liness. They came frequently, and asked for the looking-glass; and the remarks they made while I was engaged in reading, and apparently not attending to them -on first seeing themselves therein, were amusiugly ridiculous. "Is that me!" "What a big mouth I have !" "My ears are as big as pumpkin-leaves." "I have no chin at all." Or, "I would have been pretty, but am spoiled by these high cheek-bones" "See how my head shoots up in the middle!" laughing vociferously all the time at their own jokes. They readily perceive any defect in each other, and give nicknames accordingly. One man came alone to have a quiet gaze at his own features once, when he thought I was asleep. After twisting his mouth about in various directions, he remarked to himself, "People say I am ugly, and how very ugly I am indeed !"'—P. 192.

This was the starting point of all his future movements; including explorations of the great rivers Loangwa, and the Zambesi; sailing up the latter in the chief's canoe to Naliele, and thence on ox-back or on foot, an overland route of fearful difficulty, to Loando, on the western coast, which place, in May, 1854, he reached in safety. Here he was cordially welcomed by Mr. Gabriel, our commissioner for the suppression of the slave-trade, resident there; and, adds Livingstone, never shall I forget the luxuriant pleasure I enjoyed in feeling myself once more on a good English couch. After six months sleeping on the ground I was soon asleep, and Mr. Gabriel coming almost immediately rejoiced at the soundness of my repose.' Here the great Atlantic overwhelmed the simple Makololo with astonishment: 'we marched with our father, believing that what the ancients had told us was true, that the world had no end, but all at once the world said to us, "I am finished; there's no more of me." The large stone houses they could not comprehend: to their countrymen, on their return home, they said, "They were not huts, but a mountain with several caves in it.' The whole account of Loando is deeply interesting, as is also the life of our party while staying there, but we must hasten onwards in our review. On the 20th of September, 1854, the whole party left Loando, after receiving the most unbounded hospitality from English and Portuguese authorities, and a good new tent from friends on board the Philomel, until they reached Linyanti again, where the kind expressions used' by Livingstone's braves were most flattering, and offers from volunteers to accompany him to the east coast' followed quickly. It was on his way to the east coast he visited the famous cataracts of the Mosioatunya, which he named Victoria. The following is his graphic account of this new African wonder, a picture in the Livingstoniad,' as a contemporary terms it. These falls are in the Leeambye, or Zambesi, both words simply meaning, 'The River:'—

6

'After twenty minutes' sail from Kalai, we came in sight, for the first time, of the columns of vapour, appropriately called "smoke," rising at a distance of five or six miles, exactly as when large tracts of grass are burned in Africa. Five columns now arose, and bending in the direction of the wind, they seemed placed against a low ridge covered with trees; the tops of the columns at this distance appeared to mingle with the clouds. They were white below, and higher up became dark, so as to simulate smoke very closely. The whole scene was extremely beautiful; the banks and islands dotted over the river are adorned

with sylvan vegetation of great variety of colour and form. At the period of our visit several trees were spangled over with blossoms. The falls

are bounded on three sides by ridges 300 or 400 feet in height, which are covered with forest, with the red soil appearing among the trees. When about half a mile from the falls, I left the canoe by which we had come down thus far, and embarked in a lighter one, with men well acquainted with the rapids, who, by passing down the centre of the stream in the eddies and still places caused by many jutting rocks, brought me to an island situated in the middle of the river, and on the edge of the lip over which the water rolls. In coming hither, there was danger of being swept down by the streams which rushed along on each side of the island; but the river was now low, and we sailed where it is totally impossible to go when the water is high. But though we had reached the island, and were within a few yards of the spot, a view from which would solve the whole problem, I believe that no one could perceive where the vast body of water went; it seemed to lose itself in the earth, the opposite lip of the fissure into which it disappeared being only eighty feet distant. At least I did not comprehend it, until, creeping with awe to the verge, I peered down into a large rent which had been made from bank to bank of the broad Zambesi, and saw that a stream of a thousand yards broad, leaped down a hundred feet, and then became suddenly compressed into a space of fifteen or twenty yards. The entire falls are simply a crack made in a hard basaltic rock from the right to the left bank of the Zambesi, and then prolonged from the left bank away through thirty or forty miles of hills. The edge of that side over which the water falls is worn off two or three feet, and pieces have fallen away, so as to give it somewhat of a serrated appearance. That over which the water does not fall is quite straight, except at the left corner, where a rent appears, and a piece seems inclined to fall off. Upon the whole, it is nearly in the state in which it was left at the period of its formation. The rock is dark brown in colour, except about ten feet from the bottom, which is discoloured by the annual rise of the water to that or a greater height. On the left side of the island we have a good view of the mass of water which causes one of the columns of vapour to ascend, as it leaps quite clear of the rock, and forms a thick, unbroken fleece all the way to the bottom... The snow-white sheet seemed like myriads of small comets rushing on in one direction, each of which left behind its nucleus rays of foam. I never saw the appearance referred to noticed elsewhere. It seemed to be the effect of the mass of water leaping at once clear of the rock, and but slowly breaking up into spray. At three spots near these falls, one of them the island in the middle on which we were, three Batoka chiefs offered up prayers and sacrifices to the Barimo. They chose their places of prayer within the sound of the roar of the cataract, and in sight of the bright bows in the cloud. They must have looked upon the scene with awe. Fear may have induced the selection. The river itself is, to them, mysterious. The words of the canoe-song are

