nearly by the sultan, and then sung out by all the court. The fatah was then said, and they proceeded to business. Boo-Khaloom produced some presents, which were carried off by the eunuchs unopened; the sultan then expressed his wish to serve him; said he would consider his request, and in a day or two give him his decision. The sultan, whose name was Mohamed Bucker, was an intelligent little man of about fifty, with a beard dyed of a most beautiful sky-blue; he had been eyeing me for some time, as I sat between Boo-Khaloom and Barca Gana, and first asking Boo-Khaloom his name, inquired who I was? The answer that I was a native of a very distant and powerful nation, friends of the bashaw of Tripoli and the sheikh, who came to see the country, did not appear much to surprise him; and he looked gracious as he said, “But what does he want to see?” A fatal question however followed, and the answer appeared to petrify the whole assembly:—“Are they Moslem?” “_La! la!_ (No! no!)” Every eye, which had before been turned towards me, was now hastily withdrawn, and, looking round, I really felt myself in a critical situation. “Has the great bashaw Kaffir friends?” said the sultan. The explanation which followed was of little use: they knew no distinctions; Christians they had merely heard of as the worst people in the world, and, probably, until they saw us, scarcely believed them to be human. We shortly after returned to our camp, and I never afterwards was invited to enter the sultan of Mandara’s presence. Our tents had been pitched but a short distance from the town of Mora, and on our return upwards of forty slaves, preceded by one of the sultan’s eunuchs, came to the camp, bearing wooden bowls filled with paste of the gussub flour, with hot fat and pepper poured over it, mixed with a proportionate seasoning of onions. This was considered as the very acmè of Mandara cooking; it was savoury, and not very unpleasant; but a few sides of mutton roasted, which came for the chiefs, was the better part of our fare. Malem Chadily betook himself to another bowl, because on Barca Gana’s putting the mess towards me, I had, as usual, plunged my right hand in without any ceremony. Barca Gana saw that I observed it, and his dread of the sheikh’s displeasure induced him to make some observation in Bornouese, which drove the fighi out of the tent: this distressed me, and I determined on adopting some measures for preventing the repetition of these disagreeables.