An animal's legs passing over the snare slip into the hole through the bamboo spikes, which immediately pierce the flesh to the bone, when the hunter, who is probably in ambush, starts up, lance in hand, and secures his game. This form of snare is of great antiquity; Xenophon describes it, and speaks highly of its efficiency.

Pitfalls for the larger animals average twelve feet in depth, being the same size at the surface. The sides are ingeniously sloped to a point at the base, so that the animal on falling in finds itself wedged, and escape is impossible. In some cases

a strong post, nine feet in length, sharpened to a point at the upper end, is firmly fixed into the ground at the bottom of the pit, in order to transfix the animal, and thereby insure its speedy death.

The surface of the pit is disguised in the same way as that in which the snares are hidden, though owing to the much wider opening to be concealed, a net is used as a foundation for the branches, leaves, and sand, which are strewn over it. Ostrich-hunting involves good riding, and is animated sport. Having ascertained where a nest is to be found, three or four mounted men go out on the plain together, and one of them rides in the direction of the nest.

Instantly the bird sees him it starts off at a tremendous pace, the hunter following in hot pursuit, until, after running perhaps a couple of miles, the ostrich begins to circle, its object being to get back to its nest, from which it fondly hopes it has diverted its pursuer.

The other hunters, who are scattered over the plain, take up the running by turns, succeeding each other as each horse becomes spent; they are thus able to press the bird to its utmost speed, until it falls exhausted on the ground, with outstretched wings, gasping for breath.

The nearest hunter then gallops up and severs its head with a blow from his sword. Hastily dismounting, he at once seizes the bleeding stump and thrusts it into the sand to prevent the feathers from being soiled by the blood, which is spurting in all directions from the convulsive movements of the neck, even after death. The feathers of a full-grown bird fetch from fifty to seventy-five dollars (£10 to £15) at Kassala, where they are bought by Arab traders from Cairo, but they ultimately realize treble that value in the European markets.

An erroneous idea prevails that the sword-hunters of Nubia belong entirely to the Hamran tribes, but all hunters, whether on foot or horseback, who do not snare the game, kill it by hamstringing with the sword.

When the elephant is pursued on foot, it is invariably sought in the depths of the forest, where it has retired for shelter from the noonday sun, and also for the short repose it takes during the twentyfour hours. The hunter having tracked his quarry to its retreat, is obliged to use the utmost stealth in approaching it, the elephant being a very light sleeper, and awakened by the slightest unusual sound.

The difficulty of moving through a dense thorny jungle without making any sound dissimilar to those which might be produced by nature, such as the stirring of the branches by a light breeze, or the occasional falling of a dead leaf, is greater than can be realized by any one who has not tried it.

On getting within arm's-length of his game, the swordsman slowly raises himself to an erect position and deals a slashing cut on the back sinews of the nearest foot, about ten inches from the ground, at the same time leaping nimbly back to avoid a blow from the animal's trunk. The cut, if properly delivered, bites sheer to the bone, severing the large arteries, and in a short time death ensues from hemorrhage. Gazelles are hunted by a powerful breed of hounds, in build somewhat heavier than a greyhound. In spite of being far swifter than the hound, the gazelle falls a victim from a nervous habit of constantly stopping to look back to see if it is pursued; it also expends its strength by taking great bounds in an almost vertical direction, thereby not only losing time, but exhausting itself, so that it is overtaken without difficulty.

The vegetation of the country consists chiefly of varieties of acacia, often misnamed mimosa; the best known of these are the garrad, which contains tannin, possessing at least twice the strength of that in oak; and the sant, or shittim, alluded to in Hebrew Scriptures, and from a variety of which tradition states that the "crown of thorns" was made.

The thorns of many of these acacias grow in pairs, joined at the base; those of the sant are straight and remarkable for their size, being often nine inches long; those of the garrad, and others, resemble

the spurs of a game-cock, and are but two inches long; while those of the kittar are similar in shape and size to a cat's claw. There is but one palm in the country -the dôm. It is a fine tree, often eighty feet high, and is always found near water, its thick fanlike foliage, which grows in a dense mass at the top of the trunk, being consequently a welcome sight in the midst of the arid plain. This palm, different from all others, which throw out their foliage at the summit of a single trunk, bifurcates several times before it comes to maturity, and at the top of each division a large cluster of leaves is produced. These forks average thirty feet in height, and as each begins to grow out, the cluster of leaves from its predecessor falls off, leaving the trunk bare. From the coarser fronds, ropes and matting are made; and from the leaves, sleeping-mats, drinking-vessels, and platters. The fruit of the dôm is much relished by the natives. In size and shape it resembles a small apple, and has a dry, fibrous, but edible husk that tastes like gingerbread. This covers a nut containing a white kernel that hardens into the close-grained substance known as vegetable ivory.

The senna-bush, bearing the medicinal leaves so well known, and the colocynth gourd grow everywhere, while aloes spread like a weed in all directions.

