lt within the cave.

Whilst I was examining the rocks to ascertain their quality, the guide
apprised me that the impish proprietor of these waters was gifted with
a "multitude of tongues," and, in all probability, would reply to me
in my own, if I thought fit to address him. "Indeed," said the savage,
"he will answer you _word for word_ and that, too, almost before you
can shape your thought in language. Let us see if he is at home?"

I called, in a loud voice, "KYA!" but as no reply followed, I
perceived at once the wit of the imposture, and without waiting for
him to place me, took my own position at a spot inside the cavern,
where I knew the _echoes_ would be redoubled. "Now," said I, "I know
the devil is at home, as well as you do;"--and, telling my people to
listen, I bellowed, with all my might--"_caffra fure!_" "infernal
black one!"--till the resounding rocks roared again with demoniac
responses. In a moment the cavern was clear of every African; so that
I amused myself letting off shrieks, howls, squeals, and pistols,
until the affrighted natives peeped into the mouth of the cave,
thinking the devil in reality had come for me in a double-breasted
garment of thunder and lightning. I came forth, however, with a whole
skin and so hearty a laugh, that the Africans seized my hands in token
of congratulation, and looked at me with wonderment, as something
greater than the devil himself. Without waiting for a commentary, I
leaped on my Arab and darted down the hill.

"And so," said I, when I got back to Kya, "dost thou in truth believe,
beloved Ibrahim, that the devil dwells in those rocks of the sulphur
stream?"

"Why not, brother Theodore? Isn't the water poison? If you drink,
will it not physic you? When animals lick it in the dry season, do
they not die on the margin by scores? Now, a 'book-man' like you, my
brother, knows well enough that _water_ alone can't kill; so that
whenever it does, the devil _must_ be in it; and, moreover, is it not
he who speaks in the cavern?"

"Good," replied I; "but, pry'thee, dear Ibrahim, read me this riddle:
if the devil gets into _water_ and kills, why don't he kill when he
gets into '_bitters_?'"

"Ah!" said the Ali--"you white men are infidels and scoffers!" as he
laughed like a rollicking trooper, and led me, with his arm round my
neck, into supper. "And yet, Don Teodore, don't forget the portable
imp that you carry in that Yankee flask in your pocket!"

We did not disp