Through this entry the chief preceded us (on all fours) and we crept through after him one at a time. There were, in all, eight huts ranged round the compound, and of these the chief assigned two to our use, one of which we allotted to the men and the other to the two women and the boy. The centre of the compound was occupied by a kind of kiln in which pottery was baked, and as we entered, one of the chief’s sons was engaged in modelling a large water pot of bluish clay, which he did very dexterously with his fingers alone, the potter’s wheel being unknown in this region. Our people gathered round, as idle persons will, to look on as the workman’s busy fingers rapidly shaped the mass of clay; and as I had observed that my unkempt appearance had already excited unfavourable notice and comment on the part of the villagers, I thought this a favourable opportunity to assert my character. I therefore raised my hand to command silence, and proceeded to moralise. “Behold,” said I, addressing the company in general, “how the labour of this simple workman speaketh to us admonitions to piety and good works. For this clay that he kneadeth, which under the foot is but mire and dirt, fouling the sandal of the traveller and making difficult the way, when shaped by the skilful and industrious fingers, becometh a thing of usefulness and beauty, yielding refreshment to the thirsty and making clean the body of him that laboureth. “And what are we, my brethren, but mire and clay, until the finger of knowledge transformeth us and we become as holy vessels full of the water of wisdom? For the heathen is but the dirt that is trodden under foot, profitable to none; but when the hand of the potter hath shaped him into the comeliness of wisdom and faith, then is he fit for good works, fair to look upon, and profitable to all. “Nor,” I continued, “is any so humble that he may not be made glorious. Behold this piece of clay!” I picked up a small pellet and held it up between my finger and thumb. “It is but a mere morsel of dirt. Yet can it be made to speak the words of the book of God and sing His praise without ceasing.” I took the pellet and pressed it upon the blade of my knife until it formed a smooth flat tablet, and on this, with the sharp point of the knife, I wrote the opening sentence of the Koran, “Praise be to God!” and held it aloft. Our people and the villagers who had crowded round to listen--for all the Gonja natives understand some Hausa--stared at me in open-mouthed wonder; and when, at the conclusion of my discourse, I flung away the clay tablet, the entire assemblage made a wild scramble for its possession. “What is written on this tablet?” asked Alla Karímu, one of our party, who had secured the treasure and was carefully licking the dust off it. I told him what the inscription meant. “I thank thee, Yúsufu,” he said. “I shall roast it in the fire and sew it up in a leather cover to wear for a laiya (amulet).”