hou art gone; 'Shall not
the Judge of all the earth do right?' I leave thee to Him.
Alas! alas! Sebituane. I might have said more to him. God
forgive me. Free me from blood-guiltiness. If I had said more
of death I might have been suspected as having foreseen the
event, and as guilty of bewitching him. I might have
recommended Jesus and his great atonement more. It is,
however, very difficult to break through the thick crust of
ignorance which envelops their minds."

The death of Sebituane was a great blow in another sense. The region
over which his influence extended was immense, and he had promised to
show it to Livingstone and to select a suitable locality for his
residence. This heathen chief would have given to Christ's servant what
the Boers refused him! Livingstone would have had his wish--an entirely
new country to work upon, where the name of Christ had never yet been
spoken. So at least he thought. Sebituane's successor in the chiefdom
was his daughter, Ma-mochisane. From her he received liberty to visit
any part of the country he chose. While waiting for a reply (she was
residing at a distance), he one day fell into a great danger from an
elephant which had come on him unexpectedly. "We were startled by his
coming a little way in the direction in which we were standing, but he
did not give us chase. I have had many escapes. We seem immortal till
our work is done."

Mr. Oswell and he then proceeded in a northeasterly direction, passing
through the town of Linyanti, and on the 3d of August they came on the
beautiful river at Sesheke:

"We thanked God for permitting us to see this glorious river.
All we said to each other was 'How glorious! how magnificent!
how beautiful!'... In crossing, the waves lifted up the canoe
and made it roll beautifully. The scenery of the Firths of
Forth and Clyde was brought vividly to my view, and had I
been fond of indulging in sentimental effusions, my lachrymal
apparatus seemed fully charged. But then the old man who was
conducting us across might have said, 'What on earth are you
blubbering for? Afraid of these crocodiles, eh?' The little
sentimentality which exceeded was forced to take its course
down the inside of the nose. We have other work in this world
than indulging in sentimentality of the 'Sonnet to the Moon'
variety."

The river, which went here by the name of