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Scenes from an Artist's Life

Chapter 30

" Come, gie's your news;  

This while ye hae been mony a gate, 

At mony a house."  

BURNS.

 

 

REV. ROBERT MORISON OF BATHGATE--I TAKE THE PLEDGE--EBENEZER CLARK OF

IRVINE--HUGH CONN OF KILWINNING--A GOLD RING FOR A GOOD WIFE--HUGH BAIRD: A

CHAPTER IN THE BATTLE OF THE STAMP--FRIENDLY SCOTTS--THE GOOD DOCTOR OF

DOUGLAS--FAILING HEALTH AND THOUGHTFUL FRIENDS--MR GEORGE THOMSON--MR

JOHN M'GAVIN--A TRIP TO FIFE.

 

TELLING clypes out o' folks' houses is in some cases considered unfair; but as it is the best bits o'

the folk that I have to deal with, none will be put to the blush for my being their guest.

In 1841 I was sent to Bathgate by Mr Andrew Stewart, of Stewart Brothers, Kilmarnock. My

mission there was to paint the portrait of the Rev. Robert Morison. He was a jolly man in every

sense of the word. I was for four days an inmate of his house, and in that time I painted his

likeness. We had much agreeable conversation during the process, much of which was free,

off-hand joking, touching the truth as we passed it, without cramming each other's truths down each

other's throats, and we had in after years better fruit than comes out of the most of party

discussions.

One example will show this better than a long description One day I was speaking of being in a

public-house getting a dram; it was the first day that I went into Bathgate, and I was relating the

same to Mr Morison. He put on such a serious face and looked in mine, and inquired with such a

seriousness as was almost laughable, " Does a sensible man like you drink whisky?" I said, "Yes."

"Dear me, I thought that the like o' you would be daft enough without it. " This was said with so much good

humour that it left a mark, and the conversation went on to other subjects. We did not dwell long on anything

at a time. "Laying joking aside," said his reverence, " you never have been much given to drink, and it's well

for you that it is so. " " How do you know that I have never been given to drink ?" His answer was, " You

would not have had the same buoyancy in your person, nor much elasticity in your step if you had, nor the

same steadiness of hand. You have such a flow of animal spirits that you don't need the aid of artificial

stimulants, and I have no doubt but were you using spirits it would make you sad, instead of exciting you to

stimulants. You cannot expect always to possess the same flow of spirits which you do now, yet you will long

desire to do so. It is then when nature fails that art would step in; and you would fancy that you were benefited

when you were only hurrying faster down the hill."

I looked his portrait of me in the face. I saw that part of it was like, and it was now in my power to

stop the other portion from being like. I had never at any time taken too much drink but I found my

mind upset and a stupor bordering on insanity present. Whisky depressed me. The critic was right

in the preface, and that night when I went to my bed, in imitation of King David I lay there, talked

with myself, and was silent. On Friday night the portrait was finished, and I was to start for Glasgow

at eight o'clock next morning, but was to be sure and visit Mr Morison in his bedroom before

starting. I entered, he rose on his elbow on the bed, gave me good morning, and with a smile

inquired, " Well, what is to be the wind-up ? " I said that I had come prepared to make a speech

like a socialist. " It's a fine thing to be social," he said; " now for the speech." I took the furthest

back part of the room where he lay, and said, "Mr Morison, sir, You have been a circumstance acting on my

organisation with such force, when you least expected it, that I have resolved from this time henceforth, till I

find myself the worse from wanting it, should drink of any kind be offered me, through kindness or otherwise,

I hope to see your apparition, tall, not ghastly, standing between the mug and me, and I'll not taste it." He sat

up, held out his arms, and said, " Come, till I embrace you. " I took a hap, step and loup into his arms, and

wintled ower beyond him in the bed, kissed him, and bade him an affectionate farewell in the meantime. I

called him father ever after, and he called me son.

I kept the pledge for twenty-six years, and when sunk with disease only then used a little stimulant

as medicine. Few days in that long period but some time of the day my father Morison has been

remembered by his son. I never see a man the worse of drink but up he comes. Had it not been for

him the same fate might have been mine. My life since, as to my avoiding strong drink, has been a

monument to the memory of the Rev. Robert Morison of Bathgate.

