A mistress in these reading schools must be free from any neuralgic or nervous tendencies. I was simply overcome with admiration at the spirit of fortitude and calm endurance that my colleague was displaying when I paid my first visit to the Toro seminary. Morning prayers had been concluded, and the School had sorted itself out into about twenty classes, which represented various grades, from the alphabet to St. Matthew’s Gospel stage, and each was presided over by a native teacher. The scholars were a queer medley; chiefs clothed in their white linen gowns sat on tiny round stools, which they brought tucked under their arm, and in the same class, struggling over the same letters, were seated on the ground serving boys, probably their own, and raw peasants. Women who had just left their cultivation and, strapping the baby to their shoulders, hurried off to school, were sitting with quite small infants, perhaps being taught their syllables by their own little daughters. Excepting in the alphabet classes, the scholars sat in a circle round their teacher who, with a strand of grass, pointed to the letters which all the pupils were expected to shout out together. The one little reading sheet only allowed those directly in front to read the letters right way up; the others, who were careful to take up the same position each day, learnt at all angles. Quite a large proportion of the Batoro are able to read their books upside down in consequence. When all the classes were fairly started and each of the three hundred pupils was trying his best to drown his neighbour’s voice, the noise was indescribable. Each class had its own formula which was recited metrically. Take for instance, the one dealing with syllables of three letters—all the pupils sang out “b—w—a, we call it bwa,” then the teacher intoning, asked “how many letters and what are they called,” and the answer was shouted back “letters three, b—w—a, and they are always bwa.” Then they tackled b—w—e, b—w—i, b—w—o, in the same way and so on all down the alphabet. While this pandemonium is going on, one after another is sent up by his teacher to be examined by the European. The pupil who answers satisfactorily is then given a pass to a higher form; he returns to his old class to receive the profuse congratulations of his contemporaries, and then marches off to his new quarters full of pride and elation. [Illustration: THE BAKONJO AT HOME.] One would wonder how it is possible to ever learn to read in such a hubbub, but the Batoro have a remarkable power of insulating themselves from their environment, and some have been known to pass right through the school, from the alphabet to the highest reading class in four months.