Stanley is one of those characters which forcibly illustrate the effect of republican institutions in developing strong men. Despotism cannot fetter thought—that is free everywhere—but it can and does restrain its outworking into practical action. Free institutions do not make great men, but they allow those endowed by nature with extraordinary gifts free scope for action. This fact never had, perhaps, a more striking illustration than in the French Revolution. The iron frame-work of despotism had rested so long over the heads of the people that it had become rusted in its place, and no individual force or strength could rend it asunder. But when the people, in their fury, shattered it into fragments, there was exhibited the marvelous effects of individual character. A lieutenant of artillery vaulted to the throne of France and made marshals and dukes and kings of plebeians. A plebeian himself, he took to his plebeian bed the daughter of the CÆsars. He took base-born men and pitted them against nobles of every degree, and the plebeians proved themselves the better men. In other words, he put men against titles, and the tiles went down before the men. Thus, no matter how despotic he became, he and his marshals and new-made kings were the most terrible democracy. The mighty changes that were then wrought show what results may be expected when the whole world shall be thus set free, and every man be allowed to strike his best and strongest blow. When the race is thus let loose on the planet we inhabit, we shall see the fulfillment of that prophecy, "a nation shall be born in a day."

The same truth is apparent in our own country, though its exhibitions are not so sudden and startling. Indeed they could not be, because this freedom of action has no restraints to break through, and hence no violent effort is required. Every man grows and expands by degrees without let or hindrance. In a despotism, Webster would probably have taught school in a log school-house all his days, and the "mill-boy of the slashes" never would have made the forum of a nation ring with his eloquence, nor the "rail-splitter" have become the foremost man of his time, nor the "tanner-boy" the president of the republic. Republican institutions never made any of those men—they simply allowed them to make themselves.

Stanley is among the latest and most extraordinary examples of this. It is folly to point to such men as he, as a stimulus to youthful ambition. No amount of study or effort can make such a boy or man as he was and is. The energy, daring, self-confidence, promptness and indomitable will were born in him, not acquired. The Latin proverb, Poeta nascitur, non fit, "the poet is born, not made," is not truer of the poet than of a character such as his. His peculiarities may be pointed out for the admiration of others, his good qualities may teach youth how perseverance, and determination, and work will elevate a man, whatever be his walk in life. One born with a combination of qualities like Stanley's, must have room given him or he will make room. He has such an abundance of energy and will-power that they must have scope for action. A despotism could not have repressed him. He would either have become a wanderer or adventurer in strange lands, or he would have headed a revolution and vaulted to power or to a scaffold, as others had done before him.

But although Stanley developed his character under free institutions, he was not born under them, he being a native of Wales. He was born near Denbigh, in 1840. His father's name was Rowland. When three years old, he was sent to the poor-house at St. Asaph, to get an education. Here the poor, unpromising lad remained till he had finished such an education as this institution could furnish, and then he sought employment as a teacher, and for a year was employed as such at Mold, Flintshire. But the strong instincts of his nature then began to show themselves. He felt that a school-teacher's life, however honorable and useful, could not be his, and, therefore, with his scant earnings, he shipped as cabin-boy in a vessel bound for New Orleans. Having arrived in safety, he began to look about for employment. By what lucky chance it happened we do not know, but he fell into the hands of a merchant named Stanley, who became so attached to the frank, energetic, ambitious youth, that he finally adopted him and gave him his name. Thus the Welsh boy Rowland, became the American youth Stanley.

Fortune had certainly smiled on him, and his future seemed secure. As the partner, and eventually heir of his benefactor, as he doubtless would become, fortune, ease and a luxurious life lay before him. But even here, so pleasantly situated and cared for, the same restless spirit that has since driven him over the world, exhibited itself, and he wandered off into the wilds of Arkansas, and in his log-cabin on the banks of the Wichita River, with the pine-trees moaning above him, he dwelt for a long time, among the strange, wild dreams of his imaginative and daring youth. His adopted father mourned him as dead, never expecting to behold him again. But the youth made his way to the Mississippi, and going on board a flat-boat, became the companion of the rough western characters to be found on these boats, and slowly floated down to New Orleans and was received by his overjoyed father as one risen from the dead.

