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group at the top, I tried my late successful ruse, but with a very different effect. On elevating my umbrella they precipitately took to their heels as if I had fired a cannon at them. Following them up, I found them ensconced behind rocks armed with bows and arrows, which they seemed not at all disinclined to use. As they were evidently not disposed to receive a pioneer of civilisation within their gates, it was worse than useless to attempt a forced acquaintance. So I voted them barbarians, and indignantly, though with some trepidation, retired.

At mid-day we rested on the banks of a large stream, called the Zigi. In its waters we enjoyed a delicious bath after our hard morning's march, in which we were impressed with the truth of the lines

'Those high wild hills and rough uncven ways
Draw out the miles! >>

Resuming our journey, we kept steadily at it till, near the close of day, we reached the top of a mountain, where we all threw ourselves down on the ground, dead beat. Here we were within sight of our destination for the day, namely, the village of Hemasasa. But, before entering it, our guide satisfied his sense of the importance of the visit by giving a salvo of two shots from his old Tower musket, which, charged as it was, made him spin round in rather an alarming fashion. Having thus frightened the people of the village out of their wits, he allowed us to proceed.

Hemasasa proved to be a delightful place. Commanding a glorious view of mountain and forest, and situated as it is at a height of three thousand feet, it well merits the application of the lines

"Fair is that land as evening skies,

And cool, though in the depths it lies
Of burning Africa.”

The sights and scenes of the following day's march may be fitly described in the words of an American humorist as being "like the preceding, only more so." We had actually to wait an hour after the sun rose before we had sufficient light to enable us to proceed, as our way led through an exceedingly deep and narrow gorge. Guided by the chief's henchman we at last set out. Descending a slippery and almost perpendicular path, we reached with difficulty the bottom of the gorge, a thousand feet beneath the village. Through this we groped our way in a light sombre and gloomy.

The grandeur and peculiar forms of the forest trees continually evoked new admiration, rising as they did from a hundred to

two hundred feet in height, with trunks of proportional thickness. Some had the appearance of being buttressed with huge slabs eight to twelve inches thick, and extending up the trunk ten feet, sticking out all around like rays. When carefully cut off these buttresses form ready-made planks for the natives. Another species of these monster trees seemed as though it were set upon a pedestal, so suddenly does it become contracted in girth about ten feet from the ground. Many of the trees had a crown of leaves, each one of which was at least three feet long and a foot in breadth.

But all these arboreal wonders were. instantly forgotten and neglected as my eye lighted on a lovely group of tree-ferns growing beside a rocky stream, with straight stems twenty feet high, topped by delicate soft green crowns of fronds. The sight was in every respect most charming and memorable, the dashing waters flowing through the deep picturesque valley, and that exquisite cluster of ferns, sheltered alike from rude blasts and burning sun by the great guardian forest, which cast a dim twilight shade around. This part of the country proved to be a very paradise of ferns. On all sides the ground was lighted up by them. They peeped from beneath each rock, they beautified its every crevice, and tenderly toned down its rugged angularities. They clung to the stems of trees and hung about the branches. Such a lavish, natural adornment is, indeed, rarely to be seen.

It was quite with a feeling of regret that we found ourselves about mid-day at the terminus of our trip. This was Hendei, the capital of the surrounding country, and where Kibanda, the chief, resides. As at Hemasasa, our guide had to announce our arrival by the usual salvo. Much to our alarm we observed him cramming the barrel of his gun with powder, and, to confess the truth, we took refuge behind trees, in case of an explosion. This ceremony safely over, we marched into the village, and were conducted to a fine large hut set apart for distinguished strangers. Shot after shot saluted us on every side, and often in such dangerous proximity that it required some nerve to preserve a dignified demeanour. However, we succeeded admirably in standing fire, and at last got settled down in our hut, surrounded by a staring crowd.

