as mandarin oranges, with three seeds inside.  We were now in a country which, in addition to the Mazitu invasion, was suffering from one of those inexplicable droughts to which limited and sometimes large portions of this country are subject.  It had not been nearly so severe on the opposite or south side, and thither too the Mazitu had not penetrated.  Rushes, which plagued us nearer the coast, are not observed now; the grass is all crisp and yellow; many of the plants are dead, and leaves are fallen off the trees as if winter had begun.  The ground is covered with open forest, with here and there thick jungle on the banks of the streams.  All the rivulets we have passed are mere mountain torrents filled with sand, in which the people dig for water.

We passed the spot where an Arab called Birkal was asked payment for leave to pass.  After two and a half days’ parley he fought, killed two Makonde, and mortally wounded a headman, which settled the matter; no fresh demand has been made.  Ali’s brother also resisted the same sort of demand, fought several times, or until three Makonde and two of his people were killed; they then made peace, and no other exactions have been made.

11th May, 1866.—­We now found a difficulty in getting our carriers along, on account of exhaustion from want of food.  In going up a sand stream called Nyede, we saw that all moist spots had been planted with maize and beans, so the loss caused by the Mazitu, who swept the land like a cloud of locusts, will not be attended by much actual starvation.  We met a runaway woman:  she was seized by Ali, and it was plain that he expected a reward for his pains.  He thought she was a slave, but a quarter of a mile off was the village she had left, and it being doubtful if she were a runaway at all, the would-be fugitive slave-capture turned out a failure.

12th May, 1866.—­About 4’ E.N.E. of Matawatawa, or Nyamatolole, our former turning point.

13th May, 1866.—­We halted at a village at Matawatawa.  A pleasant-looking lady, with her face profusely tattooed, came forward with a bunch of sweet reed, or Sorghum saceliaratum, and laid it at my feet, saying, “I met you here before,” pointing to the spot on the river where we turned.  I remember her coming then, and that I asked the boat to wait while she went to bring us a basket of food, and I think it was given to Chiko, and no return made.  It is sheer kindliness that prompts them sometimes, though occasionally people do make presents with a view of getting a larger one in return:  it is pleasant to find that it is not always so.  She had a quiet, dignified manner, both in talking and walking, and I now gave her a small looking-glass, and she went and brought me her only fowl and a basket of cucumber-seeds, from which oil is made; from the amount of oily matter they contain thov are nutritious when roasted and eaten as nuts.  She made an apology, saying they were hungry times at present.  I gave her a cloth, and so parted with Kanangone, or, as her name may be spelled, Kananone.  The carriers were very useless from hunger, and we could not buy anything for them; for the country is all dried up, and covered sparsely with mimosas and thorny acacias.