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��African Notes.

��ceases. The mistress, a coal-tar bru- nette, haDcls us a seat, and the insur- rection again commences. The school- room is divided into pens that hold six each, and each pen has an usher who takes the lead of his class. It is the hour for recitation, for every bird is pouring forth his song into the ear of his class-leader. Each slate is covered with some sort of dictation exercise. We are satisfied, and seek the air.

The Wesleyan missionary at Cape Coast has nominal charge of this school. He seems a man devoted to his calling, but appears like one whom the climate is rapidly fitting for anoth- er life. The Fantee seems easily grounded in the Christian faith, but cannot deal with its abstractions. A picture or statue — an idol, if you please — is rather a help than a hin- drance to his faith. Their Sunday is our Friday, and their Christmas is the last eight days of August. They cling to these traditions, and date them back to some ancient instruc- tions received before the English mis- sionaries came among them. They console themselves wonderfully at the death of one of their family by say- ing '"It is God's palaver ^'^ a term meaning business. At the death of a husband, the wife or wives sit in front of the house, howling for a few hours, while the heir to his property, the oldest nephew, furnishes the crowd of friends, who come to the palaver, with a few bottles marked " Boston rum." In reply to your question why the nephew inherits the estate rather than the son, a Fantee will tell you he is not certain that the son is of his blood ; his sister's son must be. The more prominent the deceased, the less

��certain is he of rest after life's fitful fever. A year after he has been " quietly inurned," his relatives, friends, and town's-people generally take him up in his gum-wood casket, and bear him through the town at the head of a tumultuous procession for a number of hours. This is repeated each day for a week, when he is de- posited again to rest another year. The expense attendant upon the ob- servance of this custom keeps many a nephew poor.

Proceeding to the post-office to see if our American friends have remem- bered us, we are invited to enter by the Prnice of Bonny, P. M. We en- ter between two files of soldiers at a " present." We inform the Prince that we are not ex-presidents, but only humble citizens in disguise, and asked for letters. He smiles blandly, points us to six or eight Fantee clerks, and sits down. We are conducted to the interior office, and being present- ed with a four-bushel box full of mail matter that has been accumulating for ages, we are told to " ty/te ye" — look sharp, and we may find something. We look at each other, sit down, and distribute the contents of the box aforesaid. Nothing. This is too much. We know by advices at Mon- rovia that letters for us must have ar- rived ; so, sitting down on either side of the Prince, we take off our hats, and exhaust our entire vocabulary of Fantee in abuse. He smiles again, and we give him our parting bene- diction. It has since occurred to me that he might not have fully un- derstood our good intentions.

Spreading our umbrellas to protect us from the broiling sun, we stroll leisurelv toward the beach below the

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