Our march this evening was through the most beautiful country I had ever
seen in Africa. We skirted an endless range of well-wooded stony
mountains lying on our left, while to our right the country at first
sloped gently off, and then stretched away into a level green forest,
(occasionally interspersed with open glades,) boundless as the ocean.
This green forest was, however, relieved in one direction by a chain of
excessively bold, detached, well-wooded, rocky, pyramidal mountains,
which stood forth in grand relief. In advance the picture was bounded by
forest and mountain; one bold acclivity, in shape of a dome, standing
prominent among its fellows. It was a lovely evening: the sky, overcast
and gloomy, threw an interesting, wild, mysterious coloring over the
landscape. I gazed forth upon the romantic scene before me with intense
delight, and felt melancholy and sorrowful at passing so fleetingly
through it, and could not help shouting out, as I marched along, "Where
is the coward who would not dare to die for such a land?"

In the morning we held for a fountain some miles ahead, in a gorge in
the mountains. As we approached the fountain, and were passing close
under a steep, rocky, hillside, well wooded to its summit, I
unexpectedly beheld a lion stealing up the rocky face, and, halting
behind a tree, he stood overhauling us for some minutes. I resolved to
give him battle, and, seizing my rifle, marched against him, followed by
Carey carrying a spare gun, and by three men leading my dogs, now
reduced to eight. When we got close in to the base of the mountain, we
found ourselves enveloped in dense jungle, which extended half-way to
its summit, and entirely obscured from our eyes objects which were quite
apparent from the wagons, I slipped my dogs, however, which, after
snuffing about, took right up the steep face on the spoor of the lions,
for there was a troop of them--a lion and three lionesses.