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STANLEY POOL TO THE KWA RIVER. 159 
shape and delicate vanilla-like perfume. It was evidently 
regarded by the natives with some veneration, for I could 
see they did not like me to gather the flowers, and after - 
I had picked one or two sprays, they asked me to desist, 
offering me yellow pumpkin flowers as an equivalent. 
I slept this night in a comfortable and cleanly house, 
divided into three rooms, which might be described as 
kitchen, parlour, and bedroom. The more we advance 
into the interior along the Congo, the higher in social 
science the natives seem to stand; the houses, their 
furniture, decoration and orderly comfort; the utensils, 
the pottery and the work in metal: all seem to undergo 
a material improvement and development in proportion 
as we leave the coast behind us. 
March 1st—We bid adieu to our friends this morning 
with many protestations of mutual regard, and they came 
down to the slimy shore and shouted, “ Mbote!” until we 
were out of sight. I was hardly in a state to reciprocate 
their boisterous friendship, for an insidious attack of fever 
was creeping over me. It began, as usual, with a great 
increase of mental activity. One is too excited to stop 
and write down one’s thoughts, although you feel that 
had you done so, some very brilliant things might have 
been preserved. But all exertion is disagreeable to the 
fevers victim, and he feels content to sit and compose 
chapters of novels and disquisitions on Natural History 
problems in his whirling brain, without attempting to 
commit the fleeting kaleidoscope images to paper. This 
first stage of the fever is by no means disagreeable. One 
enjoys the same sensations as those produced by a 
sufficiency of good champagne; but, unfortunately, the 
phase of utter weariness and melancholy that follows is a 
bitter contrast to the preceding elevation and excitement, 
and the brilliant images of heretofore now seem trite 
stupidities.* 
* However, I was singularly lucky in Africa. These fleeting 
touches of fever, rarely lasting more than a few hours, and scarcely 
worthy to be chronicled, were the only form of indisposition I ever 
had during my sixteen months passed in the Dark Continent. 
