After half an hour of unsneezing silence, I managed to stutter out, _Chela pela's indaba incosi_ (tell me the news, chief), to which M'untu politely replied that "the news should come from me." We had some pleasant and instructive conversation, during which I discovered that the six ladies who were sitting round outside were M'untu's wives, the three men were his servants, and one old fellow, with a very high ring on his head, was his familiar councillor. I ordered an ox's head for their lunch, and expressed a wish that I should see my worthy visitor during the course of the evening. About eight o'clock he came to me in the mud hovel that served as mess-room, and accepted my offer of a seat. He appeared with his retinue of wives, etc. It is strange what different customs exist in different lands. While the princesses of Oude allow not even their beautiful eyes to be seen, the princesses of Kaffirland consider statuesque absence of drapery fashionable. Civilisation prefers the half-way-between-the-two style which many of our ball-room belles now practise. M'untu Umculu appeared wonderfully at his ease, and offered me his snuff-box with the solemnity of a judge. He was decidedly an oracle in his own circle, and although apparently not more than twenty, seemed to have inspired each and every one of his six wives with an awe and a reverence for his word and look, that might give an excellent example to many a man who has only one sixth of his difficulties. Having on the table a stone bottle of gin, containing about two gallons, I poured out a tumbler-full and offered it to my visitor; he took a little sip, another, then a big draught, and then with one gulp, down it all went. I watched him attentively, but he never even winked his eye. I waited for a short time to watch progress, but M'untu's thirsty nature impelled him to push his tumbler over to me again. I cautioned the Kaffir chief that the spirit which he wished to drink was very powerful, and if he repeated his potation it would probably make him drunk. He, however, still begged for a fresh tumbler-full, and finding that he would take no denial, I complied with his request, as I considered that a bad headache in the morning would be a good excuse for me to give a lecture to my tippling guest. I therefore refilled his glass,--in one minute it was bottom upwards, the contents having gone down his throat with a plaintive gurgle--no wink this time either. For quantity and time I could have laid odds on M'untu against any sot of Saint Giles's.