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vi Contents
2.6.1 ∗ Multivariate Variance-Covariance Matrix . . . . . . . . . . . 140

2.7 Transformations for Several Random Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
2.8 Linear Combinations of Random Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
3 Some Special Distributions 155

3.1 The Binomial and Related Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
3.1.1 Negative Binomial and Geometric Distributions . . . . . . . . 159
3.1.2 Multinomial Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
3.1.3 Hypergeometric Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
3.2 The Poisson Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
3.3 The Γ, χ2 , and β Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
3.3.1 The χ2 -Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178
3.3.2 The β-Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
3.4 The Normal Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
3.4.1 ∗ Contaminated Normals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
3.5 The Multivariate Normal Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
3.5.1 Bivariate Normal Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
3.5.2 ∗ Multivariate Normal Distribution, General Case . . . . . . . 199
3.5.3 ∗ Applications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
3.6 t- and F -Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
3.6.1 The t-distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
3.6.2 The F -distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
3.6.3 Student’s Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
3.7 ∗ Mixture Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
4 Some Elementary Statistical Inferences 225

4.1 Sampling and Statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
4.1.1 Point Estimators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
4.1.2 Histogram Estimates of pmfs and pdfs . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230
4.2 Confidence Intervals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238
4.2.1 Confidence Intervals for Difference in Means . . . . . . . . . . 241
4.2.2 Confidence Interval for Difference in Proportions . . . . . . . 243
4.3 ∗ Confidence Intervals for Parameters of Discrete Distributions . . . . 248
4.4 Order Statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253
4.4.1 Quantiles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
4.4.2 Confidence Intervals for Quantiles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
4.5 Introduction to Hypothesis Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
4.6 Additional Comments About Statistical Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
4.6.1 Observed Significance Level, p-value . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
4.7 Chi-Square Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
4.8 The Method of Monte Carlo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292
4.8.1 Accept–Reject Generation Algorithm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298
4.9 Bootstrap Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303
4.9.1 Percentile Bootstrap Confidence Intervals . . . . . . . . . . . 303
4.9.2 Bootstrap Testing Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
4.10 ∗ Tolerance Limits for Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315
Contents vii
5 Consistency and Limiting Distributions 321

5.1 Convergence in Probability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321
5.1.1 Sampling and Statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324
5.2 Convergence in Distribution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327
5.2.1 Bounded in Probability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
5.2.2 Δ-Method . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 334
5.2.3 Moment Generating Function Technique . . . . . . . . . . . . 336
5.3 Central Limit Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341
5.4 ∗ Extensions to Multivariate Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
6 Maximum Likelihood Methods 355

6.1 Maximum Likelihood Estimation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355
6.2 Rao–Cramér Lower Bound and Efficiency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 362
6.3 Maximum Likelihood Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
6.4 Multiparameter Case: Estimation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386
6.5 Multiparameter Case: Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395
6.6 The EM Algorithm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 404
7 Sufficiency 413
7.1 Measures of Quality of Estimators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413
7.2 A Sufficient Statistic for a Parameter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419
7.3 Properties of a Sufficient Statistic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
7.4 Completeness and Uniqueness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 430
7.5 The Exponential Class of Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 435
7.6 Functions of a Parameter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 440
7.6.1 Bootstrap Standard Errors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 444
7.7 The Case of Several Parameters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447
7.8 Minimal Sufficiency and Ancillary Statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 454
7.9 Sufficiency, Completeness, and Independence . . . . . . . . . . . . . 461
8 Optimal Tests of Hypotheses 469

8.1 Most Powerful Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 469
8.2 Uniformly Most Powerful Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 479
8.3 Likelihood Ratio Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487
8.3.1 Likelihood Ratio Tests for Testing Means of Normal Distri-
butions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 488
8.3.2 Likelihood Ratio Tests for Testing Variances of Normal Dis-
tributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 495
8.4 ∗ The Sequential Probability Ratio Test . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 500
8.5 ∗ Minimax and Classification Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 507
8.5.1 Minimax Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 507
8.5.2 Classification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 510
viii Contents
9 Inferences About Normal Linear Models 515

9.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 515
9.2 One-Way ANOVA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 516
9.3 Noncentral χ2 and F -Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 522
9.4 Multiple Comparisons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 525
9.5 Two-Way ANOVA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 531
9.5.1 Interaction between Factors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 534
9.6 A Regression Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 539
9.6.1 Maximum Likelihood Estimates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 540
9.6.2 ∗ Geometry of the Least Squares Fit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 546
9.7 A Test of Independence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 551
9.8 The Distributions of Certain Quadratic Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555
9.9 The Independence of Certain Quadratic Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . 562
10 Nonparametric and Robust Statistics 569

10.1 Location Models . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 569
10.2 Sample Median and the Sign Test . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 572
10.2.1 Asymptotic Relative Efficiency . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 577
10.2.2 Estimating Equations Based on the Sign Test . . . . . . . . . 582
10.2.3 Confidence Interval for the Median . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 584
10.3 Signed-Rank Wilcoxon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 586
10.3.2 Estimating Equations Based on Signed-Rank Wilcoxon . . . 593
10.3.3 Confidence Interval for the Median . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 594
10.3.4 Monte Carlo Investigation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 595
10.4 Mann–Whitney–Wilcoxon Procedure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 598
10.4.2 Estimating Equations Based on the Mann–Whitney–Wilcoxon 604
10.4.3 Confidence Interval for the Shift Parameter Δ . . . . . . . . . 604
10.4.4 Monte Carlo Investigation of Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 605
10.5 ∗ General Rank Scores . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 607
10.5.1 Efficacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 610
10.5.2 Estimating Equations Based on General Scores . . . . . . . . 612
10.5.3 Optimization: Best Estimates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 612
10.6 ∗ Adaptive Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 619
10.7 Simple Linear Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 625
10.8 Measures of Association . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631
10.8.1 Kendall’s τ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 631
10.8.2 Spearman’s Rho . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 634
10.9 Robust Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 638
10.9.1 Location Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 638
10.9.2 Linear Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 645
Contents ix
11 Bayesian Statistics 655

11.1 Bayesian Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 655
11.1.1 Prior and Posterior Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656
11.1.2 Bayesian Point Estimation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 658
11.1.3 Bayesian Interval Estimation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 662
11.1.4 Bayesian Testing Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 663
11.1.5 Bayesian Sequential Procedures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 664
11.2 More Bayesian Terminology and Ideas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 666
11.3 Gibbs Sampler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 672
11.4 Modern Bayesian Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 679
11.4.1 Empirical Bayes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 682
A Mathematical Comments 687

A.1 Regularity Conditions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 687
A.2 Sequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 688
B R Primer 693
B.1 Basics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 693
B.2 Probability Distributions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 696
B.3 R Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 698
B.4 Loops . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 699
B.5 Input and Output . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 700
B.6 Packages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 700
C Lists of Common Distributions 703
D Tables of Distributions 707
E References 715
F Answers to Selected Exercises 721
Index 733
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Preface
We have made substantial changes in this edition of Introduction to Mathematical

