190 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



ran about on the smooth, well-trodden ground, or 

 played with their toy boats in the shallow water. The 

 young men, bedecked with shell and bone ornaments, 

 their faces painted, and their hair as soft and fluffy as 

 carded wool, worked on their spears or fish-nets, and 

 chatted with the girls coming with water from the 

 springs. The older men, looking less foppish, their 

 hair more neglected, repaired their boats or thatched 

 houses, while the women made pots of clay, baking 

 them in the fire ; or they brought yams and bananas in 

 net bags, from the field. 



As I sat beneath the trees, making a sketch of the 

 village, a group of little girls, returning from Sun- 

 day school, with their hymn-books under their arms, 

 stopped to watch me a while, and then sat down on the 

 grass, and began smoking their bamboo pipes. Alas ! 

 was that all Christianity could do for these naked 

 savages? It could fill their heads with meaningless 

 prayers and hymns; it could build a church and a 

 fine house for its missionary in this out-of-the-way 

 place ; but it did not teach the natives to wear shirts, 

 or to improve their methods of cultivating the soil. 

 Money could be given to convert and save the soul of 

 the heathen, but his body could take care of itself. 



The weapons of the people were mostly long 

 spears, made of some dark-brown, heavy wood, and 

 barbed near the point. They did not have guns, 

 or fire-arms of any kind ; but were well supplied with 



