dition into which it brings an individnal is, to borrow the strong but not exaggerated language of Mr. Wesley, "inexpressibly great and glorious." This our Apostle must himself have thought, or he would not have called the regenerate believer " a new creature," or have spoken of the process by which he becomes such now as a creation, and again as a resurrection from the dead. But there is, notwithstanding, in his view and hence also in his theology, a state, if not more new, yet of much higher character; and it is only in comparison with this that the other appears so much less than it really is. The terms in which he speaks of it are, as we have seen, of singular energy and suggestiveness, and of very wide comprehension. It is hardly possible to assign to them any definite limits. There is no conceivable degree of holiness within the compass of man's finite nature to which they do not reach, and no conceivable supply of grace, as a means to its attainment, for which they do not supplicate. The Apostle would have the believer perfect throughout, alike in the individual virtues of his character and in the measure of their united development and growth. He would have him, therefore, much more than regenerated. Regeneration breaks the power of sin, but leaves it still existing within him; the Apostle would have him free from it universally, both legally and morally, both experimentally and practically. Regeneration makes him a new creature, but leaves him still a child; the Apostle would have him become a man, even up to the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ. Regeneration implants within him a new and germinant principle of holy and heavenly love, but leaves it little more than a principle; the Apostle would have him so completely in the possession and under the sway of this divine passion that he shall love the Lord his God with all his heart, and with all his mind, and with all his soul, and with all his strength. He would have him, in short-for what can equal his own words ?-"sanctified wholly," and "filled up to all the fulness of God."

And this is what we mean by Christian perfection. This, I think, is what the Scriptures mean by it, when the term is used with reference to individual character and attainment. It unites, with purification from all sin, maturity in those several virtues and graces which are denominated the fruit of the Spirit, and which in their complementary and associated glories constitute in man personal holiness.

Let us, however, guard against possible mistakes. Though the language of Scripture is thus "exceeding broad," it is not addressed to our imagination, but to our reason; not to our fancy, but to our faith. The perfection of which it speaks is capable, if not of definite yet of very intelligible restriction. It is essentially human perfection, and must therefore bear the impress of strictly human attributes. It is human in the sense of not being final but progressive, as otherwise it could not be the perfection of a being who is himself progressive. The "maturity" of which we have several times spoken is not intended to denote a fixed and uniform quantity, but one varying continually with the increasing capability of the subject. So that of the same individual it may be said, he is perfect and yet daily becoming more perfect. The vessel enlarges by what it

contains, and with this, of course, the absolute measure, though not the absolute fulness. The believer's horizon widens as he ascends. The goal at which he aims moves farther off the farther he runs. The prize of his high calling is at the same time gained and not gained. It recedes as he approaches it, and thus invites him continually onward towards an end that is never actually reached.

It is human, too, in the further sense that it need not be progressive, and yet cannot remain stationary. Unlike the perfection of angels and of glorified spirits, it is always in this life perfection/ under discipline and in a state of probation. For which reason it is clearly susceptible of damage and loss, and even in the long run -though surely only by a very remote contingency-liable to utter failure and ruin.

It is human, yet once again, in the fact that it is connected with a bodily organisation which itself is confessedly imperfect, and which cannot at present be otherwise. The curse which originally lighted upon it has not, at least in its natural consequences, been as yet removed; nor will it be until that moment of divine transfiguration, when mortality shall be swallowed up of life. This in many ways interferes with its proper faculty and perfectly healthful function, and so interferes with the full and perfect activity of the immortal soul, of which it is now at once the injured shrine and the imperfect instrument. Man, in a great variety of respects, both in himself and in his outward environment, is "compassed with infirmity," and this infirmity affects alike his judgment and his action. A mistake in the one is almost sure to lead to a mistake in the other. Perfect knowledge of almost anything is hard to obtain in the present life, and is indeed frequently impossible, even in regard to matters which deeply concern our moral and religious interests. With the necessary limitation of our faculties, there are defects of early education not easily discovered, or when discovered not easily overcome, which tend readily to lead us into irregularity both of thought and conduct. With these, again, there are the deceptions imposed upon us by others, wittingly or unwittingly, and the misconceptions and false judgments into which we are led by the obscurities and seeming perplexities of God's providential dealings with us, of which the natural product is and must be practical disorder of some kind, and at times even of a serious kind. And yet to be subject to all this may rather be considered as our misfortune than our fault. It renders impossible an ideal perfection, but not therefore a real one. cannot well be blamed for what he cannot avoid. He is morally and religiously what he is in the spirit of his mind, and this spiritual condition is not injured by occasional irregularities and mistakes which, it may be, no prudence of his could prevent. "Blessed are the pure in heart," says the Great Teacher, and this inward purity suffers nothing, we must think, in the Divine estimation, because of faults in judgment and behaviour which are not intelligently and directly under the control of the will. A loving and dutiful child is not less loving or dutiful, and should not be deemed so, because, from natural infirmity or unavoidable misapprehension, he does what perfect love and dutifulness, under other cir

