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A PILGRIMAGE

of it, one of our boys, Peter Elba, an intelligent sharp boy, who speaks English and reads and writes well, began to break down, his feet becoming sore and swollen, as he had never walked so much before. Tired of riding, I dismounted and placed the poor fellow on the horse the rest of the way. This was intended as much for my own accommodation as for his relief; nevertheless I never heard the last of it, as the poor fellow, deeply grateful for the act, told it to every body he met, either the interpreter or cook being generally near, to confirm or exaggerate his statements.

The headman of the little town having treated some missionaries unkindly, whether designedly or not I am unable to say, we were advised not to sojourn with him, but to pass through the town and put up at the house of an old man, living a short distance beyond the wall. We did so, as it is sometimes wise to take the advice of the missionaries. As soon as the headman learned that strangers had arrived, he sent a messenger desiring us to come to see him, which I did, accompanied by our interpreter, and was very kindly received. He could not present us a lamb or kid, because, said he, the young persons are not at home to catch them. This was equivalent to asking for a present, which I granted in the form of a tin box of matches, and a small looking-glass. He complained that both ourselves and