"The Leeambye! Nobody knows

Whence it comes and whither it goes."

The route eastward is of surpassing interest; it is the country between Linyanti and Quillimane, which must, and will, we trust, shortly be made the base of future evangelistic operations, and both the tribes visited and the natural history of all that vast interior, untrodden previously by any but wild savages, demand separate treatment. At length our exhausted but undaunted traveller reached Killimane (Quillimane) lat. 17° long. 36°, on the 20th of May, 1856, as before stated, wanting only a few days of being four years since I started from Cape Town. I had been three years without hearing from my family; letters having frequently

been sent,' but never reaching him. Here the Frolic received him with all honour on board, and after narrowly escaping shipwreck in the Mediterranean, he arrived once more in dear Old England,' on the 12th of December, 1856.

Two brief extracts shall close our extended notice :

'As far as I myself am concerned, the opening of the new central country is a matter for congratulation only in so far as it opens up a prospect for the elevation of the inhabitants. As I have elsewhere remarked, I view the end of the geographical feat as the beginning of the missionary enterprise. I take the latter term in its most extended signification, and include in it every effort made for the amelioration of our race, the promotion of all those means by which God in his providence is working, and bringing all his dealings with man to a glorious consummation. Each man in his sphere, either knowingly or unwittingly, is performing the will of our Father who is in heaven. Men of science, searching after hidden truths, which, when discovered, will, like the electric telegraph, bind men more closely togethersoldiers battling for the right against tyranny-sailors rescuing the victims of oppression from the grasp of heartless men-stealers— merchants teaching the nations lessons of mutual dependence-and many others, as well as missionaries, all work in the same direction, and all efforts are overruled for one glorious end.' Brave and true words these and equally beautiful and pious the last sentence in the book:-'I have not mentioned half the favours bestowed, but I may just add, that no one has cause for more abundant gratitude to his fellow-men and to his Maker than I have; and may God grant that the effect on my mind may be such, that I may be more humbly devoted to the service of the Author of all my mercies.'

So ends this noble book. We have not given anything like an approximate idea of its worth. It is a mine of wealth that cannot be touched anywhere without marvellous results. It may be, as a contemporary suggests, 'irregular and formless,' but we cannot think that 'the author would have acted wisely had he entrusted his journal to an efficient hand,' for polishing up. We would rather have Livingstone as he is, the genuine African traveller, the simple but broad-thoughted Christian, the effective scene-painter by a few strokes, the unconscious humourist, and the devoted Christian missionary, without any tidying' or 'gentlemanizing' from men who have braved no dangers, and made no sacrifices, such as those detailed in this altogether marvellously instructive and religious book.

M. G. B,

The Arts of Caterpillars.

'The same wisdom which has constructed, and arranged with so much art, the various organs of animals, and has made them concur towards one determined end, has also provided that the different operations, which are the natural results of the economy of the animal, should concur towards the same end. The creature is directed towards his object by an invisible hand; he executes with precision and by one effort those works which we so much admire; he appears to act as if he reasoned, to return to his labours at the proper time, to change his scheme in case of need. But in all this, he only obeys the secret influence that drives him on. He is but an instrument which cannot judge of each action, but is trained up by that adorable Intelligence which has traced out for every insect his proper labours, as he has traced the orbit of every planet. When, therefore, I see an insect working at the construction of a nest, or a cocoon, I am impressed with reverence, because it seems to me that I am looking at a spectacle where the supreme artist is hid behind the curtain.'-BONNET.

