When stating the miseries to which he was exposed in Africa, Mungo Park says, “I never, when in distress and misery, applied for relief to a female, without finding pity,--and if she had the power, assistance.” And he thus mentions one instance,--“I waited,” he says, “more than two hours for an opportunity to cross that river, but one of the chief men informed me that I must not presume to cross without the King’s permission; he therefore advised me to lodge at a distant village, to which he pointed, for the night. I found to my great mortification that no person would admit me into his house;--I was regarded with astonishment and fear, and was obliged to sit all day without victuals in the shade of a tree; and the night threatened to be very uncomfortable, for the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a heavy rain; and the wild beasts are so very numerous that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree and resting among the branches. About sunset as I was preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose that he might graze at liberty, a woman, returning from the labours of the field, stopped to observe me, and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which I briefly explained to her; whereupon, with looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding that I was hungry, she gave me a very fine fish for my supper; and pointing to the mat, and telling me I might sleep there without apprehension, she called to the female part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they continued to employ themselves great part of the night. They lightened their labour by songs; one of which was composed ex-tempore--for I was, myself, the subject of it: it was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sort of chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive; and the words, literally translated, were these:-- “_The winds roared, and the rains fell,--the poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree,--he has no mother to bring him milk,--no wife to grind his corn._--Chorus--_Let us pity the white man,--no mother has he!_” _&c._ GRIFFITH.