But just here, fortune, which seemed to have had him in her special care, took him another step forward by apparently deserting him. His adopted father suddenly died without making his will. His place and prospective heirship both disappeared together, and the curtain was let down between him and a pleasant, successful future. Doubtless that father intended to provide for his adopted son, but now all the property went to the natural legal heirs, and he was once more thrown upon the world. In the delirium of an African fever, tossing in his hammock, far from the haunts of civilization, there came back to him remembrances of his life at this point. We learn that impelled by his roving disposition he wandered away among the California miners, and at last among the Indians, and sat by their council fires. He seemed destined to see every phase of human life, to become acquainted with the roughest characters, to prepare him for the wildest of all men, the African savage. This kind of life also toughened and hardened the fibre of the youth, so that he settled down into the man with a constitution of iron, without which he could not have endured the trials he has since undergone, and still retain his health and physical powers unworn.

At this time a new field opened before him. The civil war broke out, and being a Southern man, he enlisted in the Confederate army. This was a kind of service just adapted to his peculiar character, one in which a man with the courage, daring, energy, promptness and indomitable will that he possessed, was sure to win fame and promotion. But before he had time to exhibit these qualities, fate, that seemed against him to human eyes, again advanced him a step toward success by causing him to be taken prisoner by the Union troops. As a prisoner he was worthless, and the Union cause really having his sympathies, he proposed to enlist in the Northern army.

Whether the military authorities were afraid of this sudden conversion or not daring to give too much freedom of action to one who showed by his whole bearing and language, that there was no undertaking too daring for him to attempt, we are not told, but they put him where he would probably have little chance to show what stuff he was made of, and he was placed on the iron-clad ship Ticonderoga. It is said, he was released as prisoner and volunteered to enlist in the navy. Be that as it may, though totally unfit for service of any kind on board of a man-of-war, he soon became acting ensign.

At the close of the war he looked about for some field of active service, and what little war he had seen seemed to fit his peculiar character, and hearing that the Cretans were about to attempt to throw off the Turkish yoke, he resolved to join them. He proceeded thither with two other Americans, after having first made an engagement with the New York Herald, as its correspondent. Disgusted, it is said, with the insurgent leaders, he abandoned his purpose, and having a sort of roving commission from Mr. Bennett, he determined to travel in the East. But he and his fellow-travelers were attacked by Turkish brigands, and robbed of all their money and clothing. They laid their complaint before Mr. Morris, then our minister at Constantinople, who in turn laid it before the Turkish government, and at the same time advanced them funds to supply their wants.

After various journeyings Stanley returned to England. Here a strong desire seized him to visit the place of his nativity in Wales, the house where he was born, and the humble dwelling where he received the first rudiments of his education at St. Asaph. One can imagine the feelings with which this bronzed young man, who had traveled so far and wide, entered the quiet valley from which he had departed so long ago to seek his fortune. It speaks well for his heart, that his sympathies turned at once toward the poor-house of which he had been an inmate in his childhood. Remembering that the greatest boon that could have been conferred at that time on him would have been a good, generous dinner, he resolved to give those poor children one. The daring young adventurer, in the presence of those simple, wonderstruck children, would have made a noble subject for a picture. We venture to say that Mr. Stanley enjoyed that unobtrusive meal in that quiet Welsh valley more than he has ever enjoyed a banquet with nobles and princes; and as the shadows of life lengthen he will look back on it with more real pleasure. He addressed the little ones of the Institution, giving them a familiar talk, telling them that he was once one of that household, accompanying his words with good advice, saying for their encouragement, and to stimulate them to noble endeavors, that all he had been in the past and all he hoped to be in the future, he attributed to the education which was begun in that poor-house.

This was a real episode in his eventful life, and, though it doubtless soon passed away in the more stirring scenes on which he entered, yet the remembrance of it still lingers around that quiet, retired Welsh valley, and, to-day, the name of Stanley is a household word there, and is the pride and glory of its simple inhabitants. And as time goes on and silvers those dark hairs, and the "almond-tree flourishes" and "desire fails because man goeth to his long home," he, too, will remember it as a green oasis he once longed to see and found in the arid desert.

