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. 
Gradually 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 
ariver. 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 
nn the poor wanderer, the quickening fulness of 
I 
