ame daily bolder and more insolent, and they now only
awaited a convenient opportunity to kill him. One day as he was marching
along, gun over shoulder and dagger in hand, he became conscious that
two of his men were unpleasantly near, and after a while one of them,
unaware that Burton understood his language, urged the other to strike.
Burton did not hesitate a moment. Without looking round, he thrust back
his dagger, and stabbed the man dead on the spot. [170] The other, who
fell on his knees and prayed for mercy, was spared. This, however, did
not cure his followers of their murderous instincts, and a little later
he discovered another plot. The prospective assassins having piled a
little wood where they intended to kindle a fire, went off to search for
more. While they were gone Burton made a hole under the wood and buried
a canister of gunpowder in it. On their return the assassins lighted the
fire, seated themselves comfortably round, and presently there weren't
any assassins. We tell these tales just as Burton told them to his
intimate friends. The first may have been true, the second, we believe,
simply illustrates his inveterate habit of telling tales against himself
with the desire to shock. In any circumstances, his life was in constant
peril; but he and the majority of the party, after unexampled tortures
from thirst, arrived footsore and jaded in a veritable land of
Goshen--Kazeh or Unyanyembe, where they met some kindly Arab merchants.

"What a contrast," exclaims Burton, "between the open-handed hospitality
and the hearty good-will of this noble race--the Arabs--and the
niggardliness of the savage and selfish African. It was heart of
flesh after heart of stone." Burton found the Arabs of Kazeh living
comfortably and even sybaritically. They had large, substantial houses,
fine gardens, luxuries from the coast and "troops of concubines and
slaves." Burton gallantly gives the ladies their due. "Among the fair
of Yombo," he says, "there were no fewer than three beauties--women who
would be deemed beautiful in any part of the world. Their faces were
purely Grecian; they had laughing eyes their figures were models for an
artist with--

"Turgide, brune, e ritondette mamme."

like the 'bending statue' that delights the world. The dress--a short
kilt of calabash fibre--rather set off than concealed their charms, and
though destitute of petticoat they were wholly unconscious of indecorum.
These beautiful domes