The passengers were sent on _viâ_ Marseilles, and Livingstone proceeded homeward by Paris and Dover.
At last he reached "dear old England" on the 9th of December, 1856. Tidings of a great sorrow had reached him on the way. At Cairo he heard of the death of his father. He had been ill a fortnight, and died full of faith and peace. "You wished so much to see David," said his daughter to him as his life was ebbing away. "Ay, very much, very much; but the will of the Lord be done." Then after a pause he said, "But I think I'll know whatever is worth knowing about him. When you see him, tell him I think so." David had not less eagerly desired to sit once more at the fireside and tell his father of all that had befallen him on the way. On both sides the desire had to be classed among hopes unfulfilled. But on both sides there was a vivid impression that the joy so narrowly missed on earth would be found in a purer form in the next stage of being.
Mrs. Livingstone--Her intense anxieties--Her poetical welcome--Congratulatory letters from Mrs. and Dr, Moffat--Meeting of welcome of Royal Geographical Society--of London Missionary Society--Meeting in Mansion House--Enthusiastic public meeting at Cape Town--Livingstone visits Hamilton--Returns to London to write his book--Letter to Mr. Maclear--Dr. Risdon Bennett's reminiscences of this period--Mr. Frederick Fitch's--Interview with Prince Consort--Honors--Publication and great success of _Missionary Travels_--Character and design of the book--Why it was not more of a missionary record--Handsome conduct of publisher--Generous use of the profits--Letter to a lady in Carlisle vindicating the character of his speeches.
The years that had elapsed since Dr. Livingstone bade his wife farewell at Cape Town had been to her years of deep and often terrible anxiety. Letters, as we have seen, were often lost, and none seem more frequently to have gone missing than those between him and her. A stranger in England, without a home, broken in health, with a family of four to care for, often without tidings of her husband for great stretches of time, and harassed with anxieties and apprehensions that sometimes proved too much for her faith, the strain on her was very great. Those who knew her in Africa, when, "queen of the wagon," and full of life, she directed the arrangements and sustained the spirits of a whole party, would hardly have thought her the same person in England. When Livingstone had been longest unheard of, her heart sank altogether; but through prayer, tranquillity of mind returned, even before the arrival of any letter announcing his safety. She had been waiting for him at Southampton, and, owing to the casualty in the Bay of Tunis, he arrived at Dover, but as soon as possible he was with her, reading the poetical welcome which she had prepared in the hope that they would never part again:
"A hundred thousand welcomes, and it's time for you to come From the far land of the foreigner, to your country and your home. O long as we were parted, ever since you went away, I never passed a dreamless night, or knew an easy day.
So you think I would reproach you with the sorrows that I bore? Since the sorrow is all over, now I have you here once more, And there's nothing but the gladness, and the love within my heart, And the hope so sweet and certain that again we'll never part.
* * * * *
A hundred thousand welcomes! how my heart is gushing o'er With the love and joy and wonder thus to see your face once more. How did I live without you these long long years of woe? It seems as if 'twould kill me to be parted from you now.
You'll never part me, darling, there's a promise in your eye; I may tend you while I'm living, you may watch me when I die; And if death but kindly lead me to the blessed home on high, What a hundred thousand welcomes will await you in the sky!