s the same, one of the most
even-tempered men I ever worked with."

Such spontaneous testimony to character is perhaps sufficient; but one
may crown it by repeating a story told, with full appreciation of its
value, by his mother. When King Edward and Queen Alexandra made their
memorable visit to Belfast in July, 1903, the line of route passed
through the street in which Andrews lived; and to witness the procession
he invited to his rooms, all decorated for the occasion and plentifully
supplied with dainties, a large party of children. "Well, my dear," one
was asked afterwards, "and what did you think of the King?" "The King,"
answered the child--"oh, cousin Tommy was _our_ King."

Regarding his remarkable powers of application and industry, enough too
has perhaps already been written; but what must be made clear, even at
the cost of repetition, for therein lay the man's strength, was the
spirit in which he approached the great business of work.

It has been said, and doubtless will be said again, that for one to
labour as Andrews did, whatever the incentive or object, is an inhuman
process making for narrowness of manhood and a condition of drudgery.
Perhaps so. Herbert Spencer once expressed some such opinion. It is
largely a question of one's point of view, to a lesser extent perhaps a
matter of aptitude or circumstance. At all events, in this respect, it
seems wise to distinguish as between man and man, and work and work; for
with the example of Andrews before them even cavillers must admit that
what they call drudgery can be well justified.

How he would have laughed had someone, even a Herbert Spencer, called
him a drudge! Anyone less the creature, however you regarded him, you
could not easily find. Work was his nature, his life; he throve upon
it, lived for it, loved it. And think what a work it was! The noblest,
one repeats, done by men.

In his dressingroom was hung a framed copy of Henry Van Dyke's
well-known sonnet. It is worth quoting:

"_Let me but do my work from day to day
In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place, or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
This is my work, my blessing, not my doom;
Of all who live, I am the one by whom
This work can best be done in my own way.
Then shall I see it not too great nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I c