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assurance, assumed eccentricity, and boundless affectation. I remember him spouting a splendid oration in the Logic Class, which I recognised as stolen bodily from a speech of Brougham's. When I charged him with the theft, he denied it, and said coolly that if there were any resemblance, it must be from the coincidence of his mind to that of the great senator. He wrote a note to Professor Milne, excusing his not performing the prescribed exercises, on account of the "invincible, incessant, and ineradicable laziness of his nature." The Professor kept up a running fire of satire on him, for this, all the rest of the session. He went to study under Wilson at Edinburgh, and astonished the modern Athenians by his manner in the street, where he often appeared as if rapt in profound reverie, and with folded arms; till stumbling against a gentleman or lady, he started, bowed, and cried, "Beg pardon, madam, I was thinking." He ought to have been acquainted with another fool of the first head, C. Doyne Sillery, the once well-known poetaster, who was wont to run into coffee-houses, and say, "Waiter, bring me a sheet of paper immediately; I have got an idea." D. W. had money, and, I think, returned to his native town, somewhere in Dumfries-shire, and lived in a lonely and half-crazy sort of style. He had, certainly, talent, but it was not strong enough to bear the heavy burden of his affectation.

I remember, as one of the characters at College, a strange, morbid youth, with dull yet dreamy eyes, a cadaverous countenance, and dirty, dishevelled appearance, who spent all the hours he could steal from his classes in haunting dissecting-rooms. He visited them, not so much in search of information, as from an unnatural delight in the smells issuing from such places. He actually seemed to snuff the tainted air, as if it were laden with the "arrowy" odour of beds of frankincense and myrrh. B. G. and I christened him the "stinking philosopher;" and I remember saying, "Look there, G., there's a practical illustration of Pantheism ; that poor fellow finds a stench to be as divine as to others

seems an Arabian gale with all its spices." I did not then know Emerson and Carlyle, else they had been made right welcome to this additional evidence of the truth of their sublime system! The poor "stinking philosopher" was not long in furnishing his quota to those smells he loved so dearly; his morbid taste had sprung from bodily distemper, and he died during one of the recesses of College.

There was another mysterious character in the University one session at this time. This was a large lean lad-the largest and leanest man I ever saw-with dark but shortcropped hair, a swinging, rapid walk, and a face almost completely buried in big blue spectacles. This person

attended several of the classes, but no one knew his name. We called him the "Genius of the Anonymous." He came most punctually to the lecture, speaking to no one, and stalked up to a seat in a remote part of the class-room, where he sat moveless as a pillar, with nothing visible about him save his glasses, and a grin that dwelt, as if carved, on the lower part of his face. When retiring, he was not unfrequently dogged by some of the students; but he seemed aware of it, and, by doubling and plunging into obscure. lanes, he always contrived to elude them. Sometimes, especially when the Catholic Question was being discussed; he appeared at the principal debating societies, and sat silent, but evidently much interested in the debates. Once, and once only, he seemed about to speak. A student had just delivered a powerful speech against the Catholics, which seemed to produce a great sensation. Suddenly the unknown sprang to his feet in a state of great excitement-his hands clenched-his tall form expanded to its utmost height-the glasses gleaming a "blue lowe" above—and the grin becoming terrific below. All eyes were instantly fixed upon him—all hearts were beating thick. "What voice or language can issue from the lips of this strange inscrutability?" seemed the universal query. The silence was profound, when the words

"Master Chairman," in a strong Irish accent, broke from him. Something in the tone of the voice, coupled with the excessive excitement of the man, produced a ludicrous sensation in the audience. This vented itself in a roar of laughter, which so disconcerted or so irritated the "Genius of the Anonymous," that, without adding another word, he lifted his hat, and strode indignantly out of the room, amidst loud laughter and ironical cheers. From that hour he was seen at College no more. Various speculations were, as usual, formed about him and the causes of his disappearance. The general opinion was, that he was an Irish Jesuit. A student, after his disappearace, said, that he had one night encountered the unknown in the Gorbals, in company with a lady. He had watched and followed, and was near enough to overhear her reproaching him bitterly, and him doing all he could to soothe her. He lost sight of them on turning the corner of a street. Shortly after, all Glasgow was startled by the news of a lady, who was found, in a mean lodging in the Gorbals, strangled in her bed. It was found that a gentleman, answering to the description of the "Anonymous" student, had procured a lodging for her there, and often visited her. One night cries and shrieks were heard in the apartment. The neighbours delayed inquiring into the cause till morning, when, bursting in, they found the poor young lady, who seemed of English extraction, dead. They made hue and cry after the murderer, but in vain. They found out his lodging, but his landlady knew nothing of him but that he paid his bills, and was a quiet, decent lad, although often from home. There were flying rumours afterwards of his having been seen in Greenock, in Belfast, and in New York, but nothing was ever accurately ascertained; the Junius of the Ethic Class remained undiscovered, and still "stat nominis umbra."

