There, on the one hand, lay the opened cases of rare and brilliant bird-skins, each specimen with its separate label, in the collector’s writing, carefully recording its habitat, and other particulars useful to the student, accompanied in many instances by examples of nests and eggs. There, on the other hand, were lesser boxes, filled with varied specimens of insects, some from those very Victoria Falls of the Zambesi, the rich and almost untried harvest-ground of the naturalist, whose attractions had lured the wanderer to his untimely grave. And there, again, were those large wide-necked bottles, familiar to the collector, containing, some of them, strange-looking beetles, others still stranger reptiles; there the packets of botanical drying paper, each sheet enveloping its floral treasure. Turning again to other cases, were found in numbers the singular implements of savage warfare, or industry, and with them many of those rude yet tasteful attempts at ornamentation suggested by native fancy; evidences--the whole of them--of that untutored skill and delicate refinement of workmanship which characterize many of the finer races of unlettered savages. Whilst further, the mighty tusks of the huge African elephant, the skins of the lion, the leopard, and the cheetah,--for it was these beasts of prey that the traveller had especially loved to hunt,--besides those of many an African antelope, with horns and heads of equal grace and beauty, told silently of stirring adventures in the bush. Lastly, but yet not least, were those scientific instruments he had used in taking observations of his journey with so much faithful perseverance; the note-books; the letters of friends (some of these unopened, containing those trifling items of home news, so sweet to the far-off traveller, which his eyes had never seen, for they had arrived after his decease); the pencilled outlines of the country’s scenery; the water-colour drawings of those fatal Falls; how much did not these records breathe to the silent bystander, how much suggest of what had been, and still more what _might have been_! Poor fellow! not there himself to speak to us, those records of an earnest life, those cared-for and well-worn letters which he _had_ received and treasured, how far more eloquent they were to us than any words could have been! They told us all, more than all, than any words which he could, or at least would, have spoken--so lightly did he ever treat his own achievements--and seemed to leave the world and ourselves poorer and yet richer by his death!