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 David Livingstone

At Blantyre, Scotland, on the 19th March, 1813, a child was born to Neil and Agnes Livingstone. We never know when is happening an epoch-making event. Every new soul ushered into the world is a shut casket of possibilities. The boy born in the humble home consisting of a "but and a ben," was destined to become one of the greatest missionaries; and the most conspicuous and intrepid explorer the world has ever seen; to achieve for himself a deathless fame, a name of imperishable memory, and to leave to mankind a heritage of truth and influence. His cradle was in the peasant's cottage, but his grave is in Westminster Abbey. I have many times visited the house where he was born, and the mill where he worked, and oftentimes I have read the inscription that is over his grave. I esteem it a great privilege to have lived for years near the birthplace of the great and good David Livingstone. His home was one of those which are the glory of Scotland, the abode of the godly and intelligent working class. His mother was a sweet, gentle woman, and his father was a good man.

When ten years of age he went to work. His working hours were from six a.m to eight p.m. His first