After we had left on our right two islands, we halt at the foot of the second one, at about three o’clock, with the same intention. The shallow island is only elevated a little above the level of the water, of a sandy nature, but full of a species of large and small grass, conclusive of the splendid pastures of the surrounding country, of which the herds afford the best proof. We navigate further, and have immediately a small island on our right. For amusement we go awhile upon the sand, soon get off again, and have on the left another island with shallow sand-heads at the side. The whole left shore lies flat, and makes its appearance beautifully wooded; over it Mount Nerkanjin, concealed in mist and by the distance, rises to the west. I take leave of it and of all the mountains, which are so delightful to my heart, and have contributed so much to my convalescence by their fresh air, and by bringing before me pictures of home. We go to the north. A poor little hamlet, surrounded and shaded by trees, on the left shore. Right and left the vessels squat, and accident alone makes us take the middle road. At the right, two small islands, distinguished, as usual here, by nothing except their succulent grass or reeds. Yet our vessel, proud at the start already gained, goes smack on the flat left shore, as if Nature did not shew shallows there to the most inexperienced mariner. One shock, and—we stick fast. Once more tokuls peep through the trees of the left shore at some distance; negroes are collecting on the shore. We are navigating through a tract of countries, touching whose original formation and populations we exhaust ourselves in fruitless conjectures. Monuments do not tell us, history is silent, and the annals of the people live only in meagre traditions, which may possibly extend to two or three generations. We could not learn any thing even of these, and the past is repeated in a perpetual present. We throw a sorrowful glance at the youth of these nations, and do not understand how it happens that a people could always remain _young_. The other vessels pass us, whilst we are calling, “Eh lissa!” Most of the men are only seemingly exerting themselves in the water, to hoist the vessel, without answering the Abu Hashis passing by and mocking at us. The natives must love the shade, for they remain with their wives under the trees. The shaven heads, and mostly turned in noses of the latter seem to do homage to the principle of beauty being in man. If this decided type of the feminine formation of countenance afford the plastic proof of the primitive natural distinction of the sexes, then not woman, but man, stands here as the master-piece of Nature, similar to what is generally the case in the animal creation. Woman is the weaker being in such a state of nature as this,—the beast of burden, in whom the germ for the improvement of the character is suppressed, though it must be considered as her inalienable birthright.