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great in nothing. This is the Mutesa of whom, later on, I have more to say.

The very name of Mirambo inspired so much fear in the breasts of our Moslem porters that they had deserted us by dozens. Mirambo had been carrying on a constant war with the Arabs at Unyanyembe, their important trading centre, which was in his country, and many Arabs and their black Mahometan slaves and retainers had fallen in the frequent encounters which had taken place. Hence the dislike of their co-religionists in our caravan to put themselves in the power of the chief. Their fear was altogether imaginary, for Mirambo never would have touched one of them, at any rate while with a European.

Another fortnight's journey through the picturesque district of Musalala brought us to the Nyanza, or at least to one of the swamps in which a small arm of the mighty lake terminates. Passing through the villages of this district, I saw for the first time a native loom at work. The spinning of the cotton is carried on in the spare moments of some of the youths. The apparatus is very simple : a stick with a hook at one end, and just below the hook a round disk through which the stick passes ; to get the twist the cotton is rubbed with the palm of the hand on the naked thigh of the spinner, just as the cobbler at home twists his wax end. The loom is of the roughest construction. The shuttle is slowly passed through the threads by the fingers of the