Halima, a stout, buxom woman of thirty, was brought at once to our presence, grinning, but evidently nervous and shy. She was not uninteresting by any means, and as she opened her capacious mouth, two complete and perfect rows of teeth were revealed. ‘Halima,’ began Livingstone, in kind, grave tones, ‘my young brother has travelled far, and is hungry. Do you think you and Ferajji, his cook, can manage to give us something nice to eat? What have you?’ ‘I can have some dampers, and kid kabobs, and tea or coffee ready immediately, master, if you like; and by sending to the market for something, we can do better.’ ‘Well, Halima, we will leave it to you and Ferajji; only do your best, for this is a great day for us all in Ujiji.’ ‘Yes, master. Sure to do that.’ I now thought of Livingstone’s letters, and calling Kaif-Halek, the bearer of them, I delivered into the Doctor’s hands a long-delayed letter-bag that I had discovered at Unyanyembe, the cover of which was dated November 1st, 1870. A gleam of joy lighted up his face, but he made no remark, as he stepped on to the verandah and resumed his seat. Resting the letter-bag on his knees, he presently, after a minute’s abstraction in thought, lifted his face to me and said, ‘Now sit down by my side, and tell me the news.’ ‘But what about your letters, Doctor? You will find the news, I dare say, in them. I am sure you must be impatient to read your letters after such a long silence.’ ‘Ah!’ he replied, with a sigh, ‘I have waited years for letters; and the lesson of patience I have well learned!--I can surely wait a few hours longer! I would rather hear the general news, so pray tell me how the old world outside of Africa is getting along.’ Consenting, I sat down, and began to give a résumé of the exciting events that had transpired since he had disappeared in Africa, in March, 1866. When I had ended the story of triumphs and reverses which had taken place between 1866 and 1871, my tent-boys advanced to spread a crimson table-cloth, and arrange the dishes and smoking platters heaped up profusely with hot dampers, white rice, maize porridge, kid kabobs, fricasseed chicken, and stewed goat-meat. There were also a number of things giving variety to the meal, such as honey from Ukawendi, forest plums, and wild-fruit jam, besides sweet milk and clabber, and then a silver tea-pot full of ‘best tea,’ and beautiful china cups and saucers to drink it from. Before we could commence this already magnificent breakfast, the servants of Sayed bin Majid, Mohammed bin Sali, and Muini Kheri brought three great trays loaded with cakes, curries, hashes, and stews, and three separate hillocks of white rice, and we looked at one another with a smile of wonder at this Ujiji banquet. We drew near to it, and the Doctor uttered the grace: ‘For what we are going to receive, make us, O Lord, sincerely thankful.’