at distances to me),
'He'll live to be Montrose the second, rascal laddie! Four seasons
at the breast? Tut, tut! what o' that? 'Tis but his foolery, his
scampishness! Nae, nae! his epitaph's no for writing till you and I are
tucked i' the sod, my Jeanie. Then, like Montrose's, it will be--

'Tull Edinburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hong;
They hong him high abone the rest,
He was so trim a boy.'

"I can hear his laugh this minute, as he gave an accent to the words by
stirring me with his stick, and I caught the gold head of it and carried
it off, trailing it through the garden, till I heard my mother calling,
and then forced her to give me chase, as I pushed open a little gate and
posted away into that wide world of green, coming quickly to the river,
where I paused and stood at bay. I can see my mother's anxious face now,
as she caught me to her arms; and yet I know she had a kind of pride,
too, when my grandfather said, on our return, 'The rascal's at it early.
Next time he'll ford the stream and skirl at ye, Jeanie, from yonder
bank.'

"This is the first of my life that I remember. It may seem strange to
you that I thus suddenly recall not only it, but the words then spoken
too. It is strange to me, also. But here it comes to me all on a sudden
in this silence, as if another self of me were speaking from far places.
At first all is in patches and confused, and then it folds out--if not
clearly, still so I can understand--and the words I repeat come as if
filtered through many brains to mine. I do not say that it is true--it
may be dreams; and yet, as I say, it is firmly in my mind.

"The next that I remember was climbing upon a chair to reach for my
grandfather's musket, which hung across the chimney. I got at last upon
the mantelshelf, and my hands were on the weapon, when the door opened,
and my grandfather and my father entered. I was so busy I did not hear
them till I was caught by the legs and swung to a shoulder, where I
sat kicking. 'You see his tastes, William,' said my grandfather to my
father; 'he's white o' face and slim o' body, but he'll no carry on your
hopes.' And more he said to the point, though what it was I knew not.
But I think it to have been suggestion (I heard him say it later) that I
would bring Glasgow up to London by the sword (good doting soul!) as my
father brought it by manufactures, gaining honour thereby.

"However that may be, I would not rest till my grand