rounded by a dry ditch. I t was market day, and we found a much finer market here than at Tripoli. I had an attack of ague,—the disease that chiefly prevails in these parts,—and was obliged to rest all day under the shade of a tree. A pretty Felatah girl, going to market with milk and butter, neat and spruce in her attire as a Cheshire dairy-maid, here accosted me with infinite archness and grace. She said I was of her own nation; and, after much amusing small talk, I pressed her, in jest, to accompany me on my journey, while she parried my solicitations with roguish glee, by referring me to her father and mother. I don’t know how it happened, but her presence seemed to dispel the effects of the ague. To this trifling and innocent memorial of a face and form, seen that day for the first and last time, but which I shall not readily forget, I may add the more interesting information to the good housewives of my own country, that the making of butter such as ours is confined' to the nation of the Felatahs, and that it is both clean and excellent. So much is this domestic art cultivated, that from a useful prejudice or superstition, it is deemed unlucky to sell new milk ; it may, however, be bestowed as a gift. Butter is also made in other parts of central Africa, but sold in an oily fluid state something like honey. A native of Mourzuk who resides here sent me some kouskousoo and fowls. I received a visit from a black shreefj who informed me he had seen the sea, and that a river I should cross on the morrow communicated between the Kowara and the Yow. By the Kowara, I understood him to mean the river that passes Timbuctoo, and which, of late years, has been so much talked of in Europe, under the name of Niger. This was a piece of gratuitous information, for on, cross-questioning him he could furnish no authority for his opinion. But I soon discovered the whole trick, by El Wordee strongly recommending me to give my informant a present. The country to the south and south-west was very hilly. Jan. 19.—We crossed a water-course called Girkwa, from the name of the town in its immediate vicinity. I t is the channel of the same river the black shreef alluded to, but did not now contain a drop of water. Indeed the channel itself is extremely shallow, and only about sixty or seventy yards across. The guide furnished me by the governor of Katagum told me, that the river took its rise in the mountains of Dul, and falling into another river, which we should soon come to, and which rose among the mountains of Nora, their united waters flowed into the Yow, to the north of Katagum. The country was much the same as yesterday; clear of wood, well cultivated, and divided into plantations. At noon we crossed the river Sockwa, alluded to above, and forming a junction with the Girkwa. The water was not above ankle deep in the middle of the stream, which did not now fill one twentieth part of the channel, and both rivers, I have no doubt, are at all times fordable, even during the rainy season. About a mile from the banks of the river, we passed the town of Sockwa, which is defended by a high clay wall. Being very unwell, I did not enter the town, but rode on through a clear, open country, to the town of Duakee, where I halted under a tree until the camels came up. This town is also walled, but contains few inhabitants, although the walls, made of day like all the others, are of great extent, and in good repair. Before four o’clock the camels arrived, and we pitched our tents under the tree where I had lain down. The road was still crowded, from sunrise to sunset, with people going to or coming from Kano. Jan. 20.—By El Wordee’s advice, I prepared myself this morning for entering Kano, which was now at hand. Arrayed in naval uniform, I made myself as smart as circumstances would permit. For three miles to the north of Duakee, the country was open and well cultivated. I t then became thickly covered with underwood,
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