I here unfortunately lost my black rat, which I had rendered quite tame; having appeared sick and drooping, I let it out of its cage, and wrapped it up in my barracan, the warmth of which so far recovered it, that, to my great regret, it made its escape: my other animals and serpents were alive and well. Monday, 20th March.—As the corn was not ready for the slaves, we were obliged to stop over this day. I was much amused by the songs of the Negresses while pounding wheat; they sang all their country airs in chorus, and there was in their wildness much beauty. Their Boori, or songs used in sorcery, were particularly striking, and they kept time to the music with their wooden pestles and glass armlets, which sounded like cymbals. One of the songs was thus explained to me: the three girls who sung it were pounding in the same mortar, and regulated their beating according to the circumstances of which they sung. At first they pounded slowly, one telling the other two that they must keep up their spirits, as the warriors would soon be at home, and their lovers would bring more trophies than any one else; they then increased their time, and sang a song of triumph, the warriors being supposed to have returned; when suddenly they beat without measure, singing in a very shrill and rapid manner as for one who was dead. They then ceased beating altogether, and sung a trio, in which two endeavoured to comfort the girl who had lost her lover, she appearing inconsolable. At length they agreed to have recourse to sorcery, to ascertain if he died nobly. A goat was supposed to be killed, each of them examining its entrails, and singing several incantations, until a happy sign was discovered, when they resumed their pestles, winding up with a very beautiful chorus. The master of the girls forbade their singing any more, even though I earnestly requested that they might be suffered to continue; he said it was unholy, and that they were as great Kaffirs now, as before they acknowledged our Lord Mohammed to be the Prophet of God.