to us. His counsellors take their places beside him. He makes a remark
or two, and is then silent for a few seconds. Our guides then sit down
in front of the chief and his counsellors, and both parties lean forward,
looking earnestly at each other; the chief repeats a word, such as
"Ambuiatu" (our Father, or master)--or "moio" (life), and all clap their
hands. Another word is followed by two claps, a third by still more
clapping, when each touches the ground with both hands placed together.
Then all rise and lean forward with measured clap, and sit down again
with clap, clap, clap, fainter, and still fainter, till the last dies
away, or is brought to an end by a smart loud clap from the chief. They
keep perfect time in this species of court etiquette. Our guides now
tell the chief, often in blank verse, all they have already told his
people, with the addition perhaps of their own suspicions of the
visitors. He asks some questions, and then converses with us through the
guides. Direct communication between the chief and the head of the
stranger party is not customary. In approaching they often ask who is
the spokesman, and the spokesman of the chief addresses the person
indicated exclusively. There is no lack of punctilious good manners. The
accustomed presents are exchanged with civil ceremoniousness; until our
men, wearied and hungry, call out, "English do not buy slaves, they buy
food," and then the people bring meal, maize, fowls, batatas, yams,
beans, beer, for sale.

The Manganja are an industrious race; and in addition to working in iron,
cotton, and basket-making, they cultivate the soil extensively. All the
people of a village turn out to labour in the fields. It is no uncommon
thing to see men, women, and children hard at work, with the baby lying
close by beneath a shady bush. When a new piece of woodland is to be
cleared, they proceed exactly as farmers do in America. The trees are
cut down with their little axes of soft native iron; trunks and branches