The study of Dr. Livingstone would not be complete if we did not take the religious side of his character into consideration.  His religion is not of the theoretical kind, but it is a constant, earnest, sincere practice.  It is neither demonstrative nor loud, but manifests itself in a quiet, practical way, and is always at work.  It is not aggressive, which sometimes is troublesome, if not impertinent.  In him, religion exhibits its loveliest features; it governs his conduct not only towards his servants, but towards the natives, the bigoted Mohammedans, and all who come in contact with him.  Without it, Livingstone, with his ardent temperament, his enthusiasm, his high spirit and courage, must have become uncompanionable, and a hard master.  Religion has tamed him, and made him a Christian gentleman:  the crude and wilful have been refined and subdued; religion has made him the most companionable of men and indulgent of masters—­a man whose society is pleasurable.

In Livingstone I have seen many amiable traits.  His gentleness never forsakes him; his hopefulness never deserts him.  No harassing anxieties, distraction of mind, long separation from home and kindred, can make him complain.  He thinks “all will come out right at last;” he has such faith in the goodness of Providence.  The sport of adverse circumstances, the plaything of the miserable beings sent to him from Zanzibar—­he has been baffled and worried, even almost to the grave, yet he will not desert the charge imposed upon him by his friend, Sir Roderick Murchison.  To the stern dictates of duty, alone, has he sacrificed his home and ease, the pleasures, refinements, and luxuries of civilized life.  His is the Spartan heroism, the inflexibility of the Roman, the enduring resolution of the Anglo-Saxon—­never to relinquish his work, though his heart yearns for home; never to surrender his obligations until he can write Finis to his work.

But you may take any point in Dr. Livingstone’s character, and analyse it carefully, and I would challenge any man to find a fault in it.  He is sensitive, I know; but so is any man of a high mind and generous nature.  He is sensitive on the point of being doubted or being criticised.  An extreme love of truth is one of his strongest characteristics, which proves him to be a man of strictest principles, and conscientious scruples; being such, he is naturally sensitive, and shrinks from any attacks on the integrity of his observations, and the accuracy of his reports.  He is conscious of having laboured in the course of geography and science with zeal and industry, to have been painstaking, and as exact as circumstances would allow.  Ordinary critics seldom take into consideration circumstances, but, utterly regardless of the labor expended in obtaining the least amount of geographical information in a new land, environed by inconceivable dangers and difficulties, such as Central Africa presents, they seem to take delight in rending to tatters, and reducing to nil, the fruits of long years of labor, by sharply-pointed shafts of ridicule and sneers.