Statistics. Some of these changes help students appreciate the connection between
statistical theory and statistical practice while other changes enhance the develop-
ment and discussion of the statistical theory presented in this book.
Many of the changes in this edition reflect comments made by our readers. One
of these comments concerned the small number of real data sets in the previous
editions. In this edition, we have included more real data sets, using them to
illustrate statistical methods or to compare methods. Further, we have made these
data sets accessible to students by including them in the free R package hmcpkg.
They can also be individually downloaded in an R session at the url listed below.
In general, the R code for the analyses on these data sets is given in the text.
We have also expanded the use of the statistical software R. We selected R
because it is a powerful statistical language that is free and runs on all three main
platforms (Windows, Mac, and Linux). Instructors, though, can select another
statistical package. We have also expanded our use of R functions to compute
analyses and simulation studies, including several games. We have kept the level of
coding for these functions straightforward. Our goal is to show students that with
a few simple lines of code they can perform significant computations. Appendix B
contains a brief R primer, which suffices for the understanding of the R used in the
text. As with the data sets, these R functions can be sourced individually at the
cited url; however, they are also included in the package hmcpkg.
We have supplemented the mathematical review material in Appendix A, placing
it in the document Mathematical Primer for Introduction to Mathematical Statistics.
It is freely available for students to download at the listed url. Besides sequences,
this supplement reviews the topics of infinite series, differentiation, and integra-
tion (univariate and bivariate). We have also expanded the discussion of iterated
integrals in the text. We have added figures to clarify discussion.
We have retained the order of elementary statistical inferences (Chapter 4) and
asymptotic theory (Chapter 5). In Chapters 5 and 6, we have written brief reviews
of the material in Chapter 4, so that Chapters 4 and 5 are essentially independent
of one another and, hence, can be interchanged. In Chapter 3, we now begin the
section on the multivariate normal distribution with a subsection on the bivariate
normal distribution. Several important topics have been added. This includes
Tukey’s multiple comparison procedure in Chapter 9 and confidence intervals for
the correlation coefficients found in Chapters 9 and 10. Chapter 7 now contains a
xi
xii Preface
discussion on standard errors for estimates obtained by bootstrapping the sample.

Several topics that were discussed in the Exercises are now discussed in the text.
Examples include quantiles, Section 1.7.1, and hazard functions, Section 3.3. In
general, we have made more use of subsections to break up some of the discussion.
Also, several more sections are now indicated by ∗ as being optional.
Content and Course Planning

Chapters 1 and 2 develop probability models for univariate and multivariate vari-
ables while Chapter 3 discusses many of the most widely used probability models.
Chapter 4 discusses statistical theory for much of the inference found in a stan-
dard statistical methods course. Chapter 5 presents asymptotic theory, concluding
with the Central Limit Theorem. Chapter 6 provides a complete inference (esti-
mation and testing) based on maximum likelihood theory. The EM algorithm is
also discussed. Chapters 7–8 contain optimal estimation procedures and tests of
statistical hypotheses. The final three chapters provide theory for three important
topics in statistics. Chapter 9 contains inference for normal theory methods for
basic analysis of variance, univariate regression, and correlation models. Chapter
10 presents nonparametric methods (estimation and testing) for location and uni-
variate regression models. It also includes discussion on the robust concepts of
efficiency, influence, and breakdown. Chapter 11 offers an introduction to Bayesian
methods. This includes traditional Bayesian procedures as well as Markov Chain
Monte Carlo techniques.
Several courses can be designed using our book. The basic two-semester course
in mathematical statistics covers most of the material in Chapters 1–8 with topics
selected from the remaining chapters. For such a course, the instructor would have
the option of interchanging the order of Chapters 4 and 5, thus beginning the second
semester with an introduction to statistical theory (Chapter 4). A one-semester
course could consist of Chapters 1–4 with a selection of topics from Chapter 5.
Under this option, the student sees much of the statistical theory for the methods
discussed in a non-theoretical course in methods. On the other hand, as with the
two-semester sequence, after covering Chapters 1–3, the instructor can elect to cover
Chapter 5 and finish the course with a selection of topics from Chapter 4.
The data sets and R functions used in this book and the R package hmcpkg can
be downloaded at the site:
https://media.pearsoncmg.com/cmg/pmmg_mml_shared/mathstatsresources
/home/index.html
Preface xiii
Acknowledgements
Bob Hogg passed away in 2014, so he did not work on this edition of the book.
Often, though, when I was trying to decide whether or not to make a change in the
manuscript, I found myself thinking of what Bob would do. In his memory, I have
retained the order of the authors for this edition.
As with earlier editions, comments from readers are always welcomed and ap-
preciated. We would like to thank these reviewers of the previous edition: James
Baldone, Virginia College; Steven Culpepper, University of Illinois at Urbana-
Champaign; Yuichiro Kakihara, California State University; Jaechoul Lee, Boise
State University; Michael Levine, Purdue University; Tingni Sun, University of
Maryland, College Park; and Daniel Weiner, Boston University. We appreciated
and took into consideration their comments for this revision. We appreciate the
helpful comments of Thomas Hettmansperger of Penn State University, Ash Abebe
of Auburn University, and Professor Ioannis Kalogridis of the University of Leuven.
A special thanks to Patrick Barbera (Portfolio Manager, Statistics), Lauren Morse
(Content Producer, Math/Stats), Yvonne Vannatta (Product Marketing Manager),
and the rest of the staff at Pearson for their help in putting this edition together.
Thanks also to Richard Ponticelli, North Shore Community College, who accuracy
checked the page proofs. Also, a special thanks to my wife Marge for her unwavering
support and encouragement of my efforts in writing this edition.
Joe McKean
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Chapter 1
Probability and Distributions
1.1 Introduction
In this section, we intuitively discuss the concepts of a probability model which we
formalize in Secton 1.3 Many kinds of investigations may be characterized in part
by the fact that repeated experimentation, under essentially the same conditions,
is more or less standard procedure. For instance, in medical research, interest may
center on the effect of a drug that is to be administered; or an economist may be
concerned with the prices of three specified commodities at various time intervals; or
an agronomist may wish to study the effect that a chemical fertilizer has on the yield
of a cereal grain. The only way in which an investigator can elicit information about
any such phenomenon is to perform the experiment. Each experiment terminates
with an outcome. But it is characteristic of these experiments that the outcome
cannot be predicted with certainty prior to the experiment.
Suppose that we have such an experiment, but the experiment is of such a nature
that a collection of every possible outcome can be described prior to its performance.
If this kind of experiment can be repeated under the same conditions, it is called
a random experiment, and the collection of every possible outcome is called the
experimental space or the sample space. We denote the sample space by C.
Example 1.1.1. In the toss of a coin, let the outcome tails be denoted by T and let
the outcome heads be denoted by H. If we assume that the coin may be repeatedly
tossed under the same conditions, then the toss of this coin is an example of a
random experiment in which the outcome is one of the two symbols T or H; that
is, the sample space is the collection of these two symbols. For this example, then,
C = {H, T }.
Example 1.1.2. In the cast of one red die and one white die, let the outcome be the
ordered pair (number of spots up on the red die, number of spots up on the white
die). If we assume that these two dice may be repeatedly cast under the same con-
ditions, then the cast of this pair of dice is a random experiment. The sample space
consists of the 36 ordered pairs: C = {(1, 1), . . . , (1, 6), (2, 1), . . . , (2, 6), . . . , (6, 6)}.
1
2 Probability and Distributions
We generally use small Roman letters for the elements of C such as a, b, or

