the northern wall to gaze on stars known to them in their Homeland. It may be noted, too, that the ancients, as conjectured by Bent and other writers, do not appear to have been greatly interested in the alien stars of the Southern Hemisphere, for in all the ruins in Rhodesia, so far as discoveries have been made, there are no massive stone arcs surmounted with monoliths with mural decorations of old-world emblems of fertility on their outer faces, and with the raised platforms approached by steps, facing towards the south, for all such that are known are directed to some other point of the compass. Small fragments of granite chips from ancient blocks lie about the floor, and these gleam like stars on the dark ground, and have light-haloes of their own. These suggest the splendid sight these ancient walls must have been when all the newly dressed granite blocks in the faces of the walls sparkled as they must once have done as the fragments gleamed in this glorious moonlight. The walls must have glittered like a fairy palace, as did the castle walls of lordly Camelot. To-day we approach the temple on the same level as the veld, the ground outside having been raised to this level by the silt of ages, but the recently discovered granite cement floors outside the building show that the ancients had to ascend some five feet or more to gain the threshold of the entrance. With such higher elevation for its walls, the temple, when freshly built, or perhaps for centuries afterwards, must have been on moonlit nights a most bewitching sight of splendour. But its glories to-night are those which it has gained from the hand of Time. But on gaining the central area of the building the inexplicable sensations awakened by the weird and strange surroundings and past associations are intensified, and one’s nerves are forced to be more alive to anything unusual happening. Large bats and night-moths fly unpleasantly close to one’s face. Treading on a rotten stick, and the falling of large dry leaves which rattle on the stones below, make noises sufficient to cause one to turn round expecting the approach of some ancient spectre. A frog in some dark and dank corner startles one with a loud croak of “_Work!_” The hoot of an owl makes the native start. A low moaning, soughing wind now springing up sweeps round the temple and rustles in the upper branches of the trees. The temple is now lovely in the extreme. The shadows on the walls are now in quick movement. Fireflies swing their tiny lamps over dark enclosures. The white radiance of the moonlight completely invests the conical tower, its intense whiteness being heightened by the large, thick, and dark-foliaged trees on either side. If but Time’s hour-glass were turned back for some long centuries’ space, what tales could not this tower unfold, what secrets of ancient faiths disclose!