highest as sorcerers are most influenced by superstitious fear. The emotions of _tenderness_ and _sympathy_ are strong among some, while others are as callous as can be conceived. But few of them would say with Hobbes, that “pity is a weakness, and that the best men have least of it,” for on one occasion, where a mourner produced a copious supply of tears by taking snuff, the others administered a grave rebuke, telling him that, “his was no true sorrow”. Usually their grief for their friends is intense. In this respect (as throughout the whole emotional side of their nature), they resemble children. They are easily impressed, but they do not keep grief longer than grief keeps them. The _humorous_ side of a subject has great attractions for the natives. In cases where there is any disposition to quarrel, one joke is worth ten arguments. They are always polite enough to laugh at the Englishman’s jokes, especially if he speak with a half serious air. In any discussion, it is the humorous side that they most appreciate. In the course of a conversation with Kapeni and his people, about the custom of killing slaves to accompany the dead, after trying the arguments that most readily suggest themselves, I pointed out that the slaves were big powerful men, while the deceased was very weak, and that if a quarrel took place beyond the grave, the deceased would have no chance against them. They laughed immoderately at this, and when reporting the discussion to their friends, they dwelt chiefly on the idea that slaves would be as good as their master “on the other side of the grave,” and might avenge their death. In conversation with each other they have a great capacity for presenting the laughable side of events. It often happens that a stranger regards the natives as beings to be patronised and amused by; so much does he consider himself superior to them. Now as might almost be expected, they view the new-comer in the very same light! Most of them humour him and allow him to treat them as children, but all the same, they amuse themselves at his expense after he is gone, and, indeed, while he is present, if they know that he cannot understand their speech. They are careful not to laugh if there be any danger of giving offence. Once at the close of an open air meeting, an Englishman happened to get up on the trunk of a large tree, which one often sees used for a seat in the native villages. The log revolved, and the man fell heavily on the ground. Yet the whole meeting looked as grave as if the accident had been part of the programme.