should come from the coast, but to wait in beggary was what I never contemplated, and I now felt miserable.  Shereef was evidently a moral idiot, for he came without shame to shake hands with me, and when I refused, assumed an air of displeasure, as having been badly treated; and afterwards came with his “Balghere,” good-luck salutation, twice a day, and on leaving said, “I am going to pray,” till I told him that were I an Arab, his hand and both ears would be cut off for thieving, as he knew, and I wanted no salutations from him.  In my distress it was annoying to see Shereef’s slaves passing from the market with all the good things that my goods had bought.

24th October, 1871.—­My property had been sold to Shereef’s friends at merely nominal prices.  Syed bin Majid, a good man, proposed that they should be returned, and the ivory be taken from Shereef; but they would not restore stolen property, though they knew it to be stolen.  Christians would have acted differently, even those of the lowest classes.  I felt in my destitution as if I were the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves; but I could not hope for Priest, Levite, or good Samaritan to come by on either side, but one morning Syed bin Majid said to me, “Now this is the first time we have been alone together; I have no goods, but I have ivory; let me, I pray you, sell some ivory, and give the goods to you.”  This was encouraging; but I said, “Not yet, but by-and-bye.”  I had still a few barter goods left, which I had taken the precaution to deposit with Mohamad bin Saleh before going to Manyuema, in case of returning in extreme need.  But when my spirits were at their lowest ebb, the good Samaritan was close at hand, for one morning Susi came running at the top of his speed and gasped out, “An Englishman!  I see him!” and off he darted to meet him.  The American flag at the head of a caravan told of the nationality of the stranger.  Bales of goods, baths of tin, huge kettles, cooking pots, tents, &c, made me think “This must be a luxurious traveller, and not one at his wits’ end like me.” (28th October, 1871.) It was Henry Moreland Stanley, the travelling correspondent of the New York Herald, sent by James Gordon Bennett, junior, at an expense of more than 4000_l._, to obtain accurate information about Dr. Livingstone if living, and if dead to bring home my bones.  The news he had to tell to one who had been two full years without any tidings from Europe made my whole frame thrill.  The terrible fate that had befallen France, the telegraphic cables successfully laid in the Atlantic, the election of General Grant, the death of good Lord Clarendon—­my constant friend, the proof that Her Majesty’s Government had not forgotten me in voting 1000_l_. for supplies, and many other points of interest, revived emotions that had lain dormant in Manyuema.  Appetite returned, and instead of the spare, tasteless, two meals a day, I ate four times daily, and in a week began to feel