THE MEETING WITH LIVINGSTONE AT UJIJI. $9 as, nor of the dangers and difficulties now | lage?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Are you sure?' 'Sure, happily surmounted. sure, sir. Why, I leave him just now.' 'Goodmorning, sir,' said another voice. 'Hallo,' said I, is this another one?' Yes, sir.' AWell, what is your name?' 'My name is Chumah, sir.' And is the doctor well?' 'Not very well, sir.' 'Where has he been so long? In Manyuema.' 'Now, you Susi, run and tell the doctor I am coming.' 'Yes, sir;' and off he darted like a madman. . . Unfurl the flags and load your guns!' 'Ay wallah, ay wallah bana !' respond the men eagerly. One, two, three-fire ! ' volley from nearly fifty guns roars like a salute from a battery of artillery. 'Now, Kirangozi (guide), hold the white man's flag up high, and let the Zanzibar flag bring up the rear. And you must keep close together, and keep firing until we halt in the Soon Susi came running back, and asked market-place, or before the white man's me my name; he told the doctor I was com house. You have said to me often that you ing, but the doctor was too surprised to becould smell the fish of the Tanganyika-Ilieve him, and when the doctor asked him can smell the fish of the Tanganyika now. There are fish, and beer, and a long rest waiting for you. MARCH!' Before we had gone a hundred yards, our repeated volleys had the effect desired. We had awakened Ujiji to the knowledge that a caravan was coming, and the people were rushing up in hundreds to meet us. The mere sight of the flags informed every one immediately that we were a caravan; but the American flag borne aloft by gigantic Asmani (one of the porters or carriers), whose face was one vast smile on this day, rather staggered them at first. However, many of the people who now approached us remembered the flag. They had seen it float above the American consulate, and from the mast-head of many a ship in the harbor of Zanzibar, and they were soon heard welcoming the beautiful flag with cries of 'Bindera, Kisungu!'-a white man's flag. 'Bindera Merikani!'-the American flag. Then we were surrounded by them: by Wajiji, Wanyamwezi, Wangwana, Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyema, and Arabs, and were almost deafened with the shouts of Yambo, yambo, bana! Yambo bana! Yambo bana!' To all and each of my men the welcome was given. We were now about three hundred yards from the village of Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. Suddenly I hear a voice on my right say, 'Goodmorning, sir!' Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd of black people, I turn sharply around in search of the man, and see him at my side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous -a man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban of American sheeting around his woolly head, and I ask, 'Who the mischief are you?' 'I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone,' said he, smiling, and showing a gleaming row of teeth. What! Is Dr. Livingstone here?' 'Yes, sir.' 'In this vil my name, Susi was rather staggered. But, during Susi's absence, the news had been conveyed to the doctor that it was surely a white man that was coming, whose guns were firing and whose flag could be seen; and the great Arab magnates of Ujiji -Mohammed bin Sali, Sayd bin Majid, Abid bin Suliman, Mohammed bin Gharib, and others-had gathered together before the doctor's house, and the doctor had come out from his verandah to discuss the matter and await my arrival. In the meantime, the head of the expedi tion had halted, and the Kirangozi was out of the ranks, holding his flag aloft, and Selim (the interpreter) said to me: 'I see the doctor, sir. 'Oh, what an old man! He has got a white beard.' And I-what would I not have given for a bit of friendly wilderness, where unseen I might vent my joy in some mad freak, such as idiotically biting my hand, turning a somersault, or slashing at trees, in order to allay those excited feel. ings that were well nigh uncontrollable. My heart beats fast, but I must not let my face betray my emotions, lest it should de. tract from the dignity of a white man ap pearing under such extraordinary circum stances. So I did that which I thought was the most dignified. I pushed back the crowds, and passing from the rear, walked down a living avenue of people, until I came in front of the semicircle of Arabs, in the front of which stood the white man with the gray beard. As I advanced slowly towards him I noticed that he was pale, looked wearied, wore a bluish cap with a faded gold band round it, had on a red-sleeved waistcoat, and a pair of gray tweed trousers. I would have run to him, only I was a coward in the presence of such a mob-would have embraced him, only, he being an Englishman, I did not know how he would receive me; so I did 40 DANGERS AND DIFFICULTIES OF THE CONGO EXPLORATION. what cowardice and false pride suggested | make our position still more deplorable, our was the best thing-walked deliberately to escort of 140 men engaged at Nyangwé, rehim, took off my hat, and said: 'Dr. Liv-fused to proceed farther. At the same time ingstone, I presume?' 