A man

cumstances, would not do. And so the believer who professes to love God with all his heart need not be regarded as in any way wanting in this supreme affection, because there is occasionally something in his character which seems not in complete and absolute accord with it. The motive may be perfect where the knowledge is extremely imperfect. The source of an action may be altogether good where the action itself is not so. The purity of a fountain does not infallibly guarantee the purity of the stream flowing from it throughout its whole course.

But, after all, is the perfection of which we have thus spoken really attainable in the present life? And if so, what is the divinely instituted method of its acquirement?

J. STACEY.

THE LAST JOURNALS AND DEATH OF DR.

LIVINGSTONE.

DR. LIVINGSTONE was led to undertake his last and fatal travels in Africa in this wise. He had returned to England in July, 1864, with the intention of spending the rest of his days in the bosom of his family and friends. He had already accomplished two great journeys through South and across South Central Africa. During these journeys he had discovered almost innumerable rivers and lakes, mountains and valleys, with beautiful districts of country teeming with life and fertility, inhabited by numerous and diverse races of men, and that too in regions which were supposed before to have been nothing but a waste and sterile desert. There still, however, remained a vast tract of South Central Africa to be explored, and several difficult geographical problems to be solved. Between Speke and Grant's and Baker's discoveries in the north, and Livingstone's in the south, there was a vast region of which little or nothing was known. Further investigation and a due consideration of the character of the newly-explored countries led thinking men to doubt and question whether Captain Speke had traced the Nile to its headquarters when he watched it flow a noble stream from the Victoria Nyanza Lake. These doubts and questions soon resolved themselves into actual belief that the head waters of the river of Egypt must be carried as far south, and farther south as some thought, than Lake Tanganyika. The minds of all men interested in African discovery were drawn towards this unknown country between Lakes Nyassa and Tanganyika. The great problem of the watershed between these two lakes had to be solved, and then all questions about South Central Africa would be definitively settled. But who would undertake the work? That was the question. The Royal Geographical Society tried to engage someone to do it, but they did not succeed. They then once more turned to Dr. Livingstone as the only man likely to carry out their wishes. Sir Roderick Murchison, the President of the Society, waited upon the Doctor to tell him of their failure. After a long conversation, during which they

failed to think of any man likely to undertake the enterprise, Sir Roderick turned to Livingstone, and said, "Why cannot you go? Come, let me persuade you. I am sure you will not refuse an old friend." "I had flattered myself," said the Doctor, "that I had much prospective comfort in store for me in my old age, and pecuniary matters want looking after for the sake of my family; but since you ask me in that way, I cannot refuse you." That was sufficient. The affair was settled at once, and Dr. Livingstone immediately commenced to prepare for his departure. He left England finally on 14th August, 1865, and, by way of Paris, reached Bombay in safety. Having there made all necessary arrangements for his expedition, in company with thirteen Sepoys, ten Johnna men, nine Nassick boys, and six educated Africans, with six camels, two buffaloes and a calf, two mules, and four donkeys, together with a suitable present for the Sultan, he sailed for Zanzibar. After a few weeks' rest and to complete his preparations, he left Zanzibar, and in H.M.S. Penguin sailed for the Rovuma, a river on the east coast of Africa, near which they landed, and which Livingstone made the starting-point of his last wanderings through the country he loved so well.

And now, let us ask, what are the thoughts and feelings that fill the mind and heart of the great traveller as he stands on the threshold of his last labours and discoveries? He tells us himself in these journals.

