Abyssinian mountains, where we should have to change our camels for oxen, those animals alone being able to scale the rocky passes of Ethiopia. Moncullou is, for the most part, a collection of round thatched huts, enclosed by rough fences; behind the village, on the Abyssinian side, are two old Turkish cannon, in a sort of rude fort. Many of the merchants of Massowah live here to escape from the heat of the town; all the rest of the inhabitants are Shohos, and we could hear their monotonous music all night, as they kept some rude feast to the moon. But it was pleasant to know that we were at last clear of the "" Harbour of the Shepherds" and its Abderitish * inhabitants, who, less fortunate than the people of Abdera, have never heard the Andromeda of Euripides, and learned to sing, "O Cupid, prince of gods and men." Perhaps it is the total absence of Cupid's gentle and ennobling influence in the East, that has made the Orientals what they are. If they had known the influence of woman as a companion and a friend, instead of only knowing her as a plaything and a slave, they might have been very different. * See the story of Abdera in the "Sentimental Journey." CHAPTER III. THE FRONTIER OF ETHIOPIA. February 20th.-We started early, sorely against the will of our camel drivers, for it was pouring with rain, and leaving the baggage in charge of the soldiers, -a set of bare-legged, hardy-looking fellows, armed to the teeth with knife, gun, and revolver-pushed forward on our mules, through a barren, mountainous country, dotted here and there with flowering mimosas. We presently came to the dry bed of a considerable river, where the tropical vegetation grew in wild luxuriance, and the hot, damp air was laden with perfume, like the interior of a greenhouse. From among the bushes the tiny Beni Israel (a pretty species of gazelle) gazed at us with its large eyes, while overhead a family of brightly-plumaged birds, with long hooky beaks, sat billing and cooing most lovingly, looking like some strange Israelitish race of turtle-doves. When my brother shot one of them, her companion seemed quite broken-hearted, and flew round and round overhead, uttering a low and mournful cry. Further on, we entered a narrow mountain glen, bounded by mighty walls of black rock; and here our camp was pitched in an open space, where a water VOL. I. D fall, now dwindled to a diminutive stream, fell over a lofty pile of grey boulders, and formed a natural bath in the silver sand below. A party of brown Shohos, marching noiselessly along in Indian file, armed with shield and spear, were the only other occupants of this wild spot. The tent was soon pitched, and our picturesque escort gathered round the camp fire to polish up their rusty arms. As night closed in, the mules and camels were secured close together, for fear of wild beasts; and the Naib retired, in solitary dignity, to a little tent he had erected under a mimosa tree. We were in the saddle betimes next morning, and, marching in a northerly direction, reached the top of a wooded range of hills, from which we gained a view of the valley of Ailet, famous for the quantities of lions, elephants, giraffes, &c., with which it abounds. The valley immediately below us was green with fields of Indian corn, and herds of humped oxen and tiny African sheep, no bigger than English lambs, were grazing by the side of a dry watercourse. The Naib would willingly have encamped here, near a little Shoho village, called Dumbli; but as the place was full of musquitos and there was no food to be had, my brother and I decided to ride on to the higher camping ground of Subaguma, where there lived a Frenchman, who was employed by the Governor of Massowah to look after a saw-mill that had been erected there. Leaving our baggage to follow, and taking an Arab soldier from the escort for our guide, we rode on through a jungle till our attention was attracted by great numbers of wild guinea-fowl, who were pecking As they afforded good sport, we dismounted and continued our way on foot. I ceased to hear the report of my brother's gun after a time, and sat down to wait for him; but still he did not appear, though presently the baggage camels came slowly plodding along. "Fein el hawagah?" I cried to the drivers in Anglican Arabic ; but they only pointed to the road behind them, and jabbered something I could not understand, so I shouldered my gun and turned back along the track. At last I found my brother lying on the ground half fainting; while the Naib and a soldier leant over him, in evident distress. His mule was a very vicious one, and had kicked him badly while he was getting some cartridges from his valise. Fortunately, we had brandy with us; and he recovered enough to mount a mule before the arrival of the stretcher I had sent for. Our servants, in the meanwhile, had pitched the tents at Subaguma. On nearing the camping ground we saw a great commotion among the Shohos, and Captain R. with a drawn revolver in his hand. I galloped up, and found that our dragoman, Baulo, had tried to strike one of the natives with a large mallet, used for driving the tent pegs; and a serious collision might have occurred had not R. threatened to fire on the combatants. At sight of the pistol Baulo had bolted, and now stood trembling, with his arms meekly crossed, awaiting the punishment we should award him. How ever, I thought the fright he had received was enough for this time, and merely gave him a very stern warning that if he repeated such conduct he would get three hundred lashes; for not unfrequently the assassinations of travellers in uncivilised countries can be traced to some act of oppression on the part of their servants, as in the case of poor Powell. The Frenchman in charge of the mill at Subaguma was away, but his wife, an Abyssinian woman, received us kindly, and sent us some of her native tedge (mead) to drink. The saw-mill where they lived stands alone in a valley, surrounded on all sides by thickly-wooded mountains, which at night ring with the cries of the hyenas and other wild beasts with which they are infested. Here we had to wait till we could get oxen to carry our baggage up the mountain passes which guard the entrance to Abyssinia. The following morning (February 22nd), we were joined by one of the Franciscan missionaries who had been introduced to us by the French consul at Massowah. His name was Father Louis de Gonzague, and he had come forward alone, as his companion had determined not to undertake the journey. Among his servants were three lads from Shoa, who had been educated at a Franciscan convent at Marseilles. They were gentle, well-mannered boys; and in their neat white dresses and turn-down collars looked the very beau ideal of good niggers. Father Louis himself had nothing of the hard and withered look one expects to see in an African missionary. On the contrary, he was |