'Yes,' said he, with the natives made a grand effort to crush us a kind smile, lifting his hat slightly. I replace my hat on my head, and he puts on his cap, and we both grasp hands, and then I say aloud: 'I thank God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you.' He answered: 'I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you.' I turn to the Arabs, take off my hat to them in response to the saluting chorus of 'Yambos' I receive, and the doctor introduces them to me by name. Then, oblivious of the crowds, oblivious of the men who shared with me my dangers, we-Livingstone and I-turn our faces towards his tembe (or hut). He points to the verandah, or rather mud platform under the broad overhanging eaves; he points to his own particular seat, which I see his age and experience in Africa has suggested-namely, a straw mat, with a goatskin over it, and another skin nailed against the wall to protect his back from contact with the cold mud. I protest against taking this seat, which so much more befits him than me, but the doctor will not yield-I must take it. We are seated, the doctor and I, with our backs to the wall. The Arabs take seats on our left. More than a thousand natives are in our front, filling the whole square densely, indulging their curiosity, and discussing the fact of two white men meeting at Ujiji-one just come from Manuyema, in the west; the other from Unyanembe in the east. DANGERS AND DIFFICULTIES OF THE CONGO EXPLORATION. altogether. We defended ourselves; but there was only one way to escape from our hapless position-unless we accepted the alternative of returning, and abandoning the work which we had begun-and this was by making use of our cannon. Though we had decided advantage over the savages on the water, still each day's advance was but a repetition of the day previous. It was desperate fighting, pushing on down river with might and main until, in the midst of these successive struggles, we were halted by a series of great cataracts-five in number-not far apart-north and south of the equator. To pass these we had to cut our way through thirteen miles of dense forest, and drag our eighteen canoes and exploring boat overland, frequently exchanging the axes for the rifles as we were attacked. After passing these cataracts, we had a long breathing pause from the toil of dragging our vessels overland. At 2° north latitude, the Great Lualaba swerved from its almost direct northerly course, to north-west, then west, then southwest; a broad stream from two to ten miles wide, choked with islands. In order to avoid the exhausting struggle with so many tribes of desperate cannibals, we had to paddle between the islands, until, compelled by hunger most extreme, after three days passed without absolutely any food, we resolved to meet our fate, and struck for the mainland on the left bank. Happily we had reached a tribe acquainted with trade. They possessed four muskets from the west coast, and they called the great river Ikutu Ya Congo. We made blood brotherhood, and purchased an abundance of provisions; and endeavored to continue our course along the left bank. Three days later we came to a powerful tribe all armed with muskets, who, as soon as they and attacked us. Not until three of my men were killed did I desist from crying out we were friends and offering cloths. For a distance of twelve miles the greatest and most desperate fight on this terrible river was maintained. This was the last, save one, of the thirty-two battles on the Lualaba, which river, after changing its name scores of times, became known as we approached the Atlantic Ocean, as the Kwango and the Zaire. We left Nyangwé in Manuyema, Novem-sighted us, manned fifty-four larger canoes ber 5, 1876, traveling overland through Uregga. Unable to make progress through the dense forests, we crossed Lualaba, and continued our journey along the left bank, through North-east Ukusu. Natives opposed us, harassed us day and night, killed and wounded our people with poisoned arrows. Our struggle through these cannibal regions became almost hopeless. We endeavored to appease the savages with gifts and mildness. Our gifts they refused; our patient behaviour they regarded as cowardice. To HENRY M. STANLEY. "REFLECTIONS" OF ROCHEFOUCAULD. A SAIL ON THE LUALABA. When I went