Walter Scott said of Burns that
he had the most extraordinary eye he ever saw in a human being. I can
say as much for my mother. As Burns has it:
"Her eye even turned on empty space,
Beamed keen with honor."
Anything low, mean, deceitful, shifty, coarse, underhand, or gossipy
was foreign to that heroic soul. Tom and I could not help growing up
respectable characters, having such a mother and such a father, for
the father, too, was one of nature's noblemen, beloved by all, a
saint.
Soon after this incident my father found it necessary to give up
hand-loom weaving and to enter the cotton factory of Mr. Blackstock,
an old Scotsman in Allegheny City, where we lived. In this factory he
also obtained for me a position as bobbin boy, and my first work was
done there at one dollar and twenty cents per week. It was a hard
life. In the winter father and I had to rise and breakfast in the
darkness, reach the factory before it was daylight, and, with a short
interval for lunch, work till after dark. The hours hung heavily upon
me and in the work itself I took no pleasure; but the cloud had a
silver lining, as it gave me the feeling that I was doing something
for my world--our family. I have made millions since, but none of
those millions gave me such happiness as my first week's earnings.
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