one's servants, Susi and
Chuma. By and by the Doctor himself appeared. "As I advanced slowly
toward him," says Mr. Stanley, "I noticed he was pale, looked wearied,
had a gray beard, wore a bluish cap with a faded gold band round it, had
on a red-sleeved waistcoat and a pair of gray tweed trousers. I would
have run to him, only I was a coward in the presence of such a
mob,--would have embraced him, only he, being an Englishman, I did not
know how he would receive me; so I did what cowardice and false pride
suggested was the best thing--walked deliberately to him, took off my
hat and said, 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?' 'Yes,' said he, with a kind
smile, lifting his cap slightly. I replace my hat on my head, and he
puts on his cap, and we both grasp hands, and then I say aloud--'I thank
God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see you.' He answered, 'I feel
thankful that I am here to welcome you.'"

The conversation began--but Stanley could not remember what it was. "I
found myself gazing at him, conning the wonderful man at whose side I
now sat in Central Africa. Every hair of his head and beard, every
wrinkle of his face, the wanness of his features, and the slightly
wearied look he bore, were all imparting intelligence to me--the
knowledge I craved for so much ever since I heard the words, 'Take what
you want, but find Livingstone,' What I saw was deeply interesting
intelligence to me and unvarnished truth. I was listening and reading at
the same time. What did these dumb witnesses relate to me?

"Oh, reader, had you been at my side on this day in Ujiji, how
eloquently could be told the nature of this man's work? Had you been
there but to see and hear! His lips gave me the details; lips that never
lie. I cannot repeat what he said; I was too much engrossed to take my
notebook out, and begin to stenograph his story. He had so much to say
that he began at the end, seemingly oblivious of the fact that five or
six years had to be accounted for. But his account was oozing out; it
was growing fast into grand proportions--into a most marvelous history
of deeds."

And Stanley, too, had wonderful things to tell the Doctor. "The news,"
says Livingstone, "he had to tell 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 con