to the brink of the river early in the morning, not a canoe was to be seen. Shortly afterwards they began to pass from one island to another, and to haul up and set fishing traps. But not one came near us until about ten o'clock, when by dint of beckoning and shouting, some men were induced to come across from an island in the middle of the stream, and after a long palaver brought three canoes. These I hired, and started at once for Nyangwé. The passage down the river was rapid and pleasant, owing to the swift current and the beauty of the scenery. On the left bank the shore rose gradually till it culminated in a range of wooded hills ten or twelve miles distant; whilst the right bank rose abruptly in small cliffs crowned by hanging woods, and here and there broken by the embouchure of one of the numerous affluents of the giant stream. Islands, populous and wooded, were passed in constant succession. From flocks of ducks feeding on the numerous sandbanks, I managed to bag two or three couple, and found them almost precisely like an English wild-duck, except in color. The body was white speckled with brown; wings, head, and tail black, shot with greenish blue. In the afternoon the canoe-men put in at a fishing village on the right bank, and declared their intention of halting. I told them they might stop if they pleased, but I and the canoes were going on to Nyangwé; for I well knew that if we camped, neither canoes nor men would be forthcoming next morning. Seeing that I was determined, the men consented to go on. At sunset I noticed some large huts on a bluff over the river. This was the commencement of the Arab settlement of Nyangwé, and a landing-place was just below. Jumping ashore I went into the settlement, and my appearance rather astonished the people; for they had heard nothing of our approach, and could not imagine where a solitary white man came from. HENRY M. STANLEY "REFLECTIONS." [DUKE FRANÇOIS DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD, was born at Paris, December 15, 1615. He received a military education, but abandoned the army for diplomacy, and, fail 41 ing in that, devoted himself to literature. In 1662 appeared his "Memoires," and in 1665, his “ Réflexions." The latter attracted great attention, as well for its ele gant style and acute remarks, as for the philosophical principles it inculcates, which are of a conventional and selfish type. La Rochefoucauld is also noted as a philanthropist. He established the first model farm and the first savings bank in France, and introduced vacci nation in that country. He died March 27, 1727. We extract from his " Reflections," as follows :). We are all strong enough to endure the misfortunes of others. Philosophy finds no difficulty in triumphing over past and future ills; but present ills triumph over her. It requires greater powers of mind to support good fortune than bad. Jealousy is in some respects just and reasonable, since its object is only to preserve a good which belongs, or which we think to belong, to us: whereas envy is a madness which cannot bear the good of others. The harm which we do to others does not excite so much persecution and hatred as our good qualities. If we had no failings ourselves, we should not take such pleasure in finding out those of others. If we had no pride, we would not com plain of that of others. It seems as if nature, which has so cunningly arranged the organs of our body to render us happy, had with the same view given us pride, to spare us the pain of knowing our imperfections. Self-interest speaks all kinds of languages and plays all kinds of parts, even that of the disinterested. Men and the affairs of life have their peculiar point of perspective. Some we must see close at hand to be able to form an opinion of; others can be judged best at a distance. the face, grow worse as we grow old. The blemishes of the mind, like those of We are never made so ridiculous by the qualities we have as by those which we pretend we have. Flattery is a kind of bad money to which our vanity gives currency. However much we may distrust men's sincerity, we always believe that they speak to us more sincerely than to others. We are never so happy or so unhappy as we imagine. THE MARQUISE. as those who are more so. The marquise had had the misfortune to be unquestionably beautiful. I have seen her portrait, for, like all old women, she had the vanity to hang it up for exhibition in her apartment. She was represented in the character of a huntress nymph, with a low satin waist painted to imitate tiger-skin, sleeves of antique lace, a bow of sandal-wood, and a crescent of pearls lighting up her hair. It was an admirable [George Sand (Madame Aurore Dupin, baroness Dudevant), born