UVINGSTOXE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. xvii 



and homage for presenting me from infancy with a contin- 

 uously consistent pious example, such as that the ideal of 

 which is so beautifully and truthfully portrayed in Burns' 

 'Cottar's Saturday Night.' He died in February, 1856, 

 in peaceful hope of that mercy which we all expect through 

 the death of our Lord and Saviour : I was at the time on 

 my way below Zumbo, expecting no greater pleasure in 

 this country than sitting by our cottage fire and telling 

 him my travels. I revere his memory. 



The earliest recollection of my mother recalls a picture 

 so often seen among the Scottish poor — that of the 

 anxious housewife striving to make both ends meet. At 

 the age of ten I was put into the factory as a " piecer," 

 to aid by my earnings in lessening her anxiety. With a 

 part of my first week's wages I purchased Ruddiman's 

 ' Rudiments of Latin,' and pursued the study of that 

 language for many years afterwards, with unabated 

 ardour, at an evening school, which met between the 

 hours of eight and ten. The dictionary part of my 

 labours was followed up till twelve o'clock, or later, if my 

 mother did not interfere by jumping up and snatching 

 the books out of my hands. I had to be back in the 

 factory by six in the morning, and continue my work, 

 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. Our schoolmaster — happily still alive— 

 was supported in part by the company ; he was attentive 

 and kind, and so moderate in his charges that all who 

 wished for education might have obtained it. Many 

 availed themselves of the privilege ; and some of my 

 schoolfellows now rank in positions far above what they 

 appeared ever likely to come to when in the village school. 

 If such a system were established in England, it would 

 prove a never-ending blessing to the poor. 



In reading, everything that I could lay my hands on 

 was devoured except novels. Scientific works and books 

 of travels were my especial delight ; though my father, 

 believing, with many of his time who ought to have 

 known better, that the former were inimical to religion, 

 would have preferred to have seen me poring over the 

 ' Cloud of Witnesses,' or Boston's ' Fourfold State.' Our 

 difference of opinion reached the point of open rebellion 

 on my part, and his last application of the rod was on my 



b 