I was in Irvine painting portraits when the old pupils of Ebenezer Clark, teacher, who had been for

the space of forty years in Irvine and was at that time still in harness, resolved to give him a

banquet. While arrangements were going on to bring this event to an issue, some of the ladies who

had been his scholars thought that to present him with his portrait would be a suitable mark of

respect on their part. I was intrusted with the getting up of their gift. Mr Clark sat to me, was a fine

subject, and gave me every manner of fairplay. His portrait was exhibited in the large hall of the

King's Arms to the public, and gave universal satisfaction. When Mr John Rankin came to see it he

took a glance at it and off. I thought that there was something cold-like in such a visit; but he

returned in a short time with his old father leaning on his arm, and, setting a chair for him, the old

man sat with a hand on each knee, and hotched and laughed as he looked at the portrait. Mr John

then stepped to the front, and addressed me before the audience: -" Mr Hunter, I think that Irvine

people have shown some perception in seeing the coming man when you first made your

appearance among them. This is the third portrait painted by subscription which I have been

connected with that has been exhibited in this hall. The first was Lord Eglinton, by the greatest

artist in Glasgow. It might be great as a work of art, but was far from being satisfactory as a likeness.

The next was a portrait of the Countess of Eglinton, by the greatest artist in Edinburgh. It was recognised

as a beautiful work of art, but was not satisfactory as a likeness either. His Lordship was by John Graham

Gilbert, and the Countess by Sir John Watson Gordon. Now, here is the portrait of Ebenezer Clark by you,

and there is not a dissenting voice against it. Even Willie Taully says, 'Dyst, it's just him.' "

I was invited in 1861 to come to Irvine and dine with the Burns' Club. I did so, and was elected a

member of the club and also chairman for the ensuing year. There were great hearts among the

members. Poetry seemed to impress them with the spirit of man to man being brothers all the

world over. Although it was not in their programme, during the night a proposal was made by

William M'Jannet that a full-length portrait of Hugh Conn, Kilwinning, be painted by me, between

that time and next meeting, a year thence. Mr Conn had been chairman at the centenary meeting,

and seemed a favourite. The proposal was carried by acclamation. Mr M'Jannet took in hand to

collect the cash. The first thing was to get Mr Conn's consent. I asked him if he was agreeable to

stand ? To stand before me, for such a purpose, he was willing. When the light of spring came on

Mr Conn and I were at our work in Adela Cottage. We had the benefit of the room for the painting in

which the portrait now hangs. We passed five weeks of as agreeable art connection as I have

experienced in the whole of my artistic pilgrimage. The likeness was good. It was one look,

embracing much of the past history of the man, with emblems of the pastimes he had taken part in

and excelled in. He stood as in the act of studying the speech which he delivered at the centenary

meeting in 1859. The stand-point was by the banks of the Garnock. The back-ground stretched as

far out and up as the highest peaks of Goatfell. An ideal stream swelled into a loch in one corner of

the picture, on the icy surface of which a pair of curling stones sat, with which he played at some

great match. His white hat, in which was a red napkin, was flung back into the opposite corner. The

bow and arrows rested against a rock and shrub clad bank. The putting-stone, quoits, bowls, and

fishing-rod lay on the ground near his feet. The man rose mild and life-like over the emblems of his

past life. It was the most ambitious work of my art life, and in its power and truth had the approval of

all visitors, as well as of the club.

In Airdrie, I painted two full-length portraits-Lockhart Dobbie and his wife. He was engineer for the

heavy ironworking machinery put up at Calderbank upwards of twenty years ago. He was one of my

large-hearted patrons, whose jolly expression and kindly treatment have left their mark. His wife

was a sonsy, motherly woman. She said I was a barbarian to be so long as twenty years in

possession of the highest, greatest, and best of all worldly treasures--a good wife--and never yet

to have presented her with a gold ring. She presented me with a pound, and ordered me when I

went home to wipe out my disgrace by purchasing one as a present from her. I bought the ring,

which my wife wore till within a few days of her death, when she took it off her finger and gave it to

her old daughter, so that she might know who was to be heir to Mrs Dobbie's kindness.

