Walderheros, however, was a business man, and before he sat down to smoke, he was careful to shut out observers of the fact, by fixing in its place the old rotten door of three or four untrimmed trunks of small trees, tied into a kind of flat surface by the tough bark of a species of mimosa tree. This hung by two hinges of thongs to a crooked door-post, and shut against the wall on the opposite side, where its own weight kept the entrance securely closed. When all had been arranged satisfactorily, he would drag the clumsy chair into a position opposite to my couch, and sitting down with his back to the door, place the rude pipe between his feet. Then applying his mouth to the end of its long stem, between each puff he would look up, to tell me in Amharic the name of some object for me to write down, whilst he in return would endeavour to learn their Arabic names, which language for some reason or other, he seemed very anxious to learn. I found afterwards that he thought it was English, and wished to learn something of it, on purpose to understand me when speaking my own language, and thus become the admiration of a circle of his acquaintance burning with curiosity to know what I might be saying. Walderheros was, in fact, the best caricature I ever met of that spirit which prompts empirics to employ unintelligible language to increase the presumption of their extensive learning. If any of his friends were present, I could never get a syllable from him but one or other of about a dozen Arabic words he had picked up. Everything was “_ewah_” (yes) or “_la la_” (no), and how happy he was when circumstances admitted of his saying “_tahle_” (come), or “_rah_” (go), and the grave satisfaction with which he turned round to interpret to his simple gaping companions the meaning of the conversation they had just been treated with, was most ridiculously absurd. When he met a real Arab it was still better; all impatience to display his vast knowledge of their language, every word he knew of it would be pressed into service, whilst the wondering auditor, who would have understood him well enough in Amharic, with a vacant look would probably turn to me, and say, “_Arder rigal muginoon fee!_” (That man is a fool!) His temper, however, was provokingly good, for besides its being a great contrast to my own, I half suspected under such a bland exterior some deceit must lurk, but he was a lesson in human nature, and patient ugliness will for the future be a recommendation to me. When illness and pain had contrived to make me the most fretful and irritable of mortals, how often have I been reproved, for my unreasonable upbraidings and continually finding fault, by his constantly mild reply, “_Anter gaitah_,” “_Anter gaitah_” (“You are my master,” “You are my master”.)