Panga-ni boasts some 19 or 20 stone houses of the usual box style: the rest is a mass of cajan huts, each with its large and mat-encircled patio or courtyard, whose outer lines form the streets, and wherein almost all the business of life is transacted. The settlement is surrounded by a thick thorny jungle, harbouring not a few leopards. One of these felines lately scaled the high terrace of our house, and seized a slave-girl: her master, the burly Wáli, who was sleeping by her side, snatched up his sword, hurried into the house and bolted the door, heedless of the miserable cry, ‘B’ana, help me!’ The wretch was carried into the jungle, and incontinently devoured. As full of crocodiles is the river: whilst we were at Panga-ni a boy disappeared. When asked by strangers why they do not kill their crocodiles and burn their bush, the people reply that the former bring good luck, and that the latter is a fort to which they can fly when need drives them. Plantains, arecas, and cocoas grow all about the town; around it are plantations of papaws, betel, and Jamlis, whilst further lie extensive Shambas, or plantations, of holcus, maize, sesamum, and other grains. The clove flourishes, and, as elsewhere upon the Zanzibar coast, a little cotton is raised for household purposes; it will be long, however, before East-African cotton can influence the English market, and as yet it has proved only a snare and a delusion. A notable and narrow-minded party-cry of these modern days, as applied to Africa, are the three Cs—Cotton, Civilization, and Christianity: they ‘pay,’ however, better than to beg in the name of roads and schools, steamers and steam engines—the true means which will eventually lead to the wished-for end. Animals are here rare. Cows soon die after eating the grass, and even the Banyans despair of keeping them alive. Sheep are scarcely to be found, and goats, being almost wild, give very little milk, and that only before yeaning. But fish is abundant; poultry thrives, as it does all over Africa, though not so much on the coast as in the interior; and, before the late feuds began, clarified butter, that ‘one source’ of the outer East, was cheap and plentiful. Made in the interior by the Wazegura, and other Washenzi, with rich milk, stored in clean vessels, and sold when fresh, it reminded me of the J’aferabádi ‘Ghi,’ so celebrated throughout Western India.