40 DANGERS AND DIFFICULTIES OF THE CONGO EXPLORATION. escort of 140 men engaged at Nyangwé, refused to proceed farther. At the same time the natives made a grand effort to crush us 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 re what cowardice and false pride suggested | make our position still more deplorable, our was the best thing-walked deliberately to him, took off my hat, and said: 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?' 'Yes,' said he, with 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 in-petition of the day previous. It was destroduces 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. perate 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 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 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. HENRY M. STANLEY. 42 THE MARQUISE. THE MARQUISE. [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 reality 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 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 painting, and, above all, an admirable woman, tall, slender, dark, with black eyes, austere and noble features, unsmiling deep-red lips, Princess of Lamballe into despair. Without and hands which, it was said, had thrown the 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." me. Tus fanal entrance and tie hat experiet for me all the use of youth Xy be VLİCİ DEFTRIS VIS DE BELLy mud vih drew a neef and grew full of suspicion --1 was fouet enough a well my real feeines at several women of my accULTIANCE. They did not fall se divulge what they hat learned, and wabout taking my BCCOELI ĐỂ the docina and anrust of my bear boldly declared that I despised all men. There is nothing which men will not more ready pardon than this feeling: my lovers soon learned to detest me, and continued their fanteries only in the hope of finding an opportunity to those of the barn time' That wotic be a great toace de vania an THE JESENSwered she, ingt..ng me rasen te speak we of the men a ma (wa, Lime, yet I doubt whether va have madÐ IL DEL TOOTESS bat ; v. DN mlm The CETRE BÉ BY MISÏetane was ertiny in mysli I had not the sere le jeden. A woman æ Frond as I was should have possessed a seperNAT character, and shorić have been able to ch Vinguish si one glance among all the insopod, false, and insign,doazi men who surevanded me, one of those træe and noble beings wha are rare in every son. I was te jemPSEL, 200 narrow-minded, for this As I have revi longer I have acquired more judgment, and I have learned that several of the objects of my hatred deserved far other feelings. But I was then old, and my knowledge came too late." "And while you were young," I rejoined, "were you never tempted to make a second trial? Was this deep-rooted aversion never shaken? It is strange." The marquise was silent, then hastily laying her gold snuff-box on the table: "He was never famous," answered she, "and was appreciated neither by the court nor the town. I have heard that he was outrageously hissed when he first appeared. Afterwards he was valued for his sensibility, his fire, and the efforts he made to improve himself. He was tolerated, and sometimes applauded, but, on the whole, he was always considered an actor without taste. "In those days tragedy was played 'properly;' it was necessary to die with taste, to fall grace "I have begun my confession," said she, "and I will acknowledge everything. Listen! Once, only once in my life, I have loved, but loved as none ever loved, with a love as pas-fully, and to have an air of good breeding even sionate and indomitable as it was imaginative and ideal. For you see, my child, you young men think you understand women, and you know nothing about them. If many old women of eighty were frankly to tell you the history of their lives, you would perhaps find that the feminine soul contains sources of good and evil of which you have no idea. And now, guess what was the rank of the man for whom I entirely lost my head-I, a marchioness, and one prouder and haughtier than every other?" "The King of France, or the Dauphin, Louis XVI." "Oh, if you begin in that manner, you will be three hours before you reach my lover. I prefer to tell you at once. He was an actor." "A king notwithstanding, I imagine.” "The noblest, the most elegant that ever trod the boards. You are not amazed?" "Not much. I have heard that even when the prejudices of caste were most powerful in France, such ill-assorted passions were not rare." "Those ill-assorted passions were not tolerated by the world, I can assure you. The first time I saw him I expressed my admiration to the Countess de Ferrières, who happened to be beside me, and she answered: Do not speak so warmly to any one but me. You would be cruelly taunted were you suspected of forgetting that in the eyes of a woman of rank an actor can never be a man.' in giving a blow. Dramatic art was modelled upon the usages of good society, and the diction and gestures of the actors were in harmony with the hoops and hair-powder which even then disfigured Phèdre and Clytemnestra. I had never appreciated the defects of this school of art. My reflections did not carry me far; I only knew that tragedy wearied me to death. I bravely endured it twice in the week, for it was the fashion to like it; but I listened with so cold and constrained an air that it was generally said I was insensible to the charms of fine poetry. "One evening, after a rather long absence from Paris, I went to the Comédie Française to see Le Cid. Lelio had been admitted to this theatre during my stay in the country, and I saw him for the first time. He played Rodrigue. I was deeply moved by the very first tones of his voice. It was penetrating rather than sonorous, but vibrating and strongly accentuated. His voice was much criticized. That of the Cid was supposed to be deep and powerful, just as all the heroes of antiquity were supposed to be tall and strong. A king who was but five feet six could not wear the diadem; it would have been contrary to the decrees of taste. "Lelio was small and slender; his beauty was not that of the features, but lay in the nobleness of his forehead, the irresistible grace of his attitude, the careless ease of his movements, the proud and melancholy expression of his face. I never saw in a statue, in a painting, in a man, so pure and ideal a capaThe word charm should have been invented for him; it belonged to all his words, to all his glances, to all his motions. "Madame de Ferrières' words remained in my mind, I know not why. At that time this contemptuous tone seemed to me absurd, and this fear of committing myself a piece of ma-city for beauty. licious hypocrisy. "His name was Lelio; he was by birth an Italian, but spoke French admirably. He may have been thirty-five, although upon the stage he often seemed less than twenty. He played Corneille better than he did Racine, but in both he was inimitable." "I am surprised," said I, interrupting the marquise, "that his name should not appear in the annals of dramatic talent." "What shall I say? It was indeed a 'charm' which he threw around me. This man, who stepped, spoke, moved, without system or affectation, who sobbed with his heart as much as with his voice, who forgot himself to become identified with his passion; this man, in whom the body seemed wasted and shattered by the soul, and a single one of whose glances cou |