During the rains a coarse reedlike grass, reaching six feet and upwards, grows with amazing rapidity, covering almost the whole country; but in the dry season this vast wealth of herbage is completely shrivelled, and ultimately reduced to absolute dust, so that during six months of the year there is scarcely subsistence for the flocks and herds.

The distress of the hot season is much augmented by a prevailing wind from the south, which, blowing over the desert, carries with it particles of fine sand that cause great irritation to the skin. This wind is called the "khamseen," the Arabic for "fifty," and signifies its continuance for fifty days. The khamseen often terminates in the terrible dust storms known as "simoom," from which fatal results generally arise, not, as formerly believed, from anything noxious in the blast, but from the choking nature of the powdered clay and sand which it carries along.

During the simoom the atmosphere becomes of a murky yellowish haze, the water in the goat-skins quickly evaporates,

and impalpable dust fills the nostrils of both man and beast. The terrified camels become unmanageable, and, turning their backs to the blast, rush wildly down the wind and finally fall exhausted, when both they and their riders perish from thirst and suffocation. Numbers of the natives are in this manner annually lost.

"The rains" begin about the 1st of July and continue till the middle of September. At the commencement of this season the Nubians, to escape the deadly effect of the "tsetse" fly, move their camps from the neighborhood of the rivers to hilly districts, where their cattle are not decimated by this plague.

A few men remain in the plains to sow durra, and with the very first shower begin their work. Ploughs are unknown, and furrows never made. Two men in each district achieve the whole labor. One of them walks in a straight line for about a hundred yards prodding the ground with a staff, followed by his comrade carrying a bag of seed. Three or four grains of this he places in each hole, which he then closes by shuffling in the earth with his foot. This process is repeated in parallel rows about eighteen inches apart over the entire tract to be planted.

About the middle of October the durra is ripe. The large bushy heads are then cut off and heaped upon a threshing-floor made from the hard clay of an ant-hill, which, after being pounded and mixed with water, is smeared over a bit of level ground, and the grain is simply beaten out of the husk with a stick. There is probably no plant in the world that yields so profitable a return. A single head contains between 1500 and 2000 grains, and a ton may be bought for the value of eight shillings.

The civilized world has almost forgotten, since the unhappy revolt that has totally put a stop to trade, that the exports of Nubia were formerly of great value, ivory, ebony, ostrich and marabout feathers, rhinoceros horn, hides, gum-arabic, wax, millet, senna, aloes, and colocynth being all found there in great abundance.

No doubt exists that ninety per cent. of the inhabitants desire peace, and would be most thankful to see their commerce restored to its former status, and we have every reason to believe that the late successes of Sir Herbert Kitchener are rapidly conducing to this much desired end.

poise fishery for the afternoon, I eagerly accepted the chance of escape.

We wandered off towards the beach, and by it made our way round to the great bay where the porpoise-fishing once took place.

"Look at the bones of the old days, and you can imagine what it meant to us," said Angélique, pointing to the line of great ribs, and skulls, and skeletons which made a grotesque barrier to the highest tides almost completely round the wide semicircle of the bay. "We fought for this many a long year, both with men and at law, and now, alas, we have neither men nor law to work it for us. The porpoise can swim in and out of the broken park unharmed. There, just as that fellow is doing now! Look at him!" As she spoke, a huge white mass rose slowly above the water within the bounds of the fishery, and then came forward with a rush in pursuit of the smelts and capelans, shooting up showers of spray, which broke into rainbows in the brilliant sunlight.

"It is like everything else, going to rack and ruin, with the people starving in the sight of plenty, because this wretched war must drag on," sighed Angélique. "The men feel nothing of it; they have all the fighting and glory, while we sit at home helpless, good for nothing."

"Don't say that, ma belle!" called out her brother, cheerily; and we turned to find him behind us. "Do you think we could have the heart to keep it up if it were not for the thought of you? But there, you are tired and out of sorts, little one. Go back to the mother, and I will take madame round by the end of the bay and back by the sucrerie."

It was impossible for me to object, and Angélique left us, while we took our way along the sands. M. de Sarennes seemed to have thrown aside his former cares, and rattled on in his natural way, noting and explaining everything which might interest me, and had I not known him better I might have been misled by his openness; but all the time I kept asking myself: "When will he speak? What will he say?" So that it was a relief when, as we turned away from the shore into the woods, he suddenly dropped his former tone, and addressed me without pretence:

"No; I have decided not to go. It is too late."

"Why too late? Are you fearful M. de Maxwell may have wearied waiting for you?"

"Monsieur, your words are an insult! If this be all you have to say to me, I beg you will let me return to the house."

"Not so fast, madame. I have a question or two yet which require to be answered, unless you prefer I should put them before my mother and sister. No? Then will you tell me who this boy Christophe really is? From his first appearance below there I was much puzzled why M. de Maxwell should have taken so unusual an interest in him. He was as jealous of the boy's liking for me as a doting mother could be, and was more distressed over his capture than many a father would have been over the loss of son."

