After telling him that he might sleep without apprehension, she called to the female part of the family, who stood gazing in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they employed themselves the greater part of the night.

They lightened their labours by songs, one of which at least was extempore, as their guest was the subject of it.
It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in chorus.
The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally translated, were as follow:-- "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." &c.
This circumstance was to Mr.Park, affecting in the highest degree.
He was oppressed by such unexpected kindness, and the sleep fled from his eyes.

In the morning he presented his compassionate landlady with two of the four buttons which remained on his waistcoat, the only recompense which he had in his power.

Mr.Park remained in the village the whole of July the 21st, in conversation with the natives.
Towards evening he grew uneasy, to find that no message arrived from the king, the more so, when he learned from the villagers, that the Moors and Slatees, resident at Sego, had given Mansong very unfavourable accounts of him, that many consultations had been held concerning his reception and disposal; that he had many enemies, and must expect no favour.

On the following day, a messenger arrived from the king, who inquired if Mr.Park had brought any present, and seemed much disappointed, on being told that he had been robbed of all his effects by the Moors.