“The walk was somewhat arduous, as much of it was through very long, thick, bamboo-like grass. Beyond the second village the land is uninhabited, and is forbidden ground owing to the sleeping-sickness regulations. We had to obtain special passes from the officials at Abercorn to permit us to make the trip. Mr. Clark had gone down with thirty men a week before to clear the path as much as possible and to burn the grass where necessary and practicable. It was an eight-mile walk to the former Mission station at Niamkolo, and nearly two miles further to the shore. The old station was a pathetic sight. The brick house in which the Stewart Wrights and the Clarks had lived was in ruins, as it had been left after the fire seven years ago. The walls were standing to the first floor, and inside trees, shrubs and grasses were growing in wild profusion. It was on Saturday evening, the 29th June, 1906, that the detached kitchen took fire in a great gale of wind. The sparks were carried on to the thatch of the dwelling house, and in two hours the place was burnt out--very little being saved. The Clarks were there to see their home destroyed before their eyes. This was the first time Mrs. Clark had visited the spot since the conflagration. “Then came the walk down the hill past the site of the house in which Mr. and Mrs. Hemans, the black missionaries from Jamaica, used to live. Then we crossed the plain, once a great garden and rice field, now a swamp, to reach the Church and the shore. I was carried across the swamp by two men holding hands, on which I sat with my arms round their necks. We reached the ruins of the Church about mid-day. It is picturesquely situated on a hill overlooking the south end of the lake, and the island belonging to the Society. Its appearance suggests, on a smaller scale, the ruins of Iona Cathedral far more than those of a Church in Central Africa. The walls and gable end and the roofless bell-tower are still standing--and what walls they are!--all of light stone fashioned in large slabs, and a yard thick. We had lunch in the bell-tower in some trepidation, as the over-hanging stones threatened to fall, and then we made our way down to the stony beach, where we lingered long. The scene was beautiful beyond description. The lake stretched away to the north into the ‘glow and glory of the distance,’ where water and sky met on the horizon. The hills on each side were clothed with sylvan loveliness. The sky was reflected on the bosom of the water. White cloud was piled on white cloud with many a glimpse of deepest blue, and the glorious sunshine dominated the scene. It was a dream of beauty.