After a refreshing wash and some dinner we were ready to receive Kibanda in proper form. In a short time he arrived, dressed in Arab fashion, evidently much to his own

at Hendei I was wakened up by a very peculiar sensation. I felt a creeping all over me. I thought at first that I was dreaming; but hearing at last various expressive interjections in English, and then in Swahili and Arabic, followed by a rush for the open air, I became alive to the situation. I found myself literally covered with ants. I ran frantically out of the hut feeling as if a million needles were piercing me in every part. I danced and writhed about, as did Johnston and our men. I tore frantically at my hair, and reduced my clothes in a twinkling to a minimum. The exasperating little creatures swarmed in perfect myriads over us -beneath our clothes and into our hair. It was only after a two hours' battle we contrived to get clear of them. We felt as if we had passed through a "baptism of fire.”

Next day, while Mr. Johnston ascended. Hendei Mountain to make observations, I sallied forth to see the country and shoot birds. We had a somewhat trying time of it. To any one who has been in a tropical forest I only require to say that I went off the pathway, to describe my difficulties. Any attempt to move in such a place without a beaten track means a prolonged and fruitless struggle with tall grass, matted bushes, and interlacing creepers. Your clothes get literally drenched with streams of perspiration, and you may be thankful if you do not get them torn off you altogether. Still one has always a certain pleasure in facing difficulties, and quite an exhilarating feeling | usually took possession of me when I got into such places. In this instance I got few specimens in return for all my labour, and fewer blessings from my guides, who, being accustomed to an easy do-nothing sort of existence, could not understand the philosophy of such a squandering of energy.

In the evening I was again on my feet, this time for a monkey hunt, as I had not yet seen one in its natural habitat. When we set out the sun was sinking beneath the horizon, adding to the natural gloom of the forest. We proceeded rapidly for some time till we-that is to say, myself and two guides -came to a promising place. Every sound was hushed, and we peered about like villains with bated breath for the objects of our search. The stillness was deathlike, and as the darkness deepened an "eerie" feeling crept over me. Yet I felt a strange fascination in the scene as I dimly discerned the two naked savages gliding about like evil spirits among the trees without the rustle of a leaf or the noise of a footfall. At last they

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warned me by signs that game was in sight;
but I had only time to get a glimpse before
it disappeared. As the light faded away,
and we still glided about in unbroken silence,
I felt more and more awed till I quite
shivered. We were on the point of beating
a retreat, when suddenly an object was ob
served to rustle among the leaves of a tree.
I aimed and fired, breaking the awful quiet
in an alarming manner.
As the report of
the gun rolled away through the forest vistas,
hoarse cries from hornbills and terrified
screams from unseen monkeys rent the
startled air, while with crash after crash a
large baboon, shot through the breast, fell
from branch to branch, till it struck the
ground with a dull thud, dead, its eyes fixed,
teeth set, and mouth foaming. I felt con-
siderable compunction at the deed I had done.

By this time it had become so dark that we could hardly find our way back. One of the guides ran on before to announce our approach, and to sprinkle ashes on the gateway to ward off any evil. We were received by the villagers like heroes returning from a victorious campaign. My hunting exploits were doubtless the subject of many extraordinary stories round the camp-fire that night.

We had now accomplished the objects of our excursion, and seen the wonders of Usambara. So, early in the following morning we began our return journey. We bade farewell to Kibanda, but begged to be excused the trying effort to bid adieu to his fifty wives. Taking a different route from that by which we had come, we pushed rapidly through forest shades, and over many a rugged hill and picturesque dale, finally camping for the night at a small village a short distance from Magila.

We slept in the open air, and not having the poetry worn out of us at this early stage of our career, we lay long awake, watching the clear starry skies, and the great sighing forest, lighted up, as if with fairy hand, by the flash of those earth-stars, the little fireflies; while the cicadae held high revel, filling the air now with the tones of tiny silver bells, and now with clear flute-like notes-a perfect medley of exquisite sounds

contrasting with the weird hooting of the owls and the sage voice of the frog. The deep though distant roar of the lion made the effect all the greater, as we pictured him at his feast.

