Then--Drear Contrast!--I Opened My Eyes To A Heat- Reeking Plain, And A Sky Of That Eternal Metallic Blue So Lovely To Painter And Poet, So Blank And Deathlike To Us, Whose [Greek _Kalon_] Was Tempest, Rain-Storm, And The Huge Purple Nimbus.

I tried to talk--it was in vain, to sing in vain, vainly to think; every idea was bound up in one subject, water.

[8]

As the sun sank into the East we descended the wide Gogaysa valley. With unspeakable delight we saw in the distance a patch of lively green: our animals scented the blessing from afar, they raised their drooping ears, and started with us at a canter, till, turning a corner, we suddenly sighted sundry little wells. To spring from the saddle, to race with our mules, who now feared not the crumbling sides of the pits, to throw ourselves into the muddy pools, to drink a long slow draught, and to dash the water over our burning faces, took less time to do than to recount. A calmer inspection showed a necessity for caution;--the surface was alive with tadpoles and insects: prudence, however, had little power at that time, we drank, and drank, and then drank again. As our mules had fallen with avidity upon the grass, I proposed to pass a few hours near the well. My companions, however, pleading the old fear of lions, led the way to a deserted kraal upon a neighbouring hill. We had marched about thirty miles eastward, and had entered a safe country belonging to the Bahgoba, our guide's clan.

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