where two women crouch around a fire Many of the canoes, however, were some. Some of the lighter craft were paddled by women only, and here, as in other uncivilized parts of the world, the the writer noticed that whereas men, with the exception of their faces, were fine specimens of humanity, the women could only be described as reIt is so with most savage pulsive. races, though there are women of the whose veins Gold Coast Fantis, in some of the blood of the old Dutch settlers still runs, who are almost handAs a rule they carried a infant slung behind woolly-haired their shoulders in a strip of palm-net; why they do not lay them down does not appear, and it may be remarked that the writer never heard an African baby cry. One and all the canoes carried palm-oil, and as this is the staple trade of the Niger mouths, and the inmany white ducement which leads men to enter this fever-haunted region, a brief description is perhaps permissible. The palm-nuts grow in rows beneath the main rib of the feathery fronds. In appearance and size they are not unlike a yellow plum with a dash of crimson cn one side. Beneath a thin skin lies a layer of yellow grease mingled with fibre, which is scraped off by the natives, and when the fibre has been picked out it is packed in factories. calabashes for sale to the There is no other preparation, and an the fragrant immense quantity of sticky paste is shipped to Liverpool, and there are many processes of manufacture in which its use is indispensable. A hard nut remains, which is cracked and the inside kernel, a little oily thing about the size of a hazel-nut, is also shipped in vast quantities to Great Britain, Hamburg, and werp, where a thinner oil is pressed out, though the outer layer is the best. Ant However, all this brings us no nearer Benin. It was again afternoon when we passed a large native village. The aromatic odor of burning wood warned us of its vicinity, and presently we caught sight of the many rows of huts composed of sun-dried leaves mud and thatched with palm nestling beneath a semi-circle of stately trees. On the outskirts the pale green of the banana leaves contrasted sharply with the dark foliage of oranges and limes, and the scent of the white blossoms was heavy in the air. A bare stretch of sun-scorched, hard trodden earth lay in front of the huts, the palaver-square, in the centre of which stood the sacred Ju-Ju tree. Now there are endless devils known to the West African, of whom Amalaku, the water-spirit, is the chief; and it is remarkable that along three thousand miles of coast, from Gambia to Congo, although the races and languages differ widely from one another, every negro trembles before the power of the Ju-Ju. The Fetish priests may be an evil lot, and they are certainly expert poisoners, but men whom the fever has spared to live long in the land say that they are by no means altogether ignorant impostors. The craft is handed down from father to son, and a Feddah, or Ju-Ju man, is set apart at a very early age and carefully trained in the knowledge of every herb which may be used to kill or cure (most often the former) and in occult lore. It is certain that they can do things which an ordinary European can find no explanation of, aud true Feddah is cosmopolitan. He may travel into the lands of a race knowing not his language, and no man dare disobey his will. There are many curious tales, and some ghastly ones, told about them on the Oil Rivers which may, or may not, be true; but white men who have been long in Africa do not care to provoke the Feddah unadvisedly. It is certain they can administer poison so skilfully that its presence cannot be detected by analysis, and yet the victim slowly dies. The writer once travelled home with two officers from Lagos, both very ill, and a clever surgeon of the Gold Coast government said: "I cannot diagnose this case; I feel sure they have been poisoned, and yet I can find absolutely no trace of it." the Opposite us lay Benin rose to view. the road cut through the forest when Bluejackets and Marines, aided by the Yoruba soldiers of the Niger Protectorate, destroyed the stockade of the river-pirate Nana, who, thinking himself secure among the quaking swamps, mocked the government and blocked the trade-routes. The road is marked by a belt of smaller timber. Half an hour later the Loanda was moored to a shaking wharf at the leading factory. If there is a more dismal spot than New Benin it must be very hard to find. A foul swamp borders the river for miles, and on this enough sand, brought from the distant bar in canoes, has been piled to permit of the erection of the trader's houses and oil-sheds. In front lies the turbid river, and behind a desolation of mangroves rising out of festering mud, breeding fever and sudden death. The factories lie half a mile apart, and in each two or three sickly white men pass the dreariest of lives. There is barely sufficient sand about them to hold the agent's house, oil and salt sheds, and beyond the piles which bind the whole together lies the oozy swamp. The place is infested with burrowing crabs, which undermine the ground to such an extent that canoes are continually carrying sand to repair their ravages. The trader's work begins early. At six he is up and about, to start the brawny Accra coopers at work upon the oil-barrels. Afterwards the store is opened, and a swarm of negro dealers, who have brought down oil or kernels, flock in to make their purchases. Little lookingglasses, villainous trade-powder, bottles of hair-oil and pomade (for what purpose no one knows), old silk hats, and cast-off European garments, are always in demand, and the business is carried on amid a babel of disputing voices. The larger traders, however, generally take gin or salt in return for their vouchers, and the latter article is shipped in immense quantities to the Niger. From thence it is carried in canoes and upon the