l the launch returns, a shadowy palm-grove by the wayside makes
a welcome retreat from the dust and glare, the creaking of innumerable
bullock-waggons, and the shouts of crew and coolies, disputing over the
loading of a raft.

The arrival at Gorontalo in the radiant dawn provides a more
interesting experience. The river which forms the beautiful harbour,
rushes through a profound ravine of the forest-clad mountains, which
descend sharply to the water's edge. The scene resembles a Norwegian
fiord, translated into tropical terms of climate and vegetation. A
narrow track climbs the ledges of a cliff behind the brown fishing
_campong_ of Liato, but a rude wharf on the opposite side affords a
less picturesque though safer landing, for the swirling currents of the
swift stream require more careful navigation than the amphibious
boatman, unembarrassed by clothing, is wont to bestow on craft or
passenger. The spirit of enterprise is also in abeyance, scotched if
not killed by the struggles of the memorable pilgrimage through the
Minahasa. The quiet haven in the shadow of the guardian hills looks an
ideal haunt of peace. A Dutch battleship lies at anchor, and the red
sails of a wide-winged _prau_ make broken reflections in the rippling
clearness of the green water. A wooden bridge crosses the river at the
narrow end of the funnel-shaped harbour, connecting it with the town in
the steaming valley, the usual medley of open _tokos_ and _atap_ huts,
supplemented by two dubious hotels, a green _aloon-aloon_, and a few
stone houses denoting the presence of the European element. The
original inhabitants of Gorontalo are of Alfoer race--dark, glum, and
forbidding. How this ancient stock, indigenous to some of the southern
islands in the Malay Archipelago, wandered from thence to distant
Celebes has not been satisfactorily accounted for. The records of
savage tribes depend on oral tradition, but the outlines of an oft-told
tale become blurred and dim during the lapse of ages, when the mental
calibre of the racial type lacks normal acumen. The graces of life are
ignored by the Alfoer woman, her mouth invariably distorted by the red
lump of betel-nut, accommodated with difficulty, and rendering silence
imperative. Her bowed shoulders become deformed with the heavy loads
perpetually borne, for the rising trade of Gorontalo supplies the men
with more congenial employment than the field work, which frequently
becomes the woman's province. A s