c. Often for an experiment, we are interested in the chances of certain subsets of
elements of the sample space occurring. Subsets of C are often called events and are
generally denoted by capitol Roman letters such as A, B, or C. If the experiment
results in an element in an event A, we say the event A has occurred. We are
interested in the chances that an event occurs. For instance, in Example 1.1.1 we
may be interested in the chances of getting heads; i.e., the chances of the event
A = {H} occurring. In the second example, we may be interested in the occurrence
of the sum of the upfaces of the dice being “7” or “11;” that is, in the occurrence of
the event A = {(1, 6), (2, 5), (3, 4), (4, 3), (5, 2), (6, 1), (5, 6), (6, 5)}.
Now conceive of our having made N repeated performances of the random ex-
periment. Then we can count the number f of times (the frequency) that the
event A actually occurred throughout the N performances. The ratio f /N is called
the relative frequency of the event A in these N experiments. A relative fre-
quency is usually quite erratic for small values of N , as you can discover by tossing
a coin. But as N increases, experience indicates that we associate with the event A
a number, say p, that is equal or approximately equal to that number about which
the relative frequency seems to stabilize. If we do this, then the number p can be
interpreted as that number which, in future performances of the experiment, the
relative frequency of the event A will either equal or approximate. Thus, although
we cannot predict the outcome of a random experiment, we can, for a large value
of N , predict approximately the relative frequency with which the outcome will be
in A. The number p associated with the event A is given various names. Some-
times it is called the probability that the outcome of the random experiment is in
A; sometimes it is called the probability of the event A; and sometimes it is called
the probability measure of A. The context usually suggests an appropriate choice of
terminology.
Example 1.1.3. Let C denote the sample space of Example 1.1.2 and let B be
the collection of every ordered pair of C for which the sum of the pair is equal to
seven. Thus B = {(1, 6), (2, 5), (3, 4), (4, 3), (5, 2)(6, 1)}. Suppose that the dice are
cast N = 400 times and let f denote the frequency of a sum of seven. Suppose that
400 casts result in f = 60. Then the relative frequency with which the outcome
60
was in B is f /N = 400 = 0.15. Thus we might associate with B a number p that is
close to 0.15, and p would be called the probability of the event B.
Remark 1.1.1. The preceding interpretation of probability is sometimes referred
to as the relative frequency approach, and it obviously depends upon the fact that an
experiment can be repeated under essentially identical conditions. However, many
persons extend probability to other situations by treating it as a rational measure
of belief. For example, the statement p = 25 for an event A would mean to them
that their personal or subjective probability of the event A is equal to 25 . Hence,
if they are not opposed to gambling, this could be interpreted as a willingness on
their part to bet on the outcome of A so that the two possible payoffs are in the
ratio p/(1 − p) = 25 / 35 = 23 . Moreover, if they truly believe that p = 25 is correct,
they would be willing to accept either side of the bet: (a) win 3 units if A occurs
and lose 2 if it does not occur, or (b) win 2 units if A does not occur and lose 3 if
1.2. Sets 3
it does. However, since the mathematical properties of probability given in Section

1.3 are consistent with either of these interpretations, the subsequent mathematical
development does not depend upon which approach is used.
The primary purpose of having a mathematical theory of statistics is to provide
mathematical models for random experiments. Once a model for such an experi-
ment has been provided and the theory worked out in detail, the statistician may,
within this framework, make inferences (that is, draw conclusions) about the ran-
dom experiment. The construction of such a model requires a theory of probability.
One of the more logically satisfying theories of probability is that based on the
concepts of sets and functions of sets. These concepts are introduced in Section 1.2.
1.2 Sets
The concept of a set or a collection of objects is usually left undefined. However,
a particular set can be described so that there is no misunderstanding as to what
collection of objects is under consideration. For example, the set of the first 10
positive integers is sufficiently well described to make clear that the numbers 34 and
14 are not in the set, while the number 3 is in the set. If an object belongs to a
set, it is said to be an element of the set. For example, if C denotes the set of real
numbers x for which 0 ≤ x ≤ 1, then 34 is an element of the set C. The fact that
3 3
4 is an element of the set C is indicated by writing 4 ∈ C. More generally, c ∈ C
means that c is an element of the set C.
The sets that concern us are frequently sets of numbers. However, the language
of sets of points proves somewhat more convenient than that of sets of numbers.
Accordingly, we briefly indicate how we use this terminology. In analytic geometry
considerable emphasis is placed on the fact that to each point on a line (on which
an origin and a unit point have been selected) there corresponds one and only one
number, say x; and that to each number x there corresponds one and only one point
on the line. This one-to-one correspondence between the numbers and points on a
line enables us to speak, without misunderstanding, of the “point x” instead of the
“number x.” Furthermore, with a plane rectangular coordinate system and with x
and y numbers, to each symbol (x, y) there corresponds one and only one point in the
plane; and to each point in the plane there corresponds but one such symbol. Here
again, we may speak of the “point (x, y),” meaning the “ordered number pair x and
y.” This convenient language can be used when we have a rectangular coordinate
system in a space of three or more dimensions. Thus the “point (x1 , x2 , . . . , xn )”
means the numbers x1 , x2 , . . . , xn in the order stated. Accordingly, in describing our
sets, we frequently speak of a set of points (a set whose elements are points), being
careful, of course, to describe the set so as to avoid any ambiguity. The notation
C = {x : 0 ≤ x ≤ 1} is read “C is the one-dimensional set of points x for which
0 ≤ x ≤ 1.” Similarly, C = {(x, y) : 0 ≤ x ≤ 1, 0 ≤ y ≤ 1} can be read “C is the
two-dimensional set of points (x, y) that are interior to, or on the boundary of, a
square with opposite vertices at (0, 0) and (1, 1).”
We say a set C is countable if C is finite or has as many elements as there are
positive integers. For example, the sets C1 = {1, 2, . . . , 100} and C2 = {1, 3, 5, 7, . . .}
are countable sets. The interval of real numbers (0, 1], though, is not countable.
1.2.1 Review of Set Theory

As in Section 1.1, let C denote the sample space for the experiment. Recall that
events are subsets of C. We use the words event and subset interchangeably in this
section. An elementary algebra of sets will prove quite useful for our purposes. We
now review this algebra below along with illustrative examples. For illustration, we
also make use of Venn diagrams. Consider the collection of Venn diagrams in
Figure 1.2.1. The interior of the rectangle in each plot represents the sample space
C. The shaded region in Panel (a) represents the event A.
Panel (a) Panel (b)
A
A A ⊂B
Panel (c) Panel (d)
A B A B
A∪B A∩B
Figure 1.2.1: A series of Venn diagrams. The sample space C is represented by

the interior of the rectangle in each plot. Panel (a) depicts the event A; Panel (b)
depicts A ⊂ B; Panel (c) depicts A ∪ B; and Panel (d) depicts A ∩ B.
We first define the complement of an event A.
Definition 1.2.1. The complement of an event A is the set of all elements in C

which are not in A. We denote the complement of A by Ac . That is, Ac = {x ∈ C :
x∈/ A}.
1.2. Sets 5
The complement of A is represented by the white space in the Venn diagram in

Panel (a) of Figure 1.2.1.
The empty set is the event with no elements in it. It is denoted by φ. Note
that C c = φ and φc = C. The next definition defines when one event is a subset of
another.
Definition 1.2.2. If each element of a set A is also an element of set B, the set A
is called a subset of the set B. This is indicated by writing A ⊂ B. If A ⊂ B and
also B ⊂ A, the two sets have the same elements, and this is indicated by writing
A = B.
Panel (b) of Figure 1.2.1 depicts A ⊂ B.

The event A or B is defined as follows:
Definition 1.2.3. Let A and B be events. Then the union of A and B is the set
of all elements that are in A or in B or in both A and B. The union of A and B
is denoted by A ∪ B
Panel (c) of Figure 1.2.1 shows A ∪ B.

The event that both A and B occur is defined by,
Definition 1.2.4. Let A and B be events. Then the intersection of A and B is

the set of all elements that are in both A and B. The intersection of A and B is
denoted by A ∩ B
Panel (d) of Figure 1.2.1 illustrates A ∩ B.

