"I could easily see that it was a full-grown specimen; and, being not very far from the water's edge, I expected in a few moments to have it in my possession.

"While matters were in this position, I beheld, to my utter astonishment and surprise, two of the unwounded terns take hold of their disabled comrade, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and bear him out seawards. They were followed by two other birds.

"After being carried about six or seven yards, he was let gently down again, and then was taken up in a similar manner by the two who had been hitherto inactive. In this manner, they continued to carry him alternately, until they had conveyed him to a rock at a considerable distance, upon which they landed him in safety.

"I made toward the rock, wishing to obtain the prize which had been so unceremoniously snatched from my grasp. I was observed, however, by the terns, and, instead of four, I had, in a short time, a whole swarm about me.

"On my near approach to the rock, I once more beheld two of them take hold of the wounded bird as they had done already, and bear him out to sea in triumph, far beyond my reach.

"This, had I been so inclined, I could, no doubt, have prevented. Under the circumstances, however, my feelings would not permit me. I willingly allowed them to perform, without molestation, an act of mercy, and to exhibit an instance of affection, which man himself need not be ashamed to imitate.

"I was, indeed, rejoiced at the disappointment which they had occasioned, for they had thereby

rendered me the witness of a scene which I could scarcely have believed, and which no length of time will efface from my recollection.”

Spell and pronounce; — efface, unceremoniously,

inspection,

investigate,

skulking, molestation, suffocation, alternately,

pinions, ascertain, defiance, and minutely.

David Livingstone was born at Blantyre, in Lanarkshire, on the 19th of March, 1813. Of his early boyhood there is little to say, except that he was a favorite at home. The children's games were merrier when he was among them, and the fireside brighter. He contributed constantly to the happiness of the family. Anything of interest that happened to him he was always ready to tell them of. The habit was kept up in after years. When he went to study at Glasgow, returning on the Saturday evenings, he would take his place by the fireside and tell them all that had occurred during the week, thus sharing his life with them.

He received his early education at the village school. From his earliest childhood, he seems to have been of a calm, self-reliant nature. It was his father's habit to lock the door at dusk, by which time all the children were expected to be in the house. One evening, David had infringed this rule,

and when he reached the door, it was barred. He made no cry nor disturbance, but, having procured a piece of bread, sat down contentedly to pass the night on the door-step. There, on looking out, his mother found him.

His parents were poor, and, at the age of ten, he was put to work in the factory as a piecer. After a number of years, he was promoted to be a spinner. Greatly to his mother's delight, the first half-crown he ever earned was laid by him in her lap.

With a part of his first week's wages he purchased a Latin grammar, and pursued the study of that language at an evening class which had been opened between the hours of eight and ten. The home part of his labors was continued until midnight or later, if his mother did not interfere by jumping up and taking the books out of his hands. He had to be back in the factory by six in the morning, and continue his work, with intervals for breakfast and dinner, till eight o'clock at night.

In his reading, he tells us that he devoured all the books that came into his hands but novels, and that his plan was to place the book on a portion of the spinning-jenny, so that he could catch sentence after sentence as he passed at his work. The improvements in spinning machinery not having then been introduced, the labor of attending to the wheels was great, and the utmost interval that Livingstone could have for reading at one time was less than a minute.

In all the toils and trials of his life, Livingstone found the good of that early Blantyre discipline, which had forced him to bear irksome toil with

patience, until the toil ceased to be irksome, and even became a pleasure.

Livingstone's resolution to become a missionary dates from his twenty-first year. Nothing but a determination similar to that which afterward characterized him would have sufficed to enable him to overcome the many difficulties with which he met. During his first session at college, he resided in lodgings, for which he paid no more than two shillings a week. When the classes in Glasgow were over, he returned to the mill at Blantyre, and earned with his hands, during the summer, what was to pay his fees in the ensuing winter.

At length, on the 8th of December, 1840, he embarked for South Africa, and from that time till his death-a period of more than thirty years— his life was spent in unwearied efforts to evangelize the native races, to explore the undiscovered secrets, and abolish the desolating slave-trade of Central Africa.

He traveled twenty-nine thousand miles in Africa, and added to the known part of the globe about a million square miles. He discovered Lakes Ngami, Shirwan, Nyassa, Moero, and Bangweolo; the Upper Zambesi, and many other rivers. He made known the wonderful Victoria Falls, and was the first European to traverse the whole length of Lake Tanganyika.

To the end of his life, the great desire of Livingstone's heart was to expose and put an end to the slave-trade, whose woes he had witnessed in Central Africa. "If the good Lord," he wrote, "permits me to put a stop to the enormous evils of the inland slave-trade, I shall not grudge my hunger and toils. I shall bless His name with all my

heart. Men may think I covet fame, but I make it a rule never to read aught written in my praise."

In April of 1873, the illness from which he had been suffering increased. His weakness was pitiful; still, he longed for strength to finish his work. The old passion for natural history was strong. The water-plants that abounded everywhere, the caterpillars, that after eating the plants, ate one another, and were such clumsy swimmers; the fish with the hook-shaped lower jaw that enabled them to feed as they skimmed past the plants; the morning summons of the cocks and turtle-doves; the weird scream of the fish-eagle-all engaged his interest.

On the 21st of April, a change occurred. He tried to ride, but was forced to lie down. A palanquin had to be made for carrying him. The 29th of April was the last day of his travels. At last they got him to Chitambo's village, in Ilala, where they had to put him under the eaves of a house during a drizzling rain, until the hut they were building should be got ready. Then they laid him on a rough bed in the hut, where he spent the night.

Next day he lay undisturbed. Nothing occurred to attract notice during the early part of the night, but at four in the morning, the boy who lay at his door, called in alarm for Susi, one of the Doctor's most faithful attendants, fearing that his master was dead. By the candle still burning, they saw him—not in bed, but kneeling at the bedside, with his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. He had passed away on the farthest of all his journeys, and without a single attendant.