isco retorted that he didn't believe
there was any lions in Afriky, for he'd heard a deal about 'em an'
travelled far, but had not yet heard the sound of their woices, an', wot
was more, didn't expect to.

Before that night was far advanced, Disco was constrained to acknowledge
himself in error, for a veritable lion did actually prowl down to the
camp, and salute them with a roar which had a wonderfully awe-inspiring
effect on every member of the party, especially on those who heard it
for the first time in their lives.

Just before the arrival of this nocturnal visitor, one of the men had
been engaged in some poetic effusions, which claim preliminary notice
here, because they were rudely terminated by the lion.

This man was one of Kambira's people, and had joined the party by
permission. He was one of those beings who, gifted with something like
genius, or with superior powers of some sort, have sprung up in Africa,
as elsewhere, no doubt from time immemorial, to dazzle their fellows for
a little, and then pass away, leaving a trail of tradition behind them.
The existence there, in time past, of men of mind far in advance of
their fellows, as well as of heroes whose physical powers were
marvellous, may be assumed from the fact that some such exist at the
present time, as well as from tradition. Some of these heroes have
excited the admiration of large districts by their wisdom, others by
their courage or their superior dexterity with the spear and bow, like
William Tell and Robin Hood, but the memory of these must soon have been
obliterated for want of literature. The man who had joined Harold was a
poet and a musician. He was an _improvvisatore_, composed verses on the
incidents that occurred as they travelled along, and sang them with an
accompaniment on an instrument called the _sansa_, which had nine iron
keys and a calabash for a sounding-board.

The poet's name was Mokompa. With the free and easy disposition of his
race, he allowed his fancy to play round the facts of which he sang, and
was never at a loss, for, if the right word did not come readily, he
spun out the measure with musical sounds which meant nothing at all.

After supper was over, or rather when the first interval of repose
occurred, Mokompa, who was an obliging and hearty little fellow, was
called on for a song. Nothing loath, he seized his sansa and began a
ditty, of which the following, given by Antonio, may be regarded as a
remarkab