3J2 
LIVINGSTONE'S LAST JOURNEY 
come, as the doctor had patched and cobbled his clothes till they would 
hardly hold together. Stanley then hurried to the coast, in order to 
send back a number of trusty men as carriers for the doctor's goods. 
Moreover, he bore the precious journal, which dated from six years 
back, and contained a wealth of information about countries and peo¬ 
ples hitherto unexplored and unknown. 
When Livingstone shook Stanley’s hand for the last time, he was 
parting with the only white man he had seen in the last six years, and 
the last he would see on this earth. The farewell between these two 
men was of a most affecting nature, for both knew of the difficulties 
of the past and the future; and during the four months in which they 
had lived together in no common degree of familiarity, they had 
regarded each other with the greatest interest: the one, a veteran who 
had borne the burden and heat of the day; the other, a young knight 
who had but just won his golden spurs. Although as unlike as possi¬ 
ble in character, Stanley was to take up much of the work which the 
doctor left unfinished, and carry it to a successful end. Moreover, he 
was to fill in the public eye as large if not so well-rounded a space; for 
although Stanley has little of the missionary about him, he has 
achieved such herculean labors in Africa, and has met with such un¬ 
qualified success, that he may well be regarded as the greatest traveler 
since Livingstone’s time. 
In the meanwhile Livingstone was waiting at Unyanyembe for the 
men Stanley was to send. Lie employed much of the time in writing 
letters and noting down what he could learn from the Arabs. A few 
days after his parting with Stanley his fifty-ninth birthday occurred, 
and in his journal we find these words: “I again dedicate my whole 
self to Thee. Accept me, and grant, O gracious Father, that ere this 
year is gone I may finish my task. In Jesus’ name I ask it. Amen; 
so let it be. David Livingstone.” 
In May he wrote a letter for the New York Herald and it is 
in this letter that we find those words which have struck every reader 
with their pathetic intenseness, and which may now be seen inscribed 
upon his tomb in Westminster Abbey. Thus they run: “All I can add 
in my loneliness is, may Heaven’s rich blessing come down on every 
one—American, English, or Turk—who will help to heal the open sore 
