Orongo, and is called the Ncomo. Nothing is more common than to find in Africa different rivers called by the same name, and the same river by different names, whence much confusion in geography.

At this junction of the Boqué, which Captain Burton had, only a few weeks previously, traced to its source, and of the Ncomo, which, as I said before, was maiden water after a certain distance, is a little island called Nenge-Nenge (Island-Island.) It had once been a missionary station, but had been abandoned. Most of its inhabitants, however, were Christians, and the mission house remained in good repair. Sadder mementoes of the good men were to be found in three white tombs, which were almost hidden by shrubs and fragrant grass.

Having been obliged to sleep in wet clothes, I got up very shaky in the morning. A repast, consisting chiefly of strong tea and sulphate of quinine, did me good, and I talked about going on. But a few small obstacles arose. In the first place, it would be necessary to procure two Bakělě, who could speak not only their own language, but also Mpongwe and Fan, and who would assist in paddling the canoe against the powerful stream we should have

to encounter.

There were some Christian Bakělě, who said that they would be most happy to escort me on the morrow, but that they did not wish to break "him Sabby day;" for it happened to be Sunday, I must tell you. Of course I acceded to this most reasonable request; but on explaining to my pious friends that they would have to paddle for some days without remittance, they speedily backed out of the bargain. Like many other people who are not Bakělě, however severely they may read the injunction "On the seventh day ye shall rest," they can close their eyes to the first command, "Six days shall ye labor."

Then my four Cape Lopez men came up to me and tendered their resignation. I asked them the reason. They had just heard, they replied, that the people of the Ncomo "chopped man;" they did not like that fashion, and they would rather not go.

All this was said as coolly as if I had not told them beforehand that I was going among cannibals, and as if they had not agreed to go with me. However, I knew that it would be useless to argue the matter. Hiding my vexation, I told them I had no desire to take them any where against their will, and that they were at liberty to go where they pleased. Would I take them back? No,

decidedly not; I was going to visit the Ncomo. Would I give them chop? No; why should I give chop to men who were not my canoe? This discomfited them rather: they had no means of returning or of getting food. They saw themselves brought to

in

a stand-still, appetites excepted.

Now to delay is to stag

Oshupu was furious, and I could no longer retain my forced indifference when the villains' backs were turned. I was on the borders of the Fan country, and I could not move a step. Before me lay the Promised Land of Man-Eaters. I could not cheerfully return to the wilderness of civilization. Failure now seemed more than probable, and delay was inevitable. nate; to stagnate in Africa is to sleep in the snow. It is death. While cogitating thus dismally, I saw a small canoe push off from the south side of the river. As soon as it touched land, a young slave sprang up the bank and offered me a letter. And what do you think it was in that barbarous spot? An invitation to dinner, written in good English, and signed John Ragenji, who was sub-trader to one of the Gaboon agents, and who had a factory there. I immediately ordered my carriage, that is to say, my canoe, and was paddled up to Mr. Ragenji's door.

John was seated in his bamboo piazza in company with another small trader. He had a good-natured mouth, a sweet voice, and sly, small eyes. He welcomed me with a grand show of cordiality, and, following the custom of his tribe (which is that also of the Spaniards and Portuguese), requested me to look upon his house and furniture as my own personal property, and upon himself as my devoted slave.

The other man's name was Tibbett. He was an American negro, who had returned to his mother-land, and had gracefully conformed to her customs by abandoning Christianity and marrying fifteen wives. He had the charge of a French factory up the Boqué, and, having spent several years among our neighbors, his face had acquired that low type which abounds in the refuse of Gallic sea-ports.

John proved himself at his own table to be almost a gentleman, though he fell into the somewhat common error of apologizing for the meagreness of a better dinner than he usually served, and perhaps took a little too much trouble to impress upon me that if I had dined with him in his house at Glass Town he would have given me Champagne.

