of the most dashing exploits of the war. Sartorius found the capital deserted. None of the inhabitants had returned to try and secure their property, or view their burned homesteads. But they might be lurking anywhere--in fact, Sartorius heard that the King and his attendants were near at hand, weeping over the ruins of Coomassie. With his little band of twenty men, Sartorius rode boldly through the deserted precincts, and then onwards through fifty miles of hostile territory, to join the British army, passing one burnt village after another, but not meeting any human form till, at Fommanah, they came up with the main body of Sir Garnet’s forces. Captain Glover followed in the track of Sartorius first to Coomassie and then to Fommanah. The treaty, finally signed by King Koffee Calcalli, stipulated that he should renounce all rights of Protectorate over the petty monarchs in alliance with the British Queen, and formerly tributary to the kingdom of Ashantee; also over any of the tribes formerly connected with the Dutch Government on the Gold Coast; that free trade should be permitted between Ashantee and the British ports; that the road between Coomassie and the Prah should always be kept open; that the King should use his best efforts to check the practice of human sacrifice; and that he should pay in instalments a war indemnity of 50,000 ounces of approved gold, beginning with 1,000 ounces forthwith. The cost of the war to the British Government was estimated at 900,000 pounds sterling. To Sir Garnet Wolseley, who declined titular honours, a sum of 25,000 pounds was awarded in recognition of his services. FUNERAL OF DR. LIVINGSTONE (1874). =Source.=--_Punch_, April 25, 1874. (Reprinted by the special permission of the proprietors of _Punch_.) DAVID LIVINGSTONE, DIED ON THE SHORES OF LAKE BEMBA, MAY 4, 1873; BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, APRIL 18, 1874. Droop half-mast colours, bow, bareheaded crowds As this plain coffin o’er the side is slung, To pass by woods of masts and ratlined shrouds As erst by Afric’s trunks, liana-hung. ’Tis the last mile of many thousands trod With failing strength but never-failing will By the worn frame, now at its rest with God, That never rested from its fight with ill. Or if the ache of travel and of toil Would sometimes wring a short, sharp cry of pain From agony of fever, blain, and boil, ’Twas but to crush it down, and on again. He knew not that the trumpet he had blown Out of the darkness of that dismal land, Had reached and roused an army of its own To strike the chains from the slave’s fettered hand. Now we believe he knows, sees all is well; How God had stayed his will and shaped his way, To bring the light to those that darkling dwell With gains that life’s devotion will repay.