e middle and
lower class of settlers--a motley crew, truly. There were jolly farmers
and pale-visaged tradesmen from various parts of England, watermen from
the Thames, fishermen from the seaports, artisans from town and country,
agricultural labourers from everywhere, and ne'er-do-weels from nowhere
in particular. England, Scotland, Ireland, were represented--in some
cases misrepresented,--and, as character was varied, the expression of
it produced infinite variety. Although the British Government had
professedly favoured a _select_ four thousand out of the luckless ninety
thousand who had offered themselves for emigration, it is to be feared
that either the selection had not been carefully made, or drunkenness
and riotous conduct had been surprisingly developed on the voyage out.
Charity, however, requires us to hope that much of the excitement
displayed was due to the prospect of being speedily planted in rural
felicity in the wilds of Africa. Conversation, at all events, ran
largely on this theme, as our wanderers could easily distinguish--for
people talked loudly, and all tent-doors were wide open.

After wandering for some time, Sandy Black paused, and looking down at
his little friend with what may be called a grave smile, gave it as his
opinion that they had got lost "in Settlers'-toon."

"I do believe we 'ave," assented Jerry. "What's to be done?"

"Gang to the best hotel," suggested Sandy.

"But where _is_ the best 'otel?"

"H'm! 'ee may ask that."

A burst of noisy laughter just behind them caused the lost ones to turn
abruptly, when they observed four tall young men of gentlemanly aspect
sitting in a small military tent, and much amused apparently at their
moist condition.

"Why, where did you two fellows come from?" asked one of the youths,
issuing from the tent.

"From England and Scotland," replied Jerry Goldboy promptly.

"From the sea, I should say," returned the youth, "to judge from your
wet garments."

"Ay, we've been drookit," said Sandy Black.

"Bring 'em in, Jack," shouted one of the other youths in the tent.

"Come inside," said he who was styled Jack, "and have a glass of whisky.
There's nothing like whisky to dry a wet skin, is there, Scotty?"

To this familiar appeal Sandy replied, "m-h'm," which word, we may add
for the information of foreigners, is the Scotch for "Yes."

"Sit down there on the blankets," said the hospitable Jack, "we haven't
got our arm-chairs or tables