One End Was Occupied By A Number Of Noisy Goats, Whilst The Travellers Took Possession Of The Other.

Pascoe and his wife lay on mats at their feet, and a native Toby Philpot, with his ruddy cheek and jug of ale, belonging to the chief, separated them from the goats.

The remainder of the suite of the travellers had nowhere whatever to sleep. The walls of their apartment were ornamented with strings of dry, rattling, human bones, written charms, or fetishes, sheep skins, and bows and arrows. They did not repose nearly so comfortably as could have been desired, owing to the swarms of mosquitoes and black ants, which treated them very despitefully till the morning.

Between six and seven on the morning of the 2nd April, they continued their route through woods and large open patches of ground, and at about eleven in the forenoon, they arrived at the borders of a deep glen, more wild, romantic, and picturesque than can be conceived. It was enclosed and overhung on all sides by trees of amazing height and dimensions, which hid it in deep shadow. Fancy might picture a spot so silent and solemn as this, as the abode of genii and fairies, every thing conducing to render it grand, melancholy, and venerable, and the glen wanted only a dilapidated castle, a rock with a cave in it, or something of the kind, to render it the most interesting place in the universe. There was, however, one sight more beautiful than all the rest, and that was the incredible number of butterflies fluttering about like a swarm of bees, and they had no doubt chosen this glen as a place of refuge against the fury of the elements. They were variegated by the most brilliant tints and colourings imaginable:

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