Two events are disjoint if they have no elements in common. More formally we
define
Definition 1.2.5. Let A and B be events. Then A and B are disjoint if A∩B = φ
If A and B are disjoint, then we say A ∪ B forms a disjoint union. The next two
examples illustrate these concepts.
Example 1.2.1. Suppose we have a spinner with the numbers 1 through 10 on

it. The experiment is to spin the spinner and record the number spun. Then
C = {1, 2, . . . , 10}. Define the events A, B, and C by A = {1, 2}, B = {2, 3, 4}, and
C = {3, 4, 5, 6}, respectively.
Ac = {3, 4, . . . , 10}; A ∪ B = {1, 2, 3, 4}; A ∩ B = {2}

A ∩ C = φ; B ∩ C = {3, 4}; B ∩ C ⊂ B; B ∩ C ⊂ C
A ∪ (B ∩ C) = {1, 2} ∪ {3, 4} = {1, 2, 3, 4} (1.2.1)
(A ∪ B) ∩ (A ∪ C) = {1, 2, 3, 4} ∩ {1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6} = {1, 2, 3, 4} (1.2.2)
The reader should verify these results.
Example 1.2.2. For this example, suppose the experiment is to select a real number
in the open interval (0, 5); hence, the sample space is C = (0, 5). Let A = (1, 3),
B = (2, 4), and C = [3, 4.5).

A ∪ B = (1, 4); A ∩ B = (2, 3); B ∩ C = [3, 4)
A ∩ (B ∪ C) = (1, 3) ∩ (2, 4.5) = (2, 3) (1.2.3)
(A ∩ B) ∪ (A ∩ C) = (2, 3) ∪ φ = (2, 3) (1.2.4)
A sketch of the real number line between 0 and 5 helps to verify these results.
Expressions (1.2.1)–(1.2.2) and (1.2.3)–(1.2.4) are illustrations of general dis-
tributive laws. For any sets A, B, and C,
A ∩ (B ∪ C) = (A ∩ B) ∪ (A ∩ C)
A ∪ (B ∩ C) = (A ∪ B) ∩ (A ∪ C). (1.2.5)
These follow directly from set theory. To verify each identity, sketch Venn diagrams
of both sides.
The next two identities are collectively known as DeMorgan’s Laws. For any
sets A and B,
(A ∩ B)c = Ac ∪ B c (1.2.6)
(A ∪ B)c = Ac ∩ B c . (1.2.7)
For instance, in Example 1.2.1,
(A∪B)c = {1, 2, 3, 4}c = {5, 6, . . . , 10} = {3, 4, . . . , 10}∩{{1, 5, 6, . . . , 10} = Ac ∩B c ;
while, from Example 1.2.2,
(A ∩ B)c = (2, 3)c = (0, 2] ∪ [3, 5) = [(0, 1] ∪ [3, 5)] ∪ [(0, 2] ∪ [4, 5)] = Ac ∪ B c .
As the last expression suggests, it is easy to extend unions and intersections to more
than two sets. If A1 , A2 , . . . , An are any sets, we define
A1 ∪ A2 ∪ · · · ∪ An = {x : x ∈ Ai , for some i = 1, 2, . . . , n} (1.2.8)

A1 ∩ A2 ∩ · · · ∩ An = {x : x ∈ Ai , for all i = 1, 2, . . . , n}. (1.2.9)
We often abbreviative these by ∪ni=1 Ai and ∩ni=1 Ai , respectively. Expressions for

countable unions and intersections follow directly; that is, if A1 , A2 , . . . , An . . . is a
sequence of sets then
A1 ∪ A2 ∪ · · · = {x : x ∈ An , for some n = 1, 2, . . .} = ∪∞
n=1 An (1.2.10)
A1 ∩ A2 ∩ · · · = {x : x ∈ An , for all n = 1, 2, . . .} = ∩∞
n=1 An . (1.2.11)
The next two examples illustrate these ideas.
Example 1.2.3. Suppose C = {1, 2, 3, . . .}. If An = {1, 3, . . . , 2n − 1} and Bn =
{n, n + 1, . . .}, for n = 1, 2, 3, . . ., then
∪∞ ∞
n=1 An = {1, 3, 5, . . .}; ∩n=1 An = {1}; (1.2.12)
∪∞ ∞
n=1 Bn = C; ∩n=1 Bn = φ. (1.2.13)
1.2. Sets 7
Example 1.2.4. Suppose C is the interval of real numbers (0, 5). Suppose Cn =
(1 − n−1 , 2 + n−1 ) and Dn = (n−1 , 3 − n−1 ), for n = 1, 2, 3, . . . . Then
∪∞ ∞
n=1 Cn = (0, 3); ∩n=1 Cn = [1, 2] (1.2.14)
∪∞
n=1 Dn = (0, 3); ∩∞
n=1 Dn = (1, 2). (1.2.15)
We occassionally have sequences of sets that are monotone. They are of two
types. We say a sequence of sets {An } is nondecreasing, (nested upward), if
An ⊂ An+1 for n = 1, 2, 3, . . .. For such a sequence, we define
lim An = ∪∞
n=1 An . (1.2.16)
n→∞
The sequence of sets An = {1, 3, . . . , 2n − 1} of Example 1.2.3 is such a sequence.

So in this case, we write limn→∞ An = {1, 3, 5, . . .}. The sequence of sets {Dn } of
Example 1.2.4 is also a nondecreasing suquence of sets.
The second type of monotone sets consists of the nonincreasing, (nested
downward) sequences. A sequence of sets {An } is nonincreasing, if An ⊃ An+1
for n = 1, 2, 3, . . .. In this case, we define
lim An = ∩∞
n=1 An . (1.2.17)
n→∞
The sequences of sets {Bn } and {Cn } of Examples 1.2.3 and 1.2.4, respectively, are
examples of nonincreasing sequences of sets.
1.2.2 Set Functions

Many of the functions used in calculus and in this book are functions that map real
numbers into real numbers. We are concerned also with functions that map sets
into real numbers. Such functions are naturally called functions of a set or, more
simply, set functions. Next we give some examples of set functions and evaluate
them for certain simple sets.
Example 1.2.5. Let C = R, the set of real numbers. For a subset A in C, let Q(A)
be equal to the number of points in A that correspond to positive integers. Then
Q(A) is a set function of the set A. Thus, if A = {x : 0 < x < 5}, then Q(A) = 4;
if A = {−2, −1}, then Q(A) = 0; and if A = {x : −∞ < x < 6}, then Q(A) = 5.
Example 1.2.6. Let C = R2 . For a subset A of C, let Q(A) be the area of A
if A has a finite area; otherwise, let Q(A) be undefined. Thus, if A = {(x, y) :
x2 + y 2 ≤ 1}, then Q(A) = π; if A = {(0, 0), (1, 1), (0, 1)}, then Q(A) = 0; and if
A = {(x, y) : 0 ≤ x, 0 ≤ y, x + y ≤ 1}, then Q(A) = 12 .
Often our set functions are defined in terms of sums or integrals.1 With this in
mind, we introduce the following notation. The symbol

f (x) dx
A
1 Please see Chapters 2 and 3 of Mathematical Comments, at site noted in the Preface, for a
review of sums and integrals
means the ordinary (Riemann) integral of f (x) over a prescribed one-dimensional

set A and the symbol
g(x, y) dxdy
A
means the Riemann integral of g(x, y) over a prescribed two-dimensional set A.

