The Life Dream of Livingstone 



tion are concerned not worth a crooked bawbee. 

 To the very last Livingstone was proud of the 

 class from which he had sprung. When the 

 highest in the land were showering their con- 

 gratulations on the great explorer, he was busy 

 writing to his old friends of " my own order, 

 the honest poor," and trying to promote their 

 welfare by schemes of colonisation. 



The child in the cotton factory and his quench- 

 less thirst for learning are best told in his own 

 words : 



" At the age of ten I went to the factory as a 

 piecer. With a part of my first week's wages 

 I purchased Ruddiman's ' Rudiments of Latin,' 

 and studied that language for many years with 

 unabated ardour, or at an evening school, which 

 met between the hours of eight and ten. I con- 

 tinued my labours when I got home till twelve 

 o'clock, or later, if my mother did not interfere 

 by snatching the books out of my hands. I had 

 to be back in the factory by six in the morning, 

 and my work lasted, with intervals for breakfast 

 and dinner, till eight o'clock at night. I read 

 in this way many of the classical authors, and 

 knew Virgil and Horace better at sixteen than 

 I do now." 



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