in Paris, 1st July, 1804; died at Nohant, Berri, 8th June, 1876. She was acknowledged to be the greatest modern novelist of France. She produced a mass of romances, plays, sketches, criticisms, pamphlets, and political articles. An English critic says: "Of all modern French authors, George Sand has added to fiction, has annexed from the worlds of real-painting, and, above all, an admirable woman, ity and of imagination, the greatest number of original characters-of what Emerson calls new organic creations. Moreover, George Sand is, after Rousseau, the only great French author who has looked directly and lovingly into the face of nature, and learned the secrets which skies and waters, fields and lanes, can teach to the heart that loves them." Unfortunately the early novels of George Sand created much scandal, which is not yet forgotten. It is a source of regret that genius so great should have produced books which must be avoided. Amongst her best works are Indiana, Consuelo, Little Fadette, and Jeanne.] The Marquise de R. never said brilliant things, although it is the rule in French literature that every old woman shall sparkle with wit. Her ignorance was extreme on all points which the contact of the world had not taught her, and she had none of that nicety of expression, that exquisite penetration, that marvellous tact, which belong, it is said, to women who have seen all the different phases of life and of society; she was blunt, heedless, and sometimes even cynical. She put to flight every idea I had formed concerning the noble ladies of the olden time, yet she was a genuine marquise, and had seen the court of Louis XV. But as she was, even then, an exceptional character, do not seek in her history for a serious study of the manners of any epoch. Society seems to me, at all times, so difficult either to know or to paint, that I prefer having nothing to do with it. I shall be satisfied with relating some of those personal anecdotes which establish a sympathy between men of all societies and all times. I had never found much pleasure in the society of the lady. She seemed to me remarkable for nothing except her prodigious memory of the events of her youth, and the masculine lucidity with which she expressed her recollections. For the rest, she was, like all aged persons, forgetful of recent events, and indifferent to everything in which she had no personal interest. Her beauty had not been of that piquant order, which, lacking splendour and regularity, cannot please in itself; a woman so made learns to be witty, in order to be as beautiful tall, slender, dark, with black eyes, austere and noble features, unsmiling deep-red lips, and hands which, it was said, had thrown the Princess of Lamballe into despair. Without lace, satin, or powder, she might indeed have seemed one of those fair and haughty nymphs who were fabled to appear to mortals in the depths of the forest or upon the solitary mountain side, only to drive them mad with passion and regret. Nevertheless, the marquise had made few conquests; according to her own account, she had been thought dull and spiritless. The worn-out men of that time cared less for the charms of beauty than for the allurements of coquetry; women infinitely less admired than she had robbed her of all her adorers, and, strange enough, she had seemed indifferent to her fate. The little she had told me of her life made me believe that her heart had had no youth, and that a cold selfishness had paralyzed all its faculties. Yet several sincere friends surrounded her old age, and she gave alms without ostentation. One evening I found her even more communicative than usual: there was a good deal of sadness in her thoughts. "My dear child,” said she, "the Vicomte de Larrieux has just died of the gout. It is a great grief to me, for I have been his friend these sixty years. And then, there is something frightful in so many deaths. His, however, was not surprising; he was so old." "What was his age?" asked I. "Eighty-four years. I am eighty, but I am not as infirm as he was, and I can hope to live longer. N'importe! Several of my friends have gone this year, and although I tell myself that I am younger and stronger than any of them, I cannot help being frightened when I see my contemporaries sinking around me." "And these," said I, "are the only regrets you feel for poor Larrieux, a man who worshipped you for sixty years, who never ceased to complain of your cruelty, and yet never revolted from his allegiance. He was a model lover; there are no more such men. THE MARQUISE. "My dear child," answered the marquise, "I see that you think me a cold and heartless woman. Perhaps you are right; judge for yourself. I will tell you my whole history, and, whatever