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CHAPTER XXVIII. 



THE SOOTHING PIPE. 



My narrative is not a diary, so the proceedings of 

 some days have been left unrecorded. Thus the 

 reader will not be surprised to learn that Dillon has 

 now been absent two weeks. On his departure I 

 did not contemplate his remaining half that 

 time, so I feel uneasy for his safety. Probably I 

 have no reason to do so, for if anything had hap- 

 pened to him some of the Zulus would have 

 returned to inform me. 



Sitting beside the camp-fire one night, I spent 

 more than my accustomed time over my pipe and 

 glass of grog. "It was a goodly night, and 

 the cold winds had crept into their cave," for 

 the breeze gets cool, even chilly, and ultimately 

 dies away soon after sunset. The moon rose 

 soon after I had finished my evening meal ; her 

 subdued soft refulgence possessed indescribable 

 attractions from its contrast with the deep blue, 

 cloudless sky, sprinkled over with innumerable glitter- 

 ing stars. To the south, but far up from the 

 horizon, shone "The Southern Cross," enshrined in 

 a perfect nebula of other constellations. It is easily 

 distinguished by the dark and more unfathomable- 



