that " waver, lightly settle, and sleepily
swing."

There were drawbacks, however, to the
enjoyment of such a scene. I was stepping into
the wood, to catch a glimpse of an unknown
butterfly that had just settled, when the manager
warned me that the place was notorious
for its snakes, and showed me a specimen of
a very venomous one killed that morning.
This may be called a national drawback. An
artificial drawback is the fact that this most
charming bay has been selected as a likely
location for an oil well, and the then result
showed the shrewdness of the manager's
calculations, for the borings had "struck ile"
in two places. Only those who have seen it
and smelt it can fully understand tbe filth and
stench of an oil well. A few whiffs of the fetid
fluid as it came up the pipe, and a very cursory
inspection of the works, satisfied our curiosity
about this tropical Petrolia, and, with one
more look at the charming nook as we re-entered
the forest path, out of sight and smell of the
works, we returned to the lake; in the centre
of which, some men had been left to dig pitch
from two feet at least below the surface.
Hitherto the pitch that has been exported has
proved a failure for gas purposes; but it had
been suggested that this might not be the case
if it were taken from some depth under the
surface, where it had not been exposed to
the action of air and water. A spot was
selected where the pitch seemed pure and clean.
It was very hard, on and below the surface,
and though a large piece would have a certain
amount of toughness and elasticity, like partially
hardened blue clay, yet it chipped and flew at
every stroke of the pick. I noticed that, even
on the hardest parts, the ferrule of my umbrella
gradually sank down, if pressed upon; and I was
assured that in forty-eight hours the large hole
that had now been dug would be completely
filled up again. A few yards distant from
where we stood, the surface was quite soft: too
soft to walk swiftly over: and I could not but
shudder at the thought of the possibility of
being embalmed alive, in pitch. This soft
part was usually of a lighter brown colour,
nearly as fluid as treacle. Owing, I presume,
to the quantity of water with it, we took some
up in our hands and were not " defiled," except
by a slight smell remaining on the fingers. In
this softer part, there were constant small
discharges of gas, fetid sighs emitted from the
bubbling mass, with small squirts of water and
beautifully coloured bubbles. This was the
only part of the lake where anything like action
seemed to be going on.

The niggers shouldered the barrels of pitch
(one of them soon went headlong, barrel and
all, into one of the cracks), and carried them
off to the cart on the side of the lake. We
started on a shorter line for the bank; but we
had not gone many steps before the thunderstorm
which had long been threatening, burst
over us in all its fury. No one who has not
experienced the power of a storm in the Tropics, at
the beginning of the rainy season, can fully
appreciate our situation on the exposed
surface of the lake. The immediate effect was to
convert the whole of the lake, the cracks
having been previously full of water, into a
hissing sea of bubbles; and they, with the
splash of the huge rain-drops, made it impossible
to see whether the water was deep or
shallow. Our plank and our tall nigger were
not then at our disposition, and being without
even a stick, our only means of testing the
depth was by the booted legs of one of the
party. As long as the water was not much
above his knees, we followed him; but that
quarter of a mile occupying a long half hour,
was very tedious and unpleasant before we
were once more on comparatively dry land.
The road back to the village was converted
into a dirty whirling torrent, carrying down
on its surface a brown dusty substance that
seemed not to mix with the water. This was
bad enough, but it was pleasant walking
compared to the Warden's " improvements;"
through which, we eventually dragged
ourselves, to await the return of the steamer.

LEAVES FROM THE MAHOGANY-TREE.

SALAD-MAKING.

THE salad is the one of the few links that
still binds us to the golden age, and those
long- since vanished days of peace,
innocence, and no taxes.

To a quiet observer of an epicurean turn of
mind nothing can be more agreeable than from
the quiet red-curtained bin of a London tavern to
look forth upon the humours of man, whose
noblest prerogative it is to be denominated
"a cooking animal." The lion is generous as
a hero, the rat artful as a lawyer, the dove
gentle as a lover; the beaver is a good engineer,
the monkey a clever actor— but none of them,
can make a soup, or put together an omelette.
The wisest sheep never thought of culling and
contrasting his grasses, seasoning them with
thyme and tarragon, softening them with oil,
exasperating them with mustard, sharpening
them with vinegar, spiritualising them with a
suspicion of onions; in a word, sheep have
existed for thousands of years, yet no ovine
genius has yet arisen to suggest and carry out
the construction of a salad. Our woolly friends
still eat their grass pure and simple; as they
did on the plains of Mamre and at the foot of
Ararat, they do now on the Tartar steppes and
at the base of the great Chinese pagodas, and
the only condiment their unitiated appetites
need is what the Spaniards call the

"Salsa de San Bernado"
(" St. Bernard's sauce"),

which, being interpreted, means simply, "Hunger
and a good appetite," which sauce was
always much affected by your hermit, and it is
to your thoughtful and wise hermit that we, no
doubt, owe that divine simplicity— the salad.

It is a treat to lurk in a snug corner,