The afternoon wore on; the doctor took photographs of the opposite shore; Mr Pillans and I took bearings for the map, and collected shells; and at last, after waiting two hours, we reluctantly came to the conclusion that we must go back to the village in the swamp, which we accordingly did. However, we were not so uncomfortable as we had feared, nor did we take any harm from the damp conditions. The head people came to present beef, etc., but I fear I answered them rather curtly, for we saw plainly it was never intended to let us get over the lake until the following day; but, with the usual native unwillingness to speak out plainly, they would not say so to begin with. In the book which Dr Mullens wrote on his return to England he says of this afternoon’s experiences: “I am afraid that the general depression seriously interfered with the reply of our friend, Mr Sibree. The dignity and fulness with which he usually dwelt upon the affairs of the kingdom and the health of the authorities, and the flowery eloquence with which he would describe the purpose of our visit, entirely failed him here. His reply was brief and guarded, and the two-pounder gun he passed over in total silence.” [Sidenote: A DEEP LAKE] On Wednesday morning we left Ambòhitsàra at half-past six, so as to cross the lake as soon after sunrise as possible, as this is always the calmest time of the day in Madagascar waters. We found about a dozen large canoes waiting for us; several of these were from thirty to forty feet long, and three to four feet beam, hollowed out of a single tree. We all embarked and got off soon after half-past seven, but the wind had already risen somewhat, and there was quite a swell on the water. But the sail across was most delightful. As we proceeded, the northern shores opened up, showing two deep bays stretching far away between the hills, and an island, where the Sihànaka made their last stand in resisting Hova domination. From that time it has not been allowed to be inhabited, but is only used for planting vegetables. We had only two paddlers, one at the head, and the other at the stern of the canoe, and so were an hour and ten minutes in crossing. We made an attempt to ascertain the depth of the lake with an old knife as a sinker, and a piece of string as a line, while the doctor, in true scientific fashion, “hove the lead.” I regret to say that no accurate information was obtained, for the sounding line was again and again thrown with the report, “no bottom.” But our short line was no doubt the reason of our ill-success. The lake is probably deep at its northern end, and it is certainly shallow at its southern extremity, gradually changing into marsh. Some of my missionary friends, who subsequently lived in Antsihànaka, have described voyages across the southern end of the Alaotra, where, amongst the dense growth of papyrus, rush, and tall grasses, the only practicable paths for a canoe are dark passages,