HIS WANDERINGS. 129 



his thirst and hunger, that he was compelled 

 at once to gratify both, by eating its flesh and 

 drinking its blood. 



The following morning, somewhat refreshed, 

 he renewed his endless march. The sun rose 

 brightly, and he followed the direction of its 

 shadows. Day after day, weeks even passed, 

 and the poor Live Oaker still toiled hopelessly 

 on, feeding on weeds, frogs, or snakes. 



Grradually he became more and more emaci- 

 ciated, till at last he could scarcely crawl. After 

 the lapse of forty days he reached the banks of 

 a river. There reposing, he awaited the endur- 

 ance of his last hour, unmitigated by human 

 sympathy or human help. With the ebbing 

 consciousness of reality around, more busy be- 

 came the dreams of fancy. Borne upon its 

 wings were reminiscences strange and sweet. 

 His friends, his home, his youth, hours of de- 

 light and days long past crowded upon his 

 thought — when amidst the visions of returning 

 joy, the sounds of oars seemed to fall on the 

 silent river. He listened, but the sounds soon 

 died away on his fainting ears. Was it the de- 

 lusion of a dying hour? Again he listened 

 eagerly, and again came the plash of oars. It 

 was reality— a saving reality, for now when the 

 light of life was about to he quenched for ever 

 in the poor wanderer, the quickening fulness of 



