e sure to accept the invitation, and manifested the same by a
peculiar responsive whistle, meaning, as they said, "All right, go ahead;
we are coming." The bird never deceived them, but always guided them to
a hive of bees, though some had but little honey in store. Has this
peculiar habit of the honey-guide its origin, as the attachment of dogs,
in friendship for man, or in love for the sweet pickings of the plunder
left on the ground? Self-interest aiding in preservation from danger
seems to be the rule in most cases, as, for instance, in the bird that
guards the buffalo and rhinoceros. The grass is often so tall and dense
that one could go close up to these animals quite unperceived; but the
guardian bird, sitting on the beast, sees the approach of danger, flaps
its wings and screams, which causes its bulky charge to rush off from a
foe he has neither seen nor heard; for his reward the vigilant little
watcher has the pick of the parasites on his fat friend. In other cases
a chance of escape must be given even by the animal itself to its prey;
as in the rattle-snake, which, when excited to strike, cannot avoid using
his rattle, any more than the cat can resist curling its tail when
excited in the chase of a mouse, or the cobra can refrain from inflating
the loose skin of the neck and extending it laterally, before striking
its poison fangs into its victim. There are many snakes in parts of this
pass; they basked in the warm sunshine, but rustled off through the
leaves as we approached. We observed one morning a small one of a deadly
poisonous species, named Kakone, on a bush by the wayside, quietly
resting in a horizontal position, digesting a lizard for breakfast.
Though openly in view, its colours and curves so closely resembled a
small branch that some failed to see it, even after being asked if they
perceived anything on the bush. Here also one of our number had a glance
at another species, rarely seen, and whose swift lightning-like motion
has given rise to the native proverb, that when a man sees this snake he
will forthwith become a rich man.

We slept near the ruined village of the murdered chief, Mpangwe, a lovely
spot, with the Zambesi in front, and extensive gardens behind, backed by
a semicircle of hills receding up to lofty mountains. Our path kept
these mountains on our right, and crossed several streamlets, which
seemed to be perennial, and among others the Selole, which apparently
flows past th