The beach was soon left behind, and, whilst a rough, uneven mountain rose precipitately on our right, straight before us was the volcanic cone, broad-based, and round-shouldered, which contained Aden in its hidden recesses near the summit. On our left spread out as bleak and desolate a prospect as even Arabia or Africa could present. Distant hills of primeval granite, shining barely and bleakly in the rays of the sun, which coquetted with their angularities and recesses, sunk down into level plains of red sand, variegated by rocks of every hue and size, all stern, repulsive, wild and lifeless.

As we advanced into the hills, and saw more distinctly the summits which we were approaching, here and there interspersed with battlements and walls thrown up by British engineers against Arab marauders, battlements promising to make Aden what Gibraltar long has been, impregnable-as we advanced into the hills and discovered these things, I say, the extent and variety of the masses of stone which lay about us on every side surprised us more and more.

It was as if giants had been flinging rocks about in sport, and heaven had been raining

shingle to fill up the ugly chasms the rough giants had left-rocks of enormous size, of middling size, of small size, some dark from continued exposure to the weather, others lighter in colour, rested in every possible way on every possible ledge and projection--some standing on narrow ridges on the hill's side, as though suddenly arrested in their descent, and waiting a favourable moment to tumble on the passing traveller; others, broadly based upon wide rocky promontories, massive, firm, immovable. Grey stones and sparkling granite, and dark trap were strewn all about in admirable confusion, all volcanic or plutonic, telling of nature's combats and the results, but no sign of vegetation, no blade of grass, no wandering creeper to relieve the eye, or whisper faintly of vegetable nature.

Here and there the ribs of a camel scattered about were eloquent of suffering and deathsuffering and death endured by that most patient and most miserable of animals. Who that has heard the whining lament of the young camel, as it moves uneasily its graceless limbs about, can help feeling for it and for its race? It cries continually it seeks help

lessly about for food or comfort-food it may get, but comfort apparently never—it never gambols like the young of other animals, every movement seems to be accompanied with pain. No one ever yet saw a young camel frisking joyfully about its mother, happy in itself and the source of happiness in others, as lambs and foals are-no, its severe life is one of early misery, crowned by later suffering and a wretched death.

The tourist who has visited the deserts of the Indus or the dreary confines of the vast Sahara of Northern Africa, will find the camel still the same; and that its life is just as wretched on the elevated plains of Thibet, and amid the salt deserts of Persia, every traveller's account assures us. There is something inexpressibly affecting in those memorials of the most patient of animals, which one meets so constantly in the dreariest places of Oriental travel-the bones of the camel are landmarks over the desert, they are like the wreck at sea, that speaks of a gallant vessel broken up and destroyed-who shall tell with what misery and hardship the tale of its loss, if rightly told, would abound? A strange sight it was to see this dreary re

gion of rocks and sand, dotted over with life and vigour-men and women, of various, and for the most part, of far distant climes, with horses, mules, and asses, all busily urging on their way, and almost all in one direction-a long string of camels, the nose of the one behind tied to the tail of the one before, alone making its way, slowly, solemnly, silently along, in the opposite direction.

The camels' bones were unheeded even by the camels themselves, and, as they journeyed on laboriously, one could not help fancying that they had too many sorrows of their own to attend to, to waste a thought on those of others. Some of our fellow-passengers were now climbing the narrow gorge through which alone entrance can be obtained into the strange caldron-like valley in which Aden lies imbedded,—they and their steeds dotting the sides of the eternal hills curiously-the only signs of life where all else was sternly bleak and wildly desolate.

CHAPTER XIII.

A LUNCH IN THE CRATER OF A VOLCANO.

Ar length it came to our turn to ascend the rugged hill before us. At its base, however, a strange-looking cavern on our right attracted my observation, and, as it was inaccessible to the quadrupeds, I dismounted and climbed to it. There was nothing particular either in its aspect or situation, and was of far less extent than I had anticipated. I therefore speedily descended, and found Mealy sitting on a rock waiting for me. He, too, had dismounted, partly to relieve his donkey, and partly to cool himself. He looked as if he were moralizing inwardly upon the vanity of human and asi

nine life.

VOL. II.