While I had fever at Efulen, being obliged to change clothing frequently, I discarded pajamas for nightshirts. They were long ones that reached to my feet. These when taken off were usually hung near the fire to dry, where the smoke stained and discoloured them. When I was well I discarded them. Mr. Kerr, for some reason, presented one to a Bulu man. Soon afterwards the man visited the coast and of course took this wonderful garment with him. What is the use of having fine clothes if one is not to show them off? The Bulu man, looking very grand in my stained nightshirt, attended the service in the Batanga Church, came late, of course, and walked up the long aisle to a front seat, while the large congregation made an agonizing effort to “remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” But there were a number of missionaries present and they had heard me speak of those garments and their extreme discolouration by the smoke; and when they saw the Bulu enter they immediately recognized the garment. Some of the Batanga people had begun to wear shoes, though there is no need of them and they look better without them. They have a preference for heavy shoes that will make a noise as they walk up the aisle, otherwise people might not know that they had them. But above all, they must have shoes with “squeaking” soles,—or, as the natives say, shoes that “talk”; and the first question a native asks when he would buy a pair of shoes is: “Do they talk proper loud?” They wear black shoe-strings when they cannot get pink or white. Some of them are so uncomfortable that they remove their shoes during the service. The collection at the Batanga service was gathered only occasionally and was unique in quality and quantity—chickens, bananas, cassava, sweet potatoes, dried fish, pieces of cloth, shirts, hats, knives, boards, etc.