A great historical event took place in Coatbridge while I was sojourning in Airdrie--nothing less than

the birth of a newspaper, in which I had an advertisement. The name of the paper was of celestial

calibre--The Luminary--the first number of which I saw as it came from the press. It contained an

earnestly-written article insisting on the extension of the franchise, and another on relieving the

press of all trammels, whether in the shape of stamps or duties. A free press was the word. The

main mover in the paper was Hugh Baird, whom I had known in many places, still holding on for the

same point. The Luminary gave out its first light on the 26th May, 1847. Hugh Baird was a native of

Stevenston in Ayrshire, and made his appearance there long before a newspaper or a coast

mission was thought of in that corner of the world. Hugh started from Stevenston on a hairst

morning in 1829, travelling by way of the coast to Greenock, there to meet with Willie Smith, who

introduced him to John Sharpe. These three luminaries were

 

 

 

sion was thought of in that corner of the world. Hugh started from Stevenston on a hairst

morning in 1829, travelling by way of the coast to Greenock, there to meet with Willie Smith, who

introduced him to John Sharpe. These three luminaries were going to regenerate society by the power of

printed knowledge. Hugh hawked the printed medicine for a few weeks round by Glasgow, out to Kilmarnock,

and back to Paisley; but the people not being hungry enough to enable him to live of the profits, he retired

from this first attempt to elevate society. It was then that he became proprietor of a magic loom in Paisley,

which had been made to order, with all the newest improvements, for William Fulton, now of Glenfield.

William's last desire, when leaving the loom, was, that it should fall into the hands of some genius who would

weave thoughts while on it, and come before the world with those thoughts to the advancement of the

human family.

In February, 1830, The Moral Inquirer was projected by Smith, Sharpe, and others, in Greenock.

Hugh makes a flight from the loom, starting as publisher and travelling agent. At No. 2 Ferguslie,

Paisley, came forth the first weekly periodical which condemned the use of strong drink and pointed

to it as a moral destroyer. This literary effort reached the fourth number, then expired. The publisher

betook himself to the enchanted loom once more.

In April of the same year, Hugh commenced agitating for the Reform Bill, which was to open a new

career to the oppressed people of Britain; and giving all his efforts in that channel till 1832, he

became disgusted at the miserable results of agitation and enthusaism so ill requited. In hopes that

the Corn Laws and Gagging Acts would either be abolished or modified, and disappointed with the

Whigs for clinging like limpets to a restricted press, Hugh now began to feel that opposition was the

only chance of storming the forts. Unstamped papers were now issued in great quantities: even

news was printed on pocket napkins and an ill feeling gradually arising against a tax on knowledge,

some folk seemed to have formed a desire to read through spite. In February, 1836, the sale of

unstamped newspapers commenced in Kilmarnock. A front shop was boldly opened for the

performance of the illegal act. Kerr Brown was the first hero, or unstamped missionary, who came

upon the platform. Great bills announced the cheering intelligence, and invited the lieges to "Run to Kerr

Brown's, and purchase cheap knowledge " Kerr was soon called on to compear at court and show cause

why he had dared to violate such a sacred Act of Parliament; but, like Johnny Cope, he ran from the

hot-bed of liberty.

One would be apt to think that Kerr Brown's apostacy in Kilmarnock lay far out of the way of a

Paisley weaver. Yet so it was, the tenant of the inspired loom started on the 14th February a foot

passenger on the road for Kilmarnock, arriving there in the evening. Calling on his aunty, he told her

what he was after. The good woman was astonished to think that he should try ony sic pranks.

Hugh had come to do the work, and in defiance of the law and his sensible auntie's advice, he next

morning opened that shop, 66 King Street, with a stock of Free Presses and Twopenny Despatches.

The first week Hugh had a fine sale. Arnong his other customers he deemed the guardians of the peace

intellectual creatures from the quantity of purchases made by them, but soon found that a case was filling

against him. David Andrews sent his compliments to Hugh to compear before his superiors on the

29th. It was leap year, and Hugh had to leap to Ayr jail on a six-months' servitude.

After he went to Ayr, a different mode of supplying papers was resorted to. Mr James Graham

invented a wooden man with two faces, who spat out of his mouth whatever sort of knowledge was

wanted, but not till his nose was blown with twopence. Henry Robertson, of Edinburgh, was agent

for Scotland in the unstamped interest, and he became proprietor of this wooden salesman, whose

nose the mangy officials attempted to blow without the twopence, but he would not spit.

Hugh arrived at Ayr, and was received into the jail on the evening of the same day on which he was

convicted, and had for his bed-companions two thieves. The Whigs had sent to jail in one year more

victims of cheap knowledge than the Tories had done from the time that the Castlereagh Gagging

Act had become law. 365 were imprisoned by the Whigs in one year. Hugh Baird was put into No.

11 cell. He was delicate in health. The air of the prison did not improve it. He lost tone of stomach, grew

feeble and powerless for want of nourishment, the prison fare being unsuited to his taste at the time.

