The next places we pass are Mazibango (water-reeds), Makoka, and Chipindu, which are of great interest to the traveller, as being the only places where water can be found to quench his thirst. After Chipindu the road, which is hitherto level, descends rapidly to the plain of the Chiri. Just as we entered on the plain we were agreeably surprised to meet Katunga’s sons, and, after advancing a little, we found the chief himself with about sixty men engaged in making a canoe, beside a stream called the Namyala. Having now walked about twenty-five miles, I was very thirsty, not to say hungry. Katunga was sitting on a box, which he gave up for me. I pressed him to share it, but he sat down beside me on the ground. We had now some refreshment. The Chief explained that he was not able to walk, as he had been for some time suffering from bad legs, but he said his men would carry him to the village, to say good-bye. A march of another hour brought us to Katunga’s capital. All his sons had accompanied us, and I told them to write out a few lines of their books, that I might shew my friends in England how they could write. They soon finished this little task. Now came another of those sad farewells. When the carriers had finished their work they came to us for the last time. We knew most of these men so well—men of Kapeni’s, men of Matache’s, and men of Blantyre were there. There, too, were Ndiagani’s mother and little sister,—the latter a small child, whom I had often carried along the road during the day. I wished to give her all the beads I had, but though I turned out my pocket, I could not find as many as would fill her tiny hand. We were now left among the Anyasa, all of whom, except the chief and his family, were strangers to us. Just as it was getting dark, the chief came in, as he had promised. He gave me a present of two goats and a bag of rice. I pointed out that one goat would be enough, but he said, thoughtfully, that we had better take them both ‘for the journey’. On going down to the boat, I found Mrs. Macdonald and the children preparing for the night. Much was yet to be done in arranging the boxes, so as to make a level place for our beds. The Anyasa, whether from want of acquaintance with us or from the more enervating nature of their climate, were not so ready to render help as the Yao. We had to do all this work ourselves; the natives merely looking on, with the exception of the chief’s sons, who soon found their way down to the boat.