This notation can be extended to integrals over n dimensions. To be sure, unless
these sets A and these functions f (x) and g(x, y) are chosen with care, the integrals
frequently fail to exist. Similarly, the symbol

f (x)
A
means the sum extended over all x ∈ A and the symbol

g(x, y)
A
means the sum extended over all (x, y) ∈ A. As with integration, this notation
extends to sums over n dimensions.
The first example is for a set function defined on sums involving a geometric
series. As pointed out in Example 2.3.1 of Mathematical Comments,2 if |a| < 1,
then the following series converges to 1/(1 − a):
∞
1
an = , if |a| < 1. (1.2.18)
n=0
1−a
Example 1.2.7. Let C be the set of all nonnegative integers and let A be a subset
of C. Define the set function Q by
2 n
Q(A) = . (1.2.19)
3
n∈A
It follows from (1.2.18) that Q(C) = 3. If A = {1, 2, 3} then Q(A) = 38/27. Suppose
B = {1, 3, 5, . . .} is the set of all odd positive integers. The computation of Q(B) is
given next. This derivation consists of rewriting the series so that (1.2.18) can be
applied. Frequently, we perform such derivations in this book.
2 n ∞ 2n+1
2
Q(B) = =
3 n=0
3
n∈B
∞
2 n
2 2 2 1 6
= = =
3 n=0 3 3 1 − (4/9) 5
In the next example, the set function is defined in terms of an integral involving
the exponential function f (x) = e−x .
2 Downloadable at site noted in the Preface
1.2. Sets 9
Example 1.2.8. Let C be the interval of positive real numbers, i.e., C = (0, ∞).
Let A be a subset of C. Define the set function Q by

Q(A) = e−x dx, (1.2.20)
A
provided the integral exists. The reader should work through the following integra-
tions:
3 3

Q[(1, 3)] = e−x dx = −e−x = e−1 − e−3 =0.318
˙
1 1
∞
3 −x
Q[(5, ∞)] = e dx = −e = e−5 =0.007
−x
˙
1 5
5 3 5
Q[(1, 3) ∪ [3, 5)] = e−x dx = e−x dx + e−x dx = Q[(1, 3)] + Q([3, 5)]
1 1 3
∞
Q(C) = e−x dx = 1.
0
Our final example, involves an n dimensional integral.
Example 1.2.9. Let C = Rn . For A in C define the set function

Q(A) = · · · dx1 dx2 · · · dxn ,
A
provided the integral exists. For example, if A = {(x1 , x2 , . . . , xn ) : 0 ≤ x1 ≤

x2 , 0 ≤ xi ≤ 1, for 1 = 3, 4, . . . , n}, then upon expressing the multiple integral as
an iterated integral3 we obtain
1 x2 n 1
Q(A) = dx1 dx2 • dxi
0 0 i=3 0
1
x22 1
= •1= .
2 0 2
If B = {(x1 , x2 , . . . , xn ) : 0 ≤ x1 ≤ x2 ≤ · · · ≤ xn ≤ 1}, then

1 xn x3 x2
Q(B) = ··· dx1 dx2 · · · dxn−1 dxn
0 0 0 0
1
= ,
n!
where n! = n(n − 1) · · · 3 · 2 · 1.
3 For a discussion of multiple integrals in terms of iterated integrals, see Chapter 3 of Mathe-
matical Comments.
EXERCISES
1.2.1. Find the union C1 ∪ C2 and the intersection C1 ∩ C2 of the two sets C1 and
C2 , where
(a) C1 = {0, 1, 2, }, C2 = {2, 3, 4}.
(b) C1 = {x : 0 < x < 2}, C2 = {x : 1 ≤ x < 3}.
(c) C1 = {(x, y) : 0 < x < 2, 1 < y < 2}, C2 = {(x, y) : 1 < x < 3, 1 < y < 3}.
1.2.2. Find the complement C c of the set C with respect to the space C if
5
(a) C = {x : 0 < x < 1}, C = {x : 8 < x < 1}.
(b) C = {(x, y, z) : x2 + y 2 + z 2 ≤ 1}, C = {(x, y, z) : x2 + y 2 + z 2 = 1}.
(c) C = {(x, y) : |x| + |y| ≤ 2}, C = {(x, y) : x2 + y 2 < 2}.
1.2.3. List all possible arrangements of the four letters m, a, r, and y. Let C1 be
the collection of the arrangements in which y is in the last position. Let C2 be the
collection of the arrangements in which m is in the first position. Find the union
and the intersection of C1 and C2 .
1.2.4. Concerning DeMorgan’s Laws (1.2.6) and (1.2.7):
(a) Use Venn diagrams to verify the laws.
(b) Show that the laws are true.
(c) Generalize the laws to countable unions and intersections.
1.2.5. By the use of Venn diagrams, in which the space C is the set of points
enclosed by a rectangle containing the circles C1 , C2 , and C3 , compare the following
sets. These laws are called the distributive laws.
(a) C1 ∩ (C2 ∪ C3 ) and (C1 ∩ C2 ) ∪ (C1 ∩ C3 ).
(b) C1 ∪ (C2 ∩ C3 ) and (C1 ∪ C2 ) ∩ (C1 ∪ C3 ).
1.2.6. Show that the following sequences of sets, {Ck }, are nondecreasing, (1.2.16),
then find limk→∞ Ck .
(a) Ck = {x : 1/k ≤ x ≤ 3 − 1/k}, k = 1, 2, 3, . . . .
(b) Ck = {(x, y) : 1/k ≤ x2 + y 2 ≤ 4 − 1/k}, k = 1, 2, 3, . . . .
1.2.7. Show that the following sequences of sets, {Ck }, are nonincreasing, (1.2.17),
then find limk→∞ Ck .
(a) Ck = {x : 2 − 1/k < x ≤ 2}, k = 1, 2, 3, . . . .
(b) Ck = {x : 2 < x ≤ 2 + 1/k}, k = 1, 2, 3, . . . .

1.2. Sets 11
(c) Ck = {(x, y) : 0 ≤ x2 + y 2 ≤ 1/k}, k = 1, 2, 3, . . . .
1.2.8. For every one-dimensional set C, define the function Q(C) = C f (x),
where f (x) = ( 23 )( 13 )x , x = 0, 1, 2, . . . , zero elsewhere. If C1 = {x : x = 0, 1, 2, 3}
and C2 = {x : x = 0, 1, 2, . . .}, find Q(C1 ) and Q(C2 ).
Hint: Recall that Sn = a + ar + · · · + arn−1 = a(1 − rn )/(1 − r) and, hence, it
follows that limn→∞ Sn = a/(1 − r) provided that |r| < 1.
1.2.9. For every one-dimensional set C for which the integral exists, let Q(C) =
C f (x) dx, where f (x) = 6x(1 − x), 0 < x < 1, zero elsewhere; otherwise, let Q(C)
be undefined. If C1 = {x : 14 < x < 34 }, C2 = { 21 }, and C3 = {x : 0 < x < 10}, find
Q(C1 ), Q(C2 ), and Q(C3 ).
1.2.10. For every two-dimensional set C contained in R2 for which the integral
2 2
exists, let Q(C) = C (x + y ) dxdy. If C1 = {(x, y) : −1 ≤ x ≤ 1, −1 ≤ y ≤ 1},
C2 = {(x, y) : −1 ≤ x = y ≤ 1}, and C3 = {(x, y) : x2 + y 2 ≤ 1}, find Q(C1 ), Q(C2 ),
and Q(C3 ).
1.2.11. Let C denote the set of points that are interior to, or on the boundary of, a
square with opposite vertices at the points (0, 0) and (1, 1). Let Q(C) = C
dy dx.
(a) If C ⊂ C is the set {(x, y) : 0 < x < y < 1}, compute Q(C).
(b) If C ⊂ C is the set {(x, y) : 0 < x = y < 1}, compute Q(C).
(c) If C ⊂ C is the set {(x, y) : 0 < x/2 ≤ y ≤ 3x/2 < 1}, compute Q(C).
1.2.12. Let C be the set of points interior to or on the boundary of a cube with
edge of length 1. Moreover, say that the cube is in the first octant with one vertex
at the point (0, 0, 0) and an opposite vertex at the point (1, 1, 1). Let Q(C) =
C dxdydz.
(a) If C ⊂ C is the set {(x, y, z) : 0 < x < y < z < 1}, compute Q(C).
(b) If C is the subset {(x, y, z) : 0 < x = y = z < 1}, compute Q(C).
1.2.13. Let C denote the set {(x, y, z) : x2 + y 2 + z 2 ≤ 1}. Using spherical coordi-
nates, evaluate
Q(C) = x2 + y 2 + z 2 dxdydz.
C
1.2.14. To join a certain club, a person must be either a statistician or a math-

ematician or both. Of the 25 members in this club, 19 are statisticians and 16
are mathematicians. How many persons in the club are both a statistician and a
mathematician?
1.2.15. After a hard-fought football game, it was reported that, of the 11 starting
players, 8 hurt a hip, 6 hurt an arm, 5 hurt a knee, 3 hurt both a hip and an arm,
2 hurt both a hip and a knee, 1 hurt both an arm and a knee, and no one hurt all
three. Comment on the accuracy of the report.
1.3 The Probability Set Function

