mortification of a muster. On such occasions he and his fellows will raise their voices,--when not half-choked by food--and declare that they will not be called about like servants, and crouch obstinately round the smoky fire, the pictures of unutterable disgust; and presently enjoy the sweet savour of stick-jaw dough and pearl-holcus like small shot, rat stews, and boiled weeds, which they devour till their “bulge” appears like the crop of a stuffed turkey. Sometimes when their improvidence has threatened them with a Banyan-day, they sit in a melancholy plight, spitefully smoking and wickedly eyeing our cooking-pots; on these occasions they have generally a goat or a bullock in store, and, if not, they finesse to obtain one of ours. I always avoid issuing an order to them direct, having been warned by experience that Kidogo or the Kirangozi is the proper channel; which sorely vexes Valentine and Seedy Bombay, whose sole enjoyment in life is command. I observed that when wanted for extra-work, to remove thorns or to dig for water, that the false alarm of Posho! (rations) summons them with a wonderful alacrity. Moreover, I remarked that when approaching their country and leaving ours--the coast--they became almost unmanageable and _vice versâ_ as conditions changed. My companion and I pass our day as we best can, sometimes in a bower of leafy branches, often under a spreading tree, rarely in the flimsy tent. The usual occupations are the diary and the sketch-book, added to a little business. The cloth must be doled out, and the porters must be persuaded, when rested, to search the country for rations, otherwise--the morrow will be a blank. When a bullock is killed one of us must be present. The porters receive about a quarter of the meat, over which they sit wrangling and screaming like hyænas, till a fair division according to messes is arrived at. Then, unless watched, some strong and daring hand will suddenly break through the ring, snatch up half a dozen portions and disappear at a speed defying pursuit; others will follow his example, with the clatter and gesture of a troop of baboons, and the remainder will retire as might be expected, grumbling and discontented. Dinner at 4 P.M. breaks the neck of the day. Provisions of some kind are mostly procurable, our diet, however, varies from such common doings as the hard holcus-scone, the tasteless bean-broth and the leathery goat-steak, to fixings of delicate venison, fatted capon, and young guinea-fowl or partridge, with “bread sauce,” composed of bruised rice and milk. At first the Goanese declined to cook “pretty food,” as pasties and rissoles, on the plea that such things were impossible upon the march; they changed their minds when warned that persistence in such theory might lead to a ceremonious fustigation. Moreover, they used to serve us after their fashion, with a kind of “portion” on plates; the best part, of course, remained in the pots and