A report reached Kilmarnock that he was fast sinking in health, and unless sympathy were extended to him

we need not expect to see him back again. A meeting of sympathisers took place, and the voice of the meeting

was forwarded to the Sheriff, saying, if consistent with law, we wished him to be kindly treated, although shut

out from the world.Dr John Taylor was deputed to visit Hugh, and look after his interest. The prison had its

missionary and its doctor. The first, according to Hugh, was a good Samaritan--had a heart and the

sympathies of humanity in working order. He daily brought some little dainty in his pocket; and

although often unfit to use the same, the fact of his having a friend in this vaulted world was health

to his soul. The BLACK side of the prison doctor is also embalmed in his memory. He was not

allowed a bed during the day, although serious trouble had reduced him to a skeleton. One day he

was found on the floor of his cell, senseless and cold. He had resigned all hope of seeing

newspapers in the world, either stamped or unstamped.

Meantime, things outside were progressing. The Whigs, finding that they could not cut down the

tree of knowledge, came to a compromise, and Spring Rice brought in his famous Penny Stamp

Act. Hugh's case was brought before the Home Secretary, Lord John Russell. Dr Bowring and Joe

Hume were also applied to. The law which Hugh had broken was now repealed, and a mitigation of

the sentence followed. The jailer came in on the morning of the 14th June with a letter on which was

written " Liberty to the captive." It was from Alexander Campbell, now of the Sentinel newspaper in

Glasgow. The letter contained the pleasing intelligence that he had got a letter from Joseph Hume,

stating that he had got a promise from the Home Secretary that Hugh's punishment would be

remitted to three months. By mid-day the Distributor of Stamps visited Hugh in prison, where he sat

in his cell with the Bible in his hand. What a fine picture this would make ! He remarked that he

hoped Hugh had got enough, or at least as much as would convince him of the propriety of obeying

the laws of his country. Hugh said " that bad laws were more honoured in the breach than in the

observance." " Surely," said the man of stamps, "you do not find such doctrines taught in that book ?"

"It was from that book," said Hugh, "that I drew my inspiration. I was just reading before you

came in of a young man named Daniel who was cast into the lions' den because he refused to obey

bad laws." " Come away, Hugh," said he, "I see you are irreclaimable."

The good jailer and his wife were both kind to Hugh and lent him as much as paid his coach home

to Kilmarnock, where he opened a shop to sell cheap literature, and so far as his personal efforts

were concerned did well.

He still looks back to Kilmarnock as a place friendly to freedom. He is now in Glasgow and hails

from Tron steeple, where, instead of printing what should make people wise, he prints what they

want either on cards, circulars, handbills, hat and bonnet linings, lithograph and engraving. I have

been thus careful to give an outline of Hugh's history, as it tells tales of times that are better past

than present. He was the only one in Scotland punished for selling the London papers. Other

prosecutions were for printing in opposition to home-printed papers, whereas he was only a vendor

of knowledge printed at a distance. This last effort at enlightening the world was by the publication

of Judy, who was intended as a sweetheart to Punch. Judy was killed by a nine days' trial which

took place in Edinburgh, when a young lady was charged with poisoning her sweetheart. That tragic

event engrossed the public mind and Judy died from want of support. Hugh's publications have all

died in infancy. The Coatbridge Luminary lived only sixteen weeks, having arrived at nearly 1000 of

circulation. It fell into consumption with the memorable strike of the miners.

Some years after the birth of the Luminary I was professionally in the vicinity of Coatbridge.

Pleasant reminisences are left of the event. Mr James Scott, of what was then the firm of Daly,

Scott, Spence, Buchanan, & Co., sent for me one day. Things had been black for a time, and to

me the joyful news was imparted that I was to go to Drumpeller and make arrangement with Mr Henderson,

factor on the estate, as to time of sitting for his likeness, every other thing but time being arranged.

I was to get eight pounds for the portrait, and when it was done it was to go to Mr Henderson's son

John, of the firm of Tillie and Henderson. I began Mr Henderson's portrait, and had great pleasure in

his acquaintance then, and after. When I brought home the work, it pleased my employer, and

when I named my charge, Mr Henderson offered me one pound extra for travelling expenses, which

I heroically declined. This was the greatest amount of money I had then got for a single portrait, and

to have taken travelling expenses would have, in my eyes, amounted to robbery. This was the first

of Mr James Scott's patronage, but in many ways have I been patronised since, on his own

account, and among his friends through him. The firm of Daly, Scott, Buchanan, Symington & Co.

has passed through many changes; and in every change I have been patronised by some one of the

firm, and always at a time when it was felt to be more than an ordinary event.

