from the interior, to sell the goods and animals under their charge.  One old woman had the misfortune to let a large calabash of palm oil fall from her head:  on arriving at the spot, they found a party of females, her companions in slavery, wringing their hands and crying.  The affliction of the old woman was bitter indeed, as she dreaded the punishment which awaited her on her return to the house of her master.  John Lander compassionated her distress, and gave her a large clasp knife, which would more than recompense her for the loss of the oil, on which the women wiped away their tears, and fell down on the dust before them, exhibiting countenances more gladsome and animated than could be conceived.

The mortality of children must be immense indeed here, for almost every woman they met with on the road, had one or more of those little wooden images, already mentioned.  Wherever the mothers stopped to take refreshment, a small part of their food was invariably presented to the lips of these inanimate memorials.  The daughters of civilization may boast of the refinement of their feelings, but under what circumstances did they ever exhibit a stronger instance of maternal affection than these rude, untutored mothers of interior Africa evinced to our travellers.  The English mother will frequently deposit her child in the grave, and a few days afterwards will be seen joining in all the pleasures and vanities of the world.  Whirled about in a vortex of dissipation, the mother of civilization bears no memorial about her of the infant that is in its grave; but the uncivilized African carries about with her the image of her child, and, in the full force of her maternal affection, feeds not herself until in her imagination she has fed the being who once was dear to her.  There was something beautifully affectionate in the mother offering the food to the images of her children, and had a whole volume been written in display of the African female character, a more forcible illustration could not have been given of it.

Although Pooya is considered by the natives to be a day’s journey from Jadoo, they only halted to pay their respects to the chief, and then continued their journey over gentle hills, and through valleys watered by streams and rivulets, so as to reach Engua in the afternoon.  The soil between the two towns is mostly dry and sterile, and large masses of ironstone, which looked as if they had undergone the action of fire, presented themselves almost at every step.  The day was oppressively hot, and as they had been exposed to the sun for a great number of hours, when they reached Engua, their skin was scorched and highly inflamed, which proved very painful to them.  Richard Lander was comparatively inured to the climate, but his brother now begun to feel it severely, he was sore, tired, and feverish, and longed to be down in a hut, but they were obliged to remain under a tree for three hours, before they could be favoured