are marvelling greatly to yourself at that union of Eastern cupidity and Western fatuity which has fixed the boatman's tariff for shooting this "one-horse" cataract at from £10 to £12, when lo! you find yourself suddenly surrounded by a swarm of Nubians, clad in blue bathing caleçons of an almost laconic brevity, but otherwise in a state of natal nakedness. Some of them are leaning on light, though bulky, logs of the dom-palm; others—and these for the most part the younger and more vigorous—rely solely upon their own limbs and muscles for the successful practice of their industry. There must be a good deal more than a score of them, all told, and they range in age from here and there a white-polled blackamoor who looks well on in the sixties, down to a sable urchin of not more than ten or twelve. But however they may vary in age, in one respect, at any rate, they are unvarying—in their hunger and thirst after the piastre.
What common impulse prompted them to