heads of slave women (the favorite means of transit in West Africa) through forests in which the foot of white men has never been set, and across the hot sand beyond, until it sometimes reaches Southern Fezzan, for distance is apparently no object to the African. After leaving the factories the salt is packed in long mat cylinders, and as it passes through his dominions each sable potentate cuts off an inch, so that the quantity which reaches the final consumer is small and precious. The ways of the Soudan trade are still to a great extent unknown to white men, for the powers ruling in that wild region allow neither trader nor explorer to pass their boundaries. When darkness comes (at six o'clock all the year round) there is no possibility of any recreation for the unfortunate agents. The river lies in front and a bottomless quagmire behind; and the evening is passed grumbling at the mosquitoes and smoking on the broad verandah. Half their time, however, they are down with fever. It may be remarked that this settlement could offer but feeble resistance to a raid, each factory being isolated. Should the king of Benin (Old Benin) lead his warriors down the river every trade-shed would be looted. However, as the Nimbi men found to their cost at Akassa, it is very hard work to annihilate determined Europeans crouching behind saltbag redoubts with repeating rifles in their hands. of So much for the traders. There is, however, one Englishman at New Benin who does not trade. He is the acting-consul, and occupies a station on the river-bank with a handful black soldiers, Yorubas or Egbas, from Lagos colony. The consulate is defended by neither wall nor stockade and could only be held against a rush by personal skill and valor. The last time the writer was there he was shown a pair of splendid tusks, which had been given the British officer by way of dash when he paid a diplomatic visit to the king of Benin.1 When 1 No bargain is concluded in West Africa, or diplomatic visits made, without the exchange of presents termed dash. asked to make a trading treaty that monarch replied, and the words were given the writer by one present: "I have allowed the white queen to place four small factories at the mouth of my river; but I am always king of Benin, and the next white man who enters my creeks will be shot." Old Benin is a city stained with blood, and a place of unmentionable Fetish cruelties. The writer has not been there, but he has been within forty miles of it, and carefully gleaned what information he could from two white traders who once entered its gates, and also from many natives. It is probable that only some half-dozen Europeans have ever been inside it. There are many extraordinary tales told about this place, but it is generally believed to contain a great wealth of ivory. The natives say that every king of Benin is compelled by the Ju-Ju priests to store SO much ivory, which may not be sold, as a propitiation to the wood-devils, whose name is legion. One white trader, who had been there, assured the writer that he saw solid fences of fine ivory worth £1,400 a ton. Even allowing a large margin for imagination there is evidently much treasure in Benin. Every kind of horrible cruelty seems prevalent; human sacrifice is rife, and slaves are buried alive under the foundations of each new house. At certain seasons of the year many mutilated. and sometimes headless corpses, float down the rivers with the ebb tide; a grim hint of what goes on in the bush. Crucifixion seems to be a favorite mode of execution, only that instead of using nails the victims are lashed to the trees. But the imagination of the daily press has already supplied the public with sufficient horrors, and this side of the subject is not an attractive one. It must be borne in mind that, while the subjects of the king of Benin are heathen and rank savages, when once his territory is passed the negroes are tinged with the semi-civilization of the Arabs, and have a little of the north ern blood in their veins. There is no difficulty in telling them at a glance from the bushmen of the coast; the one is a savage; the other is something better. Further north again, there are great Mahomedan sultanates with walled cities and well drilled regular armies in addition to an organized trade, chiefly in slaves. It must never be forgotten that a hostile expedition ascending the Niger would not be met by savage foes, except in the coast swamps, but would have to contend with formidable powers directed by men who are half-Arab, and are the equal of the European in many things. That, however, is not the case with the king of Benin. He is merely a blood-thirsty savage; but the Niger Coast Protectorate may possibly find it no easy matter to bring him to order. First of all it will be necessary to send the troops up the tangled waterways of the swamps in boats, and the bushman has a simple device for hampering the passage of a flotilla. It is forbidden to sell to the negroes any firearm but a flint-lock gua, and yet, for all that, every headman possesses a small cast-iron cannon or two, and some even fairly heavy pieces of artillery,-how obtained the officers of government would give much to learn. One of these is lashed to a heavy trunk and hidden among the dense foliage overhanging a narrow creek, The naked gunner practises until he can make certain of hitting a moored log every time; then the gun is wedged immovable and a wand, or some other easily concealed mark, set up on the opposite bank. When the foe is expected the bushmen crouch round the unseen gun, and the moment the flotilla lines itself between the muzzle and wand a load of nails and old glass is fired into it. This device was used with terrible success by the Brassmen against our expedition sent to punish them after the sack of Akassa, and Major Crawford, among many other casualties, was badly wounded. An. other favorite device