There were one hundred and six houses in the town. It stands on a spur of the northern hills; and is surrounded by hedges of the Euphorbia Cactus, which have grown to an enormous size. The Cactus arms were thick and tall, and the pears on them were very large. It was difficult work, to pass along the lane unharmed, and still more difficult to get the palankins and baggage through the gate of hanging poles, by which entrance to the town is guarded. We had now reached the north end of the province and our road lay along the face of the hills, which form its northern boundary. These hills are not a single chain; but are the ends of several chains all having the same general trend from about north-west to south-east, and corresponding to similar ridges at the other end of the district. It was with difficulty we got our men together the next day, to resume our journey. There was a reason for it in their own minds: but the silly fellows would not tell it out, or offer to us those explanations which they had gained from private talk with the householders around them. In the face of the vexation caused by their dogged resistance we went on to Ambóhitsára, “the beautiful place,” the dirtiest village we had yet visited, a stage lower in the material and social scale than Ambohizánaháry. It stands on the edge of a swampy plain: the soil is spongy; the houses squalid; the chapel was a little reed house, the play-room of the village children: there was mist all round; and rain began to fall. Altogether there was an accumulation of “creditable circumstances,” rare in these Madagascar journeys, sufficient to test one’s good spirits and the power of looking on the bright side of things.