a. There, amongst most of
the native tribes, the umbrella is regarded as an emblem of royalty, and
its possession is strictly confined to the chief or king of the
tribe.

Therefore the indignation was intense on the part of one of these kings,
when he found an inferior chief setting up an umbrella of his own. The
king at once took a journey to Lagos, to lodge a formal complaint of the
chief's treasonable conduct with the British Governor.

* * * * *

An African king's umbrella is a very elaborate affair, and it often
costs large sums of money. Most of the umbrellas for Ashanti and the
Gold Coast are made in London, and are of gigantic size, some of them
when open measuring ten feet across.

The coverings of these umbrellas are of coloured silk--the brighter the
better, with very deep fringes. The largest umbrellas are carried over
the heads of chiefs, by bearers, while other bearers steady the umbrella
by cords attached to the uppermost parts.

One state umbrella had for its apex a silver eagle standing on two
silver cannons, whilst another umbrella had a gold hen on the top, the
hen being surrounded by numerous chickens, to represent the chief and
his tribe.

A cheap umbrella for a small chief can be had for ten pounds, but such
state umbrellas as we have described are not to be had for less than
sixty or even seventy guineas.

X.

THE WRONG WIND.

A breeze from the South made the rose-bushes quiver,
And what did the South Wind say?
'I met with an accident, crossing the river,
The ice-covered river, to-day.

''Twas frozen; and yesterday morning the skaters
Were there in no end of a crowd,
While Timothy Tubb in his scarf and his gaiters
Was looking uncommonly proud.

'So, early this morning, on reaching the river,
I looked at its surface and cried:
If Tim, on that ice, can show skating so clever,
Now why shouldn't I have a slide?

'But though I'm so light (oh, the thought makes me shiver),
Crack! Bang! And from shore unto shore
The water jumped out; I was half in the river,
And don't mean to slide any more.

'Yet--isn't it strange?--in the coldest of winters
Tim Tubb can go skating with glee;
While bang! goes the ice, and it cracks into splinters
'Neath the foot of a South Wind like me.'

ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

By HAROLD ERICSON.

I.--A SCRAMBLE WITH A BEAR.

On a splendid night in the c