In 1867, when he was twenty-seven years of age, he returned to the United States and, in the next year, accompanied the English army in its campaign against Theodore, king of Abyssinia, which was set on foot to revenge the wrongs this tyrant had committed against the subjects and representatives of the British government. Stanley went as correspondent of the New York Herald, and gave a vivid and clear account of the painful march and skirmishes up to the last great battle in the king's stronghold, where, with a gallant dash, the fortress was taken, the king killed and the war ended. With that promptness in acting, which is one of his chief characteristics, he at once dispatched the news of the victory and the ending of the campaign to London, outstripping the government dispatches sent by the commander-in-chief, so that one morning the readers of the London newspapers knew that of which the government was ignorant. This, of course, was a genuine surprise. A young American newspaper correspondent, without a vessel at his command, had, nevertheless, by his enterprise, beaten the government messenger, and steady old conservative England was disgusted to find its time-honored custom reversed, which was that the government should first give notice of successes to the public, leaving to newspaper correspondents to fill up the minor details. But an enterprising young American had furnished the important news, leaving the British government the secondary duty of supplying these details. Notwithstanding the admiration of the enterprise that had accomplished this great feat, there was a ludicrous aspect to the affair, in the position in which it placed official personages, that raised a quiet laugh on both continents. Stanley's letters contain the best history of that expedition that has been written. This was still another onward step in the great work before him, of which he, as yet had no intimation.

The next year, 1868, he returned to the United States, and in the following year was sent by the Herald into Spain, to follow the fortunes of the civil war there, as correspondent. Like everything else that he undertook, he performed his duties more than faithfully. Exposure, danger, hardships, nothing interfered when there was a prospect of acquiring valuable information. It mattered not to him whether he was on the margin or in the vortex of battle—he never thought of anything but the object before him and toward which he bent all his energies. His letters from the seat of war not only gave the best description of the battles fought and of the military position of affairs, but, also, of the political state of the kingdom. But while he was here, considering himself fixed down for an indefinite period, for Spain is proverbial for the protracted duration of its civil wars, Mr. Bennett, in Paris, was planning an expedition to go in search of Dr. Livingstone, buried, alive or dead, somewhere in the heart of Africa. The sympathies of everybody were enlisted in his fortunes, yet the British government, though he had done so much to enhance the fame of his native country, refused to stir a step toward ascertaining his fate, discovering his whereabouts, or relieving him if in want.

The Royal Geographical Society, ashamed of the apathy and indifference of the government, had started a subscription to raise funds from private sources to defray the expenses of an expedition to go in search of him. In the meantime this American editor, scorning alike state patronage or private help, conceived the bold project of finding him himself. Looking around for a suitable leader to command an expedition, his eye rested upon Stanley in Spain. And here should be noted the profound sagacity of Mr. Bennett in selecting such a leader for this desperate expedition, that was to go no one knew where, and end no one knew how.

Most people thought it was a mammoth advertisement of the New York Herald, nothing more. If he was in earnest why did he not select some one of the many African explorers who were familiar with the regions of Central Africa, and had explored in the vicinity of where Livingstone was, by the best judges, supposed to be, if alive? Men, for instance, like Speke, Baker, Burton, Grant and others. This certainly would have given great eclat to the expedition, and, if it failed in its chief object, would unquestionably have furnished new facts for the geographer and the man of science. But to send one who made no pretensions to science, no claims to be a meteorologist, botanist, geologist, or to be familiar with astronomical calculations, all of which are indispensable to a great explorer, seemed absurd.

But Mr. Bennett had no intention of making new scientific or geographical discoveries. He had but one object in view—to find Dr. Livingstone—and on the true Napoleonic system of selecting the best man to accomplish a single object, he, with Napoleonic sagacity, fixed on Stanley. The celebrated men who would have given greater distinction to the enterprise would, doubtless, divide up their time and resources between scientific research and the chief object of the expedition, and thus cause delays that might defeat it; or, with more or less of the martinet about them, push their researches only to a reasonable extent and be content with reports instead of personal investigation. But he wanted a man who had but one thing to do, and not only that, but a man who would accomplish the errand on which he was sent or die in the attempt. This was to be no mere well-regulated expedition, that was to turn back when all reasonable efforts had been made. It was one that, if desperate straits should come, would resort to desperate means, and he knew that with Stanley at its head this would be done. He knew that Stanley would fetch out Livingstone, dead or alive, or leave his own bones to bleach in the depths of Africa. Stanley was comparatively young, it was true, and had always accompanied, never led, expeditions. He knew nothing of Africa, or how an expedition should be organized or furnished—it mattered not. Bennett knew he had resources within himself—nerves that never flinch, courage that no amount of danger could daunt, a will that neither an African fever nor a wasted form could break down, and a resolution of purpose that the presence of death itself could not shake, while, to complete all, he had a quickness and accuracy of judgment in a perilous crisis, followed by equally quick and right action, which would extricate him out of difficulties that would overwhelm men who had all his courage, will and energy, but were slower in coming to a decision.

