the mill-stream, and crossing this, you find yourself back on the path which goes in front of M. Gacon's house; passing this you come to the house inhabited by the girls in the mission school, presided over by the comely Imgrimina, wife of Isaac, the Jack-Wash, and a few steps more bring you to the foot of the Forgets' verandah staircase. The path runs on a little beyond this to the cast, on a slightly broader, level bit of ground, behind which rises the hillside, and it ends abruptly at another ravine with another, but smaller, stream; beyond this the hills come down right into the river, and on the small, flat piece of ground there are a few more native houses, belonging to the Bible-readers, and so on; up on the hillside above them hangs a garden, apparently kept in position by quantities of stout wooden pegs driven into the ground; these really are to keep the artificially levelled beds of mould, and the things in them, from being washed down into the river by the torrential wet season's rains. All sorts of things are supposed by the gardener to grow in those beds, but Mme. Forget declares there is nothing but a sort of salad. It is a very nice salad; I believe it to be dandelion, and there is plenty of it, and Mme. Forget might be more resigned about it; on the other hand, I agree with her, and quite fail to see why the gardener's salary should be continually raised, as he desires nor exactly what bearing his abdominal afflictions have on the non-productiveness of the tomato plants, nor why, again, he should be paid more because of them, for curious abdominal symptoms are very common among the whole of the West African tribes. My own opinion about that garden is that there are too many plantains in it, and too much shade. The whole station is surrounded by dense, dark-coloured, and forbidding-looking forest; in front of it runs the dark rapid river, profoundly deep, but not more than 400 yards wide here; on the opposite side of it there is another hillside similarly forested, and unbroken by clearing, save in one little spot higher up than the mission, where there is a little native town and a small sub-factory of Hatton and Cookson's.
Talagouga is grand, but its scenery is undoubtedly grim, and its name, signifying the gateway of misery, seems applic-
