HEALTH.—­In connection with the subject of “Climate,” one of the most important inquiries is the probable effect on the health and constitution of a European produced by a prolonged exposure to an unvarying temperature, upwards of 30 degrees higher than the average of Great Britain.  But to this the most tranquillising reply is the assurance that mere heat, even to a degree beyond that of Ceylon, is not unhealthy in itself.  Aden, enclosed in a crater of an extinct volcano, is not considered insalubrious; and the hot season in India, when the thermometer stands at 100 deg. at midnight, is comparatively a healthy period of the year.  In fact, in numerous cases heat may be the means of removing the immediate sources of disease.  Its first perceptible effect is a slight increase, of the normal bodily temperature beyond 98 deg., and, simultaneously, an increased activity of all the vital functions.  To this everything contributes an exciting sympathy—­the glad surprise of the natural scenery, the luxury of verdure, the tempting novelty of fruits and food, and all the unaccustomed attractions of a tropical home.  Under these combined influences the nervous sensibility is considerably excited, and the circulation acquires greater velocity, with somewhat diminished force.  This is soon followed, however, by the disagreeable evidences of the effort made by the system to accommodate itself to the new atmospheric condition.  The skin often becomes fretted by “prickly heat,” or tormented by a profusion of boils, but relief being speedily obtained through these resources, the new comer is seldom afterwards annoyed by a recurrence of the process, unless under circumstances of impaired tone, the result of weakened digestion or climatic derangement.

Malaria.—­Compared with Bengal and the Dekkan, the climate of Ceylon presents a striking superiority in mildness and exemption from all the extremes of atmospheric disturbance; and, except in particular localities, all of which are well known and avoided[1], from being liable after the rains to malaria, or infested at particular seasons with agues and fever, a lengthened residence in the island may be contemplated, without the slightest apprehension of prejudicial results.  These pestilential localities are chiefly at the foot of mountains, and, strange to say, in the vicinity of some active rivers, whilst the vast level plains, whose stagnant waters are made available for the cultivation of rice, are seldom or never productive of disease.  It is even believed that the deadly air is deprived of its poison in passing over an expanse of still water; and one of the most remarkable circumstances is, that the points fronting the aerial currents are those exposed to danger, whilst projecting cliffs, belts of forest, and even moderately high walls, serve to protect all behind them from attack.[2] In traversing districts suspected of malaria, experience has dictated certain precautions, which, with ordinary prudence and firmness, serve to neutralise the risk—­retiring punctually at sunset, generous diet, moderate stimulants, and the daily use of quinine both before and after exposure.  These, and the precaution, at whatever sacrifice of comfort, to sleep under mosquito curtains, have been proved in long journeys to be valuable prophylactics against fever and the pestilence of the jungle.