Oppressed with the shocking scenes around, we visited the Bishop’s grave; and though it matters little where a good Christian’s ashes rest, yet it was with sadness that we thought over the hopes which had clustered around him, as he left the classic grounds of Cambridge, all now buried in this wild place.  How it would have torn his kindly heart to witness the sights we now were forced to see!

In giving vent to the natural feelings of regret, that a man so eminently endowed and learned, as was Bishop Mackenzie, should have been so soon cut off, some have expressed an opinion that it was wrong to use an instrument so valuable merely to convert the heathen.  If the attempt is to be made at all, it is “penny wise and pound foolish” to employ any but the very best men, and those who are specially educated for the work.  An ordinary clergyman, however well suited for a parish, will not, without special training, make a Missionary; and as to their comparative usefulness, it is like that of the man who builds an hospital, as compared with that of the surgeon who in after years only administers for a time the remedies which the founder had provided in perpetuity.  Had the Bishop succeeded in introducing Christianity, his converts might have been few, but they would have formed a continuous roll for all time to come.

The Shire fell two feet, before we reached the shallow crossing where we had formerly such difficulty, and we had now two ships to take up.  A hippopotamus was shot two miles above a bank on which the ship lay a fortnight:  it floated in three hours.  As the boat was towing it down, the crocodiles were attracted by the dead beast, and several shots had to be fired to keep them off.  The bullet had not entered the brain of the animal, but driven a splinter of bone into it.  A little moisture with some gas issued from the wound, and this was all that could tell the crocodiles down the stream of a dead hippopotamus; and yet they came up from miles below.  Their sense of smell must be as acute as their hearing; both are quite extraordinary.  Dozens fed on the meat we left.  Our Krooman, Jumbo, used to assert that the crocodile never eats fresh meat, but always keeps it till it is high and tender—­and the stronger it smells the better he likes it.  There seems to be some truth in this.  They can swallow but small pieces at a time, and find it difficult to tear fresh meat.  In the act of swallowing, which is like that of a dog, the head is raised out of the water.  We tried to catch some, and one was soon hooked; it required half-a-dozen hands to haul him up the river, and the shark-hook straightened, and he got away.  A large iron hook was next made, but, as the creatures could not swallow it, their jaws soon pressed it straight—­and our crocodile-fishing was a failure.  As one might expect,—­from the power even of a salmon—­the tug of a crocodile was terribly strong.