Early on the morrow we were to leave for the northern hunting grounds.

We regained our canoe, and paddled away to our temporary camp.
Again we were delighted with the calm beauty of that river scene, and found it difficult to decide when it was most beautiful--whether the morning light best gilded its glories or whether the evening lent additional calm.

We passed island after island in bewildering succession.

Away towards the drift three huge black masses were splashing in the water, which we easily made out to be hippopotami taking their evening bath, and as we glided along a sleepy crocodile slipped back into the water from a muddy eminence where it had been basking in the sun.

Then our canoe ran into a creek where leaves and ferns grew in delightful confusion, and we landed in soft marshy ground just as the sun was sinking like a red ball into the river, and giving way to the sovereignty of a glorious full moon, which soon tinged everything with a silver light, making glades of palms look delightfully romantic.
Civilization has since found its way to Livingstone.