The two missionaries welcomed us very warmly. They were hard at work on a much needed house for themselves. The new building was a unique structure, for it was built only of one brick—that is, the walls were formed of solid mud beaten down between wooden boards, which were removed when the mud had dried. The roof was thatched with strips of banana bark knotted on rows of poles. This is supposed to offer stronger resistance to lightning than the usual grass. A regular timber yard had been set up in a strip of Forest close by to supply doors and windows for the new house, and the natives were receiving from the missionary practical lessons in carpentering as they felled the trees, adzed them out and then sawed out planks in pits. The scene suggested pictures of Canadian life among the Rockies. Truly a missionary in Uganda is a compendium of trades. One of our hosts was an out-and-out Irishman, and when he was joined by an enthusiastic compatriot the conversation waxed very warm. I wonder if everyone belonging to the Emerald Isle regards it as the pole-star of the Universe—the two Sassenachs did not quite agree to it. At the time of our visit twenty-one men and women were being finally questioned with a view to baptism. No chiefs were then under Protestant instruction, and in consequence there was little inducement for their dependents to associate themselves with our missionaries. It was therefore very pleasing to find this number ready to publicly confess their faith in baptism, for one felt they must have been prompted by an honest and sincere conviction. A fifteen miles march from Kajuna brought us to the shores of the Lake Victoria Nyanza. Nearly six miles of the road was across a sand plain, and walking it was too much for me, for the boot at each step sank in four to six inches of burning sand. I was obliged to call the hammock-bearers to my assistance, who panted along without a murmur; but when they had safely landed me under the first tree of a lovely wood, they exclaimed “We are nearly dead.”