We chose our encampment in a village called Bárëa, consisting of scattered huts, and surrounded by rich stubble-fields, which were shaded by large wide-spreading karáge trees, presenting a most cheerful and comfortable scene. But we soon became aware that the fertility and beauty of this district were due to the neighbourhood of a large sheet of water full of crocodiles and river horses or “ngurútu,” and enlivened even by a few small canoes. It had been indicated already on our march by the flight of numerous waterfowl passing over our heads. Beautiful as the country was, however, the place was deserted, the inhabitants having given up their cheerful homes, and left the tombs of their worshipped ancestors to the discretion of the hostile army, in order to seek safety in flight. The village is the residence of a chieftain of the name of Musíkko, who acknowledges Kábishmé, the chief mentioned above, as his sovereign lord. In the afternoon I received a short visit from a rather shabby sort of man, the chief of a place called Médebé, but who was an object of interest to me, as he had been sent as a messenger to the prince of Mándará, and had just arrived in the encampment from the capital of that little country. Travelling at a comfortable rate, he had arrived in three days from Morá, sleeping the first night in the place called Mókoshi, the second in Fétte, the place above-mentioned, and from thence to-day had reached this place; but the whole journey, in an expeditious march, may easily be accomplished in two days. Difficult as it would be to me to impart to the reader the delight which I always felt in tracing my routes from one point to another, and joining two places with which I had become acquainted, by new itineraries, he may forgive me for sometimes troubling him with these geographical details. [Sidenote: Sunday, December 28th.] We did not spend our Sunday in a quiet contemplative manner; but nevertheless we spent it worthily, employing it in a good day’s march, which opened out to us new and important features of the character of the new region we had just entered. It was a pity we were not allowed by circumstances to proceed in our real character of peaceful travellers, anxious to befriend all the people with whom we came in contact, instead of being obliged to join this host of merciless and sanguinary slave- hunters, who, regardless of the beauty of the country and the cheerful happiness of the natives, were only intent upon enriching themselves with the spoil of the inhabitants.