Mr John G. Scott, now in company with James, was another patron who knew the way to do a good

turn without seeming to know it. It cost him as little trouble to do as to say, and what he said was

not long in being done. He has bought many landscapes from me, and taken them into stock, more

for my interest than his own. One day he said that he had been up at Douglas, and had seen a

portrait of Dr Stewart, the parish clergyman, begun and left unfinished, the artist having died. John

said that he was a genuine old man the doctor, and he should like very much to see his portrait

done. He thought for a little, then he said, "You might almost get a canvas ready. He is in town at

present with a sore foot, and it would cheer him to sit, for he will not be able to move about for

some time." John called on the doctor, got his consent, introduced me to him, set to work to raise

the funds among friends, and every subscriber of ten shillings got a splendid photograph of the

doctor, as he appeared on the portrait taken from the life, by Thos. Annan. I made a good likeness,

and received the highest price for it that I have yet got from any member of the human family. I had

promised to see the old gentleman before he left town, and to keep my word I left the bedside of my

son John when dying. I went and bade the doctor an affectionate farewell. He shed a tear at parting,

and said that death had marred the finish of his first portrait, and seemed to attend on the finish of

the present one. Our term of friendship was short, but genuine. He was the purest youth, and a

highly-finished piece of humanity. All the present foibles of the boy he brought along with him to a

cultivated old age, and all I have met with who had the pleasure of knowing him fail to tell his manly

beauty, yet all attempt it. You who think that there is little point in this biography, see as many kind

friends rally round one man to do him honour, see those friends brought around him by one friendly

to you, and receive sixteen pounds through this circle of friendship, and your heart is in bad working

order if you don't exclaim with me, "A piece of honest humanity forms a fine centre in society."

A great feature in the character of Burns was gratitude to his friends and patrons. I admire his

genius, but more his acknowledgment of the hints and helps he received from others, which

enabled him to bring his voice into stronger tone. When greatness is claimed wholly for one, there

is robbery somewhere.

For upwards of sixty-two years, I had been blessed with the best of health; but in the summer of

1865, I was laid prostrate with a complication of diseases, fever, followed by inflammation in the

bowels, then jaundice, which left me shattered. Reader, if you have never been unwell, you are not

in a position to judge of true helplessness. Every healthy prospect lies shattered at your feet. You

can see nothing around you but the wreck of your healthy thoughts, and it is then that a kind word

falls soft on the ear, and reaches the heart like medicine. When recovering from that attack, I, by

invitation, went out to the house of my old acquaintance, Mr John Goldie, a native of Cumnock, in

Ayrshire, who lives near Crossmyloof. I took breakfast with him, and afterwards came into town with him in

the carriage. I continued this for weeks, and found new strength grow out of it; yet I was far from being

able to walk after work as I used to do. He, seeing my position, consulted with his nephew, Mr

James Findlay, who, he thought, required some paintings in his house, and I got an order to paint

landscapes and Mr Goldie's portrait, for which I was rewarded with twenty pounds. This was an act

of considerate friendship, which I cannot refrain from recording in this book. Mr Goldie was also one

of six friends who at that time said, " Hunter, don't allow yourself to stand in need of one, two, or

three pounds, ask it when you want or need it." Few people have it in their power to help a friend,

yet fewer have the desire to do so. The rarity of the occurrence makes it more worthy of recording.

When in the way of recording peculiar traits of humanity, I cannot conceal a name connected with

Kilmarnock. Calling one day on an old acquaintance for assistance for one who, by loss of health,

stood in need of a little kindness, I had an order from this individual, that should I know of any case

of distress among individuals belonging to Kilmarnock, I was to call and receive his mite. I had got

ten shillings from him for the case I called about, when he looked at me smiling, and said, " Well,

Hunter, I have often been surprised that you have never called for help for yourself. From what I

know of your history, you must have had some tight squeezes in bringing through such a large

family. I am not good at making speeches, but I was in a meeting the other night where your name

was mentioned, and I had almost made an attempt to tell them how much I used to be amused

when you used to pay Hugh Wilson and I a visit in our lodgings long ago, and how much I had been

pleased with your writings, but instead of making a speech to others, I made it to myself, so I

resolved that I would put down ten pounds to you as a nucleus to build on, in case at any time you

might have a sore foot."

This speech had power, it took the breath from me at first, and I wondered if I had heard him aright.

