of the Nshibul branch forms almost a sea-horizon, with dots showing where tall, scattered palms spring from the watery surface.  We cannot but admire the nightly effects of the wintry bush-fires.  During the day livid volumed smoke forms cumuli that conceal their enemy, the sun, and discharge a rain of blacks ten times the size of Londoners.  In the darkened air we see storms of fire fiercely whirling over the undulating ranges, here sweeping on like torrents, there delaying, whilst the sheets meet at the apex, and a giant beard of flame (Greek ) flouts the moon.  The land must be splendidly grassed after the rains.

The Boma factories are like those of Porto da Lenha, but humbler in size, and more resembling the wicker-work native houses.  The river, which up stream will show a flood mark of twelve feet, here seldom rises above five, and further down three and four; consequently piles are not required, and the swiftness of the current keeps off the jacare.  Formerly there were fourteen establishments, which licit trade in palm oil and ground-nuts, instead of men, women, and children, have reduced to ten.  The air is sensibly drier and healthier than at the lower settlement, and apparently there is nothing against the place but deadly ennui and monotony.

We landed at once, and presented our letters to Sr.  Antonio Vicente Pereira, who at once made us at home:  he had seen Goa as well as Macao, so we found several subjects in common.  The factory enjoyed every comfort:  the poultry yard throve, far better than at Porto da Lenha; we saw fowls and pigeons, “Manilla” ducks and ducklings, and a fine peacock from Portugal, which seemed to enjoy the change.  The fish is not so good as that caught further down, and the natives have a habit of narcotizing it:  the Silurus electricus is exceptionally plentiful.  The farmyard contained tame deer, and a house-dog fierce as a tethered mastiff; goats were brought whenever wanted, and the black-faced, thin-tailed sheep gave excellent mutton.  Beef was impossible; the Portuguese, like the natives, care little for milk, and of the herd, which strangers had attempted to domesticate, remained only a bull and a cow in very poor condition—­the deaths were attributed to poisonous grass, but I vehemently suspect Tsetse.  A daily “quitanda,” or market, held under the huge calabashes on a hill behind the house, supplied what was wanted.

Upon Market Hill executions also take place, the criminal being shot through the heart.  M. Pereira’s garden produces all that Porta da Lenha can grow, with less trouble and of a superior kind.  Water-melons, tomatoes, onions, and pimento, or large pepper (pimentao, siliquastrum, ndungu ya yenene), useful to produce “crocodiles’ tears;” mint, and parsley flourish remarkably; turnips are eatable after two months; cabbage and lettuce, beet, carrot, and endive after three or four.  It is a waste of ground to plant peas; two rows, twelve feet by four, hardly