CROCODILES' EGGS 245 standing by demonstrated, rather than informed me, in hoarse, guttural, grunting syllables, that they were crocodile eggs taken from a sand-covered hollow discovered that morning. Prodding the soil with a spear much as a Maori prospects for fossil kami gum, they seek the soft spots of recently disturbed soil in the favourite layingplaces of the reptiles. The Qgg resembles that of a goose, and is filled almost entirely with a glutinous matter so dense as to cause the operation of blowing to be decidedly difficult. I had previously brought a few home to my gamekeeper, who was unable to distinguish them from those of a bird, and whose nerves would have sustained a terrible shock had it been possible to hatch them. Even after experiences with native milk in the Sudan, and on a long trek in Mashonaland, when I ran short of food and was offered a native dish of six-inch hairy caterpillars (preferring to starve for a time), I confess I would decline the delights of a crocodile's Qgg.

The faces of these savages beggar description.

I have studied the physiognomies of Solomon Islanders and of many of the wild men of the Pacific Ocean, but never have I seen such outrageous travesties of the human countenance as these. " Man is only a monkey shaved," sings Gilbert, who would feel almost super-Gilbertian were he here to confess that many a Nuer man immeasurably outrivals the monkey in grotesque hideousness. Yet in some cases it was entirely