ey.

As I looked at Sir HARRY, with his wide shoulders and deeper chest, I
could not help thinking what a curious contrast I was to him, with my
head of grizzled hair cut short and starting up like a half-worn
scrubbing-brush. Then there was BONG, who is not like either of us,
being short, dark, stout,--_very_ stout,--with twinkling black eyes
everlastingly hidden by blue spectacles.

"Look here, old fellow," said Sir HARRY, "why shouldn't we give up
civilisation, and go in for the mud--I mean blood--baths in South
Africa?"

I fairly jumped at his words.

"Nothing I should like better. And you, BONG?"

BONG is so overpoweringly frivolous.

"I'll go, because I am getting fat."

"Shut up, BONG," said Sir HARRY, and then we screamed at the witticism
for three hours. After that we started for Africa, in search of the land
of the White-eyed Kaffirs, which we believed to be somewhere south of
the Westminster Aquarium, the Alhambra, and other Music-Halls in which a
specimen of the race had occasionally been seen.

On our arrival in Africa we found our old friend, UMBUGSOAPYGAS, with
his huge battle-axe (playfully called Kosikutums or "the brain-pricker,"
from a habit he had of chipping life out of a man's cranium), awaiting
us. He was a huge savage, with a large piece of loose skin concealing
the right side of his face, which was absolutely boneless. UMBUGSOAPYGAS
was delighted to see us.

"O cove, O cove-dat-am-cool!"--(Oh individual, oh individual without the
influence of passion!)--"brave one, great one! Let me come with thee to
swim in gore!"

I let him say this, as I saw his enthusiasm was producing a marked
effect upon the minds of some niggers that were listening to him. But
after he had said it, I thought it better to stop his vapouring;
for there is nothing I hate so much, as this Zulu system of extravagant
praising--"zwaggering," as they call it.

"Shut up!" I cried, the more especially as I saw that he was getting the
blood-fever upon him, and savagely destroying with his huge axe a
spider's cobweb.

He gave me a sort of nod, and seized the niggers by their throats until
their eyes cracked. Then, with roars of laughter (for they really looked
most ridiculous), we followed the blacks into the boat, and went to the
Mission House of the Rev. BANG MCSAXPENCE, without any further adventure
than cutting off at the wrist the hand of one of the murderous tribe of
Lorkymussies.

CHAPTER II.--MISSION WORK IN