in a most remarkable and most disastrous
manner. I used to think that I possessed
the moral virtues of courage, patience,
resolution, and self-control. Since I have read
Doctor Livingstone's volume, I have been
driven to the humiliating conclusion that, in
forming my own opinion of myself, I have
been imposed upon by a false and counterfeit
article. Guided by the test of the South
African Traveller, I find that my much-
prized courage, patience, resolution, and self-
control, turn out to be nothing but plated
goods. A week ago I thought they were
genuine silver— I did, indeed.

How can this possibly have happened?—
some persons may be inclined to ask. Happy
persons! who can lay the book down, thankful
to the author (as I am thankful) for
having written it; but, on the other hand,
not depreciated in their own estimations, as
I am depreciated in mine. It is no very
difficult task to describe the manner in which
my self-esteem oozed out of me as soon as I
made Doctor Livingstone's acquaintance.
The process was simple in itself, and it began
at the very first chapter in the book. I had
only reached page twelve, when I was
irresistibly impelled to ask myself this searching
and decisive question: Suppose I was travelling
in South Africa, and suppose, at the
very beginning of my wanderings, a lion
laid hold of me by the shoulder, and got me
down on the ground under his paw? What
should I have done? Beyond all possibility
of doubt, I should have shrieked for help to
my savage friends running off in the
background; and, receiving none, I should have
fainted away with fright, and have known
nothing more till my faithful niggers brought
me to, and set my pulse going again with
news that the lion was dead. That is what
I should have done under these circumstances.
What does Doctor Livingstone do?

* * * " I took a good aim at his body through the
bush, and fired both barrels into it. * * I did not see
any one else shoot at him, but I saw the lion's tail
erected in anger behind the bush, and, turning to the
people said, Stop a little till I load again. When in the
act of ramming down the bullets, I heard a shout.
Starting and looking half-round, I saw the lion in the
act of springing upon me."

That is where I should have shrieked for
help.

"I was upon a little height; he caught my shoulder
as he sprang, and we both came to the ground below
together. Growling horribly close to my ear"—

This is where I should have fainted with
fright—

he shook me as a terrier dog does a rat. The
shock produced a stupor similar to that which seems
to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of the
cat. It caused a sort of dreaminess, in which there
was no sense of pain, nor feeling of terror, though
quite conscious of all that was happening. It was
like what patients partially under the influence of
chloroform describe, who see all the operation, but feel
not the knife. This singular condition was not the
result of any mental process. The shake annihilated
fear, and allowed no sense of horror in looking round
at the beast. * * * Turning round to relieve myself
of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of my
head, I saw his eyes directed to Mebalwe, who was
trying to shoot him at a distance of ten or fifteen
yards. His gun, a flint one, missed fire in both barrels;
the lion immediately left me, and, attacking Mebalwe,
bit his thigh. Another man, whose life I had saved
before, after he had been tossed by a buffalo, attempted
to spear the lion while he was biting Mebalwe. He
left Mebalwe, and caught this man by the shoulder,
but at that moment the bullets he had received took
effect, and he fell down dead. The whole was the
work of a few moments, and must have been his
paroxysm of dying rage. * * * Besides crushing the
bone into splinters, he left eleven teeth-wounds on the
upper part of my arm."

Gentle reader, if you were under the paw
of a lion could you move to make your position
more comfortable? Could you notice
whether your companion's gun missed fire or
not? Could you keep your consciousness,
and analyse your feelings afterwards? I
could have done none of these things; and,
knowing that, it did not surprise me to find
that the perusal of the passage just quoted
and the loss of all belief in my own courage,
were simultaneous mental operations, in my
case, no longer than a week ago.

Another example. Suppose I set forth, as
Doctor Livingstone set forth, to spread the
blessings of Christianity among savages to
whom the mere sight of a white man was a
marvel—strong in my determination to do
good—stronger yet in my freedom from the
mischievous spiritual crotchets of sects and
their high-priests at home, and in my wise
resolution to give the cause of Religion the
whole benefit of my plainest common sense,
without regarding worn-out traditions, without
stooping to powerful prejudices, without
fearing senseless blame. Suppose I had been a
Missionary of this rare sort as Doctor
Livingstone was, and is—how would my patience
have held out, when I came to put my plans
in practice, against such vexations and such
trials as these?

* * * " It is, however, difficult to give an idea to
an European of the little effect teaching produces,
because no one can realise the degradation to which their
minds have been sunk by centuries of barbarism and
hard struggling for the necessaries of life; like most
others, they listen with respect and attention, but,
when we kneel down, and address an unseen Being,
the position and the act often appear to them so
ridiculous that they cannot refrain from bursting into
uncontrollable laughter. After a few services they get
over this tendency. I was once present when a
missionary attempted to sing among a wild heathen tribe
of Bechuanas, who had no music in their composition;
the effect on the risible muscles of the audience
was such that the tears actually ran down their
cheeks. Nearly all their thoughts are directed to the
supply of their bodily wants, and this has been the case
with the race for ages. If asked, then, what effect the