“I take the opportunity of a waggon going to Bamangwato, to send a few lines to let you know how I am getting on. I wrote last to you from Mr. Thomson’s at Hope Fountain. Since then I have been detained at Gubuleweyo, the King’s Town, first by bad weather, and then, as the time of the grand dance of the year was approaching, I waited to see it. The people come from all the neighbouring kraals, and dance and feast for two or three days. It is the feast of the first-fruits of the season, and Mr. Thomson advised me to stay for it. After this, fearful rain again delayed me, and then I had some trouble with my men, and dismissed two, and had to have the case of a third tried before the king. At last, last Monday, I got under weigh once more, with a new waterproof tent on my waggon. The journey here is about three days under ordinary circumstances, but it took me six, in the present heavy state of the country and badness of the river drifts. I had many sticks in the mud and breakages of my dissel-boom. Last night I arrived here, and to-day is Sunday. The man to whom I am going to give this letter drove my waggon for the last eleven miles. He overtook me on the road, and let his own empty waggon go on. We were about six hours in accomplishing the distance, including delays, but, thanks to his timely help, I pulled through. The last river we had to cross, the Mangwe, was so swollen that the water was up to the men’s chests, and looked as if it was coming into the waggon. The men who were not in the waggon had to catch hold of the oxen’s tails, or struggle through the stream as well as they could. It would have been very unpleasant, especially with bad helpless drivers, to have broken my dissel-boom in the middle of the river, and I felt very glad when safely landed on the bank. “From here I intend travelling leisurely to Mungwato, where I hope to find letters. When I get there I shall decide whether or not to make another attempt on the Victoria Falls. By leaving Mungwato about April, I should have the fine season before me, and could probably reach the Falls and return to Mungwato in the space of three months. The worst of this country, however, is that movements here are so slow and dependent on the caprice of natives, and one is too much cut off from the world. Yet I believe the Zambesi would repay one for much sacrifice of time and patience. It is impossible, I am now convinced, to get on with Kafirs and Hottentots without severity. Kindness is thrown away upon them, and makes them worse than they are. I believe I shall have to give the latter method up altogether, and resort to castigation, which is an alternative I don’t like. They are, almost to a man, dishonest, lazy, and impudent.