Punch (77.1879)

July 26, 1879.]

PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

29

found the noise he could make was most useful in scaring away the
huge birds of prey that would otherwise have proved awkward cus-
tomers to deal with.

Sketch of a " Gryper," or very Talon-ted Vulture.

{Signed by Artist. None genuine without this Signature.)

Here is one I contrived to wing, and sketched him as he managed
to fly away, uttering at the same time a peculiarly shrill scream,
which, had it not been drowned by the beating of my own drum—
(do you know the song, " But the beating of my own heart was all
the sound I heard," eh ? Here's a chance for something like it:
" The beating of my own drum," &c. More anon)—would have, I
think, rendered me deaf for life.

We breakfasted on the first plateau we could find, the niggers
serving us famously, and the javelin-men holding umbrellas over us
to screen us from the scorching rays of the early morning sun.
Then, after a whiff of tobacco, we walked through a virgin forest of
at least a thousand years old—a very old maid this virgin forest,
eh ?—where the vegetation was luxuriant to a degree that I have
never seen equalled even in the Southern Tropics. Huge fallen trees,
that had only succumbed to the mountain tempest, lay in the way,
like Giant Obstructionists. Sometimes a perfect thicket of them
stood before us—unfelled, unfalien; another, we axed leave—and
axed branches too—to bring in a bill which would settle the Giant
Obstructionists completely. Like the celebrated

" Man from Datchet
"Who brought his hatchet,"

all our good Fellers went to work, and by hook and by crook, by
axe, hatchet, and bill, we made one grand trunk line in less time than
it takes me to write five ordinary ones.

Then we heard the shrill, clear note of the ciccaleri (pronounced as
an Italian word—whence the insect originally comes) and the Hop-
poponax, whose movements are so quick as to baffle all our attempts
at catching it.

hoppoponaxes at play in the long grass.

{From a Sketch by our Special Artist.—Signed.)

Many a hearty laugh have we had as we tumbled over the rocky
ground, and went head-over-heels over the stumps and boulders in
our vain attempts to secure one of these beautiful insects.

After a thirty-mile walk we stopped for lunch, selecting a shady

spot as_free?from white ants as.was possible to find in a place'whioh
was literally swarming with
them. They are peculiar to this
country, and, when irritated,
have the power of inflicting on
their victim a deadly sting. It
is difficult, of course, to know
what irritates them, or when
they are irritated, which, as a
rule—so the natives say—can
only be ascertained distinctly (or
" ^ds-sting,d-ly,,' as the natives
express it) by results.

Five white ants, irritated,
stinging together, will kill one
black man. If, however, they
are not irritated, their bite will
not produce any other effect
than that of a swelling. They
live in the rough prickly bark of
trees, and their nests cannot be
taken, it being impossible for
any hand to get at them without
being severely lacerated by these
bristly points; in fact, the ex-
traordinary barks of these trees
is far worse than the ordinary
bites of these insects. Fortu-
nately for the black inhabitants
of the plain—who are peculiarly
plain black inhabitants—they
seldom ascend to these heights ; Portrait op Black Native Uncle
and when they do, if bitten, they bitten by a White Ant.
return at once with a swollen

head or arm, or finger, and are venerated by the superstitious popu-
lation as having received an inspiration from the Good Spirit who is
supposed to inhabit these mountains. The suffering native_ imme-
diately receives presents of nuts, beads, and flour, and goes literally
" swelling " about the place.

******

I must apologise for not sending any more to-day, as I have
another ascent of sixty thousand feet to make before 10 p.m. ; and
if my boy with post-bag, whom I am now lowering by a rope, does
not reach the village by nine, you will not get this for another week.
I have telegraph apparatus with me for communication with you,
but we can't yet fix it. Au revoir ! Yours, still on the climb,

C. C.

AT CHISELHURST.

{Saturday, July 12.)

Feom thy Throne's height and mother's pride come down
To this uncrowned grief, and childless woe;

Place on her brave boy's bier the violet crown,
The only one it was his lot to know.

Thy youngest daughter weeping at thy side,
And thy four princely sons to bear his pall!

Of such a grief all sympathy falls wide,
And yet 'tis well our Queen should give her all.

England partakes the sorrow of her Qtteen,

Would whisper cheer to the reft mother's heart,

Stripped sudden of its one branch, straight and green,
So fair of spring-tide leaf, so sound at heart.

Little these English mourners think of thrones,
Past or to come, or factions' fierce debate ;

No thoughts are theirs that harden hearts to stones,
And poison wholesome sympathy with hate.

Gather, grey skies of sorrow, o'er the gun

That bears his body to his father's grave-
Unlooked-for goal of race untimely run—
And, Heaven, sustain that saw not meet to save.

Etymological.

From a Harrow Boy at Lord's,

Bowled. A man is said to be bowled, from the Latin, " quia Hon
est cautus "—because he is not caught.

Aims eok Agbiculttjeists.—Plain living and high farming.