“In another village we met with a musical instrument of quite a novel kind. It was formed in this way. Two sticks were laid parallel to each other, and about a foot apart. Above them was placed a layer of grass, on the top of which lay the keys of the instrument. These keys were made of wood and kept in their places by upright pegs. The keys were about the thickness of one’s arm, and differed in length so as to produce a succession of notes. I had seen the same instrument often, and had conceived that it might be a shelter for chickens. Great was my surprise when I found that there, in the village green, I stood beside a splendid piano! The instrument was quite complete. It was even provided with a neat drumstick for striking the keys! Before any one came to us we were rude enough to take the drumstick and begin to play. This brought a number of the village ladies to the spot; and I had a feeling that we ought to apologise for making free with the instrument. John had told me that it was called ‘ngolongondo’; and it would have covered our retreat very well to take this name on our lips; but what if they should hear only the last syllables? Ngondo (war) is the word that speaks to the Africans of famine, slavery, and death; it is a word too, that they are always straining their ears to hear. No wonder that I shrank for a moment from calling that piano by its name, and that when I did speak of it, I put special emphasis on the first syllables. Soon we had a crowd of happy villagers around us. All of them, old and young, were fond of sweets. They showed us other curiosities. One of these was a rat-trap, which reminded me of English mole-traps, only it was made of a single piece of wood. In the thick end the rat is provided with accommodation, the other end tapers to a point. The thin end is tied down with threads of bark, and when the rat eats these, it recoils with great force, and a big belt of bark comes up and imprisons the victim, which is cooked for the next meal. As these villagers had traps by the dozen I thought of buying some, but John told me that I need not, as his father could make them. It is a great step to gain the confidence of the people by mixing with them freely, like one of themselves. An Englishman is not quite at ease with a number of strange natives in a place entirely strange, and it is too much to expect that all at once they will feel at home with him. Further on, we received a hearty welcome in a large village at the back of Ndilande. About forty men were there, and a proportionate number of women and children. As a heavy shower came on, we had to stay even longer than we wished. After talking of the native chiefs, the work going on at Blantyre, and the chances in favour of a given man or woman getting enrolled as a worker on Monday, I gave them an address, to which they were very attentive.