I was amused one day at hearing an individual of that ubiquitous genus which goes about asking questions at the most unseasonable times, set down by a native. An Ashanti youth had been drowned while the embassy was crossing the river, and the father of the lad was sitting by the riverside mourning for his dead son, when this individual went up to him, and began, through the medium of his Fanti servant, cross-examining him, with a view to ascertaining what ideas the natives have of a future state of existence. He poked the chief in the ribs with his walking-stick and said, airily: “So your son was drowned this morning, eh?” The Ashanti disdained to answer in words, and gave him a look which would have pierced the epidermis of a rhinoceros, but which failed to make any impression on this man. He continued: “Let me know your ideas of a future state. Do you believe that there is a new life for the soul after death?” Still no answer, only an angry glitter began to appear in the chief’s eyes. “Now, do you expect to meet that boy of yours in Hades, eh?” A muttered curse from the Ashanti. “Look here, don’t get sulky now. Tell me what your religious belief is.” No answer. “Oh! very well. Don’t say anything if you don’t want to. I expect your son is having a nice time of it now. Pretty hot down where he is now, eh?” Then the chief rose, and, majestically throwing his cloth around him, said to the Fanti: “Why do the English allow idiots like this to be at large?” and went away to try and find some place where he could brood over his loss in peace.