But, whatever charms his arbours might possess for him, his plans rendered it necessary soon to leave them. He therefore, after spending a pleasant week with M. Mulder, the last of the colonists in his route, pushed on towards the Black River, which he crossed on rafts, and at length found himself beyond the Dutch settlements. Here an accident occurred which might at once have terminated his journey. In toiling up a rough, precipitous mountain, where it was found necessary to yoke twenty oxen to a wagon, the traces of the principal vehicle snapped asunder, immediately in front of the great shaft-oxen, which being unable to resist the enormous weight to which they were attached, reeled back, and the wagon at once rolled down along the edge of an abyss; while Le Vaillant and his whole party stood still, watching, with uplifted hands and looks of dismay, each shock and slide of the cumbrous machine, which, after twenty hair-breadth escapes, ran against a large rock on the edge of the torrent, and stopped, without receiving any material injury. Loss of time, therefore, was the only injury he sustained. By patience and industry they succeeded in passing the mountain, which being effected, they descended into a magnificent country, watered by numerous rivers, covered with woods, abounding in game, and affording numerous specimens of birds and quadrupeds unknown to natural history. In the midst of this new scene he was overtaken by disease. Though of a disposition naturally intrepid, the idea that he might be destined to perish in the wilderness, surrounded by savages, two thousand leagues from home, disturbed his imagination. Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, attacked by a fever when flying through the Ukraine after the battle of Pultowa, experienced a diminution of courage, and, unless my memory deceive me, was seen to shed tears; and Cæsar, when the fit, as Shakspeare has it, was on him, cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius, like a sick girl.” Le Vaillant, therefore, had good authority for his melancholy. His temperament, moreover, in proportion as it was more susceptible of exhilarating impressions in health, was proner in sickness to yield to despondency. He was, besides, entirely ignorant of medicine; knew nothing of the nature of the disease by which he was attacked; and was surrounded by persons still more ignorant than himself. All he could do, therefore, was to remain quiet, and allow nature to work. For twelve days he lingered on the confines of life and death, kept in a perpetual bath of perspiration by the heat of the atmosphere; and this heat was his Pæon and Æsculapius, for by its sole aid the fever, which had so fiercely menaced him, was entirely subdued. However, it is extremely probable that he owed the disease as well as the remedy to the climate. To enhance his misfortunes, his Hottentots were at the same time attacked by dysentery; but, by strictly attending to regimen, a difficult task to a gross and sensual people, they all,