Notes on South African Hunting. 49 
We touch the River—Dr. Holub. 
original bed, few things living but a hippopota¬ 
mus can withstand the temptation of dying of 
fever. When we had struggled through the 
crowd of dogs that came out to greet—or eat— 
us, we found ourselves at the door of a small 
hut, whence issued a savoury smell, as of break¬ 
fast, and to our joy, two white men, Messrs. 
Watson and Middleton, trader and missionary 
respectively. They were short of food that 
day, and were going to breakfast on beans; but 
we had shot a few pheasants and a man brought 
in some guinea fowl, so we had an aldermanic 
feast. We passed the day in gothic feasting 
and revelry, only interrupted by a short trip 
across the river in quite the shakiest iron punt 
I ever was in. This punt was the property of 
Dr. Holub, who left Capetown some two years 
ago to try and get through to Lake Bangweolo. 
He was sent out by the Austrian Government, 
I believe. Natural history is his great forte, 
and he has made a very valuable collection of 
snakes and bugs generally. He passed a few 
weeks before I got to the Zambesi, and had, 
I heard, neither quinine, articles of trade, nor 
food ; and, as he has no one with him except one 
