Night came at last; my cork bed was spread on the floor; upon it a rug and the sofa pillow; a lantern and a cup of water by the side. My Kru-man bade me good-night and left me.

I was dropping off to sleep, when I heard a low, sighing sound, which gradually swelled into a roar, mingled with the shouts of the villagers as they ran to their houses. It was a tornado. The sea dashed fiercely against the rocks under my window. Presently I felt rain upon my face, and, looking up, saw that some of the thatch had been blown away. In a short time I became an islet in a small lake of rain-water. I took up my bed and ran, looking for a dry plank, which I at length discovered in one of the other rooms.

When I awoke in the morning I found that the fever had made its exit, as often happens when the system receives a shock. The Lincolnshire fenners, when seized with ague, jump immediately into the water. Here it was the water which had descended upon me.

While I was at breakfast I was informed that Captain Walker, of Barrack, wished to see me. I wondered who this military visitor could be, and found that it was the Rev. Mr. Walker, of Baraka. Captain, it seems, is a title which Kru-men bestow upon all white men of position.

Mr. Walker came to renew an invitation, which I had already declined, that I should take up my abode with him.

"You are not very comfortable here," he said, smiling.

I was about to assure him that I was extremely comfortable there, when I happened to look round me, and saw myself enthroned in a chaos of saddles, gun-cases, carpenter's tools, cooking utensils, tents, and the fragments of a cast-iron stove. I understood, for the first time, the blessings of those who have nothing. Anxiety is one's property-tax in the wilderness. I said I was afraid that I should inconvenience him-one always does say these things.

"On the contrary," he answered; "as you have not been in a hot country before, you will be sure to have a bad fever, and it will be more convenient for me to attend you in my own house than here."

Who could refuse a favor offered in so simple and delicate a manner? From that day my house was doomed to hold lumber, and I was shown by Mr. Walker into a chamber from which I could see twenty miles of blue river, and trees shadowy in the dis

tance. There was a little table covered with a white cover for my books, a chest of drawers for my clothes, and a bed draped with musquito curtains of snowy gauze.

Here I led a pure and frugal life, of which the memory remains, though the reality is not likely to return. To those at Baraka and Corisco who gave me their experiences and their examples, I owe my health, and not improbably my life; for if one wishes to preserve these in Africa, one must give Epicurus the cold shoulder and enter the school of the Stoics.

I was in search of an interpreter, when one day a very plain negro accosted me. His name was Mongilomba. A short conversation proved to me that he was intelligent, and I engaged him as my steward, or head man. In the afternoon he came to me, and said that his "brother" wished me to write him out an agreement. I did so. The next morning he returned, and said that his "brother" wished me to insert the date. At the same time this individual presented himself. He was a young man of stern appearance, and who scanned the paper, when dated, with a legal eye. In fact, as I afterward found out, he was no relative of Mongilomba, but, having had documentary experiences, had acted as family solicitor in the affair.

Mongilomba was fat and youthful. His skin was bronze-color, pleasantly mottled with black spots; for the coloring matter is sometimes laid on by Nature with eccentricity. Like many men of talent, he was indolent, but a good story-teller, an able ornithologist, and a superb politician. It was said of Pericles that even when thrown in the arena he would yet argue so cunningly as to persuade his conqueror that he himself had been victorious. So, when Mongilomba lost my best scalpel, he proved to me that it had slipped from his hand in such a manner that no one in his place could possibly have observed the loss. Again, when once I had directed him to dry a pair of stockings by the fire, and he had brought me them back in a state of ashes, he demonstrated that fire is a fickle and devouring element, whose ravages the wisest men are unable at all times to anticipate.

When, enraged by some negligence of this Ethiopian philosopher, I assailed him with words, his face would remain imperturbable, and he would return me those soft answers which do not turn away wrath. If, on the other hand, he saw that I was not quite sure of my ground, he would indulge in majestic soliloquies in Mpongwe, and treat my insinuations with supreme contempt.

For that matter, he was always a little haughty, and only shook hands with me in the morning when he woke in a good hu

mor.

Under Mongilomba's patronage, I mingled with the Mpongwes of Gaboon, observing their manners, and sometimes making them tell me their traditions.

They are the most refined tribe of Equatorial Africa, their languages possessing the softness and melody of Tuscan. Their women are graceful and good-looking. These are perfect coquettes in the arrangement of their hair and person. They paint themselves with a rouge obtained from the root of the camwoodtree, and with white chalk, which contrasts with their black skin to advantage. They go almost naked; but the color removes all idea of indecency, except, perhaps, in prudish and unchaste minds. Their skin, soft and glossy as rich black velvet, is their chief beauty, as it is that of a thorough-bred horse or hound. It is true that the bust, with other women the chief charm, is in them the sole disfigurement, except in very young girls. Even these strive to emulate the pendent beauties of their seniors; for in savage, as well as in civilized countries, the deformities of age or vice can be rendered fashionable.

Their head-dress is their glory; and in shaving their hair, as they do when mourning, they make a greater sacrifice than our English widows, who in such cases merely change their costume from Madame Elise to Mrs. Jay. With regard to the dressing of the hair, there is not much to distinguish between the two; for the belles of the Gaboon ridge their hair over frisettes to make it appear abundant, and, forming it into fantastic shapes-usually that of a Roman casque-plaster it down with palm-oil, the basis of many Bond Street pomades. They also wear artificial hair in rosettes over the ears, and use for hair-powder the scrapings of a fragrant bark. The tout ensemble is completed with a prettilycarved hair-pin of ivory or ebony. Round their necks are strings of different colored beads "tastefully arranged" by themselves; but on their calves and ankles are huge brass rings, made out of those rods which are used for staircases. It is a practice which I can not defend, for it gives them an ungainly gait; and I have heard that if they happen to fall into the water, these encumbrances prevent them from coming up again. The practice, I fancy, must have been invented by a married man who did not wish his wife to go abroad; the origin, they say, of that fashion

which obliged the women of ancient Egypt to walk with bare feet, and the Chinese with crippled ones.

The Mpongwe masculine are a little touched with dandyism; they love to walk with an old umbrella-stick, and to hear their cloth trailing behind them on the ground. But they are men of business, and all speak English more or less. Excepting a few country dignitaries, their aristocracy is composed of white men's stewards, agents, and interpreters; for wealth is their touchstone of nobility.

They are polite, shrewd, close observers of character, indolent of body, keen of brain, dishonest on a large scale; they disdain to pilfer, preferring to swindle in a business-like manner; they possess the art of skillful evasion, and "fides quam Punica," a perfidy more than legal.

I will give the best instance that occurs to me. Krinji was the salaried pilot and interpreter of the local government. He could speak Dikělě, Shekani, and Panwe or Fanh, the three dialects of the interior, as well as French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese. But when a negro is talented, white men suffer. A new commandant having arrived in the Gaboon, he made the usual com

plimentary visit to King George, a powerful chieftain across the water, one of whose subjects had run away with Krinji's wife. Preparations having been made for a big palaver, the following conversation ensued in full native council.

Commandant. King George, the king of my country has sent me to take care of this river. I have come to bid you good-day. I hope that we shall be friends.

Krinji (interpreting). King George, the commandant says he has heard that one of your people has taken away my wife. He says that you must send her back directly.

King George. Your wife is nothing to me. Tell the commandant I can not trouble myself about a little palaver like that. Krinji. King says he is very much pleased to see a great white man like you. He would like very much to be your friend. Commandant. Tell the king I am very much pleased to hear