This latter quality is one of the rarest ever found even in the strongest men; to think quick and yet think right, to come to a right decision as if by impulse, is a power few men possess. To go swift and yet straight as the cannon ball or lightning's flash, gives to any man's actions tenfold power. In this lay the great secret of Napoleon's success. His campaigns were started, while those of others were under discussion, and the thunder and tumult of battle cleared his preceptions and judgment so that no unexpected disaster could occur that he was not ready to meet. This quickness and accuracy of thought and action is one of the prominent characteristics of Stanley, and more than once saved his life and his expedition.

On the 16th day of October, 1869, as he was sitting in his hotel at Madrid, having just returned from the carnage of Valencia, a telegram was handed him. The thunder of cannon and tumult of battle had scarce ceased echoing in his ear when this telegram startled him from his reverie: "Come to Paris on important business." In a moment all was hurry and confusion, his books and pictures were packed, his washed and unwashed clothes were stowed away, and in two hours his trunks were strapped and labeled "Paris." The train started at 3 o'clock, and he still had some time to say good-bye to his friends, and here by mere accident comes out one of the most pleasing traits of his character. Of the friends he is thus to leave, he merely refers to those of the American legation, but dwells with regret on the farewell he must give to two little children, whom he calls his "fast friends." Like a sudden burst of sunlight on a landscape, this unconscious utterance reveals a heart as tender as it is strong, and increases our interest in the man quite as much as in the explorer. At 3 o'clock he was thundering on toward Paris, ready, as he said, to go to the battle or the banquet, all the same. His interview with Mr. Bennett reveals the character of both these men so clearly that we give it in Stanley's own words:

"At 3 P. M. I was on my way, and being obliged to stop at Bayonne a few hours, did not arrive at Paris until the following night. I went straight to the 'Grand Hotel,' and knocked at the door of Mr. Bennett's room.

"'Come in,' I heard a voice say. Entering, I found Mr. Bennett in bed.

"'Who are you?' he asked.

"'My name is Stanley,' I answered.

"'Ah, yes, sit down; I have important business on hand for you.'

"After throwing over his shoulders his robe de chambre, Mr. Bennett asked: 'Where do you think Livingstone is?'

"'I really do not know, sir.'

"'Do you think he is alive?'

"'He may be, and he may not be,' I answered.

"'Well, I think he is alive, and that he can be found, and I am going to send you to find him.'

"'What,' said I, 'do you really think I can find Dr. Livingstone? Do you mean me to go to Central Africa?'

"'Yes; I mean that you shall go and find him, wherever you hear that he is, and get what news you can of him; and, perhaps'—delivering himself thoughtfully and deliberately—'the old man may be in want. Take enough with you to help him, should he require it. Of course, you will act according to your own plans, and you will do what is best—but find Livingstone!'

"Said I, wondering at the cool order of sending one to Central Africa to search for a man whom I, in common with most other men, believed to be dead: 'Have you considered seriously the great expense you are liable to incur on account of this little journey?'

"'What will it cost?' he asked abruptly.

"'Burton and Speke's journey to Central Africa cost between £3,000 and £5,000, and I fear it cannot be done under £2,500.'

"'Well, I will tell you what you will do. Draw a thousand pounds now, and when you have gone through that, draw another thousand, and when that is spent draw another thousand, and when you have finished that draw another thousand, and so on—but find Livingstone!'

"Surprised, but not confused, at the order, for I knew that Mr. Bennett, when he had once made up his mind, was not easily drawn aside from his purpose, I yet thought, seeing it was such a gigantic scheme, that he had not quite considered in his own mind the pros and the cons of the case, I said: 'I have heard that, should your father die, you would sell the Herald, and retire from business.'

"'Whoever told you so is wrong, for there is not money enough in the United States to buy the New York Herald. My father has made it a great paper, but I mean to make it a greater. I mean, that it shall be a newspaper in the true sense of the word; I mean that it shall publish whatever news may be useful to the world, at no matter what cost.'

"'After that,' said I, 'I have nothing more to say. Do you mean me to go straight on to Africa to search for Dr. Livingstone?'

"'No; I wish you to go to the inauguration of the Suez Canal first, and then proceed up the Nile. I hear Baker is about starting for Upper Egypt. Find out what you can about his expedition, and, as you go up, describe, as well as possible, whatever is interesting for tourists, and then write up a guide—a practical one—for Lower Egypt; tell us about whatever is worth seeing, and how to see it.