Given an experiment, let C denote the sample space of all possible outcomes. As
discussed in Section 1.1, we are interested in assigning probabilities to events, i.e.,
subsets of C. What should be our collection of events? If C is a finite set, then we
could take the set of all subsets as this collection. For infinite sample spaces, though,
with assignment of probabilities in mind, this poses mathematical technicalities that
are better left to a course in probability theory. We assume that in all cases, the
collection of events is sufficiently rich to include all possible events of interest and is
closed under complements and countable unions of these events. Using DeMorgan’s
Laws, (1.2.6)–(1.2.7), the collection is then also closed under countable intersections.
We denote this collection of events by B. Technically, such a collection of events is
called a σ-field of subsets.
Now that we have a sample space, C, and our collection of events, B, we can define
the third component in our probability space, namely a probability set function. In
order to motivate its definition, we consider the relative frequency approach to
probability.
Remark 1.3.1. The definition of probability consists of three axioms which we

motivate by the following three intuitive properties of relative frequency. Let C be
a sample space and let A ⊂ C. Suppose we repeat the experiment N times. Then
the relative frequency of A is fA = #{A}/N , where #{A} denotes the number of
times A occurred in the N repetitions. Note that fA ≥ 0 and fC = 1. These are
the first two properties. For the third, suppose that A1 and A2 are disjoint events.
Then fA1 ∪A2 = fA1 + fA2 . These three properties of relative frequencies form the
axioms of a probability, except that the third axiom is in terms of countable unions.
As with the axioms of probability, the readers should check that the theorems we
prove below about probabilities agree with their intuition of relative frequency.
Definition 1.3.1 (Probability). Let C be a sample space and let B be the set of
events. Let P be a real-valued function defined on B. Then P is a probability set
function if P satisfies the following three conditions:
1. P (A) ≥ 0, for all A ∈ B.
2. P (C) = 1.
3. If {An } is a sequence of events in B and Am ∩ An = φ for all m = n, then

∞ ∞

P An = P (An ).
n=1 n=1
A collection of events whose members are pairwise disjoint, as in (3), is said to

be a mutually exclusive collection and its union is often referred to as a disjoint
union. The collection is further said to be exhaustive if the union of its events is
∞
the sample space, in which case n=1 P (An ) = 1. We often say that a mutually
exclusive and exhaustive collection of events forms a partition of C.
1.3. The Probability Set Function 13
A probability set function tells us how the probability is distributed over the set
of events, B. In this sense we speak of a distribution of probability. We often drop
the word “set” and refer to P as a probability function.
The following theorems give us some other properties of a probability set func-
tion. In the statement of each of these theorems, P (A) is taken, tacitly, to be a
probability set function defined on the collection of events B of a sample space C.
Theorem 1.3.1. For each event A ∈ B, P (A) = 1 − P (Ac ).
Proof: We have C = A ∪ Ac and A ∩ Ac = φ. Thus, from (2) and (3) of Definition
1.3.1, it follows that
1 = P (A) + P (Ac ),
which is the desired result.
Theorem 1.3.2. The probability of the null set is zero; that is, P (φ) = 0.
Proof: In Theorem 1.3.1, take A = φ so that Ac = C. Accordingly, we have
P (φ) = 1 − P (C) = 1 − 1 = 0
and the theorem is proved.
Theorem 1.3.3. If A and B are events such that A ⊂ B, then P (A) ≤ P (B).
Proof: Now B = A ∪ (Ac ∩ B) and A ∩ (Ac ∩ B) = φ. Hence, from (3) of Definition
1.3.1,
P (B) = P (A) + P (Ac ∩ B).
From (1) of Definition 1.3.1, P (Ac ∩ B) ≥ 0. Hence, P (B) ≥ P (A).
Theorem 1.3.4. For each A ∈ B, 0 ≤ P (A) ≤ 1.

Proof: Since φ ⊂ A ⊂ C, we have by Theorem 1.3.3 that
P (φ) ≤ P (A) ≤ P (C) or 0 ≤ P (A) ≤ 1,
the desired result.
Part (3) of the definition of probability says that P (A ∪ B) = P (A) + P (B) if A

and B are disjoint, i.e., A ∩ B = φ . The next theorem gives the rule for any two
events regardless if they are disjoint or not.
Theorem 1.3.5. If A and B are events in C, then
P (A ∪ B) = P (A) + P (B) − P (A ∩ B).
Proof: Each of the sets A ∪ B and B can be represented, respectively, as a union of

nonintersecting sets as follows:
A ∪ B = A ∪ (Ac ∩ B) and B = (A ∩ B) ∪ (Ac ∩ B). (1.3.1)

That these identities hold for all sets A and B follows from set theory. Also, the
Venn diagrams of Figure 1.3.1 offer a verification of them.
Thus, from (3) of Definition 1.3.1,
P (A ∪ B) = P (A) + P (Ac ∩ B)
and
P (B) = P (A ∩ B) + P (Ac ∩ B).
If the second of these equations is solved for P (Ac ∩ B) and this result is substituted
in the first equation, we obtain
P (A ∪ B) = P (A) + P (B) − P (A ∩ B).
This completes the proof.
Panel (a) Panel (b)
A B A B
A ∪ B = A ∪ (A c ∩ B ) A = (A ∩ B c )∪ (A ∩ B )
Figure 1.3.1: Venn diagrams depicting the two disjoint unions given in expression
(1.3.1). Panel (a) depicts the first disjoint union while Panel (b) shows the second
disjoint union.
Example 1.3.1. Let C denote the sample space of Example 1.1.2. Let the proba-
1
bility set function assign a probability of 36 to each of the 36 points in C; that is, the
dice are fair. If C1 = {(1, 1), (2, 1), (3, 1), (4, 1), (5, 1)} and C2 = {(1, 2), (2, 2), (3, 2)},
5 3 8
then P (C1 ) = 36 , P (C2 ) = 36 , P (C1 ∪ C2 ) = 36 , and P (C1 ∩ C2 ) = 0.
Example 1.3.2. Two coins are to be tossed and the outcome is the ordered pair
(face on the first coin, face on the second coin). Thus the sample space may be
represented as C = {(H, H), (H, T ), (T, H), (T, T )}. Let the probability set function
assign a probability of 14 to each element of C. Let C1 = {(H, H), (H, T )} and
C2 = {(H, H), (T, H)}. Then P (C1 ) = P (C2 ) = 12 , P (C1 ∩ C2 ) = 14 , and, in
accordance with Theorem 1.3.5, P (C1 ∪ C2 ) = 12 + 12 − 14 = 34 .
For a finite sample space, we can generate probabilities as follows. Let C =

{x1 , x2 , . . . , xm } be a finite set of m elements. Let p1 , p2 , . . . , pm be fractions such
that
m
0 ≤ pi ≤ 1 for i = 1, 2, . . . , m and i=1 pi = 1. (1.3.2)
Suppose we define P by

