re to my seat. As soon as the holy book appeared from the
folds, Mami-de-Yong drew a breath of surprise, and striking his
breast, fell on his knees with his head on the ground, where he
remained for several minutes apparently in rapt devotion. As he
rose--his forehead sprinkled with dust, and his eyes sparkling with
tears--he opened the volume, and pointed out to me and his people his
own handwriting, which he translated to signify that "Mami-de-Yong
gave this word of God to Ahmah-de-Bellah, his kinsman." At the reading
of the sentence, all the Fullahs shouted, "Glory to Allah and Mahomet
his Prophet!" Then, coming forward again to the chief, I laid my hand
on the Koran, and swore by the help of God, to accept the invitation
of the great king of Footha-Yallon.

This terminated the ceremonial reception, after which I hastened to
conduct Mami-de-Yong to his quarters, where I presented him with a
sparkling new kettle and an inkstand, letting him understand,
moreover, I was specially anxious to know that all the wants of his
attendants in the caravan were completely satisfied.

Next morning early, I remembered the joy of his nephew
Ahmah-de-Bellah, when I first treated him to _coffee_; and determined
to welcome the chief, as soon as he came forth from his ablutions to
prayers, with a cup distilled from the fragrant berry. I could not
have hit upon a luxury more gratifying to the old gentleman. Thirty
years before had he drank it in Timbuctoo, where it is used, he said,
by the Moses-people (meaning the Hebrews), with milk and honey; and
its delicious aroma brought the well-remembered taste to his lips ere
they touched the sable fluid.

Long before Mami-de-Yong's arrival, his fame as a learned "book-man"
and extensive traveller preceded him, so that when he mentioned his
travel to Timbuctoo, I begged him to give me some account of that
"capital of capitals," as the Africans call it. The royal messenger
promised to comply as soon as he finished the morning lessons of the
caravan's children. His quarters were filled with a dozen or more of
young Fullahs and Mandingoes squatted around a fire, while the prince
sat apart in a corner with inkstand, writing reeds, and a pile of old
manuscripts. Ali-Ninpha, our backsliding Mahometan, stood by,
pretending devoted attention to Mami's precepts and the Prophet's
versus. The sinner was a scrupulous follower in the presence of the
faithful; but when their backs were turned, I know few w