opinion you may have of me, I, at least, shall not die without having made myself known to some one. Perhaps you will give me some mark of compassion which will soften the bitterness of my recollections. "When I was sixteen I left Saint Cyr, where I had been educated, to marry the Marquis de R. He was fifty, but I dared not complain, for every one congratulated me on this splendid match, and all my portionless companions envied my lot. "I was never very bright, and at that time I was positively stupid; the education of the cloister had completely benumbed my faculties. I left the convent with that silly ignorance of life and of the world which is foolishly considered a merit in young girls, and which often results in the misery of their whole lives. "As a natural consequence, the experience brought me by my brief married life was lodged in so narrow a mind that it was of no use to me. I learned, not to understand life, but to doubt myself. "I was a widow before I was seventeen, and as soon as I was out of mourning I was surrounded with suitors. I was then in all the splendour of my beauty, and it was generally admitted that there was not a face or a figure which could be compared to mine. "But my husband, an old, worn-out, and dissipated man, who had never shown me anything but irony and disdain, and who had only married me to obtain an office promised with my hand, had left me such an aversion to marriage, that I could never be brought to contract new ties. In my ignorance of life I fancied that all men resembled him, and that in a second husband I should find M. de R.'s hard heart, his pitiless irony, and that insulting coldness which had so deeply humiliated me. This fatal entrance into life had dispelled for me all the illusions of youth. My heart, which perhaps was not naturally cold, withdrew into itself and grew full of suspicion. "I was foolish enough to tell my real feelings to several women of my acquaintance. They did not fail to divulge what they had learned, and, without taking any account of the doubts and anguish of my heart, boldly declared that I despised all men. There is nothing which men will not more readily pardon than this feeling; my lovers soon learned to detest me, and continued their flatteries only in the hope of finding an opportunity to | 43 hold me up to ridicule. I saw mockery and treachery written upon every forehead, and my misanthropy increased every day. "About this time there came to Paris from the provinces a man who had neither talent nor any strong or pleasing quality, but who possessed a frankness and uprightness of feeling very rare among the people with whom I lived. This was the Vicomte de Larrieux. He was soon acknowledged to be my most favoured suitor. "He, poor fellow, loved me in the sincerity of his soul. His soul! Had he a soul? He was one of those cold, prosaic men who have not even the elegance of vice or the brilliance of falsehood. He was struck only by my beauty, and took no pains to discover my heart. This was not disdain on his part, it was incapacity. Had he found in me the power of loving, he would not have known how to respond to it. "I do not think that there ever lived a man more wedded to material things than poor Larrieux. He ate with delight, he fell asleep in all the arm-chairs, and the remainder of the time he took snuff. He was always occupied in satisfying some appetite. I do not think he had an idea a day. "And yet, my dear friend, will you believe it? I never had the energy to get rid of him! For sixty years he has been my torment. Constantly offended by my repulses, yet constantly drawn to me by the very obstacles I placed in the way of his passion, he has had for me the most faithful, the most untiring, the most wearisome love that ever man felt for woman. "I am surprised," said I, "that you never should have met, in the course of your life, a man capable of understanding you, and worthy of converting you to real love. Must we conclude that the men of to-day are superior to those of the olden time?" "That would be a great piece of vanity on your part," answered she, laughing. "I have little reason to speak well of the men of my own time, yet I doubt whether you have made much progress; but I will not moralize. The cause of my misfortune was entirely in myself. I had not the sense to judge. A woman as proud as I was should have possessed a superior character, and should have been able to distinguish at one glance among all the insipid, false, and insignificant men who surrounded me, one of those true and noble beings who are rare in every age. I was too ignorant, too narrow-minded, for this. As I have lived. longer I have acquired more judgment, and I have learned that several of the objects of my |