On the 28th we arrived at a small snug village embosomed within the forest called Benta, three hours and a quarter from Ugunda. The road led through the cornfields of the Wagunda, and then entered the clearings around the villages of Kisari, within one of which we found the proprietor of a caravan who was drumming up carriers for Ufipa. He had been halted here two months, and he made strenuous exertions to induce my men to join his caravan, a proceeding that did not tend to promote harmony between us. A few days afterwards I found, on my return, that he had given up the idea of proceeding south. Leaving Kisari, we marched through a thin jungle of black jack, over sun-cracked ground with here and there a dried-up pool, the bottom of which was well tramped by elephant and rhinoceros. Buffalo and zebra tracks were now frequent, and we were buoyed up with the hope that before long we should meet game. Benta was well supplied with Indian corn and a grain which the natives called choroko, which I take to be vetches. I purchased a large supply of choroko for my own personal use, as I found it to be a most healthy food. The corn was stored on the flat roofs of the tembes in huge boxes made out of the bark of the mtundu-tree. The largest box I have ever seen in Africa was seen here. It might be taken for a Titan's hat-box; it was seven feet in diameter, and ten feet in height. On the 29th, after travelling in a S.W. by S. direction, we reached Kikuru. The march lasted for five hours over sun-cracked plains, growing the black jack, and ebony, and dwarf shrubs, above which numerous ant-hills of light chalky-coloured earth appeared like sand dunes. The mukunguru, a Kisawahili term for fever, is frequent in this region of extensive forests and flat plains, owing to the imperfect drainage provided by nature for them. In the dry season there is nothing very offensive in the view of the country. The burnt grass gives rather a sombre aspect to the country, covered with the hard-baked tracks of animals which haunt these plains during the latter part of the rainy season. In the forest numbers of trees lie about in the last stages of decay, and working away with might and main on the prostrate trunks may be seen numberless insects of various species. Impalpably, however, the poison of the dead and decaying vegetation is inhaled into the system with a result sometimes as fatal as that which is said to arise from the vicinity of the Upas-tree. The first evil results experienced from the presence of malaria are confined bowels and an oppressive languor, excessive drowsiness, and a constant disposition to yawn. The tongue assumes a yellowish, sickly hue, coloured almost to blackness; even the teeth become yellow, and are coated with an offensive matter. The eyes of the patient sparkle lustrously, and become suffused with water. These are sure symptoms of the incipient fever which shortly will rage through the system.