om her sleep by the fearful
discord, or might, perhaps, have been the beautiful Princess Ouardi
herself transformed into the likeness of a dove--flew out of one of the
palm-trees which grow on the edge of the bank, and perched at a little
distance from us. We none of us moved, and the turtle-dove, after
pausing for a moment, ran towards me and nestled under the full sleeve
of my benisch. It stayed there till the story and the songs were ended,
and when I was obliged to arise, in order to make my compliments to the
departing guests, the dove flew into the palm-tree again, and went to
roost among the branches, where several others were already perched with
their heads under their wings. Thereupon I made a vow never to shoot
another turtle-dove, however much pie or pilau might need them, and I
fairly kept my vow. Luckily turtle-doves are not so good as pigeons, so
it was no great loss. Although not to be compared to the Roman bird, the
Egyptian pigeon is very good eating when he is tender and well dressed.

As I am on the subject of birds I will relate a fact in natural history
which I was fortunate enough to witness, and which, although it is
mentioned so long ago as the times of Herodotus, has not, I believe,
been often observed since; indeed I have never met with any traveller
who has himself seen such an occurrence.

I had always a strong predilection for crocodile shooting, and had
destroyed several of these dragons of the waters. On one occasion I saw,
a long way off, a large one, twelve or fifteen feet long, lying asleep
under a perpendicular bank about ten feet high, on the margin of the
river. I stopped the boat at some distance; and noting the place as well
as I could, I took a circuit inland, and came down cautiously to the top
of the bank, whence with a heavy rifle I made sure of my ugly game. I
had already cut off his head in imagination, and was considering whether
it should be stuffed with its mouth open or shut. I peeped over the
bank. There he was, within ten feet of the sight of the rifle. I was on
the point of firing at his eye, when I observed that he was attended by
a bird called a ziczac. It is of the plover species, of a greyish
colour, and as large as a small pigeon.

The bird was walking up and down close to the crocodile's nose. I
suppose I moved, for suddenly it saw me, and instead of flying away, as
any respectable bird would have done, he jumped up about a foot from the
ground, screamed "Zicz