For the particulars of Livingstone’s memorable journeys we are dependent on what he called his “lined journal.” It was a strongly bound quarto volume of more than eight hundred pages, and fitted with lock and key. The writing in it is extraordinarily neat and clear; but there are pathetic pages in it when it is evident that the writer is shaking with fever, yet nevertheless his iron will is compelling his trembling fingers to do their office. Everything went down in his journal. Dr. Blaikie well says that “it is built up in a random-rubble style.” There are frequent prayers and poignant religious reflections, the ejaculations of a heart charged to overflowing with the Divine love and human compassion. Immediately following will be scientific observations, or speculations on some problem of natural history or geological structure. The various incidents in the journey are all recorded with the simplicity and freedom from sensationalism of the Evangelist Mark. Livingstone never magnifies a peril, and dwells not at all on his personal heroism. The “lined” journal ranks as one of his “books,” and its companions in the little canister were only a Sechuana Pentateuch, Thomson’s Tables, a Nautical Almanac, and a Bible. He confesses that “the want of other mental pabulum is felt severely.” A misfortune little short of a disaster befel him at the beginning of this journey. The greater part of his medicines were stolen. With the health of all his escort to see to, and with fever racking his own frame, it must have seemed as if the chances of success were sensibly diminished. It is interesting to compare Livingstone’s rate of progress with that of ordinary traders. The trader thought seven miles a day good travelling, and even so he only reckoned on travelling ten days a month. Seventy miles a month was, in his eye, satisfactory progress. Livingstone struck an average of ten miles a day, and travelled about twenty days a month. Thus he seldom made less than two hundred miles a month. He travelled from Linyanti to Loanda (some 1,400 miles) in six months and a half, which as a mere feat of rapid African transit was quite amazing. On this journey he rode hundreds of miles on the back of his riding-ox, Sindbad, whose temper was uncertain and whose idiosyncrasies were pronounced. We shall see as we proceed that Sindbad was by no means always a satisfactory colleague.