At last the stars began to take erratic courses, and everything slipped into dreamland.

It was not long before we were rudely

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recalled from the realms of romance. Rain came on and compelled us to creep under our waterproof sheets, which saved us from the falling moisture but drenched us with perspiration. I was just on the point of sleeping for the second time, when an earpiercing yell rang out through the air, and made me spring to my feet and instinctively seize my umbrella, as drowning men clutch at straws. A leopard had carried off a dog from within a few feet of where I lay.

Three more marches brought us to Pangani, where I made the first propitiatory sacrifice of my health to satisfy the evil genius of Africa. In other words, I became ill with fever. Early on the morning of the 13th of March we got on board our dhow, and with a fair breeze soon ran across to the Island of Zanzibar. There, however, we got the wind

canoe

right in our teeth. Finding it impossible to
reach the harbour, we landed in a
under rather dangerous circumstances. On
shore I found myself so ill that it was with
the utmost difficulty I entered the town.
Under the consulate doctor, however, I
quickly recovered, when Mr. Johnston also
became ill, and suffered severely for some
time.

These troubles by no means alarmed or discouraged us. They were not unexpected, and they formed a seasonable discipline. We had thus, then, in a sense, completed our apprenticeship as African travellers. We had gained a fair notion both of the trials and labours we should have to encounter; and our experience only made us more confident and enthusiastic than ever in proceeding with our greater undertaking.

RECREATION.

BY THE REV. HARRY JONES, M.A.

RECREATION, properly understood, is his horse that it never can gallop again.

no by-play, but the chief, enormous, and incessant business of life. The world is maintained by manifold renewal. The trees of the forest, the grass of the field, the fowls of the air, and the cattle on the hills, are built up and reformed out of the earth, which holds the material of their fabric in its fruitful lap.

Even the strictest abstainer, at a crisis of life, when the heart has hardly strength to beat, when he enters a state of syncope, a parenthesis in living, may be willing to swallow a vigorous stimulant. There is no rule without an exception. But, in the main, in our journey through life, what we need is, to walk stoutly, to travel safely, relying as much as may be on our own resources, and not be always on the look-out for a lift. Our recreation should agree with growth, not affect us by fits and starts.

And man is not placed outside this circle of change. He consumes away in God's good pleasure; otherwise he would become hide-bound, unnatural, useless. Hunger, thirst, and weariness are, really, not signs of And recreation in its popular sense, as evil, but messages of life prompting him to play, must work in the lines of its largest eat, drink, and rest, that he may be recreated processes, if it is to be really of use. For the or repaired. When these messages cease, he purposes of healthy renewal, man's complex is what we call "dead." Directly we look nature demands more than he can get by at it we thus touch the great fact that mere meat and sleep. To supply this want recreation, in its true and large sense, is the he has recourse to what we popularly underbusiness of life. It must follow creation; stand by recreation; some play of limb and not, I mean, in reference to time, but in its thought, so that he shall not pass directly very nature. It must pursue the law of from the meal and the bed to the main work growth; it must look beyond the hour and of life-like a cab-horse from the stable to the day; it has its future as well as present the shafts. This change, this play, is as ineffect. There is not an act, whether it be indispensable to the wholesome revival of his the strain of labour, or the pause of relaxa- | powers as the material which repairs the tion, but leaves its mark on life. It may be wholesome, natural; it may be unwholesomely stimulative, and thus unnatural. No doubt there are times when the spur is needed at the cost of excessive after-fatigue, or loss. A man galloping away from a pack of wolves may be allowed so to flog

tabric of his body, and the sleep which “knits up the ravelled sleeve of care.”