"Hospitality," writes some pompous fool, "among civilized na

tions loses its purity from the ostentation which enters into all its actions." Now the hospitality of the African savage is precisely that of an English hotel, viz., accommodation for the night, which you pay for in the morning. The hospitality of the half-civilized negro is bestowed with the ne plus ultra of middle-class vulgarity. But Ragenji, I repeat, was a subdued specimen of the class, and did not remind me very often that I was eating a dinner which he had paid for.

After the dinner was cleared away we drank bottled ale till John became quite "laughful," as he expressed it. This I thought a propitious moment to request his advice and assistance in my difficulties.

His advice was not encouraging. It was to return to Gaboon, to discharge my Lopez men, and to take Kru-boys. I therefore followed a custom common enough in this selfish world. I rejected his advice, and declared that I would be "only too happy" to receive his assistance. "If," I said, "you can get me two Bakěle who can manage to talk Mpongwe and Fan between them, I will go on with these two men, and take my chance of enlisting recruits among the Fans themselves."

John sent out a slave to make inquiries and to publish my wishes.

Tibbett had grown as sad over his beer as John had grown. merry. "You should not go up the Ncomo," said he; "the Panwe there are very wild. You had much better come up my river." I laughed at him, and John poured me out some more beer. "Yes, we are gay now," said Tibbett, gloomily. "I hope we shall all be happy to-morrow."

Here Ragenji blew his nose with his fingers, and passed a cambric handkerchief lightly across his nostrils.

"It grieves me to the heart," continued the specious Tibbett, "to see you going among those people: they will be sure to make you trouble."

What with his forebodings, and Ragenji's genteel manners, I spent a pleasant and amusing evening; in the course of which John whispered to me not to mind Tibbett, "who talk nonsense plenty, because he wish you in his river;" and Tibbett observed. to me, in a momentary absence of his host's, that John was a good man, but was not my friend in helping me up the Ncomo.

In the morning the two Bakělě were ready. I summoned my Cape Lopez men, informed them of this circumstance, and solemn

ly dismissed them—a bold stroke of policy, considering that they had already left me of their own accord. But you can easily understand that they felt a violent desire to offer me services which were no longer indispensable. I took them back with an air of magnanimity, and at midday we started.

After twelve miles of paddling, the first range of hills visible from Nenge-Nenge from blue became green, and the current from the source began to struggle with the tide from the sea. Here a Fan called to us from the right-hand bank, and said that we must not pass without trading at his town. The Bakělě interpreter replied that we were not come to trade, but to see the river. The Fan replied that he would examine the boat, and go with us as far as the next village, to know if what we said was true. This far-sighted man was soon alongside of us in a rude little wobbling canoe. When he had seen that we had only merchandise sufficiant for current expenses, I told him in English, which was translated into Mpongwe, which was translated into Dikělě, which was translated into Fan, that we were going to the end of the river; that, as he paddled so well, and was such a fine-made young man, I would give him a brass rod a day if he would join us. On receiving this gilded pill, he opened his mouth with a grin which showed his villainous filed teeth, and swallowed it like a perch.

He left his canoe at the village of Olenga, where we arrived after sunset, and where I resolved to pass the night. A large crowd collected at the landing-place.

The sight of these Fans (Fanli. pl. Ba-fanh) reminded me of the pictures of Red Indians which I had seen in books. They were coronets on their heads, adorned with the red tail-feathers of the common gray parrot. Their figures were slight; their complexion coffee-color; their upper jaws protruding gave them a rabbitmouthed appearance. Their hair was longer and thicker than that of the Coast tribes; on their two-pointed beards were strung red and white beads. Their only covering was a strip of goatskin, or sometimes that of a tiger-cat hanging tail downward; more often still a kind of cloth made from the inner bark of a tree, and which is by no means a contemptible fabric. On the left upper-arm a bracelet of fringed skin.

Their physiognomy expressed good-natured stupidity, which, as far as I had means of judging, was entirely borne out by their behavior.

I examined these people with the interest of a traveler; they