ges the appearance of
being large; and, when the water of the Zambesi has subsided, they place
large quantities of grain, tied up in bundles of grass, and well
plastered over with clay, on low sand islands for protection from the
attacks of marauding mice and men. Owing to the ravages of the weevil,
the native corn can hardly be preserved until the following crop comes
in. However largely they may cultivate, and however abundant the
harvest, it must all be consumed in a year. This may account for their
making so much of it into beer. The beer these Batoka or Bawe brew is
not the sour and intoxicating boala or pombe found among some other
tribes, but sweet, and highly nutritive, with only a slight degree of
acidity, sufficient to render it a pleasant drink. The people were all
plump, and in good condition; and we never saw a single case of
intoxication among them, though all drank abundance of this liting, or
sweet beer. Both men and boys were eager to work for very small pay. Our
men could hire any number of them to carry their burdens for a few beads
a day. Our miserly and dirty ex-cook had an old pair of trousers that
some one had given to him; after he had long worn them himself, with one
of the sorely decayed legs he hired a man to carry his heavy load a whole
day; a second man carried it the next day for the other leg, and what
remained of the old garment, without the buttons, procured the labour of
another man for the third day.

Men of remarkable ability have risen up among the Africans from time to
time, as amongst other portions of the human family. Some have attracted
the attention, and excited the admiration of large districts by their
wisdom. Others, apparently by the powers of ventriloquism, or by
peculiar dexterity in throwing the spear, or shooting with the bow, have
been the wonder of their generation; but the total absence of literature
leads to the loss of all former experience, and the wisdom of the wise
has not been handed down. They have had their minstrels too, but mere
tradition preserves not their effusions. One of these, and apparently a
genuine poet, attached himself to our party for several days, and
whenever we halted, sang our praises to the villagers, in smooth and
harmonious numbers. It was a sort of blank verse, and each line
consisted of five syllables. The song was short when it first began, but
each day he picked up more information about us, and added to the poem
until o