y brother Mostana, calls unto thee! Come
out with me, O Katalambula! Come out under the tree! come and tell
Kalulu of thy prowess when thou wert young! Ah! Katalambula, I shall
die if thou wilt not wake up!" and thus he kept calling on the dead,
until he found his cries and tears were of no avail. He rose then, and
went to his hut, and closed the door, and on his rugged bed, his tears
flowed silently and swiftly, until it seemed as if his soul would melt
in tears.

When near sunset, the grave being ready, under a hut erected over it at
the corner of the square, and the ceremony of burial was about to begin,
Kalulu came out of his hut to do honour to the body of Katalambula. All
the Wa-mganga [Wa-mganga--plural of mganga--magic doctors] from the
neighbouring villages were gathered together; all the elders, the
councillors, and principal men of the tribe were assembled, until the
great square of the capital was crowded with warriors, women, and
children. In order that the ceremony might be allowed to proceed in due
form, they had arranged themselves around a large circle, having the
great tree for its centre. In this circle were assembled the doctors of
magio and the chief mourners, and near them were the fattest, finest
bulls that could be procured, black in colour and without a single
blemish, which were to be killed over Katalambula's grave; near by,
also, were enormous earthenware pots of pombe (beer) and plaintain wine,
which were to be poured over the grave as a libation to his manes.

The drummers were in their places, the wa-mganga (doctors) were ready,
painted and striped with white chalk all over, with the gourds,
half-filled with pebbles, in their hands; and the chant began.

The author, in order to do something like justice to the pathetic
death-song of the King, finds himself compelled to give as literal a
translation as possible. The tune was most mournful, the chorus most
pathetic, being drawn out into a long, sweet-toned wail; and the voices
of the women and children, mingling with the deeper voices of the
warriors, were effectively impressive:

The son of Loralamba,
The conqueror of Uwemba,
The Sultan of Liemba,
Is dead!

The brother of Mostana,
The wisest Manyapara,
The King of the Watuta,
Is dead!
_Chorus_. Is dead!
Oh, he is dead!

He who fought Wa-marungu,
The great lord of Kwikuru,
The wise son of Malungu,
Is dead!

He who sl