all," wrote Livingstone, to whom quinine was a necessity, owing to his frequent attacks of fever. "I felt as if I had now received the sentence of death, like poor Bishop Mackenzie." It was impossible he could continue his journey, and baffled, thwarted, and disappointed, he made his way back to Ujiji with the few faithful attendants who loved their white father too well to desert him in the hour of his need. This is how he describes his position, and it will be realised better when it is remembered that Livingstone never wrote anything but simple ungarnished facts : "I came to Ujiji off a tramp of between 400 and 500 miles beneath a blazing vertical sun, having been baffled, worried, defeated, and forced to return when almost in sight of the end of the geographical part of my mission by a number of half-caste Moslem slaves sent to me from Zanzibar instead of men. The sore heart, made still sorer by the truly woeful sights I had seen of man's inhumanity to man,' reacted on the bodily frame and depressed it beyond measure. I thought that I was dying on my feet. It is not too much to say that almost every step of the weary sultry way I was in pain, and I reached Ujiji a mere ruckle of bones." He had not been at Ujiji many days before the whole village was startled by the roar of a volley of musketry, announcing the approach of a caravan. Livingstone stood at the door of a house, with a group of Arabs around him, gazing at the crowd of people, who were wild with excitement, when presently above the heads of the yelling mob appeared the American flag, and pushing his way through the crowd there stood before him a young man in European costume and with a white face. "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" said the stranger, raising his helmeted cap. "Yes," responded the great traveller, at the same time lifting his blue cap with its faded gold band. "I thank God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see you." "I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you." And then Henry Stanley and David Livingstone sat down on a straw mat with a goatskin under it, and never did travellers have stranger or more stirring stories to tell and to hear than they. ́Never was aid more timely than that which the daring young American had brought. Splendidly he had fulfilled his mission, and amply was he rewarded in being able to minister to the necessities of the great traveller when he was reduced to the greatest extremities, ill in health, impoverished in stores almost to destitution, and grievously depressed in spirits. For ten days Stanley tarried at Ujiji with Livingstone, who in the cheerful society of his newly-found friend soon regained health and spirits. And then they set forth together to explore the northern half of Lake Tanganyika, when, having accomplished the object of their journey, they returned at the expiration of twenty-eight days to Ujiji. Then Livingstone devoted himself to posting up the notes of his wanderings and writing letters to his family and friends, during which time Stanley frequently urged upon him the advisability of returning to England for rest and change. But the reply was always, "Not yet. I must not go home yet. I must finish my task." Then came a time when Stanley must start on his homeward journey, and Livingstone accompanied him on the way as far as to Unyanyembi, in order to procure the stores which had been forwarded there for him from Zanzibar. A few days of rest and refreshment, and then Livingstone delivered into the hands of Stanley twenty-three letters and his "Journal" for conveyance to his daughter; explained to him his intention of completing the survey of the 180 miles beyond the spot where he had been obliged to turn back, and visiting other points of interest, which he calculated would take him about eighteen months in all to complete; and then the two men grasped hands again and again, and parted. Never again did Livingstone look upon the face of a white man, or grasp the hand of a man of kindred spirit, or hear again the old familiar tongue. Refreshed by the companionship of Stanley, cheered by the news that had reached him, and the proof that his labours were appreciated, and his aims and objects understood; strengthened and encouraged by the sympathy of kindred and friends, and the support of two great nations like England and America; replenished, too, in stores and the wherewithal to prosecute his researches, the intrepid traveller once more devoted himself to the great task he had determined to perform. But it was only a temporary reaction. Soon he was conscious of his weakness, and although he trudged on, and on it was in pain and weariness. By-and-by the rainy season set in, and then alternated days of burning sunshine with days of drenching rain; "Very solemn was that procession through morasses and tangled forests, for the missionary knew that his hour was not far off; and the faithful Nassick boys kept close to their white father all the way" (p. 94). and still he grew weaker and weaker, until at last he told Majwara, his favourite Nassick boy, that he could proceed no farther, but must return to Ujiji to recruit his health. At first he tried to walk on the return journey, then he took to riding a donkey, and finally he had to be carried on a kitenda, or native bedstead. Very solemn was that procession through morasses and tangled forests, for the missionary knew that his hour was not far off; and the faithful Nassick boys kept close to their white father all the way, for they too felt instinctively it was not for long that he would be with them. When they arrived at Ilala the chief of the district refused the party permission to remain, and for three weary days they retraced their footsteps towards Kabende. Then it was found impossible to proceed or return. "Build me a hut to die in," said the missionary; and a few faithful hearts and willing hands reared a rude hut, and fenced it for privacy and protection, and made him a bed raised from the mud floor by sticks and grass. Majwara and Susi were untiring in their watchful attention, the former remaining inside the missionary's hut day and night, to be ready to minister to his master's wants. One night Susi was called in. There was a strangeness in the manner of the great explorer they could not understand. "Is this the Luapula?" asked the dying man, his mind wandering on some geographical problem. On being told he was in Chilambo's village, near the Mulilamo, he lay still for a little while, and then speaking in the Suaheli language, said— "How many days is it to the Luapula?" And then the vision floating before his dimmed mind's eye vanished, and only saying, "Oh, dear, dear!" he fell into a doze. For an hour he lay thus, and then he called to Susi for the medicine-chest, selected some calomel, and asking Susi to pour a little water into a cup, and to place an empty one by it, he said— "All right, you can go out now." Then Susi went to his hut close by, while Majwara resumed his watch. And a great stillness fell on that hut in the wilderness in the heart of the dark continent; and Majwara lay down on his earth-couch sad and anxious. About four in the morning Majwara could bear the suspense no longer, and he ran to the hut of Susi. "Come to Bwana" (a term of affection applied to their master), come. I am frightened. I don't know if he is alive." hut. Susi aroused all the other followers, and together they went to the missionary's Passing inside, they looked towards the bed. Livingstone was not lying on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew backward for an instant. Pointing to him, Majwara said, 'When I lay down he was just as he is now.' The men drew nearer. A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of the box, shed a light sufficient for them to see his form. Their master was kneeling by the side of his bed, his body stretched forward, his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. For a minute they watched him; he did not stir, there was no sign of breathing. Then one of them, |