Iron railway lines link it with the Indian Ocean. Vanished from it is the spell that I once felt both waking and sleeping; gone is the poetry of the elephant herds, the Masai, the Wandorobo, and the caravan life in all its aspects; gone all that I saw there. The traveller, if he would learn to know the primitive life and ways, whether of men or of the animal world, if he would know the primeval harmony that speaks to him in an overpowering language peculiar to itself, must press on into the wilderness farther away from these tracks. This harmony, whose special character is day by day disappearing, day by day is in an ever increasing measure destroyed, cannot be recalled under the new, the coming system, the system that abandons itself to restlessness—that, in a word, which we call modern industry, modern civilisation.
A HERD OF WHITE-BEARDED GNUS AT CLOSE QUARTERS.
C. G. Schillings, phot.
A MORE DISTANT VIEW OF THEM.
THEY SHOW THEIR DISQUIET BY SWINGING THEIR TAILS.
C. G. Schillings, phot.