4 THE LAND OF THE LION 



of the sun, not yet risen, on a far lower, and more common- 

 place world. Great mountains are usually so surrounded 

 by gradually rising country that they are robbed somewhat 

 of their height. Kilimanjaro, however, rises sheer from a 

 plain only two thousand feet above the sea and over 

 these levels it towers superbly. Like all African mountains 

 it is broadly belted by forest. Above this it lifts itself in 

 this one mighty cone, whose steep sides and flattened 

 summit, no less than fourteen miles across, are covered 

 with perpetual snow. 



Half an hour after sunrise the rising mists of the wood- 

 lands have closely woven their swathing veils around it. 

 The mountain has vanished, and you can scarcely persuade 

 yourself, as you jolt over the dazzling plain, that the vision 

 of an hour ago was more than a dream. 



I have often seen Kilimanjaro since then, but never 

 as I saw it first, during that half hour before the sun- 

 rising. In full daylight its height and bulk are imposing, 

 though few, I think, would hold it remarkable for its beauty, 

 But the mystery and magic of that crimsoning column, 

 rising out of utter darkness against the morning sky, was 

 alone worth a long journey and I shall never forget it. 



Nairobi, the capital of the Protectorate, is more than 

 three hundred miles from the sea, and stands at an altitude 

 of nearly six thousand feet. The site was mistakenly chosen 

 without doubt, and the native town, as well as the shop 

 and bazaar lie too low, and are not easy to drain. But 

 Nairobi has one charm that should not be denied it. That 

 is the fine broad well metalled main street that runs for more 

 than a mile straight from the railroad depot to the Norfolk 

 Hotel. 



I cannot fancy any other mile of roadway in semi- 

 civilized Africa so interesting. Farmers, Boers, civil 

 officers, and soldiers very smartly dressed, in well-fitting 

 canvas or khaki, and last, but by no means least, the 



