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xiv (1871). I imagine him sitting on the open verandah of his tembé, looking eastward, as Stanley describes him; while evening deepens, and then night—the night preceding Stanley's arrival. I suppose that—like those constellations, with which he is so familiar—the salient features of his whole life pass successively before him in his solitude; while he meditates at leisure upon the people and scenes he has witnessed; wonders what people and scenes are yet to be divulged for him; speculating, moreover, on those long-vexed, fascinating problems, suggested by history, geography, and science, in connection with his beloved continent. But his chief concern—though he takes a very humane and broad interest in all—is the future of the people, among whom he has so long lived: he is a profoundly sincere Christian missionary—a philanthropist in the best and widest sense—with heart bleeding for all the ignorance, darkness, and misery, which he sees around him; thirsting to devise the best possible means for the salvation, enlightenment, and