Twenty-five minutes' walking brought me to where the main road, a mere bush-path, strikes across a gully separating two crests of the Takwa ridge. Then came a good stretch of level ground, composed of sand and gravel of stained quartz, clothed with the ordinary second-growth. When this ended I passed over the northern heads of two small _buttes_ which lie unconformably; the direction of their main axes lies north-north-west, whereas all their neighbours trend to the north-north-east. The climb was followed by a second level, bounded on the left, or north, by the Abo Yao Hill, the _emplacement_ of the 'Mines d'Or d'Aboassu.' Two branch paths lead up to it from the main line of road. Near the western is a place chosen as a cemetery for Europeans; as usual it is neglected and overgrown with bush. Presently I arrived at the village of Abosu, a walk of about two hours from the Takwa mine. Ten months ago it contained forty to fifty head of negroes; now it may number 3,000, although the May emigration had begun, when the workmen return to their homes, being unable to labour in the flooded flats. There was the hum of a busy, buzzing crowd, sinking pits and shafts, some in the very streets and outside their own doors. This alluvial bed must be one of the richest in the country; and it is wholly native property under King Angu, of Apinto. There is little to describe in the village; every hut is a kind of store, where the most poisonous of intoxicants, the stinkingest of pomatum, and the gaudiest of pocket-handkerchiefs are offered as the prizes for striking gold. There are also a few goldsmiths' shops, where the precious metal is adulterated and converted to coarse, rude ornaments. The people are able 'fences,' and powder, fuses, and mining-tools easily melt into strong waters. Hence Abosu is a Paradise to the Fanti police and to the Haussa garrison of Takwa. I looked about Abosu to prospect the peculiarities of the place, where the Sierra Leonite and the Cape Coast Anglo-nigger were conspicuous for 'cheek' and general offensiveness. These ignoble beings did not spare even poor Nero; they blatantly wondered what business I had to bring such a big brute in order to frighten the people. Resuming my way along the flat by a winding path, I came upon a model bit of corduroying over a bad marsh, crossed the bridge, and suddenly sighted Mr. F. F. Crocker's coffee-mill stamping-battery. It lies at the south-western end of a _butte_, one of a series disposed in parallel ranges and trending in the usual direction. All have quartz-reefs buried in red clay, and are well wooded, with here and there small clearings. The names are modern--Crocker's Reef to the east, Sam's Reef, and so forth.