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hardly time to despatch when orders arrived for us to present ourselves before the chief. Five minutes' walk brought us to a werft-a most filthy, povertystricken, miserable-looking burrow. It consisted of a great number of low huts, constructed in the beehive fashion, crowded into a very limited space, each hut being partitioned off from its neighbour, and surrounded by vertically placed mattings, made of thin split wood, precisely similar to those manufactured by the peasantry of the north of Sweden for the purpose of being converted into panniers. Places set apart for palavers or consultation, and friendly chat, dancing rooms, &c., were also environed, and separated from each other in the same way. The whole hamlet was besides encompassed by a stout palisading. Weeds and rank grasses grew and thrived amazingly everywhere all over the place. A spot had just been cleared of this waste vegetation for my reception; it was thronged by the élite of the nation, who had assembled there in great numbers.

Having waited a few minutes, a tall, rather spare-made, middle-aged, and not unprepossessing-looking man made his appearance. This was the chief, Chikongo. His person was less decorated than that of most of his followers, but round his neck he wore an immense coil of fine beads-a common ornament with the well-to-do class of his countrymen. By being constantly bedaubed and plastered over with grease and ochre, these decorations had become one solid and compact mass. The upper parts of his arms were encircled by bracelets, formed entirely of the white valuable shell so often alluded to by travellers, whilst from his waist depended several handsome dagger-knives of native workmanship. The whole of his body was moreover shining and dripping with ochre and butter.

One of the men sent me by the chief spoke the Sichuana language fluently, and as my attendant was a native Bichuana, I had now considerable facility in explaining to Chikongo the object of my journey, my wants and my wishes. He listened patiently, but made few or no remarks; and the interview having lasted a short time, broke it suddenly off, saying, "Now you are probably hungry and must eat; hereafter we can talk more at length. It grieves me from my heart that I cannot entertain you as I should wish. Till the Makololo came and robbed me of my cattle I was rich, and lived well; at present, I can only bid you welcome as a Bushman." This was but too true.

The reader will probably recollect allusions having been made in the preceding pages to a report, which had reached me at Omanbonde, viz. that a party of white men had, the year previous to my visit, attacked the Ovaquangari nation, and carried off much cattle, besides making captives of men, women, and children. The aggressors, however, were not white men, but that scourge of central South Africa, the Makololo.

This was then the result of all Dr. Livingstone's earnest endeavours to dissuade these people from committing depredations on their neighbours! All their fine promises to that noble explorer, with their professions of peaceful dispositions, were, as we here see, mere delusions, to use the lightest word, on both sides. I very much fear that this tribe have two faces for Dr. Livingstone. There is no doubt that he possesses very great influence over them, a fact which has been abundantly proved by the very handsome manner in which they have treated and assisted him; and when that admirable man is on the spot, unquestionably everything goes on well and smoothly, but no sooner, I suspect, is his back turned, than the old Swedish saw-" Nar katten ar borta, dansa rattorna pa bordet"-literally, When the cat is away, the rats dance on the table—is at once fully verified.

Andersson ascertained, whilst among the Ovaquangari, that the Mambari, or black traders, from the confines of the kingdom of Benguela, visit them regularly every year, and have introduced spirits among them, as well as other "benefits" of civilisation, and that they push their trading expeditions as far eastward as Libebe. The fact is, that Galton and Andersson appear to have pushed their explorations into this portion of interior tropical Africa entirely in a wrong direction. Had they pene

trated from Benguela, it would seem highly probable that they would not have met with a tithe of the difficulties which they had to encounter and to overcome-especially in Andersson's case.

A sad event now happened, which proved fatal to the further progress of the expedition. Mr. Andersson was attacked on the night of his return to his party by a malignant fever, which speedily brought him to the verge of the grave. All his energies were prostrated just at the moment when most needed. After a day or two devoted to rest, he pushed forward, excited by the hopes of exploring the upper course of the river; but they had not proceeded far before five out of the six men who had accompanied him to the river were seized with the same malignant disease as himself. Of these, one died, after an illness of only two or three days. This seriously alarmed the others. Pereira and Mortar, who had held out all along, were the next affected. "To add to my dismay," Mr. Andersson continues, "the other patients, instead of improving, were rapidly getting worse, in short, sinking into their graves. Had I then, under these circumstances, persisted on prosecuting my long-cherished project, I should certainly have been much to blame; for I had the sad experience and melancholy fate of former explorers, who had obstinately, in a similar situation, persevered in darling schemes, become hopeless, ever before me, ever forcibly present to my mind. What then was to be done? To linger where we were seemed certain death; and any visions of future success I might still entertain were too remote to justify me in imperiling so fearfully the lives of my fellow-creatures. A precipitate retreat appeared therefore quite imperative. It cost, nevertheless, a severe struggle between duty and ambition before I could resolve upon it. I obeyed at last the monitions of conscience, and bade with a sigh farewell to the pursuit of fame and glory for ever. That this act of selfrenunciation was not determined on without acute pangs, it would be useless to deny. After such toils! such hardships! such sacrifices! and with the prospect of a final crowning success just dawning upon me, it may well be imagined that I turned my back on the land of promise with drooping spirits and a heavy heart.

