ds and thousands of pounds.

The traders who were making the world smaller by bringing cotton
prints to Chinde to cover her black nakedness, her British Majesty's
consul at that port, and the boy lieutenant of the paddle-wheeled
gunboat which patrols the Zambesi River, were the gentlemen who
informed me that they were the only respectable members of Chinde
society. They came over the side with the gratitude of sailors whom
the _Kanzlar_ might have picked up from a desert island, where they
had been marooned and left to rot. They observed the gilded glory of
the _Kanzlar_ smoking-room, its mirrors and marble-topped tables,
with the satisfaction and awe of the California miner, who found all
the elegance of civilization in the red plush of a Broadway omnibus.
The boy-commander of the gunboat gazed at white women in the saloon
with fascinated admiration.

"I have never," he declared, breathlessly, "I have never seen so
many beautiful women in one place at the same time! I'd forgotten
that there were so many white people in the world."

"If I stay on board this ship another minute I shall go home," said
Her Majesty's consul, firmly. "You will have to hold me. It's coming
over me--I feel it coming. I shall never have the strength to go
back." He appealed to the sympathetic lieutenant. "Let's desert
together," he begged.

[Illustration: One-half of the Street Cleaning Department of
Mozambique.]

In the swamps of the East Coast the white exiles lay aside the
cloaks and masks of crowded cities. They do not try to conceal their
feelings, their vices, or their longings. They talk to the first
white stranger they meet of things which in the great cities a man
conceals even from his room-mate, and men they would not care to
know, and whom they would never meet in the fixed social pathways of
civilization, they take to their hearts as friends. They are too few
to be particular, they have no choice, and they ask no questions. It
is enough that the white man, like themselves, is condemned to
exile. They do not try to find solace in the thought that they are
the "foretrekkers" of civilization, or take credit to themselves
because they are the path-finders and the pioneers who bear the heat
and burden of the day. They are sorry for themselves, because they
know, more keenly than any outsider can know, how good is the life
they have given up, and how hard is the one they follow, but they do
not ask anyone else to be sorry. They