without regret, that found expression at a
banquet given me on the eve preceding my departure, by Mr. Erlington,
the German Consul at Tamatave, that I took my leave of Madagascar, when
the flags of the officials of the French Residency and flags of all the
foreign consuls were flying, honoring me with a kindly farewell. A jolly
French friend of mine, who came out to the steamer to see me off, said:
"Judge, don't you be too sure of the meaning of the flags flying at your
departure from Tamatave, for we demonstrate here for gladness, as well
as for regret." "Well," I replied, "in either event I am in unison with
the sentiment intended to be expressed; for I have both gladness and
regret--gladness with anticipations of home, and with regret that, in
all human probability, I am taking leave of a community from whom for
nearly four years I have been the recipient, officially, of the highest
respect; and socially of unstinted friendliness."

[Illustration: CHARLES W. CHESNUTT.

A Distinguished Colored Writer--Author of "The House Behind the Cedars,"
"The Wife of My Youth," "The Conjure Woman," "The Morrow of
Tradition"--All Sparkling with Justice, Wisdom, and Wit.]

I found Vice-Consul Hunt had secured and had had my baggage placed in a
desirable state room. The ringing of the bell notified all
non-passengers ashore. After hearty handshakes from the Vice-Consul,
German, French, and other friends, taking with them a bottle or two of
wine that had been previously placed where it would do the most good,
they took the consular boat, and with the Stars and Stripes flying, and
handkerchiefs waving a final farewell, they were pulled ashore. The
anchor weighs, and the good ship "Yantse" inhales a long, moist, and
heated breath and commences to walk with stately strides and quickened
pace--weather charming and the sea as quiet as a tired child. The next
day a stop at the Island of St. Maria, a French possession, and on the
fifth day at Diego Suarez, on the north end of Madagascar.

On the ninth day from Tamatave we entered the Gulf of Aden, and after
some hours dropped anchor at Camp Aden, in Arabia. Mr. Byramzie, a
Tamatave friend of mine, and of the London firm of Dadabhoy & Co., with
a branch at Aden, came off to meet me and accompany me ashore. Camp Aden
is a British fortification I cannot readily describe with reference to
its topography or the heterogenous character and pursuits of its
inhabitants. Nature was certainly in no