low, unhealthy
west coast; nor can any of the Zulu or Kaffir tribes be
reduced to bondage, though all these live on comparatively
elevated regions. We have heard it stated by men familiar
with some of the Kaffirs, that a blow, given even in play by
a European, must be returned. A love of liberty is
observable in all who have the Zulu blood, as the Makololo,
the Watuta, and probably the Masai. But blood does not
explain the fact. A beautiful Barotse woman at NHLe, on
refusing to marry a man whom she did not like, was in a pet
given by the headman to some Mambari slave-traders from
Benguela. Seeing her fate, she seized one of their spears,
and, stabbing herself, fell down dead."[80]

Dr. David Livingstone is certainly entitled to our utmost confidence
in all matters that he writes about. Mr. Archibald Forbes says he has
seen Africans dead upon the field of battle that would measure nine
feet, and it was only a few months ago that we had the privilege of
seeing a Zulu who was eight feet and eleven inches in height. As to
the beauty of the Negro, nearly all African travellers agree.

"But if the women of Africa are brutal, the men of Africa
are feminine. Their faces are smooth; their breasts are
frequently as full as those of European women; their voices
are never gruff or deep; their fingers are long; and they
can be very proud of their rosy nails. While the women are
nearly always ill-shaped after their girlhood, the men have
gracefully moulded limbs, and always after a feminine
type,--the arms rounded, the legs elegantly formed, without
too much muscular development, and the feet delicate and
small.

"When I first went ashore on Africa, viz., at Bathurst, I
thought all the men who passed me, covered in their long
robes, were women, till I saw one of the latter sex, and was
thereby disenchanted.

"While no African's face ever yet reminded me of a man whom
I had known in England, I saw again and again faces which
reminded me of women; and on one occasion, in Angola, being
about to chastise a _carregadore_, he sank on his knees as I
raised my stick, clasped his hands, and looked up
imploringly toward me,--was so like a young lady I had once
felt an affection for, that, in spite of myself, I flung the
stick away, fearing to commit a sacrilege.