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yet reached us, how the outlet discovered by Lieutenant Cameron -whose name will now be enrolled most honourably in the long list of African explorers-can be the same as Livingstone's Lualaba, which, or branches of which, have their sources in the high upland which separates the basin of the Congo from that of the Zambesi, to the south of Lake Tankanyika; but we may certainly presume that it constitutes a feeder to the Lualaba, or upper Congo, if it be not its most important tributary.
This discovery, then, replaces Ptolemy's "mountains of the moon," where Speke originally conceived them to be, between Lakes Tanganyika and the Albert Nyanza-where that gallant traveller found the Mfumbiro mountains some ten thousand feet in elevation on the east, where Livingstone found the Kabogo mountains, and where Sir Samuel Baker saw what he calls the "Blue Mountains," from a standpoint on the Albert Nyanza.
It limits the basin of the Nile to this central African group to the south, to the long range of the Himadu, with its snow-clad peaks and active volcanoes (Kilima-njaro, Kenia, Obal, Fah Dongo, and other Fahs, or culminating points), on the east, and to the unexplored, but, in all probability, high and inhabitable regions, that lie between the Congo and the Benuwe, or eastern Niger, on the west. It brings the basin of the former river into close proximity of the Indian Ocean, and establishes it as the highway from the west into Central Africa, and as the readiest means of traversing from ocean to ocean. It is to be hoped that Lieut. Cameron and his companions will be able to avail themselves of their knowledge of this important fact, and that they will meet, on their way down the Congo to the western coast, the expeditions of of succour which are proceeding inwards from that direction. Dr. Augustus Petermann's anticipation that, Livingstone being no more, his work is going to be continued and finished by German and American explorers loses half its sting; but Mr. Stanley or the Gerinans may, if successful and spared by the natives and the climate, yet put their feet on the fountains of the Nile, or, at all events, open the vast region that lies between the Nile, the Congo, and the Niger, to the knowledge of civilised communities. are triumphs in which all nations alike will rejoice.
A CLASSIC STUDY.
Eos, monarch of morning,
Glinting into my chamber,
The darkling curtains between.
I love to dream of my darling amid thy golden sheen
She is golden haired like thee,
She broke on my being's night
With just as fair a ray;
Opening flowers and gemming the grass where I sped my way.
And now she is all my own-—
Eos, my darling, my pride;
While I lie in the morning and dream,
She is by my side;
O'er the pillow those golden tresses are scattered far and wide.
Her beautiful eyes are veiled,
In my arms I hold her tight.
'Tis the calm aftermath of the Golden Harvest of Night.
Shine on her, Eos serene,
For though the bright vision fades
E'en from my spirit's view.
Yet well do I know the dream that Eos shines on is true.
Though it passeth awhile,
That vision my fancy fills;
And I know it will substance take,
And solace my life's long ills,
When the morning beams upslant from the Everlasting Hills
"Only the ravings of a mad girl," you say. Just so. True, only the ravings of a girl with a turned brain.
Christmas to her is ever the same Christmas that was to have been her happiness, but that came to her in shadow and sorrow.
So she passes each one as it comes round. Waiting, hoping, trusting, till the waiting brings to her no "Rudolf," and she learns at last, again and again, the old ending to the old story,
Of course, Christmas bells!
HARK! the bells!
But it's Christmas time, you know.
Practising for Christmas, do they say? I know better. They are practising for my bridal day. A month-four weeks-thirtyone days; then my wedding-day; Yes, yes, I know! Hark! There is a footstep! Rudolf, I am coming! Is it you, my bonnie laddie?
"His very foot hath music in't,
No, no; not Rudolf yet. Ah well, he's coming; he said he would. Christmas bells, ring out the glad news! Coming, coming; hark how they ring! When will they say, Come? Why does he not hasten? But stay; not till even, they say, not till the great clock strikes the evening hour can he return. Rudolf! so long away, so long returning. Only three months, he said, they all said; yet sure, were ever three months so long in passing as these? "Shall I tell you where we parted?
When plenteous autumn sheaves were brown,
Then we parted heavy-hearted.
The full rejoicing sun looked down
Thank the good Gr
! Jean Adams: "There's nae luck about the house." 2 C. Rossetti.
'Never more' has nothing to do with Rudolf and me! how the bells have taken up the strain!
"Never more-never more-never more ;"' ha, ha, ha! They may chime; but never more is not for my darling and me!
See the sun! the full rejoicing sun. How he shines! same bonnie sun that lighted up the gold of my Rudolf's hair, and the glitter of his blue eyes-"blue, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue.' Do you recollect? as he lay on that cedar-wooded, sunlit bank, Airly Beacon.
Hark; the bells have stopped a. moment. I feel the summer air fanning my cheek as on that gladsome day. July 1! I see the many-coloured flowers, the waving, feathery grass, nodding at our feet. I hear a far-distant little ringing bell, playing a little tune all by itself somewhere in the valley below!
"The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
The hill side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his heaven
All's right with the world."2
See, dear one, see the little floating blue skies above our heads! see the lav'rock mounting higher, higher in the blueness, singing all the way he goes; see him fall! down, down, down! O those Jringing bells again! Rudolf, hold me. Quick! tight! Where are you, my darling? Where am I? Airly Beacon? Ah, yes; I emember!
What is it you are
Heaven! am I heavy, Rudolf? Do I rest my head too heavily upon your breast? God! let me die so! saying? A little, only a very little louder. can hear you breathe the sweet, sweet words
Ah, I hear you; I
3 Charles Kingsley.
W. W. S. (From New Monthly Mag.)