people in comfort and at leisure, enjoying the good things of life,—­but he felt that the burden-bearing multitude claimed his sympathy most.  How quick the people are, whether in England or in Africa, to find out this sympathetic spirit, and how powerful is the hold of their hearts which those who have it gain!  In poetic feeling, or at least in the power of expressing it, as in many other things, David Livingstone and Robert Burns were a great contrast; but in sympathy with the people they were alike, and in both cases the people felt it.  Away and alone, in the heart of Africa, when mourning “the pride and avarice that make man a wolf to man,” Livingstone would welcome the “good time coming,” humming the words of Burns: 

[Footnote 7:  Missionary Travels, p. 6.]

     “When man to man, the world o’er,
     Shall brothers be for a’ that.”

In all the toils and trials of his life, he found the good of that early Blantyre discipline, which had forced him to bear irksome toil with patience, until the toil ceased to be irksome, and even became a pleasure.

Livingstone has told us that the village of Blantyre, with its population of two thousand souls, contained some characters of sterling worth and ability, who exerted a most beneficial influence on the children and youth of the place by imparting gratuitous religious instruction.  The names of two of the worthiest of these are given, probably because they stood highest in his esteem, and he owed most to them, Thomas Burke and David Hogg.  Essentially alike, they seem to have been outwardly very different.  Thomas Burke, a somewhat wild youth, had enlisted early in the army.  His adventures and hairbreadth escapes in the Forty-second, during the Peninsular and other wars, were marvelous, and used to be told in after-years to crowds of wondering listeners.  But most marvelous was the change of heart that brought him back an intense Christian evangelist, who, in season, and out of season, never ceased to beseech the people of Blantyre to yield themselves to God.  Early on Sunday mornings he would go through the village ringing a bell to rouse the people that they might attend an early prayer-meeting which he had established.  His temperament was far too high for most even of the well-disposed people of Blantyre, but Neil Livingstone appreciated his genuine worth, and so did his son.  David says of him that “for about forty years he had been incessant and never weary in good works, and that such men were an honor to their country and their profession.”  Yet it was not after the model of Thomas Burke that Livingstone’s own religious life was fashioned.  It had a greater resemblance to that of David Hogg, the other of the two Blantyre patriarchs of whom he makes special mention, under whose instructions he had sat in the Sunday-school, and whose spirit may be gathered from his death-bed advice to him:  “Now, lad, make religion the every-day business