who made that lake. While passing through, she was
very thirsty, and cried out to her Muzimu (spirit), the Muzimu which
attends the kings of Unyoro, and which is most potent. And all at once
there was a hissing flight of firestones (meteorites) in the air, and
immediately after, there was a fall of a monstrously large one, which
struck the ground close to her, and made a great hole, out of which the
water spurted and continued leaping up until a lake was formed, and
buried the fountain out of sight, and the rising waters formed a river,
which has run north from the lake ever since into the Kafu.

Close by this lake is a dark grove, sacred to Muzingeh, the king of the
birds. It is said that he has only one eye, but once a year he visits
the grove, and after building his house, he commands all the birds from
the Nyanzas and the groves, to come and see him and pay their homage.
For half a moon the birds, great and small, may be seen following him
about along the shores of the lake, like so many guards around a king;
and before night they are seen returning in the same manner to the
grove. The parrots' cries tell the natives when they come, and no one
would care to miss the sight, and the glad excitement among the
feathered tribe. But there is one bird, called the Kirurumu, that
refuses to acknowledge the sovereignty of the Muzingeh. The other birds
have tried often to induce him to associate with the Muzingeh; but
Kirurumu always answers that a beautiful creature like himself, with
gold and blue feathers, and such a pretty crest, was never meant to be
seen in the company of an ugly bird that possesses only one eye.

On the other side of Lake Mtukura is a forest where Dungu, the king of
the animals, lives. It is to Dungu that all the hunters pray when they
set out to seek for game. He builds first a small hut, and after
propitiating him with a small piece of flesh, he asks Dungu that he may
be successful. Then Dungu enters into the hunter's head, if he is
pleased with the offering, and the cunning of the man becomes great; his
nerves stiffen, and his bowels are strengthened, and the game is
secured. When Dungu wishes a man to succeed in the hunt, it is useless
for the buffalo to spurn the earth and moo, or for the leopard to cover
himself with sand in his rage--the spear of the hunter drinks his blood.
But the hunter must not forget to pay the tribute to the deity, lest he
be killed on the way home.

The friendl