"Thus ended my short but memorable visit to the Okavango River. I sincerely trust that future explorers of these parts may meet with better success. An excursion up this stream towards its source would undoubtedly prove very interesting, for it is, I believe, perfectly unknown to Europeans; I doubt even whether the native Portuguese are aware of its very existence; they are certainly quite insensible to its importance in a commercial point of view. Navigable it must be throughout a great (if not the greater) portion of its course, even to vessels of some pretension. Numerous tribes, more or less intelligent, more or less traders and acquainted with the art of agriculture, possess permanent habitations along its banks. The unhealthiness of the climate may, it is true, be considered as prohibitive of any frequent or constant intercourse with this country. I strongly suspect, however, that this objection would only apply to a certain season-i. e. to the time when, the annual flow of the river ceasing, exhalations from the surrounding swamps and marshes poison the atmosphere. In the months of June, July, and August, one might, I firmly believe, visit the Okavango with comparative safety. It is only, I think, in the spring, when I was unfortunately in its neighbourhood, that the malaria from the Lagoons is so fatal.”



BOAST not of long-drawn vales and flowery plains,
Of sounding cataracts, and peaks of snow;
Behold this ocean where soft beauty reigns,
And wild sublimity ne'er landscapes show!
The soul floats o'er yon vast expanse of sea,
And feels thy meaning, dread eternity!

The sun in fire hangs o'er the western billow,
And every tremulous wave his mirror seems;
He rests upon a cloud, his burning pillow,

And there, a sleeping god, awhile he dreams;
Like topazes the ships, yon headland bold,*
Far stretching o'er the deep, a bar of gold.
And all along the horizon's level brim,

A crimson path is paved; and e'en the wing
Of the seamew is burning; naught is dim,

Save the far East, where cliffs, up-towering, fling A shadow on the gold, and high in air

Yon castle hangst-a ruin rent, and bare.

How silent all this mighty ocean lies!

Hushed as an infant rocked to sleep by love,
His cradle the round world, the bending skies
His canopy; as if great Nature's dove,
Or some calm angel brooded o'er the wave,
And its own peace to ocean's quiet gave.
There is an odour, fraught with health and life,
Wafted on shore from off the purple brine-
An odour with more living freshness rife,

Than sweets from banks of summer eglantine;
Drinking the spirit of the pure-breathed main,
The body and the soul a vigour gain.

Along the shingles and the yellow sand,

Groups, idly happy, saunter, some with eyes

Cast on the deep, so lovely yet so grand,

And others watch the West's rich, changeful dyes;

And there fond lovers wander, slow, apart,

That scene of beauty melting o'er each heart.

The little trim-sail'd barks are outward gliding,
Noiseless as spirits, and the dipping oar

Breaks the tinged sapphire; anchored ships are riding;
Waves fret and die in sparkles on the shore;

At times soft singing from afar is borne,

Or floats upon the air the mellow horn.

From crowded cities and their tumult stealing,
How soothing to the spirit wandering here!
The world another aspect is revealing,

We seem transported to a calmer sphere;
Sunset, shore, ocean, Nature's glorious whole
Might well, in dreams Elysian, lap the soul.

Beachy Head.

† Hastings Castle.


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THERE are few antiquaries whose works are such pleasant reading as those of Mr. Lysons. They do not weary us with their length; they are not devoted to idle theories which a single word from an Edie Ochiltree can disperse; but are usually upon subjects in which every one feels an interest. His "Model Merchant,' an illustration of the veritable history of Whittington, attracted considerable attention; and in a subsequent publication, of less than forty well-filled pages, he professes to answer the inquiry of, What has Gloucestershire achieved? Taking Mr. Lysons's "enumeration of some of the principal points in which that county has taken a prominent lead in matters religious, moral, social, and scientific," it has been suggested that the question should rather have been, "What has Gloucestershire not achieved?" The dwellers on the Cotswold hills or in the Severn valley may well be boastful of their county.

