enormous evil, and join my poor
little helping hand in the enormous revolution that in his all-embracing
Providence He has been carrying on for ages, and is now actually helping
forward. Men may think I covet fame, but I make it a rule never to read
aught written in my praise."

Livingstone's last birthday (19th March, 1873) found him in much the
same circumstances as before. "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, O
my good Lord Jesus." A few days after (24th March): "Nothing earthly
will make me give up my work in despair. I encourage myself in the Lord
my God, and go forward."

In the beginning of April, the bleeding from the bowels, from which he
had been suffering, became more copious, and his weakness was pitiful;
still he longed for strength to finish his work. Even yet the old
passion for natural history was strong; the aqueous plants that abounded
everywhere, the caterpillars that after eating the plants ate one
another, and were such clumsy swimmers; the fish with the hook-shaped
lower jaw that enabled them to feed as they skimmed past the plants; the
morning summons of the cocks and turtle-doves; the weird scream of the
fish eagle--all engaged his interest. Observations continued to be
taken, and the Sunday services were always held.

But on the 21st April a change occurred. In a shaky hand he wrote:
"Tried to ride, but was forced to lie down, and they carried me back to
vil. exhausted." A kitanda or palanquin had to be made for carrying him.
It was sorry work, for his pains were excruciating and his weakness
excessive. On the 27th April[77] he was apparently at the lowest ebb,
and wrote in his Journal the last words he ever penned--"Knocked up
quite, and remain == recover sent to buy milch goats. We are on the
banks of R. Molilamo."

[Footnote 77: This was the eleventh anniversary of his wife's death.]

The word "recover" seems to show that he had no presentiment of death,
but cherished the hope of recovery; and Mr. Waller has pointed out, from
his own sad observation of numerous cases in connection with the
Universities Mission, that malarial poisoning is usually unattended with
the apprehension of death, and that in none of these instances, any more
than in the case of Livingstone, were there any such messages, or
instructions, or expressions of trust and hop