“As pious Moslems watch with strained eyes the appearance of the new moon or the setting of the sun, to begin their orisons, so we now waited for the uplifting of the fleecy veil, to render due homage to the heaven-piercing Kenia. The sun set in the western heavens, and sorrowfully we were about to turn away, when suddenly there was a break in the clouds far up in the sky, and the next moment a dazzling white pinnacle caught the last rays of the sun, and shone with a beauty, marvellous, spirit-like, and divine; cut off, as it apparently was, by immeasurable distance from all connection with the gross earth. The sun’s rays went off, and then, with a softness like the atmosphere of dreams, which befitted the gloaming, that white peak remained as though some fair spirit with subdued and chastened expression lingered at her evening devotions. Presently, as the garish light of day melted into the soft hues and mild effulgence of a moon-lit night, the ‘heaven-kissing’ mountain became gradually disrobed; and then in its severe outlines and chaste beauty it stood forth from top to bottom, entrancing, awe-inspiring—meet reward for days of maddening worry and nights of sleepless anxiety. At that moment I could almost feel that Kenia was to me what the sacred stone of Mecca is to the Faithful, who have wandered from distant lands, surmounting perils and hardships, that they might but kiss or see the hallowed object, and then, if it were God’s will, die.” While I am unable to rise to the dizzy heights of rhetorical description, or revel in the boundless fields of metaphor so successfully exploited by Mr. Thompson, I fully endorse his remarks. The first sight of Kenia does produce a remarkable impression on the traveller; an impression which does not—one is surprised to find—wear off with time. Kenia, like a clever woman, is chary of exhibiting her manifold charms too often to the vulgar gaze. One can live at the base of the mountain for weeks, or even months, and never get a glimpse of its magnificent peak. We, however, could not stop to romance, as the enemy were even now clamouring without our gates; and we were reluctantly compelled to turn our wandering attention to a more serious business. It appeared quite within the bounds of possibility that we should “die” without even “kissing” the “hallowed object” so ably eulogized by Mr. Thompson; as the irreverent Wa’M’bu were making hostile demonstrations in the thick bush surrounding our camp, regardless of our æsthetic yearnings. They were apparently trying our temper by means of a demonstration in force, and such awful howlings as they made I never previously heard.