"Monsieur," I answered, trying to conceal my alarm, "M. de Maxwell lodged for some time in London in the house of this boy's mother, my waiting-woman, Lucy Routh. Surely his meeting again with the lad he knew as a child will explain his interest."

"Indeed? And may I ask when it was that he lodged with this convenient waiting-woman?" he said, with a sneer that set my blood boiling.

"It was ten years ago, monsieur. Why do you ask me these questions?"

Because I wish to try a small problem in calculation. I was rude enough to hazard a guess at your age the first time we came to an understanding. Perhaps it was ungallant, but still it remains. I said then you were of a certain age,' but now, to be exact, we will say you are twenty-seven, perhaps twenty-six. This boy in whom such a paternal interest was displayed must be fifteen or sixteen. No, that will not adjust itself. Forgive my thinking out loud."

"Monsieur, this is intolerable! is it you wish to know?"

What

"Simply if M. de Maxwell was acquainted with this paragon of waiting-women before he lodged with her ten years ago?"

"You coward! Why do you not put such a question to M. de Maxwell himself?"

"It might prove embarrassing, madame. Almost as embarrassing as if I had obeyed the orders of your friend M. le Marquis de St. Véran, and brought you to M. le Chevalier de Maxwell, as you wished."

"I am completely at a loss to know what you mean," I said, boldly, but my heart sank at his words.

"Simply this, madame," and he handed me an open letter.

"Monsieur," I read, “If you have any regard for me, keep the lady claiming to be my wife at such a distance that I may never set eyes on her again. Should she be in want, I will gladly reimburse you for any expenditure you may make on her account.

LE CHEV DE MAXWELL.”

It was almost like a blow, and for a moment I stood numb and bewildered; but the realization of my danger from the man who stood there smiling at my degradation was a spur to me, and I neither fainted nor cried aloud.

"A pitiable situation, truly! Believe me, my dear madame, my heart bleeds for you."

You are a liar as well as a coward, monsieur. I know not what you have said or written to M. de Maxwell, but neither he nor any man can ever cast me off. I am not his wife!"

I

"Thank God for that!" he cried, in so different a voice that I looked at him in surprise. "Thank God for that! Marguerite, I love you with my whole heart, and body, and life. I know I am nothing but a rough coureur des bois, in spite of my birth. I have been cruel to you. have tortured you. Forgive me, forgive me! I knew of no other way to woo you. Teach me to be gentle, and I will be gentle for your sake. But, God in heaven! do not ask me to give you up! I cannot live without you. I have lost my soul to you. I have lost everything, for I should not be beside you even now!"

"No, you should not!" rang out a clear voice, and le père Jean stepped into the path before us. "Man never spake truer words, Sarennes. I have followed you night and day to bring you back to your duty. You are waited for every hour at Louisbourg, for the Indians will not move without you."

He spoke rapidly, like one accustomed to command, and at the same time held forth his hand to me as one might to a child, and I seized it in both mine, and stepped close to his side.

M. de Sarennes's whole aspect changed; his face took on a hard, obstinate look, and he scowled as if he would have struck the man before him, but he answered him not a word.

"Go!" again commanded the priest. "Go back to Louisbourg! You need no word of mine to urge you; if you do, I will tell you the Cross of St. Louis awaits you there."

"What care I for your Cross of St. Louis? I am not a French popinjay to be dazzled by your gewgaws from Versailles."

"Then go because your honor calls!" "Who are you to prate about honor? What does a priest know about honor? Keep to your paternosters and aves!" he cried, with an insulting laugh.

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cor.

You clown!" cried the priest, trembling with indignation. "My ancestors carried their own banner to the Sepulchre of Our Lord, when yours were hewers of wood and drawers of water! But, forgive me," he added, almost in the same breath, "this is beside the question. M. de Sarennes, you are a soldier, and as such your honor is dear to you; there are hundreds of men, aye, and there are women too, whose honor and safety in a few weeks, perhaps sooner, will depend on your sucYou know your help is absolutely necessary in the event of the place being invested. M. de Montcalm expects you to be at your post; M. de Vaudreuil has himself given you his orders; your Indians will follow no other than yourself, and are only waiting for you to lead them. No one knows better than yourself with what suspicion they will look on your disappearance. Your name will be on every lip in Louisbourg, and every eye will hourly watch for your coming. You carry the safety of the fortress, perhaps of the country, in your keeping."

"What you say is true, no doubt, mon père. But it rests with you whether I go or not," he returned, in a quiet voice, without a trace of the passion which had swayed him a moment since.

"How? In what way can it rest with me? I have given you my message, your orders."

'Yes, mon père, but I require more; I wish for your blessing."

"You shall have that, my son, my blessing and my constant prayers."

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'That is well, mon père, but I require more; I would have your blessing for