WHEN David Livingstone, former
student of Andersonian University, returned to his native country for the
second time, he was everywhere greeted with applause, as a token of the
high esteem in which he was held for his noble courage, enterprise, and
humanity. But amid all the exciting and flattering scenes through which he
passed, he was ever the same retiring and modest Scotsman. He went with
his daughter Agnes to see the launching of a Turkish frigate from Mr.
Napier’s shipbuilding yard, Glasgow, and after the vessel of eight
thousand tons weight had been plunged into the Clyde, sending a wave of
water over to the other side, they were of the party of invited guests to
The Turkish ambassador, Musurus
Pasha, who was also one of the party, travelled in the same carriage as
Livingstone. At one of the stations there was great cheering on the part
of the volunteers who were there drawn up.
"The cheers are for you," Livingstone said to the
ambassador, with a smile.
"No," said the Turk, "I am only what my master made
me; you are what you have made yourself."
When the party reached the Queen’s Hotel, a
working-man rushed across the road, seized Livingstone’s hand, and said:
"I must shake your hand," then clapped him on the
back, and rushed back again.
"You’ll not deny, now," said the ambassador, "that
that’s for you."