As we cannot follow Mr. Lysons through all the subjects he has dwelt upon, we must make our own selection, and leave it to himself to show the claims of Gloucestershire to the first printed Bible, the first metrical version of the Psalms, the first perpendicular Gothic, the first Sunday schools, the first discovery of the variation of the magnetic needle, the first practical steamboat, the electric telegraph, the stereoscope, the first ship canal, the first blankets, the first Mint, the first Parliament, the first discovery of the American continent, the oldest tree in England, cum multis aliis; for most or all of which he produces a tolerable show of evidence.

But there is nothing in which his native county has been more honourably distinguished than in the improvement of prison discipline and the repression of crime. "We cannot," says our author, "it is true, claim as a Gloucestershire man the great prison reformer, John Howard; but this we can say, that our County Prison was the first to come under the influence of his salutary measures of reform, carried out upon his principles by that distinguished Gloucestershire patriot Sir George Paul, whose name will be handed down to the posterities of all those who care for their own flesh and blood." "The county prison," he continues, “I rejoice to say, has kept up its charter, and has been one of the first to progress with the times, under the admirable direction of our present county chairman. The industrial system [and he might have added, all the best parts of the separate system] is perhaps nowhere better carried out."

If we remember rightly, one of the first prisons upon Howard's plan was built at Liverpool, but it was diverted from its purpose to be used for the reception of French prisoners of war. At Gloucester every practical improvement was gradually introduced, and with the best results. Mr. Barwick Baker, of Hardwicke Court (of whom we shall have to speak

"What has Gloucester Achieved ?" &c. &c. &c., by the Rev. Samuel Lysons, M.A., F.S.A., Rector of Rodmarton, and Perpetual Curate of St. Luke's, Gloucester, Author of "Claudia and Pudens," &c. Gloucester: A. Lea; London: Hamilton, Adams, and Co. 1861.



more particularly), has appended a "P.S." to the work before us, in which he gives the history of the system and its adoption, with admirable brevity.

"In 1773," he says, "Mr. Howard, being High Sheriff of Bedfordshire, visited the gaol, and discovered the horrible state in which all prisons of that day were kept, a state which few in the present day will believe to have existed so near their own time-when what was called the gaol-fever not only swept off prisoners, but made even attendance at the courts highly dangerous from infection. Howard, however, visited, I believe, every prison in England, and succeeded in drawing public attention to the subject."

"In 1783, Sir George Paul, as chairman of quarter sessions, brought the subject before our county, and procured an Act of Parliament for building the Gloucester Gaol and Penitentiary. Hitherto, though Howard had awakened public attention, no improved system of gaol management had been invented."

"Sir George Paul took the suggestions of Howard, and carried them into practice. An address, published in 1792, gave notice of the completion of the gaol; and then commenced nearly the first attempt at improvement on the old barbarous system, and from the first this became the model for nearly all the world. In 1807 the Americans sent over commissioners to Gloucester to learn the new system. It was adopted, and so greatly improved upon in that country, that it became known as the American Solitary System."

"According to Sir George Paul's design, what was technically termed Solitary Imprisonment, i. e. without work or books (except a Bible for a portion of the day), was never continued for above a month, and even then was relieved by change of day and night cell, chapel, and exercise in yard. The Americans improved on this to the extent of shutting a man into a cell, and not letting him out for twenty years. Yet it is marvellous how few became permanently idiotic."*

"In 1834, or thereabouts, all the newspapers were inveighing against the folly of Government in hesitating to adopt this 'quite perfect' system throughout England. So the Government sent out Mr. Sharman Crawford to learn it and bring it back."

"In 1836 (I think it was) I was gaol visitor, and received a letter from Lord John Russell, then Home Secretary, ordering that we should [like others] comply with about forty rules which he sent us, as far as we could. I had the very great satisfaction of replying that the first thirty-five rules had originated in Gloucester, and had been copied in America, and as they were still in force in Gloucester, we required no alteration; four rules were new, and as they did neither good nor harm, we would comply with his Lordship's orders."

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"Soon after this, Mr. Charles Dickens went to America, and published his American Notes,' expressing strong opinions against the American Solitary System.' The Times took it up, and declared this once 'quite perfect system' to be atrocious. So Sir James Graham, then Home Secretary, of course gave instant orders that no more men should be kept

* In the original this paragraph is given as a note. Mr. Baker will pardon us for omitting one or two words from the text.

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