in the first cabin. Since the arrival of the five white babies, the "Burgermeister" has been turned into a nursery. Some mothers are disposed to be apologetic when their children annoy others, but the mothers on the "Burgermeister" look at the other passengers as though they are a mean lot for not assisting in taking care of the babies. When a baby cries in my presence, I somehow feel as though I made it cry. I learned the various processes of caring for babies in bringing up my own, but had I not learned the art long ago, I might learn it all on board the "Burgermeister," from intimate association with it. All the babies are German, except one Portuguese. . . . I was more interested in Mombasa than in Zanzibar. It is larger, and has better public buildings of every kind. The general impression is that Mombasa has a bright future, while Zanzibar seems to be as large as it can ever hope to be. . . . The known history of Mombasa began a thousand years ago, but many say this section was settled, and was the scene of fierce wars, long before the Christian era. It has been Portuguese territory and Arab territory, and they quarreled and fought over it constantly until the British took possession, and told both contending factions to behave themselves. If the old forts in Mombasa could talk, they might tell tales of bloodshed and cruelty that would startle modern mankind. . . . Mombasa is the port of entry for the vast territory of Uganda, a name which calls up memories of Livingstone, Speke, Grant, and Stanley. The railroad beginning here runs to Victoria Lake. It was this railroad on which Roosevelt made his trip into the interior, riding on the cow-