True recreation, or play, whatever shape it takes, is no mere concession to a frolic spirit, at which the grave workers of the world wink, as a thing which may be tolerated in others, but should be discouraged in them

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selves. It is tainted with no disgrace or charge of weakness. It belongs to the proper conduct of life. The playground is a part of the good school. "All work and no play makes not only Jack, but Jack's pastors and masters dull. Play is not only a privilege, but a necessity of buoyant, effective life, and to be really of use it must follow the great laws of recreation. It must restore something which is legitimately consumed. It is the right and duty of workers.

I will now pass on to some shapes of recreation. First, I remark that it is not mere sleep that is wanted, but utter, absolute repose. We should dare to believe this, in these days of unrest, when the face of the land is overrun with bustle and fuss; and people afflicted with the disease of intense activity are for ever scheming and teaching us how to accelerate the processes of life, and to employ spare minutes of our time. There is almost an insult to the deliberate procedure of nature involved in this urgency to push forward. Those who advocate such fervid eagerness of work would like the sun to rise-not as he does, with gradual revelation of light—but with the fizz and surprise of a rocket. But nature, which taketh no rest, maketh no haste. In some cases, the best use a necessarily busy man can make of a few spare minutes is to do nothing. And, when he begins a holiday, this may well often be his wisest as well as most natural course. Rest is not idleness. In a very true sense it is a part, an integral part, of work. There is an old proverb that God fills the sleeping fisherman's net. This has many an application. If we really work when we work, when we are called upon to bestir ourselves, we need not be ashamed of periods of sheer inaction, as far as we are consciously concerned. Nature is not idle with, or within us, at such times. We may seem to be doing nothing, but then she lubricates the uncoiled springs of action, and screws up the mental wires that have been out of tune. In complete repose we subject the soil of our mind to a process like that which, in some parts of the country, is called a summer tilling. A "summer tilt" is, or was, a field which was let alone for a season. Now-a-days people want crops off every acre, every year. For this the land is so fed and plied with manure, artificial or otherwise, as to be kept continually in high condition or training. It is never allowed to go to sleep. The result no doubt is in many respects beneficial. Some have thus even produced a continuous succession of the same exhaustive crops from the same

soil. But the old-fashioned "summer-tilt" is a fair illustration of what some phases of recreation are, or should be. Then nature sets the grass growing over the worn and bare places in the pasture of our spirits, orders the lumber-rooms of our memory, and puts the sap of life through a moral | change. The sheer repose with which some wise men are not ashamed to begin a holiday. makes the charm of the first days in the country or at the seaside so grateful to the city slave. He lies on the grass or the shingle; he dawdles on the sand or the windy downs over the cliff, doing, and wishing to do, nothing whatever. He is indifferent to the band; he is unaffected by that phase of long-sighted curiosity which sets some people. to look through telescopes directly they find themselves on the shore of the sea. It is, however, no loss for a man thus to allow himself to rest. These passive hours are charged with receptivity. It is then that he begins to take in fresh influences of life; and, if he be wise, he will not hurry himself to feel an interest in anything. He will resent being prematurely dragged into active entertainment of himself.

But these parentheses of quietude do not. last long. Generally, indeed, when a strong man is tired he is by no means exhausted; he has reserves of energy, which ply the machine of body and mind, and yet leave him free from the strain of his chief work. Then comes another phase of that change upon which the charm of recreation so much depends. Perhaps, having been long kept close to a monotonous business, his chief enjoyment is to deliver himself to promiscuous impulses and entertain himself in general observation-seeing, as we say, what there is to be seen. Here, however, let me insert a caution. When we reach a period of recreation we should shun sights, if we honestly have no appetite for them. think of the old story of a man who set off with the professed intention of visiting France. When he got to Dover he changed his mind; and, sitting down on the cliffs, looked at France across the channel. Well," said his friends, when he returned, "and what do you think of the French ?" "Much as I did," he replied, "only they appeared rather distant." He was not going to put himself out by doing violence to his legitimate inclination when he went out for a holiday. Now, though we may not be able to make so oracular a reply to inquisitive acquaintances, we had better venture to decline seeing even

