urned wanderers generally do.

CHAPTER NINE.

SELIM--HAPPY DAYS--THE LOVER'S SONG--THE MAGIC DOCTOR SOLTALI--KALULU
PROPOSES TO HUNT ELEPHANTS--PREPARATIONS FOR A DANCE--THE HUNTING-SONG--
THE ELEPHANT HUNTERS SET OUT--THE SCENES ON THE MARCH--THE HUNTERS'
DAMP--TEN ELEPHANTS!--KALULU ADDRESSES THE KING ELEPHANT--THE KING
ELEPHANT DIES--SELIM'S CONDUCT IN THE FIELD--KALULU IS ASTONISHED AT
SELIM'S PROWESS.

Selim was now happy; and next to being able to reach his own Zanjian
Isle, and revisit the scenes of his childhood, and romp, as of yore,
with the playmates of his youth, and enjoy walks through the
orange-groves with young Abdullah, he could not have chosen for himself
a more tranquil life than that which he now enjoyed with his friend and
new brother, Kalulu.

For the bright Liemba River was beautiful, though brown; its crisp
little wavelets, where they washed over stone and pebble in the
shallower parts, had music for him, though he never forgot that horrible
scene near the island, when the smiling face of Abdullah changed into
one of horror and sank down into the depths, with his shriek echoing
through the woods.

The banks of the Liemba became for him a frequent resort, for Kalulu had
made it generally known to all that he was his brother, and no Mtuta
under the King Katalambula might molest him. Hence, he wandered where
he pleased, finding charms in the wild woods, and in the depths of
waving grain, in the peaceful, still life that reigned around, in the
music of the birds, and even in the harsh cries of paroquets.

The Selim, the brother of Kalulu, was not the Selim of Zanzibar, but was
the product of him, refined and pure from the fiery crucible of the
unusual hardships he had endured. It was the same boy, but not the same
heart. He, whom we knew at Zanzibar, the gay, light-hearted, sunny
youth, playing with the females in the harem and his playmates on the
beach, but ever listening in wonder to the great, wise words and sayings
of white men, was changed for the dreamy boy with the poet's heart, who
chose solitudes, forests, and the depths of tall corn-stalks to indulge
in reverie, which we are too apt to ascribe to melancholy. Perhaps it
was melancholy, a tender, soft melancholy, engendered by many
reminiscences of a mournful nature, crowding together in the mind of a
boy who had suffered much, but who had seen but few years. There was
the death of a loving father and loving kinsmen, the trag