P (A) = pi , for all subsets A of C. (1.3.3)
xi ∈A
Then P (A) ≥ 0 and P (C) = 1. Further, it follows that P (A ∪ B) = P (A) + P (B)

when A ∩ B = φ. Therefore, P is a probability on C. For illustration, each of the
following four assignments forms a probability on C = {1, 2, . . . , 6}. For each, we
also compute P (A) for the event A = {1, 6}.
1 1
p1 = p 2 = · · · = p 6 = ; P (A) = . (1.3.4)
6 3
p1 = p2 = 0.1, p3 = p4 = p5 = p6 = 0.2; P (A) = 0.3.
i 7
pi = , i = 1, 2, . . . , 6; P (A) = .
21 21
3 3 3
p1 = , p2 = 1 − , p3 = p4 = p5 = p6 = 0.0; P (A) = .
π π π
Note that the individual probabilities for the first probability set function,
(1.3.4), are the same. This is an example of the equilikely case which we now
formally define.
Definition 1.3.2 (Equilikely Case). Let C = {x1 , x2 , . . . , xm } be a finite sample

space. Let pi = 1/m for all i = 1, 2, . . . , m and for all subsets A of C define
1 #(A)
P (A) = = ,
m m
xi ∈A
where #(A) denotes the number of elements in A. Then P is a probability on C and

it is refereed to as the equilikely case.
Equilikely cases are frequently probability models of interest. Examples include:

the flip of a fair coin; five cards drawn from a well shuffled deck of 52 cards; a spin of
a fair spinner with the numbers 1 through 36 on it; and the upfaces of the roll of a
pair of balanced dice. For each of these experiments, as stated in the definition, we
only need to know the number of elements in an event to compute the probability
of that event. For example, a card player may be interested in the probability of
getting a pair (two of a kind) in a hand of five cards dealt from a well shuffled deck
of 52 cards. To compute this probability, we need to know the number of five card
hands and the number of such hands which contain a pair. Because the equilikely
case is often of interest, we next develop some counting rules which can be used to
compute the probabilities of events of interest.
1.3.1 Counting Rules

We discuss three counting rules that are usually discussed in an elementary algebra
course.
The first rule is called the mn-rule (m times n-rule), which is also called the
multiplication rule. Let A = {x1 , x2 , . . . , xm } be a set of m elements and let
B = {y1 , y2 , . . . , yn } be a set of n elements. Then there are mn ordered pairs,
(xi , yj ), i = 1, 2, . . . , m and j = 1, 2, . . . , n, of elements, the first from A and the
second from B. Informally, we often speak of ways, here. For example there are five
roads (ways) between cities I and II and there are ten roads (ways) between cities
II and III. Hence, there are 5 ∗ 10 = 50 ways to get from city I to city III by going
from city I to city II and then from city II to city III. This rule extends immediately
to more than two sets. For instance, suppose in a certain state that driver license
plates have the pattern of three letters followed by three numbers. Then there are
263 ∗ 103 possible license plates in this state.
Next, let A be a set with n elements. Suppose we are interested in k-tuples
whose components are elements of A. Then by the extended mn rule, there are
n · n · · · n = nk such k-tuples whose components are elements of A. Next, suppose
k ≤ n and we are interested in k-tuples whose components are distinct (no repeats)
elements of A. There are n elements from which to choose for the first component,
n − 1 for the second component, . . . , n − (k − 1) for the kth. Hence, by the mn rule,
there are n(n − 1) · · · (n − (k − 1)) such k-tuples with distinct elements. We call
each such k-tuple a permutation and use the symbol Pkn to denote the number of
k permutations taken from a set of n elements. This number of permutations, Pkn
is our second counting rule. We can rewrite it as
n!
Pkn = n(n − 1) · · · (n − (k − 1)) = . (1.3.5)
(n − k)!
Example 1.3.3 (Birthday Problem). Suppose there are n people in a room. As-
sume that n < 365 and that the people are unrelated in any way. Find the proba-
bility of the event A that at least 2 people have the same birthday. For convenience,
assign the numbers 1 though n to the people in the room. Then use n-tuples to
denote the birthdays of the first person through the nth person in the room. Using
the mn-rule, there are 365n possible birthday n-tuples for these n people. This
is the number of elements in the sample space. Now assume that birthdays are
equilikely to occur on any of the 365 days. Hence, each of these n-tuples has prob-
ability 365−n . Notice that the complement of A is the event that all the birthdays
in the room are distinct; that is, the number of n-tuples in Ac is Pn365 . Thus, the
probability of A is
P 365
P (A) = 1 − n n .
365
For instance, if n = 2 then P (A) = 1 − (365 ∗ 364)/(3652) = 0.0027. This formula
is not easy to compute by hand. The following R function4 computes the P (A) for
the input n and it can be downloaded at the sites mentioned in the Preface.
4 An R primer for the course is found in Appendix B.
bday = function(n){ bday = 1; nm1 = n - 1

for(j in 1:nm1){bday = bday*((365-j)/365)}
bday <- 1 - bday; return(bday)}
Assuming that the file bday.R contains this function, here is the R segment com-
puting P (A) for n = 10:
> source("bday.R")
> bday(10)
[1] 0.1169482
For our last counting rule, as with permutations, we are drawing from a set A
of n elements. Now, suppose order is not important, so instead of counting the
number of permutations we want to count the number of subsets of k elements
taken from A. We use the symbol nk to denote the total number of these subsets.
Consider a subset of k elements from A. By the permutation rule it generates
Pkk = k(k − 1) · · · 1 = k! permutations. Furthermore, all these permutations are
distinct from the permutations generated by other subsets of k elements from A.
Finally, each permutation of k distinct elements drawn from
A must be generated
by one of these subsets. Hence, we have shown that Pkn = nk k!; that is,

n n!
= . (1.3.6)
k k!(n − k)!
We often
use the terminology combinations instead of subsets. So we say that there
are nk combinations
of k things taken from a set of n things. Another common
symbol for nk is Ckn .
It is interesting to note that if we expand the binomial series,
(a + b)n = (a + b)(a + b) · · · (a + b),
we get
n

n n k n−k
(a + b) = a b , (1.3.7)
k
k=0
n n
because we can select the k factors from which to take a in k ways. So k is also
referred to as a binomial coefficient.
Example 1.3.4 (Poker Hands). Let a card be drawn at random from an ordinary
deck of 52 playing cards that has been well shuffled. The sample space C consists of
52 elements, each element represents one and only one of the 52 cards. Because the
deck has been well shuffled, it is reasonable to assume that each of these outcomes
1
has the same probability 52 . Accordingly, if E1 is the set of outcomes that are
spades, P (E1 ) = 52 = 4 because there are 13 spades in the deck; that is, 14 is the
13 1
probability of drawing a card that is a spade. If E2 is the set of outcomes that

4 1 1
are kings, P (E2 ) = 52 = 13 because there are 4 kings in the deck; that is, 13 is
the probability of drawing a card that is a king. These computations are very easy
because there are no difficulties in the determination of the number of elements in

each event.
However, instead of drawing only one card, suppose that five cards are taken,
at random and without replacement, from this deck; i.e, a five card poker hand. In
this instance, order is not important. So a hand is a subset of five elements drawn
from a set of 52 elements. Hence, by (1.3.6) there are 52 5 poker hands. If the
deck
is well shuffled, each hand should be equilikely; i.e., each hand has probability
1/ 52 . We can now compute the probabilities of some interesting poker hands. Let
5 4
E1 be the event of a flush, all five cards of the same suit. There are 1 = 4 suits

to choose for the flush and in each suit there are 13 5 possible hands; hence, using
the multiplication rule, the probability of getting a flush is
413
4 · 1287
P (E1 ) = 1525 = = 0.00198.
5
2598960
Real poker players note that this includes the probability of obtaining a straight
flush.
Next, consider the probability of the event E2 of getting exactly three of a kind,
(the other two
cards
are distinct and are of different
kinds). Choose the kind for
the three, in 13 ways; choose the three, in 43 ways; choose the other two kinds,
1 44
in 12
2 ways; and choose one card from each of these last two kinds, in 1 1 ways.
Hence the probability of exactly three of a kind is
1341242
1 3
P (E2 ) = 522 1
= 0.0211.
5
Now suppose that E3 is the set of outcomes in which exactly

three cards are
kings and exactly two cards are queens. Select the kings, in 43 ways, and select

the queens, in 42 ways. Hence, the probability of E3 is

4 4 52
P (E3 ) = = 0.0000093.
3 2 5
The event E3 is an example of a full house: three of one kind and two of another
kind. Exercise 1.3.19 asks for the determination of the probability of a full house.
1.3.2 Additional Properties of Probability

