Matthew, advanced softly to him and placed his hands to his cheeks. They were cold; the body almost cold. Livingstone was dead." *

Keeping the death of their master secret, for fear of molestation from the king of the country in whose territory they were, the faithful followers of the deceased missionary prepared to remove the body. One of the boys, Fragella, had learned the process of embalming the dead, and skilfully he performed this duty; then, when the body was prepared, they covered it with bark to disguise the shape, and set out with their sacred burden towards Ujiji. For six months they carried their burden, and many were the battles with hunger and fatigue and their own superstitious countrymen they had to fight, until at last they arrived at Zanzibar in February, 1874, having travelled in that funeral procession over a thousand miles. Noble-hearted Nassick boys! Many a white-faced Christian might learn a useful lesson from the faithful devotion of such as Chumah, and Majwara, Susi, Fragella, Jacob Wainwright, and others, who clave to their master with a love strong as death..

On the 18th of April the mortal remains of the greatest missionary of modern times were laid to their final rest in Westminster Abbey. Around the grave there stood his two sons and two daughters, and Moffat and Steele, and Oswell and Kirk, fellow-explorers ; and Waller and Young, and many of England's noblest sons in the ranks of philanthropists and geographers. And there, too, stood Stanley, the gallant young American, and Jacob Wainwright, one of his faithful followers, who had been with him in all the last scenes of his life and in the hour of death. Not alone were those who stood around the grave the mourners of the missionary. All Christendom stood around his grave and wept; nations mourned his loss; all men felt that one of England's greatest Heroes had gone from their midst; the Church felt that one of the greatest missionaries since Apostolic days had been taken away. But faith looked beyond that flower-strewn tomb, and said, "Though God buries His workmen, He will carry on His work.”

It is not possible in a short sketch to do justice to the memory of such a man as Livingstone. His talents were rare; he was a most accurate observer; he possessed the trained knowledge of a medical man; he was well acquainted with geology, botany, zoology, and the extensive range of his studies is seen in the works he has written. His perseverance was quite unique; for more than twenty years he laboured unceasingly in the great cause which was so dear to him. His courage was invincible; his life was continually in peril-peril by land and by sea, in swamp and river and lake, peril from malaria and a pestilential climate, peril from the attacks of bloodthirsty savages, yet never was he known to quake or fear.

His patient endurance of suffering was almost superhuman. It is impossible to estimate the amount of misery the brave missionary passed through in the course of his lengthened journeyings. In the vigour of his early strength those sufferings came as the ordinary and expected lot of a hardy pioneer in a wild country; but in his last terrible journeys, with strength broken down, with a band of miserable wretches thwarting him at every turn instead of being the helpful men he had the right to expect would have been sent to him, with a great sorrow at his heart, and his lot for evermore lonely and sad, the way.

* Quarterly Review, No. 276, April, 1875.

in which he patiently endured to the bitter end is one of the grandest instances of the Heroism of Suffering. Repeated attacks of fever followed his constant exposures to damp; in going, for instance, from Bangweolo to Kizinga he had to cross twenty-nine "sponges," or reservoirs, from a quarter of a mile to a mile broad, and from calf to waist deep, requiring from fifteen to forty minutes in crossing, many with deep holes in the paths, in which, as he said, when one plunged "every muscle in the frame received a painful jerk."

In addition to the exhaustion from fever, he was constantly beset with what he speaks of as "annoyances," but what, in the state of health he was in, would have been looked upon by many as terrible scourges. Vermin of all kinds attacked him; ants tortured him. Here is a note from his "Diary":"Suffered a furious attack at midnight from the red sirafu, or driver ants they swarmed over me and bit furiously, and made the blood start out. I then went out of the hut, and my whole person was instantly covered as close as small-pox (not confluent) on a patient. Grass fires were lighted, and my men picked some off my limbs, and tried to save me. After battling an hour or

two, they took me into a hut not yet invaded, and I rested till they came, the pests, and

routed me out there too! Then came on a steady pour of rain, which held on till noon, as if trying to make us miserable. At 9 a.m. I got back into my tent!" There is no complaint or murmuring; Livingstone only calls attention to the fact as a traveller's experience; but what an experience let those estimate who know how little things worry and disturb when they come in addition to a great illness which is breaking up a constitution once of iron strength.

