Ali-Ninpha had been Ibrahim's playmate before he migrated to the coast. Their friendship still existed in primitive sincerity, and the chieftain's highest ambition was to honor the companion and guest of his friend. Accordingly, his wives and females were summoned to prepare my quarters with comfort and luxury. The best house was chosen for my lodging. The earthen floor was spread with mats. Hides were stretched on _adobe_ couches, and a fire was kindled to purify the atmosphere. Pipes were furnished my companions; and, while a hammock was slung for my repose before supper, a chosen henchman was dispatched to seek the fattest sheep for that important meal. Ibrahim posted sentinels around my hut, so that my slumbers were uninterrupted, until Ali-Ninpha roused me with the pleasant news that the bowls of rice and stews were smoking on the mat in the chamber of Ibrahim himself. Ninpha knew my tastes and superintended the cook. He had often jested at the "white man's folly," when my stomach turned at some disgusting dish of the country; so that the pure roasts and broils of well-known pieces slipped down my throat with the appetite of a trooper. While these messes were under discussion, the savory steam of a rich stew with a creamy sauce saluted my nostrils, and, without asking leave, I plunged my spoon into a dish that stood before my entertainers, and seemed prepared exclusively for themselves. In a moment I was invited to partake of the _bonne-bouche_; and so delicious did I find it, that, even at this distance of time, my mouth waters when I remember the forced-meat balls of mutton, minced with roasted ground-nuts, that I devoured that night in the Mandingo town of Kya. But the best of feasts is dull work without an enlivening bowl. Water alone--pure and cool as it was in this hilly region--did not quench our thirst. Besides this, I recollected the fondness of my landlord, Ali-Ninpha, for strong distillations, and I guessed that his playmate might indulge, at least privately, in a taste for similar libations. I spoke, therefore, of "cordial bitters,"--(a name not unfamiliar even to the most temperate Christians, in defence of flatulent stomachs,)--and at the same time producing my travelling canteen of Otard's best, applied it to the nostrils of the pair. I know not how it happened, but before I could warn the Mahometans of the risk they incurred, the lips of the bottle slid from their noses to their mouths, while upheaved elbows long sustained in air, gave notice that the flask was relishing and the draft "good for their complaints." Indeed, so appetizing was the liquor, that another ground-nut stew was demanded; and, of course, another bottle was required to allay its dyspeptic qualities.