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 284 the hill of Yapawu, where, in the words of the Mahawanso, “on the summit of the Subha mountain, inaccessible to enemies, having built a city like Alakamanda (the most beautiful of celestial cities) he resided, like another Wessawanno (the regent of the north) protecting that part of the country and the religion from the Kerala monsters.”

The city, as I have said, lay at the base of the rock; but a winding path, with rude steps, leads to the top, which doubtless was a place of refuge in times of danger. A similar in stance of this occurs at Seegiri, which however, unlike Yapahoo, partakes more of the fortress than the palace.

About the year 1267, Yapahoo, as well as Pollanarua and Kurnegalle, were greatly embellished and ornamented by Bosat Wijaya Bahoo, son of Pandita Praakrama Bahoo III., who, in  1303, after his succession to the throne, was murdered at Pollanarua by his adigar, Mita Séna. The army, however, remained faithful to the royal family, and proclainedproclaimed [sic] his brother, who had fled to Yapahoo, under the title of King Bhuwaneka Bahoo I. This king, who, prior to his accession, had lived at Yapahoo, now made it the seat of I government, and removed the sacred Dalada thither.

During this reign, Koola Saikera Raja, king of Pandi (Madura), sent an army into Ceylon, and placed it under the command of his tributary, Aareya Chakkrawarti, king of Jaffna. Yapahoo was taken, and the sacred relic carried off to Madura.

From this time Yapahoo ceased to be the capital; but it still appears to have been a place of considerable importance for the next 200 years.

In the reign of Sree Praakrama Kotta, a descendant of the royal family was made Dissave of Yapahoo, and shortly after the accession of Jayaa Bahoo II., 1464, he rebelled, put the king to death, and was raised to the throne under the title of Bhuwaneka Bahoo VI.

In 1527, Yapahoo was the place of refuge of the two elder sons of Wijaya Bahoo VII., when they fled from their father, who sought to put them to death. They assembled their forces, and, attacking him in their turn, murdered him, and the eldest became king, as Bhuwaneka Bahoo VII.

The last mention of Yapahoo in history is in the reign of Don Juan Dharmapaala, whom the Portuguese set up in 1542, when, among the many aspirants to the throne, one,a Malabar, took up his residence here. It was probably at this time that the city was destroyed by the Portuguese, and it has been ever since deserted.

It has scarcely borne out its title of Yapawu, or Subhapabbata, the city on the “auspicious rock.”

going one morning from Southampton to London. I had the carriage to myself as far as Kingston; here a little man got in who at once attracted my attention by the peculiarity of his dress, appearance, and manner. He was in evening dress, everything about him, from the silk-faced dress-coat to the patent leather boots, being bran new. A fact of which he was far from being unconscious; each of his garments, in its turn, attracted his notice and approving smile.

The only thing about him that violated evening etiquette was his necktie, a blue one, negligently arranged à la Byron under a rolling collar.

From this I augured that he was a poet, for turn-down collars were by no means so common then as now; the fashion prescribing terrific gills, which, in short-necked men, endangered the safety of their whiskers and ears. My surmise was confirmed by his long hair, its natural tendency to curl being combated by the copious exhibition of grease, and probably by assiduous brushing.

His face, however, was somewhat against my theory: instead of being thin and pale, with eyes “in fine frenzy rolling,” it was round, dumpling-like, and rosy; his little eyes deeply set in tunnels of fat, which, as he chuckled from time to time, were half closed by his rising cheeks, and presented to view a mere slit; his nose short, turned up, and garnished at the tip with six or seven curly hairs; his mouth expansive, and his teeth very good: fortunately, as he showed them all, not even concealing the wisdom teeth, which wore not quite come down.

He was well made, what there was of him; he was not much above five feet high, rather disposed to embonpoint.

In his button-hole he wore a magnificent white camellia, which, I regret to say, I saw, admired, coveted, and determined to possess, by fair means if possible, if not, by foul.

This flower, too, attracted much of his attention; he bestowed frequent glances upon it, muttering what I conceived to be poetry, inspired by the purity and delicacy of the flower.

I was considering how I might best commence