followed me to Ireland, where he (F. K.) still resides, honoured and
respected, as he deserves to be. He and I, throughout the years, have
been and are the closest of friends. Once, not very long ago, in a grave
crisis of my life, when death seemed near, he stood by me with the
devotion of a brother. My auctioneer friend (G. F.) was, perhaps, the
most interesting man of our circle; certainly he possessed more humour
than the rest of us put together. Fond of literature, with a talent for
writing, he was a regular contributor to the Glasgow Punch, _The Bailie_.
But his greatest charms were, his dear innocence, his freshness of mind,
his simple inexpensive tastes, his enjoyment of life, and his infectious
laugh. In years he was our senior, but in worldly knowledge junior to us
all. He lives still and is, I believe, as jocund as ever. Another of
these Glasgow friends I must mention--a poet, and like Burns, a son of
the soil. His name was Alexander Anderson. When first I met him he was
in the railway service, a labourer on the permanent way, what is called a
surfaceman in Scotland, a platelayer in England and a milesman in
Ireland. Self taught, he became proficient in French, German and
Italian, and was able to enjoy in their own language the literature of
those countries. A Scottish nobleman, impressed by his wonderful
poetical talent, defrayed the expenses of a tour which he made in Italy
and an extended stay in Rome, to the enrichment of his mind and to his
great enjoyment. On his return to Scotland he published a book of poems.
In an introduction to this book the Revd. George Gilfillan wrote, "The
volume he now presents to the world is distinguished by great variety of
subject and modes of treatment. It has a number of sweet Scottish
verses, plaintive or pawky. It has some strains of a higher mood,
reminding us of Keats in their imagination. But the highest effort, if
not also the most decided success, is his series of sonnets, entitled,
'In Rome.' And certainly this is a remarkable series." A remarkable man
he was indeed; simple and earnest in manner, with a fine eye, a full dark
beard and sunburnt face. Tiring, however, of a labourer's life and of
the pick and shovel, he left the railway and became assistant librarian
of Edinburgh University, and three years afterwards Secretary to the
Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh. He afterwards became Chief
Librarian to the Edinburgh University. He died in