"There is a good-natured _abandon_ about Livingstone which was not lost on me. Whenever he began to laugh, there was a contagion about it that compelled me to imitate him. It was such a laugh as Teufelsdröckh's--a laugh of the whole man from head to heel. If he told a story, he related it in such a way as to convince one of its truthfulness; his face was so lit up by the sly fun it contained, that I was sure the story was worth relating, and worth listening to.
"Another thing that especially attracted my attention was his wonderfully retentive memory. If we remember the many years he has spent in Africa, deprived of books, we may well think it an uncommon memory that can recite whole poems from Byron, Burns, Tennyson, Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell....
"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 toward his servants but toward 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 willful have been refined and subdued; religion has made him the most companionable of men and indulgent of masters--a man whose society is pleasurable to a degree....
"From being thwarted and hated in every possible way by the Arabs and half-castes upon his first arrival at Ujiji, he has, through his uniform kindness and mild, pleasant temper, won all hearts. I observed that universal respect was paid to him. Even the Mohammedans never passed his house without calling to pay their compliments, and to say, 'The blessing of God rest on you!' Each Sunday morning he gathers his little flock around him, and reads prayers and a chapter from the Bible, in a natural, unaffected, and sincere tone; and afterward delivers a short address in the Kisawahili language, about the subject read to them, which is listened to with evident interest and attention."
It was agreed that the two travelers should make a short excursion to the north end of Lake Tanganyika, to ascertain whether the lake had an outlet there. This was done, but it was found that instead of flowing out, the river Lugizé flowed into the lake, so that the notion that the lake discharged itself northward turned out to be an error. Meanwhile, the future arrangements of Dr. Livingstone were matter of anxious consideration. One thing was fixed and certain from the beginning: Livingstone would not go home with Stanley. Much though his heart yearned for home and family--all the more that he had just learned that his son Thomas had had a dangerous accident,--and much though he needed to recruit his strength and nurse his ailments, he would not think of it while his work remained unfinished. To turn back to those dreary sponges, sleep in those flooded plains, encounter anew that terrible pneumonia which was "worse than ten fevers," or that distressing hæmorrhage which added extreme weakness to extreme agony--might have turned any heart; Livingstone never flinched from it. What a reception awaited him if he had gone home to England! What welcome from friends and children, what triumphal cheers from all the great Societies and _savants_, what honors from all who had honors to confer, what opportunity of renewing efforts to establish missions and commerce, and to suppress the slave traffic! Then he might return to Africa in a year, and finish his work. If Livingstone had taken this course, no whisper would have been heard against it. The nobility of his soul never rose higher, his utter abandonment of self, his entire devotion to duty, his right honorable determination to work while it was called to-day never shone more brightly than when he declined all Stanley's entreaties to return home, and set his face steadfastly to go back to the bogs of the watershed. He writes in his journal: "My daughter Agnes says, 'Much as I wish you to come home, I had rather that you finished your work to your own satisfaction, than return merely to gratify me.' Rightly and nobly said, my darling Nannie; vanity whispers pretty loudly, 'She is a chip of the old block,' My blessing on her and all the rest."