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swim, he is certain to be drowned. And yet five strokes would save his life. Good swimming is by no means what is wanted; swimming of any kind, however poor, is all that is desiderated. Every time a lady goes to have a row on a lake she is liable to be upset by the clumsiness of those who accompany her, and although it may be close to shore, if she cannot swim, down she goes to the bottom. And floating won’t do. Some ladies delude themselves with the idea that floating is of great value. In nine cases out of ten it is of no value at all; for unless water be perfectly smooth and still, a person cannot float so as to keep the waves from washing over the face, in which case choking is the certain result. There is no excuse for not learning to swim. In most large cities there are swimming-baths; if the sea is not available, a river is, everywhere. I tell you what it is, Ralph: people who don’t learn to swim are—are—I was going to say asses, but that would be an insult to the much-maligned long-eared animal; and parents who don’t teach their offspring to swim deserve to be drowned in butter-milk; and I wish I saw—no, I don’t quite wish I saw them all drowned in that way, but I do wish that I could impress upon mankind over the length and breadth of this rotund world the great, the immense, the intense importance of boys and girls being taught to swim.”

      “You make use of strong language,” said I.

      “Quite a powerful orator,” added Jack, laughing.

      “Bah!” exclaimed Peterkin; “your reception of this grand truth is but a type of the manner in which it will be received by the pig-headed world. What’s the use of preaching common sense? I’m a perfect donkey!”

      “Nay, Peterkin,” said Jack; “I appreciate what you say, and have no doubt whatever that your remarks, if made public, would create quite a revolution in the juvenile world, and convert them speedily into aquatic animals. Did you ever think of sending your views on that subject to the Times?”

      “The Times!” cried Peterkin.

      “Yes, the Times; why not?”

      “Because,” said Peterkin slowly, “I once sent a letter to that great but insolent periodical, and what do you think it did?”

      “Can’t tell, I’m sure.”

      “Took no notice of it whatever!” said Peterkin, with a look of ineffable disgust.

      But to return from this digression. I was much struck with the splendid contrast of colours that met my eye everywhere here. The rich variety of greens in the different trees harmonised with the bright pink plums and scarlet berries, and these latter were almost dimmed in their lustre by the bright plumage of the birds, which I felt intense longing to procure, many of them being quite new to me, and, I am certain, totally unknown to naturalists, while others I recognised with delight as belonging to several of the species of which I had read in ornithological works. I tried hard to shoot several of these lovely creatures, intending to stuff them, but, to my regret, was utterly unable to hit them. Seeing this, Peterkin took pity on me, and sitting down in the bow of our canoe, picked off all the birds I pointed out to him as we passed, with unerring precision. Most of them fell into the water, and were easily secured, while one or two toppled off the branches into the canoe. Several of them he shot on the wing—a feat which even filled Jack with surprise, and so astounded the natives that they surrounded our canoe at last, and gazed open-mouthed at my friend, whom they evidently regarded as the greatest fetishman that had ever come amongst them.

      He was obliged to stop at last and lay down his gun in order to make the natives cease from crowding round us and delaying our voyage. A number of iguanas were observed on the branches of the trees that overhung the stream. They dropped into the water as we approached; but the natives succeeded in spearing a good many, and I afterwards found that they considered them excellent food.

      If I was charmed with the birds, Peterkin was no less delighted with the monkeys that chattered at us as we passed along. I never saw a man laugh as he did that day. He almost became hysterical, so much was he tickled with their antics; and the natives, who have a keen sense of the ludicrous, seemed quite to sympathise with his spirit, although, of course, what amused him could not have similarly affected them, seeing that they were used to monkeys from infancy.

      “There’s something new!” exclaimed Jack, as we rounded a bend in the river and came in view of an open flat where it assumed somewhat the aspect of a pond or small lake. He pointed to a flock of birds standing on a low rock, which I instantly recognised to be pelicans.

      “Surely,” said I, “pelicans are not new to you!”

      “Certainly not; but if you look a little more attentively, I think you will find material for your note-book.”

      Jack was right. I observed a very fine fish-hawk circling over the head of one of the pelicans. Its head and neck were white, and its body was of a reddish chocolate colour. Just as we came in sight, the pelican caught a fine fish, which it stowed away safe in the pouch under its chin. The sly hawk, which had been watching for this, immediately made a descent towards its victim, making a considerable noise with its wings as it came down. Hearing this, the pelican looked hastily up, and supposing that a terrible and deadly assault was about to be made, opened its mouth and screamed in terror. This was just what the hawk wanted. The open bill revealed the fish in the pouch. Down he swooped, snatched it out, and then soared away with his ill-gotten gains in his talons.

      “Oh, what a thief!” exclaimed Peterkin.

      “And the pelican seems to take his loss in a remarkably philosophical manner,” observed Jack.

      To my surprise the great stupid bird, instead of flying away, as I had expected, quietly resumed his fishing as if nothing had happened. No doubt he was well pleased to find himself still alive, and it is not improbable that the hawk made several more meals at the expense of his long-beaked friend after we had passed by.

      We soon put him to flight, however, by landing near the spot where he stood, this being the place where we were to quit our canoes and pass through the jungle on foot. The hunters now prepared themselves for action, for the recent tracks of elephants were seen on the bank of the stream, and the natives said they could not be far off. Jack and Peterkin were armed with immensely heavy rifles, which carried balls of the weight of six-ounces. I carried my trusty, double-barrelled fowling-piece, which is of the largest size, and which I preferred to a rifle, because, not being a good shot, I resolved, on all occasions, to reserve my fire until we should come to close quarters with game, leaving my more expert comrades to take the longer shots. We had also two natives—one being our guide, Makarooroo, who carried Jack and Peterkin’s double-barrelled guns as a reserve. These were loaded, of course, with ball.

      “This looks something like business,” said Jack, as he leaned on his heavy rifle and looked at the natives, who were selecting their spears and otherwise making preparations.

      “It does,” replied Peterkin. “Are you loaded?”

      “Ay, and I have just examined the caps to see that they are dry; for it’s not like grouse-shooting on the Scottish hills this African hunting, depend upon it. A snapping cap might cost us our lives,—Ralph, my boy, you must keep well in rear. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but it won’t do to go in front when you cannot depend on your nerves.”

      I experienced a feeling of sadness not unmingled with shame as my friend said this, but I could not question the justness of his remark, and I knew well that he would not have made it at all, but for his anxiety lest I should run recklessly into danger, which I might find myself, when too late, unable to cope with. I was careful, however, to conceal my feelings as I replied with a smile—

      “You are right, Jack. I shall act the part of a support, while you and Peterkin skirmish in advance.”

      “And be careful,” said Peterkin, solemnly, “that you don’t fire into us by mistake.”

      Somewhat of Peterkin’s own spirit came over me as I replied, “Indeed, I have been thinking of that, and I’m not sure that I can restrain myself when I see a chimpanzee monkey and a gorilla walking through the woods before me.”

      “I think we’d better take his gun from him,” suggested Jack.

      At

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