the foreground was the rank large-leaved vegetation and feathery palms peculiar to a tropical climate. We seated ourselves upon the side of the embankment and began to draw. Presently the sound of a horn came from the direction of Worriore. It was blown at intervals and was accompanied by the beat of a tomtom. The party was evidently approaching by the road we had traversed. My friend became uneasy. She had a curious dislike for the natives, partly instinctive, and partly on account of the garlic. She rose to her feet and walked down the embankment into the fields. Feeling nothing of the same prejudice, I remained seated and continued sketching.
The party proved to be a funeral procession. The body was that of an old man. It was garlanded with oleander and jasmin flowers, and was partly covered with a white cloth, the face and hands being left exposed. It was extended upon a flat bier, supported upon the shoulders of bearers, who were chanting a monotonous inarticulate chant. Two men carried long horns made of tin, from which they produced notes like the hoot of a motor. A third had a drum. Behind the corpse walked seven or eight mourners, whose voices were occasionally raised in loud lamentations. It was a strange scene, with the flower-bedecked body of the old man stretched out upon the red and gold bier, the clean white garments of the followers stained here and there with the red dust which they had thrown upon themselves in the ecstasy of their grief, the brilliant colour of the sky, and the rich verdant landscape. The party approached slowly, and the chanting ceased as they came up to me. The bearers stopped, and all eyes were directed upon the stranger seated upon the ground.
With one accord the whole party sidled up close enough for their flowing garments to touch me, and leaned forward to look over my shoulder. The bearers
