Civility to Europeans is still one of the weak points of the Sierra Leonians. Two or three days after my arrival some enterprising burglar ransacked my quarters during my absence, and removed everything which he considered worth taking. Suspicion fell upon the occupants of a certain house in the town, and a search-warrant was issued. As it was necessary that the stolen articles should be at once identified, if found, I had to accompany the police who went to examine this den; but, as the aroma of such dwellings is not usually pleasant, I allowed them to go into the house, and went and sat down on a rock by the roadside under the shade of a tree. While so sitting, a Sierra Leone gentleman, whom I had seen for some distance coming along the road towards me, drew nigh, and lifted up his voice and spake, saying:-- “Hullo, you white nigger--what you do here, eh?” I pretended to be deeply abstracted in the examination of the soil at my feet, and made no answer; while he continued, working himself into a passion as he proceeded-- “Heigh, you white nigger. You too proud to talk, eh? Dam brute.” A small crowd began to collect and make facetious remarks at my expense, so I said to my annoyer:-- “If you don’t go away I’ll call the police.” “Heigh! hear dat. _You_ call de police, white nigger? _Me_ call de police, and give you in charge for ’ssault. All dese gen’lmen here saw you ’ssault me--dam brute.” At this moment, fortunately, for I was beginning to feel a little displeased at this language, the sergeant of the police came out of the house, and I called him. Quite a change at once came o’er the spirit of the scene; my antagonist, crestfallen, executed a skilful flank movement up a bye-street, covering his retreat by a continuous and heavy fire of abuse, while his supports scattered and sought the nearest cover.