We end this section with several additional properties of probability which prove
useful in the sequel. Recall in Exercise 1.2.6 we said that a sequence of events
{Cn } is a nondecreasing sequence if Cn ⊂ Cn+1 , for all n, in which case we wrote
limn→∞ Cn = ∪∞ n=1 Cn . Consider limn→∞ P (Cn ). The question is: can we legiti-
mately interchange the limit and P ? As the following theorem shows, the answer
is yes. The result also holds for a decreasing sequence of events. Because of this
interchange, this theorem is sometimes referred to as the continuity theorem of
probability.
Theorem 1.3.6. Let {Cn } be a nondecreasing sequence of events. Then

∞

lim P (Cn ) = P ( lim Cn ) = P Cn . (1.3.8)
n→∞ n→∞
n=1
Let {Cn } be a decreasing sequence of events. Then

∞

lim P (Cn ) = P ( lim Cn ) = P Cn . (1.3.9)
n→∞ n→∞
n=1
Proof. We prove the result (1.3.8) and leave the second result as Exercise 1.3.20.
∞ as R1 = C1 and, for n > 1, Rn = Cn ∩ Cn−1 . It
c
Define the sets,
∞called rings,
follows that n=1 Cn = n=1 Rn and that Rm ∩ Rn = φ, for m = n. Also,
P (Rn ) = P (Cn ) − P (Cn−1 ). Applying the third axiom of probability yields the
following string of equalities:
∞ ∞
∞ n
P lim Cn = P Cn = P Rn = P (Rn ) = lim P (Rj )
n→∞ n→∞
n=1 n=1 n=1 j=1
⎧ ⎫
⎨
n ⎬
= lim P (C1 )+ [P (Cj ) − P (Cj−1 )] = lim P (Cn ). (1.3.10)
n→∞ ⎩ ⎭ n→∞
j=2
This is the desired result.
Another useful result for arbitrary unions is given by

Theorem 1.3.7 (Boole’s Inequality). Let {Cn } be an arbitrary sequence of events.
Then ∞ ∞

P Cn ≤ P (Cn ). (1.3.11)
n=1 n=1
n
Proof: Let Dn = i=1 Ci . Then {Dn } is an increasing sequence of events that go
∞
up to n=1 Cn . Also, for all j, Dj = Dj−1 ∪ Cj . Hence, by Theorem 1.3.5,
P (Dj ) ≤ P (Dj−1 ) + P (Cj ),
that is,
P (Dj ) − P (Dj−1 ) ≤ P (Cj ).
In this case, the Ci s are replaced by the Di s in expression (1.3.10). Hence, using
the above inequality in this expression and the fact that P (C1 ) = P (D1 ), we have
∞ ∞ ⎧ ⎫
⎨ n ⎬
P Cn = P Dn = lim P (D1 ) + [P (Dj ) − P (Dj−1 )]
n→∞ ⎩ ⎭
n=1 n=1 j=2

n ∞

≤ lim P (Cj ) = P (Cn ).
n→∞
j=1 n=1
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DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI
Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)
The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.
NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA
I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.
MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]
MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY
With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
“We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
BRAZIER
Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT
SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB
CUTTING THE EDGE

FINISHING THE BOTTOM
LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING
FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE
TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL
NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK
DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG
REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

BEATING THE BARK
WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT
MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN

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Mathematical Statistics 8th Edition by

2.6.1 ∗ Multivariate Variance-Covariance Matrix . . . . . . . . . . . 140

3 Some Special Distributions 155

4 Some Elementary Statistical Inferences 225

5 Consistency and Limiting Distributions 321

6 Maximum Likelihood Methods 355

8 Optimal Tests of Hypotheses 469

9 Inferences About Normal Linear Models 515

10 Nonparametric and Robust Statistics 569

11 Bayesian Statistics 655

A Mathematical Comments 687

C Lists of Common Distributions 703

D Tables of Distributions 707

F Answers to Selected Exercises 721

We have made substantial changes in this edition of Introduction to Mathematical

discussion on standard errors for estimates obtained by bootstrapping the sample.

Content and Course Planning

Probability and Distributions

We generally use small Roman letters for the elements of C such as a, b, or

it does. However, since the mathematical properties of probability given in Section

1.2.1 Review of Set Theory

Panel (a) Panel (b)

Panel (c) Panel (d)

Figure 1.2.1: A series of Venn diagrams. The sample space C is represented by

We ﬁrst deﬁne the complement of an event A.

Deﬁnition 1.2.1. The complement of an event A is the set of all elements in C

The complement of A is represented by the white space in the Venn diagram in

Panel (b) of Figure 1.2.1 depicts A ⊂ B.

Panel (c) of Figure 1.2.1 shows A ∪ B.

Deﬁnition 1.2.4. Let A and B be events. Then the intersection of A and B is

Panel (d) of Figure 1.2.1 illustrates A ∩ B.

Example 1.2.1. Suppose we have a spinner with the numbers 1 through 10 on

Ac = {3, 4, . . . , 10}; A ∪ B = {1, 2, 3, 4}; A ∩ B = {2}

The reader should verify these results.

B = (2, 4), and C = [3, 4.5).

For instance, in Example 1.2.1,

(A∪B)c = {1, 2, 3, 4}c = {5, 6, . . . , 10} = {3, 4, . . . , 10}∩{{1, 5, 6, . . . , 10} = Ac ∩B c ;

while, from Example 1.2.2,

A1 ∪ A2 ∪ · · · ∪ An = {x : x ∈ Ai , for some i = 1, 2, . . . , n} (1.2.8)

We often abbreviative these by ∪ni=1 Ai and ∩ni=1 Ai , respectively. Expressions for

The sequence of sets An = {1, 3, . . . , 2n − 1} of Example 1.2.3 is such a sequence.

1.2.2 Set Functions

means the ordinary (Riemann) integral of f (x) over a prescribed one-dimensional

means the Riemann integral of g(x, y) over a prescribed two-dimensional set A.

means the sum extended over all x ∈ A and the symbol

Our ﬁnal example, involves an n dimensional integral.

Example 1.2.9. Let C = Rn . For A in C deﬁne the set function

provided the integral exists. For example, if A = {(x1 , x2 , . . . , xn ) : 0 ≤ x1 ≤

If B = {(x1 , x2 , . . . , xn ) : 0 ≤ x1 ≤ x2 ≤ · · · ≤ xn ≤ 1}, then

(a) C1 = {0, 1, 2, }, C2 = {2, 3, 4}.

(b) C1 = {x : 0 < x < 2}, C2 = {x : 1 ≤ x < 3}.

(b) C = {(x, y, z) : x2 + y 2 + z 2 ≤ 1}, C = {(x, y, z) : x2 + y 2 + z 2 = 1}.

(c) C = {(x, y) : |x| + |y| ≤ 2}, C = {(x, y) : x2 + y 2 < 2}.

1.2.4. Concerning DeMorgan’s Laws (1.2.6) and (1.2.7):

(a) Use Venn diagrams to verify the laws.

(b) Show that the laws are true.

(c) Generalize the laws to countable unions and intersections.