What a magnificent river glided past! How glorious it seemed to us, who, for three years, had seen nothing bigger than a mountain-stream. The native girl, Ndiagani, was in ecstasy at the sight, while our little boy lay over the boat, apparently lost in contemplation. The great silent river was smooth as a vast mirror: and yet on its surface we could see thousands of little ripples passing down in quiet succession, and speaking of the individual men and women that pass down the great stream of time. How insignificant is each ripple in itself, yet none is small enough to be overlooked: all are carried silently on and on—to the eternal shore! After the boat was ready for the night, I went up to the chief’s again. He was sitting outside in his courtyard, all alone, beside a bright fire, expecting my return. The shades of night were now gathering round us, and his thoughts reverted to days gone by. He talked of Dr. Livingstone, and Mr. Waller, and others that had long-lived in his memory. Before we separated he wished me to remember him to Dr. Kirk (the British Consul at Zanzibar), and to report to him that Katunga’s gun was broken! Then he found a boy to conduct me through his village to the boat. Just outside the village, we passed a herd of pigs. These animals seemed quite wild: they run at large all day, and come in to the villages at night. Our bedroom was the small open boat. Mosquitoes were numerous and vicious, and the children were bitten severely. Next morning as soon as it was dawn, I went up to the chief to get boatmen as quickly as possible. He was sitting where I had left him last night, and a little boy was by him cooking a fowl for his breakfast. The natives cook fowls in a very primitive method, which, however, we have often adopted with satisfaction. The legs and wings are turned backwards and joined together, so as to hold a small stick which goes along the back of the fowl. The stick is fixed in the ground, and the fowl at the end of it is so placed as to get the full benefit of the fire. The Chief promised to send men soon, and to come down himself to see us off, but he wished to find something to give us as a keepsake. In a short time he came and had a second breakfast with us (two breakfasts are nothing to an African!) Then he produced a small tusk of ivory. This present we could not fail to regard as a token of sincere friendship, and the only return we could then make was to write out an order for tea, sugar, and such food as the Chief could not readily procure for himself. Soon the boat was off, and we were afloat on the beautiful river. What a pity that such a spot should be the chosen abode of malaria; only a few yards up the stream were the graves of certain martyrs of the Magomero Mission. As we passed out of sight there was a waving of hats and hands, which continued till we could see our friends no longer.