those eyes, those tender eyes, which were closing fast under a thick gray film. The blood frothed to her lips; her poor little body shook convulsively, and then, with one low womanish wail, her soul-for surely gazelles have souls-left the body, which still shuddered, though the life was gone. We had her cutlets dressed à la papillote. Exquisite as her beauty, I ate them to indigestion.

That Christmas morning I enjoyed a stupendous repast. The mouths of members of the Acclimatization Society will water as they read. It was a collection of gastronomical rarities—a tissue of eccentricities de cuisine.

We commenced with snails, brought from France in barrels filled with flour, which had preserved them admirably. They were prepared au gratin, and we forked them out of their retreats with instruments unpleasantly resembling toothpicks. We had also oysters torn from trees.

Our fish consisted of African soles, carp, and mullet. Detestable in themselves, they illustrated the skill of the cuisinier.

Then followed the gazelle cutlets à la papillote. Two small monkeys served cross-legged and with liver sauce, on toast. Stewed iguana, which was much admired. A dish of roasted crocodile's eggs. Some slices of smoked elephant (from the interior), which none of us could touch. A few agreeable plates of fried locusts, land-crabs (previously fattened), and other crustacea. The breasts of a mermaid, or manatee-the grand bonnebouche of the repast. Some boiled alligator, which had a taste between pork and cod, with the addition of a musky flavor. And some hippopotamus steaks aux pommes de terre.

We might have obtained a better dessert at Covent Garden, where one can see the bright side of the tropics without the trouble or expense of traveling. But we had pine-apples, oranges, roasted plantains, silver bananas, papaws (which, when made into a tart with cloves, might be taken for apples), and a variety of fruits which had long native names, curious shapes, and all of them very nasty tastes. But I must not omit the famous palm-cabbage.

It is erroneously supposed that it is peculiar to one tree which is called the cabbage palm. It is, however, the bud of the tree, so to speak, and is found in all the palms, though in some it is red, in others white. It is a great luxury; indeed, to eat one is like eating a whole tree, for the palm always dies when the cabbage is cut out. Throughout this country, therefore, it is for

X

bidden food; but Europeans may sometimes infringe the law by paying a large sum. When raw it tastes like celery, but when stewed au sauce blanc, as upon this occasion, it is not to be compared with any vegetable of mortal growth. It must have been the ambrosia of the gods.

That was certainly a noble Christmas feast, with a wild boar's head grinning on the table, and a bottle of recherché Bordeaux at each man's elbow. Another meal on that day was simply impossible, so my friend and I went out on the river in the evening.

It might have served Etty for a painting. The rosy wine had rouged our yellow cheeks, and we lay back on the cushions, and watched the setting sun with languid, half-closed eyes.

Four men, who might have served as models to Apelles, bent slowly to their stroke, and murmured forth a sweet and plaintive song.

Their oars, obedient to their voice, rippled the still water, and dropped from their blades pearl-drops, which the sun made rubies with its rays.

Two beautiful girls, who sat before us in the bow, raised their rounded arms, and tinkled their bracelets in the air; then, gliding into the water, they brought us flowers from beneath the dark bushes, and kissed the hands which took them with wet and laughing lips.

Like a dark curtain the warm night fell upon us; strange cries arose from the forest; beasts of the water plunged around us; and my friend's honest hand pressed mine as he spoke of my departure.

It was my last night in the Casemanche, and such nights as these I love to dwell upon. In Europe they are effaced by brighter ones, but here they are so rare. Do not laugh at me if sometimes I seize some little spark of romance, and try to fan it to a flame; if I try to paint those softer emotions which should not be extinguished in a young man's heart, but which this isolated savage life can so seldom awaken.

And yet these wanderings of mine have taught me lessons in the love of men. How many simple unselfish tokens of affection have I received from those who knew that we should not meet again! Dear friends whom I have known in Africa, whose hearts I could not even claim as a compatriot, believe that your kindness is not forgotten, although it can never be returned!

CHAPTER XXX.

UP THE GAMBIA.

Colonial Life.-On Board the "Dover."-Ground-nut Diplomacy.-Massacre Christianity.—A day's Shooting.-The nondescript Animal.—African Palavers.—Mr. Rooke, the Apostle. - Missionary Labors. The dog-faced Baboons. — Strange Story of Sergeant Bonvin.—The Falls of Barraconda.—An angry Hippopotamus. ONE French man-of-war conveyed me with the mails to Caraban, another was to take me from Caraban to Senegal. We put into the Gambia for letters, and, as we were to remain a few hours, I went ashore to see some old acquaintances. Some of these had gone home on sick leave, suffering from severe attacks of cold brandy and water; but I found a civilian, Mr. Primet, who received me with the same hospitality which he had shown me a twelvemonth before.

He advised me, before ascending the Senegal, to go up the Gambia, and he showed me a little colonial steamer, the "Dover," which was about to make her annual trip to the Upper River. I was very desirous to go, but, not having seen a tailor for more than a year, I had nothing fit to wear in genteel society. Besides, all the money I had was at Goree. I was ragged and penniless. However, Mr. Primet gave me the loan of his wardrobe and his purse, so I rode off to the governor's, Colonel D'Arcy, who courteously gave me permission to join the expedition free of expense, and every thing was arranged.

Some officers of the **th West India Regiment were going up to Macarthy's Island; there was also a Mr. Rooke, a Wesleyan missionary; and we were all under the orders of Mr. Mantell, a nephew of the great geologist, and chief justice of the Gambia.

Our departure would take place in two days. During these I had some opportunity of observing the routine of colonial life, which will not take long to describe. Before breakfast one rides or drives along the sandy roads of this flat and loose little island; and even at that early hour of the morning one can not but remark in the oscillatory movements of the horsemen, and in the degagé style of the driving, something which savors strongly of Cognac and Moselle.