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at a glance the peculiarities of the regions through which he passed. Of course he did little more than mark down the principal objects of importance, but few men could, under similar adverse circumstances, have done as much. It is not an easy thing, let me assure the reader, to take in the peculiarities of broad tracts of country: let anyone who questions this try to write a description of any portion of his native land which he has passed through a hundred times, and ought to know thoroughly. Wherever he wandered Livingstone made valuable discoveries. While placing strange races in communication with Europe he imparted to them some of the advantages of civilised life and manners, and he set, wherever he went, an example of integrity and piety, worth more than anything else. We cannot yet fully understand all that he did and found out, although it is certain that his researches and discoveries have been productive of even more important results than was a few years ago suspected. For years to come the respect and admiration. with which his labours are regarded by thoughtful men will increase, and the world will be better able to appreciate their vast importance.

As is generally known, Livingstone's wife was the daughter of the distinguished African missionary, Robert Moffat, and a more devoted and faithful woman never lived. Her death, which occurred in April 1862, was extremely sad. For ten long years of suspense and sorrow she had seen little of her husband, but on the first of February, 1862, she had the pleasure of being reunited to him. She went out to Africa for the purpose, and was rejoined by the great missionary near the Luabo mouth of the Zambesi, and at Shupanga, a hundred miles up the river, Livingstone was parted from his wife for ever. She appeared in good health, and on one of the last evenings in April went a walk up the river with her husband and the Rev. James Stewart. A week from that day she was dead. In the course of the week her health failed, and it was evident she was suffering from the fever for which the country is deservedly dreaded. On the Saturday she was seen to be in danger, and was taken to Shupanga House. Gradually she became worse, and her medical attendant, Dr. Kirk, the distinguished English political agent at Zanzibar, though he exerted himself to the utmost, was unable to stop the progress of the fatal disease-who, indeed, ever knew the ablest physician successful in grappling with serious illness? Science may prevent, but rarely indeed can she cure sickness.

On the last Sunday in April, at six in the evening, the end approached fast, and the heart-broken Livingstone sent for his friend, the Rev. James Stewart. When the latter entered the room the great missionary calmly said, "The end is evidently

approaching, and I thought I would send for you." Mrs. Livingstone never rallied. In a few moments a change came over the expression of her countenance, which showed that the end was indeed come, and, as the glorious sun set, she died. The day had been singularly bright and beautiful, and was in perfect harmony with the departure of a faithful and gentle spirit from the trials and vicissitudes of earth to stand for ever in the presence of that God who had enabled her to suffer patiently, and who sustained her husband in an hour of affliction which almost overwhelmed him. From the account Mr. Stewart has given of her death, it is probable that for some time before the last she was unconscious. Next morning preparations were made for the funeral, and at noon she was buried under a monstrous baobab tree. The spot where her body rests is marked by a pile of sun-dried bricks and a large white cross, in addition to which the immense forest monarch is a still more enduring monument. Such a woman was worthy of such a husband.

It is the greatest glory of Livingstone that he had no selfish. motives-in fact, he was above the littlenesses of ordinary human nature. He would have worked just as well had the world remained ignorant of his sufferings and discoveries. Livingstone never coveted popularity, never tried to bask in the rays of Court favour. Had his object been less exalted, his heroism inferior, he would probably not have succeeded as he did, and his name might now be already sinking into oblivion. But for what he achieved, the interior of the great African wilderness would still be an unknown land to us, and Lieutenant Cameron would not have gone on his travels; while had others explored as he did, Livingstone would probably not have reaped such honours in the field of missionary enterprise. But he was no common man; his mind was of splendid proportions; and, judging by what he did, not one man in a million is similarly gifted. The iron resolution and intelligent perseverance of the Glasgow factory hand were wonderful. Men of inferior intellectual calibre heap up riches in abundance. Men less intrepid and generous rise from the forge to a seat in the House of Commons. Had an unpropitious fate condemned Livingstone to a life passed in less noble pursuits than those which were his delight, he must even then have made an indelible mark in the history of his country. Perhaps, though we should not noW remember him as the magnanimous missionary and explorer, we should be proud of him as the illustrious scientific discoverer or the merchant prince and philanthropist. Well for him, well for the world, that he never swerved from the course he so early chose. It has been said that Livingstone was not fitted by education. or temperament to conduct a great expedition of civilised men,

that he would have failed had he been put at the head of a well. appointed and numerous party, for whose many wants he would have had to provide, and who would in every emergency have had to consult him.

All this may be perfectly true, but what does it amount to? Merely to this, that he might not have succeeded so well had he been differently circumstanced. One might as well complain that Gladstone would not make a good general, or that Bright could not rival Macaulay. But as a set-off let us remember that Livingstone was placed in such conditions that it was most important he should be independent of advantages that would be indispensable to the success of inferior men. Had he been unable to stir until everything was in order, Africa would still to a terra incognita. It is ungenerous to complain that a man, who triumphs in the midst of overwhelming difficulties, might not have been as successful had he had to conduct similar researches under what might be deemed more favourable surroundings. Less would have been attempted, much less accomplished, had he been at the head of a hundred and fifty Europeans. As it was, Livingstone was fortunately free to do as he liked, and was only at times hindered by the want of money and scientific instruments. From his earnings as a writer he ungrudgingly expended large sums on the instruments and materials needed for his long and perilous expeditions.