"Now," says he, "that I am on the point of starting on another trip into Africa, I feel quite exhilarated; when one travels with the specific object in view of ameliorating the condition of the natives, every act becomes ennobled.

"Whether exchanging the customary civilities on arriving at a village, accepting a night's lodgings, purchasing food for the party, or answering polite African inquiries as to our objects in travelling, we begin to spread a knowledge of that people by whose agency their land will yet become enlightened and free from the slave trade.

"The mere animal pleasure of travelling in a wild, unexplored, country is very great. When on lands of a couple of thousand feet elevation, brisk exercise imparts elasticity to the muscles, fresh and healthy blood circulates through the brain, the mind works well, the eye is clear, the step is firm, and a day's exertion always makes the evening's repose thoroughly enjoyable.

"The effect of travel on a man whose heart is in the right place is that the mind is made self-reliant; it becomes more confident of its own resources-there is greater presence of mind. The body is soon well knit; the muscles of the limbs grow as hard as a board, and seem to have no fat; the countenance is bronzed, and there is no dyspepsia. Africa is a most wonderful country for appetite, and it is only when one gloats over marrow-bones or elephants' feet that indigestion is possible. No doubt much toil is involved, and fatigue of which travellers in the more temperate climates can form but a very faint conception; but the sweat of one's brow is no longer a curse when one works for God: it proves a tonic to the system, and is actually a blessing."

In this last sentence Livingstone indicates the secret of his arduous and successful labours. God was in all his thoughts and

ways. He had, it is true, subordinate motives, but that was his supreme motive. He had an inherent love of science. He sought to make discoveries. He wished to put down the slave trade. He desired to promote a healthy and legitimate commerce. He was ambitious to confer the benefits of civilisation on the barbarous tribes of Africa. His motives were manifold. Still there was ever one deep, central motive from which they all sprang, and that was his great desire to serve and glorify God.

Unable to find a road for his camels through the mangrove swamps at the mouth of the Rovuma, they start from the north side of Milkindany Bay, their first object being to reach Lake Nyassa. For many miles they have to cut their way, with axes and hatchets, assisted by the natives, through the mangrove jungles that flourish so luxuriantly on the low lands on both sides of the river. Livingstone's difficulties now begin. They arise, however, not so much from the natural obstacles he meets with, nor the hostility of the native tribes, as from the more worthless of his own men, especially the Sepoys whom he had been induced to bring with him from Bombay. They had been greatly praised by their friends, but he soon found that all their good qualities were purely imaginary. He had not proceeded many weeks before he became subject to great vexation on their account, and their carelessness, laziness, and crudity completely spoiled many of his experiments on his cattle with the tsetse fly. They also tried to corrupt the Nassick boys, and were incorrigible for filthiness and theft. The only instance in which we hear of the Doctor actually in anger striking a servant was under a provocation from them; and he records the fact with self-blame and remorse, and resolves that hereafter he must not punish in this way again, though afterwards he has on one two occasions to punish by his deputy Susi. He had at last reluctantly to come to the conclusion that "Sepoys are a mistake"; and he takes the first opportunity to send them back to the coast. They all left him at last but the havildar, and he subsequently had to be left behind, where he died, and was buried in the African wilderness.

The route they took from the coast was S.S.W. to the Rovuma, which they struck on the 18th of April, about thirty miles from its mouth, and on the 19th of the May following they came to Ngomano, the confluence of the Rovuma and the Loendi, in the country of the Makonde. From this place, after a rest of fifteen days, they made their way through a hilly country three or four thousand feet above the sea level, and then by a gradual descent, to Lake Nyassa. This lake, which is a magnificent body of fresh water two hundred miles long by twenty wide, and in some places as much as two hundred fathoms deep, surrounded with grand and beautiful scenery, was an old friend of the Doctor's, for he had discovered it during his second series of travels, in 1859. It was on the 9th of August, 1866, they reached Nyassa, having spent seven months in travelling through five hundred miles of very difficult country. "When we came to the lake," says Livingstone, "I felt grateful to that Hand which had protected us thus far on our journey. It was as if I had come back to an old home I had never expected again to see; and