We commence this chapter as we commenced the year, by a pleasant visit to the farm of our little friend, Item Ared, or “Camaroons.” Miss Miller and Jessy were with me. It was not much more than an hour's walk to the place; and the road, though a mere foot track through the bush, led over somewhat elevated and gently undulating ground, where the air seemed purer than near the river. He had sent in two boys to guide us, and met us himself some way from his farm with a hearty welcome, though disappointed at not seeing “mammy” too, as all called Mrs. Waddell. His people, whom we passed at their work, came to salute us, and his wives also—only five or six in number—came without ceremony for the same purpose, especially welcoming the white woman and child.

He showed us over his farm. His yams, just dug, were strung up in rows on frames of upright posts and cross poles, strong and high, to dry in the open air during the smoke season, for in that way they keep better than when housed. The frame was sixty or seventy yards long and about four high, containing about fifteen thousand yams, each on an average three pounds weight. On another smaller frame were the “yam heads,” designed for being replanted.

At the foot of a gentle hill a beautiful clear stream flowed among tall trees, over a sandy bed, without a particle of mud.