At the beginning of May, 1873, the career of the generous and high principled missionary came to an end. Far from friends, country, and home, the pure spirit of David Livingstone took its flight to that world where disappointments and fatigue are unknown. There was something inexpressibly touching in the request he made his attendants, when, broken down by fatigue, disease, and climate, he felt that the end was come; "Build me a hut to die in "the lonely traveller is said to have exclaimed; and there in an obscure corner of the African wilderness, on a spot marked in no map, and, up to that moment perhaps, without a name, the last chapter of that eventful life was closed.

Thirty years of labour under the burning sun of the Tropics among strange and barbarous races, that was the career which lay behind him, as, dying in his little hut, he looked back on the past; thirty years of uncomplaining devotion to duty, years of suffering, sickness, and pain, years of toil, which his frame, never a strong one, seemed unfitted to bear, yet all borne without a complaint or a thought that he was doing anything extraordinary. How he ever worked in that climate as he did, and bore up against repeated attacks of fever and dysentery, is a miracle. Most men would bave given up and died years before; few would have been capable of exertion when their body was racked by pain, and their physical strength was fast ebbing. But the intrepid Scotchman


had a spirit which bore him up until human endurance could go no farther. He undoubtedly preferred to die at his post, especially as his work seemed nearly over, than to return to England and patiently wait, far from the scene of his labours, for death. There was something eminently characteristic of the man in struggling on to the very last. Other men might have desired repose; he cared only for work. Perchance his last moments were indescribably lonely. He might then have yearned for the sympathy of friends and relatives, but, except at the moment of dissolution, when sorrow appears to have pressed upon him, and to have sorely tried his great manly heart, he no doubt felt that the awful summons comes best when the sentinel is watching at his post Had the choice been his, could he have chosen differently? The vulgar imagination has always fancied that for the victorious general no death is so glorious and becoming as on the field of battle in the arms of victory. Why, then, should not death in the moment of triumph be best for one whose glories surpassed those of the warrior, and whose proud achievements were for the good of mankind, and were not purchased with blood, although they cost the life of the heroic victor?

When the husband, eleven years later, followed his patient and loving wife to her grave, perhaps no fitter place for his obsequies could have been found than under the tree where she lay, or under some other monster of those tropical forests. But this was not to be. The emaciated body of the missionary, borne by loving hands over an immense region of country and across stormy seas, was brought to its native land, and landed at Southampton on the 15th of April, 1874. Nearly a year had elapsed since Livingstone's death, and as he had often been reported dead, it was necessary, although not easy, to identify the boly as his. Now, thirty years earlier, he had had his arm broken, and the fracture had not properly united. Sir William Fergusson, one of the ablest of living surgeons, examined the body, and reported that there was no doubt that the arm had been broken, and that the bone had not properly united. Thus was it certainly known that Livingstone was come home.

Westminster Abbey has of late received within its solemn shade the bodies of many illustrious men, but seldom has it been selected to be the resting-place of a truer and more unselfish hero than David Livingstone. Really it would have mattered little where the honoured dust was laid, for the humblest churchyard, the lowliest ditch, would henceforth have been famous in the history of the land. He was, however, given the best England possessed, and found a proud resting-place near kings and heroes, not one of whom deserved better of his native land than David Livingstone.




WHEN we naturally associate the pale cheek and shaking limbs. with fear, and the bright eye and smiling countenance with the opposite sensations of joy and delight, we tacitly express a remarkable relation of physiological kind between certain states of the mind, and the outward symptoms through which they become. manifest to the world at large. Indeed, each "expression of the emotions" has come to be regarded in a more or less stable degree as almost synonymous with the emotion itself. Without their accompanying effects on the bodily frame, the passions and desires that sway the life of man would be almost unknown to the world around us, whilst the absence of the familiar modes of expression would mystify and puzzle even the subjects of the passions themselves. We are accustomed to note this power of disguising the expressions of emotions, under the familiar term of "concealing our feelings," and it is also a well-known fact that some people possess this power in a very strong and marked degree. To preserve a calm front in the presence of great danger; to appear cool and collected amidst panic and consternation, or to receive intelligence which may bring the death-blow to the dearest hopes of humanity, without so much as moving a muscle-to use the proverbial phrase, -are just so many ways or phases of expressing the natural or acquired command over the natural signs whereby the sympathies of men are made known.

It may be mentioned with every show of reason and probability, that the formation of character, and the distinctive peculiarities of the individual, are in reality determined by the manner in which his emotions are expressed; and it therefore becomes a deeply interesting study to trace, as far as physiology can guide us, the modus operandi in which the powers and functions of the body operate in producing such emotions as fear, joy, and allied


Towards the better understanding of the production of these emotions, it is necessary to glance briefly at the general constitution of the nervous system, or that exercising the great function of feeling-using this latter term in both its general and more special

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