182 AFRICAN CAMP FIRES. 



is a long straight wide well-made street, nearly a 

 mile long, and bordered by a double row of young 

 eucalyptus. These latter have changed the main 

 street of Nairobi from the sunbaked array of gal- 

 vanized houses described by travellers of a half 

 dozen years back to a thoroughfare of great 

 charm. The iron houses and stores are now in a 

 shaded background ; and the attention is freed 

 to concentrate on the vivid colouring, the inces- 

 sant movement, the great interest of the people 

 moving to and fro. When I left Nairobi the 

 authorities were considering the removal of these 

 trees, because one row of them had been planted 

 slightly within the legal limits of the street. 

 What they could interfere with in a practically 

 horseless town I cannot imagine, but I trust this 

 stupidity gave way to second thought. 



The cab rattles and careers up the length of 

 the street, scattering rickshaws and pedestrians 

 from before its triumphant path. To the left 

 opens a wide street of little booths under iron 

 awnings, hung with gay colour and glittering 

 things. The street is thronged from side to side 

 with natives of all sorts. It whirls past, and 

 shortly after the cab dashes inside a fence and 

 draws up before the low stone-built, wide-veran- 

 dahed hotel. 



