“On Sunday, in the morning, we heard Dr. Leifchild, who was then in his prime, and in the evening Mr. Sherman, who preached with all his accustomed persuasiveness and mellifluousness.  In the afternoon we worshiped at St. Paul’s, and heard Prebendary Dale.

“On Monday we passed our first examination.  On Tuesday we went to Westminster Abbey.  Who that had seen those two young men passing from monument to monument could have divined that one of them would one day be buried with a nation’s—­rather with the civilized world’s—­lament, in that sacred shrine?  The wildest fancy could not have pictured that such an honor awaited David Livingstone.  I grew daily more attached to him.  If I were asked why, I should be rather at a loss to reply.  There was truly an indescribable charm about him, which, with all his rather ungainly ways, and by no means winning face, attracted almost every one, and which helped him so much in his after-wanderings in Africa.

“He won those who came near him by a kind of spell.  There happened to be in the boarding-house at that time a young M.D., a saddler from Hants, and a bookseller from Scotland.  To this hour they all speak of him in rapturous terms.

“After passing two examinations, we were both so far accepted by the Society that we were sent to the Rev. Richard Cecil, who resided at Chipping Ongar, in Essex.  Most missionary students were sent to him for three months’ probation, and if a favorable opinion was sent to the Board of Directors, they went to one of the Independent colleges.  The students did not for the most part live with Mr. Cecil, but took lodgings in the town, and went to his house for meals and instruction in classics and theology.  Livingstone and I lodged together.  We read Latin and Greek, and began Hebrew together.  Every day we took walks, and visited all the spots of interest in the neighborhood, among them the country churchyard which was the burial-place of John Locke.  In a place so quiet, and a life so ordinary as that of a student, there did not occur many events worthy of recital.  I will, however, mention one or two things, because they give an insight—­a kind of prophetic glance—­into Livingstone’s after-career.

“One foggy November morning, at three o’clock, he set out from Ongar to walk to London to see a relative of his father’s[11].  It was about twenty-seven miles to the house he sought.  After spending a few hours with his relation, he set out to return on foot to Ongar.  Just out of London, near Edmonton, a lady had been thrown out of a gig.  She lay stunned on the road.  Livingston immediately went to her, helped to carry her into a house close by, and having examined her and found no bones broken, and recommending a doctor to be called, he resumed his weary tramp.  Weary and footsore, when he reached Stanford Rivers he missed his way, and finding after some time that he was wrong, he felt so dead-beat that he was inclined to lie down and sleep; but finding a directing-post he climbed it, and by the light of the stars deciphered enough to know his whereabouts.  About twelve that Saturday night he reached Ongar, white as a sheet, and so tired he could hardly utter a word.  I gave him a basin of bread and milk, and I am not exaggerating when I say I put him to bed.  He fell at once asleep, and did not awake till noonday had passed on Sunday.