Mr. Stanley has freely unfolded to us the bitterness of his heart in parting from Livingstone.  “My days seem to have been spent in an Elysian field; otherwise, why should I so keenly regret the near approach of the parting hour?  Have I not been battered by successive fevers, prostrate with agony day after day lately?  Have I not raved and stormed in madness?  Have I not clenched my fists in fury, and fought with the wild strength of despair when in delirium?  Yet, I regret to surrender the pleasure I have felt in this man’s society, though so dearly purchased.... March 14th.—­We had a sad breakfast together.  I could not eat, my heart was too full; neither did my companion seem to have an appetite.  We found something to do which kept us longer together.  At eight o’clock I was not gone, and I had thought to have been off at five A.M....  We walked side by side; the men lifted their voices in a song.  I took long looks at Livingstone, to impress his features thoroughly on my memory....  ’Now, my dear Doctor, the best friends must part.  You have come far enough; let me beg of you to turn back.’  ‘Well,’ Livingstone replied, ’I will say this to you:  You have done what few men could do,—­far better than some great travelers 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,’—­’And may God bring you safe back to us all, my dear friend.  Farewell!’—­’Farewell!"...  My friendly reader, I wrote the above extracts in my Diary on the evening of each day.  I look at them now after six months have passed away; yet I am not ashamed of them; my eyes feel somewhat dimmed at the recollection of the parting.  I dared not erase, nor modify what I had penned, while my feelings were strong.  God grant that if ever you take to traveling in Africa you will get as noble and true a man for your companion as David Livingstone!  For four months and four days I lived with him in the same house, or in the same boat, or in the same tent, and I never found a fault in him.  I am a man of a quick temper, and often without sufficient cause, I daresay, have broken the ties of friendship; but with Livingstone I never had cause for resentment, but each day’s life with him added to my admiration for him.”

If Stanley’s feeling for Livingstone was thus at the warmest temperature, Livingstone’s sense of the service done to him by Stanley was equally unqualified.  Whatever else he might be or might not be, he had proved a true friend to him.  He had risked his life in the attempt to reach him, had been delighted to share with him every comfort he possessed, and to leave with him ample stores of all that might be useful to him in his effort to finish his work.  Whoever may have been to blame for it, it is certain that Livingstone had been afflicted for years, and latterly worried almost to death, by the inefficency and worthlessness of the men sent to serve him.  In Stanley he found one whom he could trust implicitly to do everything that zeal and