The hill chief, Mongazi, called his wife to take charge of a present we had given him.  She dropped down on her knees, clapping her hands in reverence, before and after receiving our presents from his lordly hands.  It was painful to see the abject manner in which the women of the hill tribes knelt beside the path as we passed; but a great difference took place when we got into Nyango’s country.

On entering a village, we proceeded, as all strangers do, at once to the Boalo:  mats of split reeds or bamboo were usually spread for us to sit on.  Our guides then told the men who might be there, who we were, whence we had come, whither we wanted to go, and what were our objects.  This information was duly carried to the chief, who, if a sensible man, came at once; but, if he happened to be timid and suspicious, waited until he had used divination, and his warriors had time to come in from outlying hamlets.  When he makes his appearance, all the people begin to clap their hands in unison, and continue doing so till he sits down opposite 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