One tempestuous night the same daring adventurer, hungry, destitute, and disheartened, took shelter for the night under a tree. A Bambarra woman, returning from the labors of the field, inquired why he looked so sad; and when she learned his situation she took up his saddle and bridle, and bade him follow her. She conducted him to her hut, lighted a lamp, spread a mat for him to sit upon, broiled a fish for his supper, and gave him to understand that he might lie down and sleep without interruption. While he rested, the women in the hut resumed their spinning, an employment which had been for a while interrupted by their surprise at seeing a white man. As they worked, they sung an extempore song, of which the traveller was the subject. The winds roared, and the rains fell; The poor white man, faint and weary, Came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk, No wife to grind his corn. CHORUS. Let us pity the white man; No mother has he to bring him milk, No wife to grind his corn. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the kind sentiments it conveyed affected Mr. Park so deeply that he could not sleep. In the morning, he gave his landlady two of the four brass buttons that remained on his waistcoat; these were all he had to offer to signify his gratitude. “In all my wanderings and wretchedness,” says this enlightened traveller, “I found women uniformly kind and compassionate; and I can truly say, as my predecessor, Mr. Ledyard, has said before me: ‘To a woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet, or sick, they did not hesitate, like the men, to perform a generous action. In so free and so kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught, and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel, with a double relish.’”