I have alluded to debating societies. These, in my day, were in rather a flourishing condition, and I not unfrequently

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attended, although I rarely spoke, at their meetings. I remember one singular scene. In a debate on Phrenology, the well-known A. S., now of Edinburgh, stood up in defence of the science, and spoke in rather a conceited, although fluent and dashing style. He was a relative of Sir Walter Scott; and how we raw Glaswegians stared at him as he described a meeting with the "Great Unknown," on whose rich conversation, quotation of poetry, and "immense head," he dilated with much gusto-adducing especially his organ of veneration as a proof of phrenology. The speech made a decided sensation. C. R. M., mentioned above as now a Missionary in India, rose and delivered a most elaborate reply, which somewhat counteracted the effect of the speech. But just as (magna componere, &c.) the best reply to Burke's "Reflections" was not Mackintosh's "Vindicia Gallica," but Tom Paine's "Rights of Man," so the real reply to S- - was to come, not from refined metaphysical speculation, but from rough common-sense. There sat in the top of the crowded class-room a tall, thin, long-visaged, spectral, and withal rather stupid-looking man, named S. P., now, I think, a clergyman in some Dissenting church in Lanarkshire. This man had what Burns calls " a strong inkneed kind of a soul," an acute although uncultured mind, and a great deal of humour as rough as his sagacity. He was just a mass of roaring, robust common-sense; passed with puppies or asses for an ass; but, while the cleverer appreciated his merit, all were delighted to see him rise; for a treat they never failed to expect and to receive. He spoke at the pitch of a very powerful voice, and poured out a torrent of blended sense and nonsense, made many shrewd remarks, and drew some most diverting pictures. On this occasion his uprise had been waited for most impatiently, and many a cry of "S. P." had been uttered to rouse him to his legs. At last up he sprang; and certainly if S as is possible, had never heard of him before, and judged of him at first only by his broad Scotch accent and

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homely appearance, he must have thought it was the miracle of Balaam's ass renewed. He took hold of his fine flimsy oration, and, amidst roars, screams, shouts of laughter, rent it in a thousand pieces. He turned the whole splendid melodramatic scene of the meeting with Scott, which S― had described, into unmitigated ridicule. He said he would as soon consult "a man's hands as his head in order to find out his mental powers." He drew a laughable picture of veneration as the "attic story, the garret of the brain," and of the "state of the poor religious faculty sitting cold and shivering there." He rose to rough eloquence even when taking "Old Mortality" as an illustration of Scott's bump of veneration, and diverged to a glowing panegyric on the heroic Covenanters. I despair giving my readers any idea of the sensation this queer speech produced. Seyed the speaker through a golden quizzing-glass; affected contempt-whispering, it was said, to his next neighbour, "He's an inspired idiot;" but felt it very keenly. I thought of a fine lady's dress, bespattered with filth from the hoofs of a furious bull, rushing past her in the street. It was, I think, S's first and last exhibition in a debating society. Far otherwise with S. P.; he continued for some years after to be the glory and the laughter of the debating societies, and no debate was thought worth listening to unless at some point of the evening or other he rose and delivered one of his racy and uproarious orations. A year or two after, there appeared one of a similar make and similar eccentricity, robust S. R., afterwards a clergyman in Glasgow, and ultimately in Nova Scotia, who for a while divided the popularity and halved the ridicule which had befallen his kindred spirit, S. P.

I left the College this spring rather disconsolate. I had taken no prize; rather neglected the business of the class, although I had profited by my intercourse with B. G. I returned home, and spent a dull and disagreeable summer. My mind had not the same elasticity as on the former season,

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