auto and were busy celebrating in the cantina (barroom) of the hotel.

It was noon the next day when we splashed through the mud into Facatativá and selected the Hotel Gonzales as our headquarters. The trip was over, as far as tramping was concerned, for we decided that little was to be gained by cross

ing the sabana on foot. We bundled Gabriel into the train, after the manner of true Colombian gentlemen, and with mudbespattered ruanas climbed aboard.

A CLIMATE TOO NEARLY PERFECT

It was pleasant to be in the capital once more, though the damp, chilly atmosphere made me remember the lowlands with longing.

Perhaps it is vain to think that an ideal climate exists in this world; yet it has always seemed to me that an elevation of 4,000 to 6,000 feet in tropical America brings with it conditions as nearly perfect as one could wish. Indeed, they are almost too much so; for day upon day of balmy sunshine, and night upon night of crisp, clear air, just right for sleeping under two blankets, make one begin to wish for a first-rate thunderstorm, a heat wave, or almost anything else to break the monotony.

My stay in Bogotá was drawing to a close. I got out my maps and studied the route across the central cordillera to the Cauca Valley-that earthly paradise which stands out in my memory as one of the supremely beautiful regions of the world. And then I had the maestro make me a new pair of saddlebags and touch up the weak spots in my equipment generally.

One must be foresighted in Latin America, else he will find himself upon the trail, 50 miles from the nearest town of any size, with a broken stirrup leather, worn-out puttees, or something else which sounds inconsequential, but which may cause a vast amount of annoyance before there is an opportunity to make repairs.

The morning of my departure dawned all too soon. Hernando proudly squandered a week's salary in purchasing a ticket to Facatativá and return-second class, it is needless to state-so that he might see his patrón safely started upon the long journey.

Then for the last time I saw the broad green fields of the sabana fade away into the distance; for the last time I watched my fellow-travelers climb down from the train, mount their horses, and ride away. We crossed the divide, and the brakes commenced to groan as we started down the mountain side. The days spent round about Bogotá were at an end.

T

HE fame of the Ceylon Pearl Banks goes back into the mist of ages. It is recorded that in 600 B. C., Vijaya, who landed in Ceylon in 543 B. C. and became its first king, sent a gift of chanks and pearls to his fatherin-law, the King of Madura. Pliny discourses on the value of Ceylon pearls and on their formation, and Ibn Batuta, that shrewd medieval globe-trotter, gained first-hand knowledge of a pearl fishery in the fourteenth century.

From time to time in the long history of the Ceylon Pearl Fishery breaks have occurred. The spat has vanished, the young oysters have been swept away by adverse currents or have been destroyed by rapacious fish.

After one of these intervals, lasting 19 years, a pearl fishery was opened in February, 1925. The scientific operations were in the hands of Dr. Pearson, Marine Biologist to the Government of Ceylon, and Mr. A. H. Malpas, both of whom have devoted many years of study and research to the life history of the pearl

oyster.

OFF FOR THE HISTORIC PEARL BANKS

On a Sunday afternoon we set out in the government trawler Nautilus from Colombo Harbor, to visit the historic Pearl Banks. As the palm-fringed shore faded away and the trawler went north across a golden pathway of sunshine, one had a pleasurable sense of stepping back into the past; for, though steam trawlers now play their part in the fishery, there is no doubt that the actual procedure of diving and the traditions have not altered one jot or tittle since the days of Vijaya. The Nautilus, commanded by Captain Kerkham, R. N. R., late Superintendent of the Fisheries for the Ceylon Pearl Company, is a very comfortable boat for her size, and, whether sitting on her deck under the awning for meals or sleeping

in the airy cabins, there was no hint of hardship or discomfort.

The night was rough, so we turned in early, but were up at 4 o'clock, when the Nautilus dropped anchor. It was a starlit night, and out of the darkness there came lights, green and red, moving mysteriously. They were the lights of the trawlers Lilla and Violet, towing in the fishing fleet.

Slowly the dawn came and revealed the gray throbbing waters of the Gulf of Manaar, with red-and-white flags bobbing up and down at irregular intervals. It looked for all the world like a gathering for a regatta. We were over the famous Twynam Paar, the pearl bank that has recently been located. These rocky "paars," on which the oysters congregate in millions, lie for the most part in five to nine fathoms.

The fishing fleet takes one straight back 3,000 years. In high-prowed dhoneys like these, the fishermen set out to sea in the days of King Vijaya, and the rigging and tackle have not changed by a hair's breadth.

The sun flooded the sea and the whole scene took on stir and animation and clamor. The dhoneys had cast off from the trawlers and were being directed into position by the Nautilus. Nothing is done in the East without a full accompaniment of noise, and the fishery is no exception.

THE ARAB EXCELS THE TAMIL AS A

DIVER

The decks of the dhoneys were packed with brown figures: the manducks, who lower the divers, busy with their ropes; the divers themselves clambering over the sides, the other occupants of the boats. chattering, pulling at gear, or doing nothing with a maximum of commotion.

It is an entrancing sight-the boats, some painted bright blue or yellow, bobbing up and down on the translucent blue