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that which we intended to see, if the humour work, in, perhaps, the constant repetition of does not suit. some process which requires intelligence and skill. His brain thus becomes wearied as well as his hand, and the thirst for change is then sometimes so fierce and suddenly importunate that it takes the shape of thirst for stimulating drink. It is, no doubt, very true that drunkenness produces in many an emptiness of mind, lets the man down to a lower level of life, in which he ceases to take interest in objects and pursuits worthy of man, and thus becomes degraded. But we must recollect that the real degradation, the lower state, which is associated with an aimless existence or contracted range of pursuits, pursuits, is itself a serious promoter of excess in drink. Thus a great hope of extended and liberal education lies not only in the provision of more skill to work, but in the pursuit of intelligent recreation when the work is done. And for this end more is wanted in school than the three R's. Infinitely wholesome is that master's influence who pads these dry bones with even a little science. The small leaven thus planted in a boy's mind may in after life furnish him with tastes and pursuits that save or turn him from degradation.

I will now turn to that phase of recreation which consists in the use of hobbies, whereby we ride or drive out of the ruts of our common life. The greatest workers have It would be ingenerally such hobbies. teresting to know the by-paths of some of our most eminent lawyers, divines, legislators, and leaders in commerce, science, and art; how they occasionally escape from their great business, not to gape and lounge, but to pick up the thread of some pursuit as unlike as possible to that which mostly engages them. One judge will exchange his wig for a sou-wester, and give his yacht a wetting. Another will step from the hot air and crowd of the law-court to sit in Swiss ice, and paint the cold blue and stillness of the glacier. The vigorous reformer, weary of smiting at long-lived abuses, will turn to the conserva- | tion of the oldest and most useless china. The keenest trafficker in shares, who has long held the threads of complicated speculation in his hand, will lay them down to grasp the salmon-rod and work the pliant line instead of the wire. The writer whose hands are cramped with the pen will draw his legs from under the desk, and, fingering fondly his old ice-axe, soon to be vigorously clutched, or exhumating his knapsack, dry | with a winter's dust, make straight for the mountain, directly the clock strikes the hour of autumnal release.

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We must not, however, make too much of what may be called scientific recreation. Many have no natural liking for it, no tastes in that direction. And for these the recreative change lies in direct play. Perhaps there is no country with a larger appetite for outdoor games than England. They are alted almost into a science. And it is not for him who can refine the art of play at his leisure to be severe upon the rough pastimes of the hand-labourer. Rather let him use some of his skill and money to promote fair games among such toilers as have energy enough to enjoy them when their daily toils are over.

It is well to have some occupation, or standing pursuit, of which we are fond. It may be a very cheap and humble one; it may seem trifling. Our knowlege of botany, chemistry, geology, or other ologies, may be very small, but it is astonishing what an interest may be given to even the commonest walk by the knowledge of some of the mere rudiments of science. If a man feels the least tendency towards any pursuit which borders upon Properly ordered games produce incalcuscience, let him have it ready to be taken up lable good. They are not merely pipes to | when he gets a holiday. Then he is delivered blow off steam which must otherwise do misfrom the risk of a dangerous reply to the chief, but they may kindle and cherish much question, “What shall I do?" for it is the that is most precious in us. They teach readiwant of better mental culture and better ness, self-control, confidence, organization, opportunity of rational amusement which interdependence, brotherhood. A lad, moreoften leaves a worker to provide sensation over, who learns to ride, row, swim, and for a holiday in drink. Nature craves a the like, will the like, will have his school - learning change, and a man without other resources flavoured with heartiness, and grow up better has only to turn up his little finger often able to play his part among men aright, than enough in his own room or in a public-house the mere student, however intelligent and in order presently to find himself provided industrious. The year's work of a schoolwith fresh influences, however disastrous. boy would produce a thin result without This is sometimes especially the case where play-grounds and holidays. We must, how he has been long engaged in monotonous ever, not forget that unless recreation leaves

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