I have noted down some uses of the word I have come across, which I think could not possibly be set down to missionary influence. On two occasions, people told me that their dead friends or relatives had ‘gone to Mulungu’; on another, a mother said that ‘Mulungu had taken away’ the little sick girl I was inquiring after. On hearing thunder, at the beginning of the rainy season, another woman remarked, ‘_Mulungu anena_’—‘Mulungu is speaking.’ This is very suggestive of the theory on the subject of earthquakes held, according to the Rev. A. G. MacAlpine, by the Atonga of Lake Nyasa, viz., ‘that it was the voice of God calling to inquire if his people were all there. When the rumble of the earthquake was heard, they all shouted in answer, “_Ye, ye_,” and some went to the flour mortars and beat on them with the pounding sticks.’ Any person who failed thus to answer ‘_Adsum_’ would be sure (it was believed) to die before long. The name used, in this case, was not _Mulungu_, but _Chiuta_. We have mentioned the name _Mpambe_ as used by the Anyanja. Livingstone, on his first visit to the Shiré Highlands, notes, ‘They believe in the existence of a supreme being called Mpambe and also Morungo’ (Mulungu). Mr. Rowley gives an interesting account of supplications addressed to Mpambe for rain. The principal part was taken by a woman—the chief’s sister. She began by dropping _ufa_ on the ground, slowly and carefully, till it formed a cone, and in doing this called out in a high-pitched voice, ‘_Imva Mpambe! Adza mvula_’ (‘Hear thou, O God, and send rain!’), and the assembled people responded, clapping their hands softly and intoning—they always intone their prayers—‘_Imva Mpambe_.’ The beer was then poured out as a libation, and the people, following the example of the woman, threw themselves on their backs and clapped their hands (a form of salutation to superiors), and, finally, danced round the chief where he sat on the ground. The ceremony concluded with a rain-charm; but as this is rather magic than religion (the previous proceedings, as being distinctly an appeal to unseen and superior powers, come under the latter head), it will be more convenient to return to it later on. In this very neighbourhood, I heard, one sultry afternoon in September 1894, weird, shrill cries, which I was told were ‘the people shouting for rain’ on Mpingwe—one of the mountains between Blantyre and Magomero. Distant peals of thunder had been heard before the crying began, and the rain came before morning. It is worth noting that, here, Mpambe is thought of as sending rain, while, in some parts, as on Nyasa, the word means ‘thunder.’ The connection between rain and thunder is obvious, especially where, as is the case in these countries, the latter always heralds the breaking-up of the dry season. Sometimes the word is said to mean ‘lightning’—which comes to much the same thing as far as the idea is concerned.