Meanwhile, Livingstone, little thinking of all the commotion that the knave Musa had created, was pushing on in the direction of Lake Tanganyika.  Though it was not true that he had been murdered, it was true that he was half-starved.  The want of other food compelled him to subsist to a large extent on African maize, the most tasteless and unsatisfying of food.  It never produced the feeling of sufficiency, and it would set him to dream of dinners he had once eaten, though dreaming was not his habit, except when he was ill.  Against his will, the thought of delicious feasts would come upon him, making it all the more difficult to be cheerful, with, probably, the poorest fare on which life could be in any way maintained, To complete his misery, his four goats were lost, so that the one comfort of his table—­a little milk along with his maize—­was taken from him when most eagerly sought and valued.

In reviewing the year 1866, he finds it less productive of results than he had hoped for:  “We now end 1866.  It has not been so fruitful or useful as I intended.  Will try to do better in 1867, and be better—­more gentle and loving; and may the Almighty, to whom I commit my way, bring my desires to pass, and prosper me!  Let all the sins of ’66 be blotted out, for Jesus’ sake.  May He who was full of grace and truth impress his character on mine:  grace—­eagerness to show favor; truth—­truthfulness, sincerity, honor—­for his mercy’s sake.”

Habitually brave and fearless though Livingstone was, it was not without frequent self-stimulation, and acts of faith in unseen truth, that the peace of his mind was maintained.  In the midst of his notes of progress, such private thoughts as the following occur from time to time:  “It seems to have been a mistake to imagine that the Divine Majesty on high was too exalted to take any notice of our mean affairs.  The great minds among men are remarkable for the attention they bestow on minutiae.  An astronomer cannot be great unless his mind can grasp an infinity of very small things, each of which, if unattended to, would throw his work out.  A great general attends to the smallest details of his army.  The Duke of Wellington’s letters show his constant attention to minute details.  And so with the Supreme Mind, of the universe, as He is revealed to us in his Son.  ‘The very hairs of your head are all numbered,’ ’A sparrow cannot fall to the ground without your Father,’ ’He who dwelleth in the light which no man can approach unto’ condescends to provide for the minutest of our wants, directing, guarding, and assisting in each hour and moment, with an infinitely more vigilant and excellent care than our own utmost self-love can ever attain to.  With the ever-watchful, loving eye constantly upon me, I may surely follow my bent, and go among the heathen in front, bearing the message of peace and good-will.  All appreciate the statement that it is offensive to our common Father to sell and kill his children.  I will therefore go, and may the Almighty help me to be faithful!”