no good intentions, and accused them of deceit and insincerity in their professions, or, in plainer terms, that they had been guilty of a direct falsehood, in stating that they had no other motive for undertaking the journey than to recover the papers of Mr. Park at Youri.  He was assured that they were afraid to tell the true reasons for leaving their own country.  They withstood his invectives with tolerable composure, and the disgraceful old fellow left them in a pet, about half an hour after his arrival.

John Lander, we find, on referring to this part of their journey says, “It is really a discouraging reflection, that, notwithstanding the sacrifices we have made of all private feeling and personal comfort, for the purpose of conciliating the good opinion of the people here; the constant fatigue and inconvenience to which we have been subjected; the little arts we have practised; the forced laughter; the unnatural grin:  the never-ending shaking of hands, &c. &c., besides the dismal noises and unsavoury smells to which our organs have been exposed, still, after all, some scoundrels are to be found hardened against us by hatred and prejudice, and so ungrateful for all our gifts and attentions, as to take a delight in poisoning the minds of the people against us, by publicly asserting that we are English spies, and make use of other inventions equally false and malicious.  Pitiable, indeed, must be the lot of that man, who is obliged to drag on a year of existence in so miserable a place as this.  Nevertheless we are in health and spirits, and perhaps feel a secret pride in being able to subdue our rising dissatisfaction, and in overcoming difficulties, which at a first glance seemed to be insurmountable.  By the blessing of Heaven, we shall proceed prosperously in our undertaking; for in the divine goodness do we alone repose all our confidence and hopes of success.  We may say that pleasure and enjoyment have accompanied us hither.  The clearness of the sky is pleasant, and its brilliancy, the softness of the moon, the twinkling brightness of the stars, and the silence of night, the warbling and the flight of birds, the hum of insects, and the varied and luxuriant aspect of beautiful nature, are all charming to us; and what on earth can be more soothing and delightful than the thoughts of home and kindred, and anticipations of a holier and more glorious existence; these are true pleasures, of which the barbarians cannot deprive us.”

So writes John Lander, in the enthusiasm of his imagination; but unfortunately the reality did not come up to the picture which his fancy had drawn; for although the softness of the moon, and the silence of night, and the brightness of the stars, might be all very pleasant objects, even under an equatorial sun, yet the following account of some of the disagreeables, when taken in contrast, rather tends to overbalance the sum of the agreeables.  Thus we find, that on the day subsequent to that on which John Lander had written his rhapsody