My _filanjàna_ was a different kind of thing from the chair in which I had gone to visit the Governor. It was of the same description as that commonly used by Malagasy ladies—made of an oblong framework of light wood, filled in with a plaited material formed of strips of sheepskin, and carried on poles, which were the midrib of the enormous leaves of the _rofìa_-palm. In this I sat, legs stretched out at full length, a piece of board fixed as a rest for the back, and the whole made fairly comfortable by means of cushions and rugs. There was plenty of space for extra wraps, waterproof coat, telescope, books, etc. When ladies travel any distance in this kind of _filanjàna_ a hood of _rofìa_ cloth is fixed so as to draw over the head and to protect them from the sun and rain. In my case, a stout umbrella served instead, and a piece of waterproof cloth protected me fairly well from the little rain that fell on the journey. (I may add here that this was the first, and the last, journey I ever took in this kind of _filanjàna_.) The late Dr Mullens, who also travelled up in a similar way in 1873, said it reminded him of a picture in _Punch_, of a heavy swell driving himself in a very small basket carriage, and being remarked on by a street arab to his companion thus: “Hallo, Bill, here’s a cove a-driving hisself home from the wash.” My companion’s _filanjàna_ was a much simpler contrivance than mine, and consisted merely of two light poles held together by iron bars, and with a piece of untanned hide nailed to them for a seat. It was much more conveniently carried in the forest than my larger and more cumbrous conveyance. It may be added that certainly one was sometimes danced about “like a pea in a frying-pan” in this rude machine; and it was not long before a much more comfortable style of _filanjàna_ was adopted, with leather-covered back and arms, padded as well as the seat, and with foot-rest, and leather or cloth bags strapped to the side for carrying books and other small articles. It was a fine warm day when we set off, the temperature not being higher than that of ordinary summer weather in England. Our course lay due south, at no great distance from the sea, the roar of whose waves we could hear distinctly all through the first stage of the journey. In proceeding from Tamatave to Antanànarìvo the road did not (and still does not, by railway) lead immediately into the interior, but follows the coast for about fifty miles southward. Upon reaching Andòvorànto, we had to leave the sea and strike westward into the heart of the island, ascending the river Ihàroka for nearly twenty miles before climbing the line of mountains which form the edge of the interior highland, and crossing the great forest. [Sidenote: VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE]