supported crutch fashion, and hitches herself along between them; occasionally one hand is put down before the other, and alternates with the feet, or she walks upright and holds up a hand to any one to carry her.  If refused, she turns her face down, and makes grimaces of the most bitter human weeping, wringing her hands, and sometimes adding a fourth hand or foot to make the appeal more touching.  Grass or leaves she draws around her to make a nest, and resents anyone meddling with her property.  She is a most friendly little beast, and came up to me at once, making her chirrup of welcome, smelled my clothing, and held out her hand to be shaken.  I slapped her palm without offence, though she winced.  She began to untie the cord with which she was afterwards bound, with fingers and thumbs, in quite a systematic way, and on being interfered with by a man looked daggers, and screaming tried to beat him with her hands:  she was afraid of his stick, and faced him, putting her back to me as a friend.  She holds out her hand for people to lift her up and carry her, quite like a spoiled child; then bursts into a passionate cry, somewhat like that of a kite, wrings her hands quite naturally, as if in despair.  She eats everything, covers herself with a mat to sleep, and makes a nest of grass or leaves, and wipes her face with a leaf.

I presented my double-barrelled gun which is at Ujiji to Katomba, as he has been very kind when away from Ujiji:  I pay him thus for all his services.  He gave me the soko, and will carry it to Ujiji for me; I have tried to refund all that the Arabs expended on me.

1st March, 1871.—­I was to start this morning, but the Arabs asked me to take seven of their people going to buy biramba, as they know the new way:  the offer was gladly accepted.

2nd to 5th March, 1871.—­Left Mamohela, and travelled over fine grassy plains, crossing in six hours fourteen running rills, from three to ten or fifteen feet broad, and from calf to thigh deep.  Tree-covered mountains on both sides.  The natives know the rills by names, and readily tell their courses, and which falls into which, before all go into the great Lualaba; but without one as a guide, no one can put them in a map.  We came to Monanbunda’s villages, and spent the night.  Our next stage was at Monangongo’s.  A small present of a few strings of beads satisfies, but is not asked:  I give it invariably as acknowledgment for lodgings.  The headman of our next stage hid himself in fear, as we were near to the scene of Bin Juma’s unprovoked slaughter of five men, for tusks that were not stolen, but thrown down.  Our path lay through dense forest, and again, on 5th, our march was in the same dense jungle of lofty trees and vegetation that touch our arms on each side.  We came to some villages among beautiful tree-covered hills, called Basilange or Mobasilange.  The villages are very pretty, standing on slopes.  The main street generally lies east