mentioned. While I was eating lunch on a comfortable log a thunderstorm zoomed up suddenly from the other 120 side of the mountains, and before two hours had elapsed had swollen the river from a pleasant little stream to a cannonading torrent. My means of retreat had ceased. There was only one way to get back to the plantation, however, and that was by the way I had come- the river. It would have been impossible to have blazed a trail through the bush and have gotten anywhere before darkness. So down the river I came- Solomon Island Rapid Transit fashion. It was a quick way but not a comfortable one- in the middle of the stream, gun, hunting coat, cartridges, shells, birds, knife, drinking cup, and me, crashing from tree to tree, from boulder to boulder, sometimes in deep water, some- times in shallow, and many times over rapids, whirl- pools, water spouts, local atmospheric depressions, and local geologic depressions, cyclones, monsoons, typhoons, high banks and low banks, sandy beaches, and mud bottoms, until- until we saw a familiar vine twisted at one end where we had been this very same day. It was where the trail crossed the river for home. Then we emerged from the water, all of us. I shall never forget the one vivid impression I carried with me all the way down- the one vivid impress- ion we carried with us. It was this, exactly how we should relate this, tree by tree, twig by twig, in the first drawing room we should find it fortuitous. The birds at Mundi Mundi seem to be the thickest