“Rich man and poor fellow, all men must die: 
  Bodies are only shadows.  Why should I be sad?"[93]

He can be deeply wrought upon by acts of kindness; and bears a friendship to those who show him favor, worthy of a better state of society.  When Henry M. Stanley (God bless him! noble, brave soul!) was about emerging from the Dark Continent, he made a halt at Kabinda before he ended his miraculous journey at Zanzibar on the Pacific Ocean.  He had been accompanied in his perilous journey by stout-hearted, brave, and faithful natives.  Their mission almost completed, they began to sink into that listlessness which is often the precursor of death.  They had been true to their master, and were now ready to die as bravely as they had lived.  Read Mr. Stanley’s account without emotion if you can:—­

     “‘Do you wish to see Zanzibar, boys?’ I asked.

     “’Ah, it is far.  Nay, speak not, master.  We shall never see
     it,’ they replied.

     “’But you will die if you go on in this way.  Wake up—­shake
     yourselves—­show yourselves to be men.’

     “’Can a man contend with God?  Who fears death?  Let us die
     undisturbed, and be at rest forever,’ they answered.

“Brave, faithful, loyal souls!  They were, poor fellows, surrendering themselves to the benumbing influences of a listlessness and fatal indifference to life!  Four of them died in consequence of this strange malady at Loanda, three more on board her Majesty’s ship Industry, and one woman breathed her last the day after we arrived at Zanzibar.  But in their sad death they had one consolation, in the words which they kept constantly repeating to themselves—­

     “’We have brought our master to the great sea, and he has
     seen his white brothers.  La il Allah, il Allah!  There is no
     God but God!’ they said—­and died.

“It is not without an overwhelming sense of grief, a choking in the throat, and swimming eyes, that I write of those days; for my memory is still busy with the worth and virtues of the dead.  In a thousand fields of incident, adventure, and bitter trials, they had proved their stanch heroism and their fortitude; they had lived and endured nobly.  I remember the enthusiasm with which they responded to my appeals; I remember their bold bearing during the darkest days; I remember the Spartan pluck, the indomitable courage, with which they suffered in the days of our adversity.  Their voices again loyally answer me, and again I hear them address each other upon the necessity of standing by the ‘master.’  Their boat-song, which contained sentiments similar to the following:—­

       ’The pale-faced stranger, lonely here,
       In cities afar, where his name is dear,
       Your Arab truth and strength shall show;
       He trusts in us, row, Arabs, row’—­

     despite all the sounds which now surround me, still charms
     my listening ear.[94] ...