show me some True-blue Kaffirs, all alive and as dark as natur’. Well, sir, I knew a very respectable Kaffir family once, on the coast of Africa, where we used to land a boat’s crew, at odd times, for fresh water and such like; and, thinks I, I’ll just go and have a peep at the True-blues, and see if they remind me of my old friends. There they was, Mr. Hardingstone, sure enough. Old True-blue was a stampin’, and yellin’, and hissin’, and makin’ of such a disturbance as he never got leave to do at home, and his wives, five or six on ’em, was yowlin’, and cryin’, and kickin’ up the devil’s delight, as _I_ never see them when they was living decently in the bush. Well, sir, when the True-blues held on for a while to have their beer, the company was invited to go and inspect ’em closer, and pat ’em, and feel ’em, and I made no doubt they was Ingines myself, when I got the wind of ’em; but just as I was castin’ about to see if I could fish up an odd word or two of their language, only to be civil, you know, to strangers, True-blue’s wife--she comes up and lays hold of me by the whiskers, and grins, and smiles, and points, and pulls at ’em like grim Death; and old True-blue himself--he comes up and has a haul, too, and grins, and chatters, and looks desperation fierce, and so they holds me amongst ’em. You see, Mr. Hardingstone, they’re not used to beards, ’cos it’s not their natur’, nor whiskers neither. Well, I looked uncommon foolish, and the company all began to laugh; and I heard a voice behind me say, ‘Why, it’s Hairblower!’ and I turns round, and who should I see but an old friend of mine, by name Blacke, as was a lawyer’s clerk at St. Swithin’s: _friend_, is he?” and Hairblower ground his teeth, and doubled a most formidable-looking fist, as he added, “if ever I catch him I’ll give him his allowance; _friend_, indeed! I’ll teach him who his friends are.”