George Square, Glasgow, Scotland

me beg of you to turn back.’ ‘Well,’ said Livingston, ‘I will say this to you; you have done what few men could do — far better than some great travellers I know. And I am grateful to you for what you have done for me. God guide you safe home, and bless you, my friend!’ I answered, ‘And may God bring you back safe to us all, my dear friend! Farewell!’ He solemnly but heartily answered, ‘Farewell!’”

At last the end came, and the weary traveller, footsore and sick at heart, laid himself down to die. On his last birth-day he had written in his Journal— “Thanks to the Almighty Preserver of men for sparing me thus far on the journey of life. Can I hope for ultimate success? So many obstacles have arisen! Let not Satan prevail over me, oh! my good Lord Jesus!” Dysentery, from which he had frequently suffered, attacked him, and on nearing Lake Bangweolo he got so ill that he had to be carried in a litter. The final entry in his Journal was on the 29th April, 1873—“Knocked up quite. We are on the banks of the Mobilomo.”

The closing scene is described with much pathetic force by Mr. Waller, in his supplementary passages to the “Last Journals”:—

“It must have been 4 A.M. when Susi heard Majwara’s step once more. Come to Buana (the Master); I am afraid; I don’t know if he is alive!’ Passing inside, the men looked towards the bed. Dr. Livingstone was not lying on it, but appeared to be engaged in prayer, and they instinctively drew backwards for the instant. Pointing to him, Majwara said, When I lay down he was just as he is now, and it is because I find he does not move that I fear he is dead.’ A candle, stuck by its own wax to the top of a box, shed a light sufficient for them to see his form. Dr. Livingstone 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, Matthew, advanced softly to him and placed his hands to his cheeks. Livingstone was dead!”

His faithful men buried him for a brief space under a Mvula tree, till such time as they should be able to take his body to Zanzibar, from thence to be taken to England.

His devoted African “boys,” with loving and faithful hearts, brought him over the seas,’ and rendered his body back into the sacred keeping of his admiring country. He was buried in Westminster Abbey amongst poets, statesmen, warriors, and kings, the noblest of our dead. His chaste and truthful epitaph well describes the man, the hero, and the Christian:—

Brought By Faithful Hands
Over Land And Sea,
Here Rests
DAVID LIVINGSTONE,
Missionary, Traveller, Philanthropist.
Born March 19, 1813,
At Blantyre, Lanarkshire.
Died May 4, 1873,
At Chitambo’s Village, Ilala.
For Thirty Years His Life Was Spent In An
Unwearied Effort To Evangelize The Native Races,
To Explore The Undiscovered Secrets,
And Abolish The Desolating Slave Trade Of
Central Africa,
Where, With His Last Words, He Wrote:—
“All I Can Say In My Solitude Is, May Heaven’s
Blessing Come Down On Every One—
American, English, Or Turk—
Who Will Help To Heal This Open Sore Of The World.’”