on the Oil Rivers is to moor a boom of logs creek, and while the crews are busy across a loosing the obstacle to fire a murderous volley into them from an ambush on the banks. No one doubts that the power of the tyrant will be broken; but men who know the Niger creeks appreciate the difficulties to be faced. From The Cornhill Magazine. PICTURESQUENESS IN HISTORY.1 It is an old controversy whether history is a branch of literature or a branch of science; but there is no reason why the controversy should ever be decided. A book is written; it must take its chance. It is cast upon the world to exercise such influence as it can, to teach or to attract, to mould thought or to create interest, to solve questions or to suggest them. There is always one consoling reflection for authors, which ought to save them from disappointment. The deeper the impression which a book produces, the smaller is the circle of its readers likely to be. The general public likes to take its journeys by easy stages, and will not be carried too far all at once. Only a select few will be ready to undertake a serious expedition; but they are the explorers, and through their efforts knowledge will ultimately grow. When pioneers have entered upon a new field, it takes some time before the communications are made which make travelling easy. Meanwhile, ideas and notions float disjointedly into the general stock of knowledge, and affect public opinion insensibly in various ways. Knowledge of the past is of value as it arfords a background against which men view the present. It is of some value, as likely to affect men's judgment of what is going on around them, that they should feel that there has been a past at all. Every additional item of knowledge about the process by which human society has slowly reached its present form is of increasing value. From whatever source it comes 1 A lecture delivered at the Royal Institution. to them, it is so much to the good. History is to be welcomed, whatever form it assumes. There can be no doubt that in late years there has been a very decided increase of general interest in history amongst us. The nature of political questions, and the tendency of thought about social questions, have given a decided impulse in this direction. In small towns and villages historical subjects are amongst the most popular for lectures; and historical allusions are acceptable to all audiences. It was not so fifteen years ago. At that time I remember an eminent statesman speaking to me sadly of his experience. He had been speaking to a vast audience in the open air, under the shadow of one of our oldest cathedrals. The crowd was so great that it had to be addressed from various platforms, of which he occupied one. He told me that he was led by his architectural surroundings to indulge in a peroration in which he exhorted his hearers to act worthily of their mighty past, and pointed to the splendid building as a perpetual memorial of the great deeds and noble aspirations of their forefathers. The allusion fell upon dull ears; no cheer was raised; point was entirely missed. My friend then strolled to the next platform, where a longer-winded orator was indulging in a lengthier speech. He, too, selected the cathedral to give local color to his peroration. He denounced the wrongs of the people, and shook his fist at the great church as the symbol of oppression, the home of purseproud prelates who adorned themselves and their belongings at the expense of the poor. But in this case also no cheer followed; again a rhetorical sally which owed its point to any feel ing for the past was unheeded. The working-men cared neither for the good nor the evil of the past; their minds were set upon the present, and that was enough for them. I think this indifference would not be shown nowadays. One view or the other would raise a hearty cheer. There is nowadays a conception that things the have grown, and that the way to mend them is to get them to grow in the right direction. This attitude of mind is the abiding contribution which a knowledge of history will make to social progress. Perhaps every branch of knowledge is more valuable for the temper which it creates, which can be shared by every one, than by its direct contributions, which can be judged by only a few. Again, I say, let us welcome the results of knowledge in any and every form. It is not, however, my intention tonight to criticise the various ways in which history has been written. It is enough to say that it is not absolutely necessary to be dull in order to prove that you are wise, or to repress all human emotion in order to show that you are strictly impartial. On the other hand, the perpetual appeal to sentiment grows tedious, and the steadfast desire to construct a consistent character by disregarding uncomfortable facts, or explaining them away, does not carry conviction. It is even more impossible to write history with a purpose than it is to write fiction with a purpose. Fiction can at least select its own limitations, and professedly excludes all the events of the lives of its characters except what suits its immediate purpose. We know that the stage of the world's affairs could not be set to suit a particular past, and that men cannot be read into the expression of abstract principles. History is very impatient of direct morals. Its teaching is to be found in large tendencies, which, it may be, are very imperfectly traceable within particular limits. History cannot be made picturesque by the skill of the writer. It must be picturesque in itself if it is to be so at all. All that the writer can claim is the artistic insight which discerns the elements of a forcible composition in unexpected places, and reveals unknown beauties by compelling attention to what might otherwise be overlooked. We may agree that history should be made as picturesque as possible; but picturesqueness cannot be applied in |