Humorous incidents are not absent in the work of excavation in the ruins. For instance, after working for some hours in a trench near the Sacred Enclosure, and passing all soil over boards and through fingers in the search for relics, a common clay pipe of English make was found intact at a depth of over 3 ft. At another spot, after hours of careful but unrewarded work in a trench, at a similar depth a very late brand of soda-water bottle was found. Both these finds delighted the boys infinitely more than had they unearthed a cartload of phalli or other prehistoric relics of value. In some respects the boys are extremely practical. The question “_aliquid novi ex Zimbabwe?_” can in two senses be answered in the affirmative. Such modern articles found “at depth” afford only another proof that the soil in the interior of the temple, as stated elsewhere, has been turned over and over again by archæologists, and also by unauthorised prospectors, for ancient gold and other relics. After _tjiya_, when the day’s work is done, there is still an hour or so of daylight left, and this is usually occupied in wandering among the kopjes or along sequestered valleys, keeping an eye open for fresh traces of the ancients, or in examining and measuring some one of the minor ruins which stud the valley, or in calling at a village to arrange for labour, or in looking out for buck and guinea-fowl for the pot. Meanwhile the sun is setting in a gorgeous west, and the golden glow is already fading on the temple walls. Then come the shadows of night, and these settle down rapidly. By the time the hut is reached the _kya_ boy has lit the candles, laid the table, and is ready with the skoff. The boys are sitting round their fire or finishing a game of _isafuba_ in the semi-darkness. Their evening meal is being cooked. One of them has brought a gourd of _doro_, and another a pot of fat, in which each handful of porridge is dipped before being eaten. Sitting on the stoep of the hut at this time of the day is a perfect rest. The air is agreeably cooled by a light breeze, which is laden with the scent of verbena. The night is calm and peaceful. Large bats fly swallow-wise, fire flies dart in all directions, glow-worms shine steadily in the grass, and birds, frogs, and insects join in mild choruses. The call of a boy in our camp to some companion up on Mogabe’s Kopje is repeated half a dozen times by the precipices of Zimbabwe Hill, where the echoes die out in a series of sharp raps. The large full moon rises serenely from behind the trees on Beroma Range, and bathes the country in delicate soft light, imparting a greenish-grey tint to the mist-veils which fill the gorges, throwing a deeper suggestion of mystery and awe over the wide expanse of bush where the lion holds his court.