waste of jungle. In one corner rest the mortal remains
o f the man who made the Aracan mountain-road,
“ worn out by exertions too great for his physical
frame,” in another is the tomb of one whose life closed
early, an ensign of twenty-three. Not far off from
him lies a young Englishwoman.
STEAMER W ITH F L A T IN TOW COMING UP TO TH A Y E TM YO
All is solitude, save where from a remote corner of
the wide desolate place thete comes a scent of incense.
A party of Tamils, with lighted tapers placed on the
tomb before them, is going through some strange litany.
Here alone, amidst all these graves, is there one that
is linked in any way with the living world about it.
As to the rest— they lie for the most part forgotten ;
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