e Nile the surprising length in direct measurement, rolling
over thirty-four degrees of latitude, of above 2,300 miles or more than
one-eleventh the circumference of our globe. I now christened what the
natives term "the stones" as Ripon Falls after the nobleman who presided
over the Royal Geographical Society when my expedition was got up, and
the arm of water from which the Nile issued Napoleon Channel, in token
of respect to the French Geographical Society who gave me their gold
medal for discovering the Victoria N'yanza.

After a long journey to Gani we reached the habitation of men, knots of
native fellows perched like monkeys on the granite blocks awaited us,
and finally at Gondokoro we got first news of home and came down by boat
to Khartum. Of course, in disbanding my followers, my faithful children,
I duly rewarded them, franked them home to Zanzibar, and they all
promptly volunteered to go with me again.

LAURENCE STERNE

A Sentimental Journey Through France
and Italy

_I.--Setting Out_

No literary career has ever been more singular than that
of Laurence Sterne. Born in Clonmel Barracks, Ireland, on
November 24, 1713, he was forty-six years of age before he
discovered his genius. By calling he was a country parson
in Yorkshire, yet more unconventional books than "Tristram
Shandy" (see FICTION) and "A Sentimental Journey" never
appeared. The fame of the former brought Sterne to London,
where he became, says Walpole, "topsy-turvey with
success." In the intervals of supplying an ever increasing
demand with more "Tristrams" he composed and published
volumes of sermons. Their popularity proved that he was as
eloquent in his pulpit gown as he was diverting without
it. The turmoil of eighteenth century social and literary
life soon shattered his already failing health, and he
died on March 18, 1768, the first two volumes of "A
Sentimental Journey" appearing on February 27th. The
"Journey" proved equally as fascinating and as popular as
"Shandy." Walpole, who described the latter as tiresome,
declared the new book to be "very pleasing though too much
dilated, and marked by great good nature and strokes of
delicacy." Like its predecessor, the "Journey" is
intentionally formless--narrative and digression, pathos
and wit, sentiment and coarse indelicacy, all commingled
freely together.

"They order," said I, "this matter better in France." "You have been