"'Then you might as well go to Jerusalem; I hear that Captain Warren is making some interesting discoveries there. Then visit Constantinople, and find out about the khedive and sultan.

"'Then—let me see—you might as well visit the Crimea and those old battle-grounds. Then go across the Caucasus to the Caspian Sea. I hear there is a Russian expedition bound for Khiva. From thence you may get through Persia to India; you could write an interesting letter from Persepolis.

"'Bagdad will be close on your way to India; suppose you go there and write up something about the Euphrates Valley Railway. Then, when you have come to India, you may go after Dr. Livingstone. Probably you will hear by that time that Livingstone is on his way to Zanzibar; but, if not, go into the interior and find him, if alive. Get what news you can; and if you find that he is dead, bring all possible proofs you can of his being dead. That is all. Good-night, and God be with you.'

"'Good-night, sir,' I said, 'what is in the power of human nature I will do; and on such an errand as I go upon, God will be with me.'

"I lodged with young Edward King, who is making such a name in New England. He was just the man who would have delighted to tell the journal he was engaged upon what young Mr. Bennett was doing, and what errand I was bound upon. I should have liked to exchange opinions with him upon the probable results of my journey, but dared not do so. Though oppressed with the great task before me, I had to appear as if only going to be present at the Suez Canal. Young King followed me to the express train bound for Marseilles, and at the station we parted—he to go and read the newspapers at Bowles's Reading-room, I to Central Africa and—who knows? There is no need to recapitulate what I did before going to Central Africa."

He started on his travels, and we hear of him first in Constantinople, from our minister there, Mr. Morris, who had relieved him and his companions when plundered by Turkish brigands. One of Mr. Stanley's traveling companions who had been robbed with himself, accused him, in a published letter, of dishonesty regarding the money our minister had advanced. It is not necessary to go into this accusation or a refutation of it now. It is sufficient to say that Mr. Morris declared the whole charge false, and as the shortest and most complete refutation of such a charge, we give Mr. Morris's own views of Mr. Stanley:

"The uncouth young man whom I first knew had grown into a perfect man of the world, possessing the appearance, the manners and the attributes of a perfect gentleman. The story of the adventures which he had gone through and the dangers he had passed during his absence, were perfectly marvelous, and he became the lion of our little circle. Scarcely a day passed but he was a guest at my table, and no one was more welcome, for I insensibly grew to have a strong attachment for him myself." In speaking further on of his projected travels, he said he advised him to go to Persia, which Stanley suddenly came to the conclusion to follow out. "He therefore," he says, "busied himself in procuring letters of introduction to the Russian authorities in the Caucasus, in Georgia and in other countries through which he would have to pass."

This is quite enough to put to rest the scandal, which at one time produced quite a sensation, that Stanley had cheated Mr. Morris and misappropriated the funds advanced by him. No explanations are required after this indorsement.

Of this long and hazardous journey, the columns of the Herald gave all the principal details. There is nothing in them that illustrates the peculiar characteristics of Stanley more than, or even so much as, his subsequent acts, hence his brief summary of this tour, that seems to have had no definite object whatever, except to give the correspondent of the Herald something to do, until the proper moment to start on the expedition for Livingstone, is, perhaps, the best account that could be given, so far as the general reader is concerned. All we can say is, it seems a very roundabout way in which to commence such an expedition.

"I went up the Nile and saw Mr. Higginbotham, chief engineer in Baker's expedition, at PhilÆ, and was the means of preventing a duel between him and a mad young Frenchman, who wanted to fight Mr. Higginbotham with pistols, because Mr. Higginbotham resented the idea of being taken for an Egyptian through wearing a fez cap. I had a talk with Captain Warren at Jerusalem, and descended one of the pits with a sergeant of engineers to see the marks of Tyrian workmen on the foundation-stones of the Temple of Solomon. I visited the mosques of Stamboul with the minister resident of the United States, and the American consul-general. I traveled over the Crimean battle-grounds with Kinglake's glorious books for reference. I dined with the widow of General Liprandi, at Odessa. I saw the Arabian traveler, Palgrave, at Trebizond, and Baron Nicolay, the civil governor of the Caucasus, at Tiflis. I lived with the Russian embassador while at Teheran, and wherever I went through Persia I received the most hospitable welcome from the gentlemen of the Indo-European Telegraph Company; and, following the example of many illustrious men, I wrote my name upon one of the Persepolitan monuments. In the month of August, 1870, I arrived in India."