But against all such things as these, lasting not for weeks but for years-weariness, sickness, pain, wet skin, poor food, and constant painful labour, from which he could have released himself by abandoning his self-imposed task-he did not repine. He watched his life ebbing away, scientifically analysed his condition, noted in his "Diary" such records of suffering as few other martyrs ever knew. One of the latest entries in his "Journal" is this:"10th April, 1873.-I am pale, bloodless, and weak from bleeding profusely ever since the 31st March last; an artery gives off a copious stream and takes away my strength. Oh, how I long to be permitted by the Over Power to finish my work!"

Livingstone was, from first to last, first and foremost, the Christian missionary, and as such the friend and advocate of the slave; next to that the geographical pioneer, whose simple aim was "a fervent hope that others would follow him after he had removed those difficulties which are comprised in a profound ignorance of the physical features of a new country." He was always earnest in speaking the Word of Life with love and faithfulness, and in language such as his rude hearers could best understand. He taught everywhere the beauty of a simple Sabbath service; but better than all his spoken words and actions as, what we may call, a professional missionary, good and useful as they were, was the long sermon of his own pure and beautiful daily life. He taught them the forgiveness of injuries, the trust of man in man as well as of man in God, the beneficence of good deeds, the obligations of promises, and he left wherever he went a memory of his goodness, the benefit of which is being reaped, and will be yet reaped, by those who follow his footsteps in that dark continent for whose sable sons he gave his own life.

The Tailor's Apprentice-Admiral Hopson-Laconic Sailors-Brave Benbow-His Last Fight-Off Corfu-A Curious CargoLord Cochrane-His Early Life-The Speedy Attacks the Gamo-Novel Expedients and Fertile Inventions-Daring Adventures-Commands the Arab, a Tub-Then the Pallas-Tries Politics--"Go at them!"-The Cruise of the Impérieuse-M.P. for Westminster-The Fortress of Rosas-The Greased Ascent-Lord Gambier Loses the DayCochrane Fights new Battles Ashore-A Court-martial-The Stock Exchange Fraud-A Villainous Plot-Wrongly Punished-Commands the Chilian Fleet-A Noble Wife and a Brave Son-Commands the Brazilian and Greek Fleets-Restoration to Rank and Honour-The Merchant Service-Captain Wilson and the Emilie St. Pierre-A Gallant Exploit-Perilous Voyage-Home at Last.

HEN shall we know that the enemy has given in?" asked a lad, a tailor's apprentice, who had run away from his master and entered the navy as a common boy about the year 1680.

"When that flag is hauled down," answered the sailor addressed, "the ship will be ours."

"Oh! if that's all, I'll see what I can do!"

Now this tailor's boy, when he ran away from his master, joined a ship which had the good fortune, a few hours after he entered the service, to fall in with a French squadron, and a warm action, bravely fought on both sides, was maintained. After fighting for a short time the boy was impatient for the result, and addressed the above question to a sailor. No sooner had he been told that the withdrawal of the white flag from the enemy's masthead would be the signal that the action had been decided, than he determined to "see what he could do."

At that moment the vessels were engaged yard-arm to yard-arm, and were obscured in the smoke of the guns. In an instant the boy mounted the shrouds, passed from the yard of his own ship to that of the enemy, ascended with agility to the maintop-gallant masthead, struck and carried off the French flag unperceived, and got back to the yardarm of his own ship in safety.

Before he could get down to the deck the British saw that the flag had disappeared, and shouted, "Victory! victory!" The French crew, seeing also that the flag had gone, and