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THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. 



" Muzungu mbaya" (the wicked white man) goes from the shore, 

 {Chorus) Puti ! Puti ! (I can only translate it by "grub ! grub ! ") 

 We will follow " Muzungu mbaya." 



Puti! Puti! 

 As long as he gives us good food ! 



Puti! Puti! 

 We will traverse the hill and the stream, 

 Puti! Puti! 



With the caravan of this great mundewa (merchant). 

 Puti ! Puti ! &c, &c. 



The Baloch and the sons of Ramji quarrel, yell, 

 roar, and talk of eating — the popular subject of con- 

 verse in these lands, as is beer in England, politics in 

 France, law in Normandy, " pasta" at Naples, and to 

 say no more, money everywhere — till a late hour. 

 About 8 p.m., the small hours of the country, sounds 

 the cry lala ! lala ! — sleep ! It is willingly obeyed by 

 all except the women, who must sometimes awake to 

 confabulate even at midnight. One by one the caravan 

 sinks into torpid slumber. At this time, especially 

 when in the jungle-bivouac, the scene often becomes 

 truly impressive. The dull red fires flickering and 

 forming a circle of ruddy light in the depths of the 

 black forest, flaming against the tall trunks and defining 

 the foliage of the nearer trees, illuminate lurid groups 

 of savage men, in every variety of shape and posture. 

 Above, the dark purple sky, studded with golden points, 

 domes the earth with bounds narrowed by the gloom 

 of night. And, behold ! in the western horizon, a re- 

 splendent crescent, with a dim, ash -coloured globe in 

 its arms, and crowned by Hesperus, sparkling like 

 a diamond, sinks through the vast of space, in all the 

 glory and gorgeousness of Eternal Nature's sublimest 

 works. From such a night, methinks, the Byzantine 

 man took his device, the Crescent and the Star. 