In completing this sketch of Mr. Stanley's life and character, it is necessary only to add that his after career fully justified the high estimate Mr. Bennett had placed on his extraordinary qualities. These were tested to their utmost extent in his persistent, determined search after the man he was sent to find. But we believe that Livingstone, when found, with whom Stanley passed some months, exerted a powerful influence on the character which we have attempted to portray. Stanley was comparatively young, full of life and ambition, with fame, greater probably than he had ever anticipated, now within his reach. Yet, here in the heart of Africa, he found a man well on in years, of a world-wide fame, yet apparently indifferent to it.

This man who had spent his life in a savage country, away from home and all the pleasures of civilized society, who expected to pass the remnant of his days in the same isolated state, was looking beyond this life. He was forgetting himself, in the absorbing purpose to benefit others. Fame to him was nothing, the welfare of a benighted race everything. This was a new revelation to the ambitious young man. Hitherto he had thought only of himself, but here was a man, earnest, thoughtful, sincere, who was living to carry out a great idea—no less than the salvation of a continent—nay more than this, who was working not for himself, but for a Master, and that Master, the God of the universe. He remained with him in close companionship for months, and intimate relations with a man borne up by such a lofty purpose, inspired by such noble feelings, and looking so far away beyond time for his reward, could not but have an important influence on a man with Stanley's noble and heroic qualities. It was a new revelation to him. He had met, not a successful, bold explorer, but a Christian, impelled and sustained by the great and noble idea of regenerating a race and honoring the God of man and the earth. Such a lengthened companionship with a man of this character could but lift Stanley to a higher plane, and inspire him with a loftier purpose than that of a mere explorer.

But while this expedition brought out all the peculiar traits we have spoken of, yet his later expedition developed qualities which circumstances had not previously shown. When from this he emerged on the Atlantic coast with his company, he was hailed with acclamations and a British vessel was placed at his disposal in which to return home. But the ease and comfort offered him, and the applause awaiting him, were nothing compared with the comfort and welfare of the savage band that had for so long a time been his companions and his only reliance in the perils through which he had passed. True, they had often been intractable, disobedient and trustless, but still they had been his companions in one of the most perilous marches ever attempted by man, and with that large charity that allowed for the conduct of these untutored, selfish animals of the desert, he forgot it all and would do nothing, think of nothing, till their wants were supplied and their welfare secured. He would see them safe back to the spot from which he took them, and did, before he took care of himself. A noble nature there asserted itself, and we doubt not that every one of those poor ignorant savages would go to the death for that brave man to whom their own welfare was so dear.

In this sketch of Mr. Stanley, as it appears to us from the record of his life, we have omitted to notice those faults which are incident to poor human nature, in whatever person it is enshrined. But perhaps this is as good a place as any to notice the charge brought against him by some persons in the English press, of having killed natives, not in self-defense but to carry out his explorations; they asserting that neither for fame nor science, nor for any other motive, had a man a right to take the life of his fellow-man. Without going into an argument on this point, or bringing forward the circumstances of this particular case, leaving that to be explained in the narrative, as it will appear in subsequent pages, we wish simply to say that the philanthropy and Christianity, in behalf of which the charge is made, is pure Pharisaism. Those writers asserted that life should be taken only in self-defense. But in their eyes it is right, from mere covetousness to seize territory in India, and thus provoke the rightful owners to rise in defense of their own, which act converts them into assailants that must be killed in self-defense.

But this man having passed through friendly territory, suddenly finds himself stopped by hostile savages, who declare that he must retrace his three months' journey and turn back, not because they are to be despoiled of their land, or wronged in their persons, but from mere savage maliciousness and hate. Mr. Stanley quietly insists on continuing his journey, desiring no conflict, but finding them determined to kill him and break up his expedition, he anticipates their movements and shoots down some of them, and lo, these writers who defend the slaughter of tens of thousands of men in India, so that England may enjoy her wholesale robbery, nay, who threaten Europe with bloody war at the mere hint that others may want to share her unjust possessions—these writers call on the English people to refuse to give Stanley a public reception, because he killed a half-dozen savages who wanted to kill him. He should have waited, they say, till they fired the first shot; as he did not his conduct should be investigated by the philanthropic subjects of Her Majesty the Queen.