“At length the monarch spoke, and, addressing the prisoner, said: ‘You are a dead man; but I shall do to-day what I never did before. I spare your life, for the sake of my friend and father,’ pointing to where I stood. ‘I know that his heart weeps at the shedding of blood; for his sake I spare your life. He has travelled from a far country to see me, and he has made my heart white; but he tells me that to take away life is an awful thing, and never can be undone again. He has pleaded with me not to go to war, nor to destroy life. I wish him, when he returns to his own home again, to return with a heart as white as he has made mine. I spare you for his sake; for I love him and he has saved the lives of my people. But,’ continued the king, ‘you must be degraded for life; you must no more associate with the nobles of the land, nor enter the towns of the princes of the people, nor ever again mingle in the dance of the mighty. Go to the poor of the field, and let your companions be the inhabitants of the desert.’ “The sentence passed, the pardoned man was expected to bow in grateful adoration to him whom he was wont to look upon and exalt in songs applicable only to One, to whom belongs universal sway and the destinies of man. But no! Holding his hands clasped on his bosom, he replied: ‘O king, afflict not my heart! I have incited thy displeasure: let me be slain like the warrior. I cannot live with the poor.’ And, raising his hand to the ring he wore on his brow, he continued: ‘How can I live among the dogs of the king, and disgrace these badges of honor which I won among the spears and shields of the mighty? No; I cannot live! Let me die, O Pezoolu!’ His request was granted, and his hands tied erect over his head. Now my exertions to save his life were vain. He disdained the boon on the conditions offered, preferring to die with the honors he had won at the point of the spear--honors which even the act which condemned him did not tarnish--to exile and poverty among the children of the desert. He was led forth, a man walking on each side. My eye followed him until he reached the top of a high precipice, over which he was precipitated into the deep part of the river beneath, where the crocodiles, accustomed to such meals, were yawning to devour him ere he could reach the bottom.” The word “issikoko,” by which the Kaffir denominates the head-ring, is scarcely to be pronounced, not by European lips, but by European palates; for each letter _k_ is preceded, or rather accompanied, by a curious clucking sound, produced by the back of the tongue and the roof of the mouth. There are three of these “clicks,” as they are called, and they will be more particularly described when we come to the subject of Kaffir language.