A COLD CLIMATE. 63 



Africa ; he feels as if there must he some mistake, 

 an idea of incongruity, not unlike what I expe- 

 rienced upon seeing in a "united family of animals," 

 several rats seeking a warm retreat beneath the 

 fur of a cat. Everything, in fact, was different 

 to what I had expected, and the nearly black skins 

 of the natives that we met seemed to be un- 

 natural in a country where a chill breeze was 

 blowing. 



Koom Dingi, the resting-stone, is a solitary 

 remaining hexagonal prism of grey columnar por- 

 phyry, some few feet in height, and stands amidst 

 the fragments of others, very conspicuously on the 

 extreme edge of the Tchakkah. Here it is usual for 

 the weary wayfarer after his ascent, to stop and re- 

 fresh himself with the bread no Abyssinian on along 

 journey fails to provide himself with, and carries 

 wrapt up in the long mekkanet, or girdle, that 

 surrounds his loins. 



Mr. Scott and myself, however, pushed on our 

 mules, glad at having got over the worst part of the 

 road to Angolahlah, and willing to make the best 

 of our way before sunset, for it began to be a ques- 

 tion with my companion, if we should arrive before 

 night at our destination. 



The country seemed highly cultivated, wheat 

 and barley on all sides growing close to our path ; 

 but no trees or hedge rows enlivened with their 

 verdure or fragrance, the bleak, moor-like scene 