THE insect tribes greatly differ in their history from all vertebrate animals. The latter, with some variations in size and colour, retain, during life, the figure they had at first, whilst the powers of the former are progressively developed. They emerge from the egg in the state in which they are often, though not with strict accuracy, called worms, and are commonly known as grubs or caterpillars, the naturalists considering the terms larva and larvæ as the most appropriate. A complete description of this one stage of insect-life would teem with interest.

In general, the eggs of all insects are hatched by atmospheric heat alone, when every part of their little tenants has become consolidated and prepared for motion. Sometimes they make their exit by gnawing an opening in the portions nearest their heads, but, at others, mirabile dictu, there is a lid, or trap-door, which the caterpillar has only to raise up, to emerge at pleasure; and there are even instances in which a simple and curious mechanism is provided for pushing or throwing it off. Almost all larvæ are, for a few minutes, or hours, in a languid state, but, ere long, they revive, and become exceedingly voracious.

Familiar as is their form, every part of their structure will repay minute examination, bearing upon it, as it does, the impress of Infinite wisdom and benevolence. Life and flame,' says Cuvier, 'have this in common, that neither the one nor the other can exist without air;' and, accordingly, we may take, as an example but little known, the spiracles, or breathing pores, those small orifices in the trunk or abdomen of insects, by which the air enters the body, or is expelled from it. One of these, in numerous cases, is a mouth closed by lips, their substance and form varying according to the circumstances of the particular insects. Other diversities appear in the shape, the size, the situation, the colour, and the number of the spiracles. When the insect is intended to feed on unclean food, the orifices for breathing are arranged in plates at each end of the body, two being usually at the head and two at the tail. In some cases the plates can be withdrawn within the body, so as to prevent any stoppage of the spiracle. Other variations are equally wonderful, among which is

the specific apparatus by which the insect has immediate communication with the atmosphere, or extracts air from water.

6

Many caterpillars appear unclothed, but a considerable number are arrayed with hairs and bristles of different kinds. Lyonnet observed that the hairs of the caterpillars of the great goat-moth were set in a corneous ring, or very short cylinders, elevated a little above the skin. The hair passes through this ring, and appears to be rooted in a soft integument, which clothes the skin within, and upon which the nerves form a reticular tissue, some of which, he thinks, he has even seen enter the roots of the hairs, which, perhaps,' says Kirby, who quotes this eminent naturalist, are organs of touch. Some caterpillars are armed with spines; one species having the body so thickly planted with them that it wears the appearance of a thicket, or a forest in minature, while from each spine issues another extremely slender, yet capable of raising a blister on the skin; and another is furnished with eight bunches of little strings, with which it can inflict a very painful and venomous wound. A volume might be written on that portion only of the economy of caterpillars which relates to their covering. How curious, for example, is the provision of a glutinous secretion as a clothing for one of these little creatures, and of a waxy, or powdery substance for that of others! A minute insect transpires through the pores of its body a long cotton-like wool, and is thus prepared to occupy the chinks and rugosities of the bark of a tree, and, consequently, to feed there in safety, as the crevices appear to be filled not with insects, but with cotton. This substance, too, seems to be drawn through numerous pores, in certain oval plates in the skin, arranged regularly on the segments of the back, which exhibit minute protuberances-a process which Kirby compares, naturally enough, to that of wire-drawing.

'The very colours of caterpillars,' says Isaac Walton, 'are elegant and beautiful.' I shall, for a taste of the rest, describe one of them, which I will some time show you feeding on a willow-tree, and you will find him punctually to answer this very description. His lips and mouth are somewhat yellow, his eyes black as jet, his forehead purple, his feet and hinder parts green, his tail two-forked and black; the whole body stained with a kind of red spots, which run along the neck and shoulder-blade, not unlike the form of St. Andrew's cross, or the letter X, made thus cross-wise, and a white line drawn down his back to his tail, all which add much beauty to his own body.' Many caterpillars are of one colour when they issue first from the egg, and assume others quite different in subsequent stages of their progress. It does not follow, however, that a correct judgment can be formed of the hues of the perfect insect from those of the larva, for one of a plain, and even sombre appearance may become a splendid moth or butterfly; while another, whose beautiful or gorgeous array has excited not only high admiration, but animated hope of a full correspondence in its ultimate development, may present merely an ordinary aspect. But it seems to be a general rule, that the caterpillars which live in wood, in fruits, or in other shades beneath the