So he repeated it again, which left no mistake. I looked in his face, and asked " Are you in earnest,

George ?" " I am." " Then there is a pain in my ankle just now, and to keep it from falling down to

the foot, I'll just take it with me." He wrote a cheque on the City Bank for that sum, which I got

cashed on the road home. The thought that the money was to be sunk for some future time

haunted me through the night; I got no sleep. I had taken stock--I was owing within a few shillings

of ten pound. I went back to him, and said that as I was owing the money, I hoped that he would

have no objection to my wiping out the stain, and the foot would feel easier. He said, smiling,

"Well, I certainly agree with you that you had no right to a sound sleep till you paid your debt,

particularly when you had it in your power. The money is yours, and I am glad to think that you are

going to make a proper use of it. And should you stand in need of ten pound at some future time,

come back."

One night at a Kilmarnock soiree, when Mr Thomson was leaving the platform, he whispered to me

to call on him on Friday. I did so. He said that at some future time he wished a landscape painted

by me, and he wished to give me something to act. I was at the time in such a position that to have

said less than what I did, would have been abortive, yet I felt as I said, " I'll take ten pound." It was

handed me in gold.

Mr Thomson may not wish to see his name and what he meant to be private, in print. I have not

consulted him, but I could not think my history complete unless I acknowledged to the world that

such a thing as brotherly love exists among us. I met Mr Thomson one day shortly after my wife's

death. He asked if I required any help. I said no. " Anything you wish paid, or anything you stand in

need of, say, or if not now, should it at any time be so, come and see me." " Thank you," was said

from my heart. One thing I insert here, I never made a wrong use of kindness--that is, I have never

manufactured poverty by wasting either my own or other people's property. Ayrshire has sent some

men into Glasgow who have retained the old family feelings " If thy brother is in adversity assist

him."

I was a few years back engaged by John M'Gavin to paint his portrait; I did it and thought that it was

a success. He seemed pleased, and after it was done mentioned that he had forgot to ask what it was to cost

before we began. I said that it was just as well. I had two prices--one for gentlemen, and one for

them who were not. I was going to treat him as a gentleman, and take the highest price, which was

five pounds. He asked me to come to the office and receive payment. I sat opposite to him at the

desk, and with a very serious face he said, " Do you really mean to charge me five pounds." I said

yes. "Well," said he, " if you are determined to have that, I have determined to give you twice that

sum, so there are two five pound notes for you." I was speechless with gratitude, but speak now

when I have drawn my breath.

Several times I have gone to Mr M'Gavin with views of places in Ayrshire, when sales were dull. I

have never gone in vain. I never required to come away with hurt feelings or empty-handed. It is not

to be inferred from this that I hang on my patrons; my visits are like those of angels, a respectable

space between the calls.

Mr M'Gavin was one of the few friends who visited me when I was in trouble to see if I stood in need

of anything. I was happy to be enabled to say no. So I wish the reader to see that I never bite

except when hungry.

In 1856 a few of the old pupils of Mr John Lockhart, of the burgh school, Kirkcaldy, wishing to do

their old friend honour in remembrance of early days, arranged with him to give sittings for his

likeness, so that they might be instrumental in handing down the resemblance of their benefactor to

posterity. I was employed to do the work, and for that purpose I went to the kingdom of Fife, was

domiciled in the house of Mr Lockhart, and was successful in my undertaking. I brought the portrait

to Glasgow, and when the vacation came round a great night was given to Mr Lockhart in Glasgow,

many clever men acknowledging him as their best friend in imparting to them the power of taking

the places in society which they now held. It is a beautiful sight to see a large party of well-doing

intelligent men rally round the centre of their power, and in such a form do honour to the age and

exertions of an individual who has given his life faithfully to the mental development of his time. I

was near to two months in Fife, and was employed by Mr Lockhart to paint the portrait of his wife

as a companion to his own. I travelled along the shore, looking at points of historical interest, but

none more so than where the illustrious Wise Willie and Witty Eppie dwelt in days of yore.

Buckyhaven drew its beauty in the present from its history of the past. Morning memories peopled

the place anew, and we passed one day as far as Scoonie and called on my early friend the Rev.

David Brown, now of Glasgow. Mr Lockhart was my travelling companion that day. We visited

Falkland Palace in the Howe of Fife another day, and had a travel home for fifteen miles amid as

faithful a fall of rain as ever it has been my lot to enjoy.

Kirkcaldy was full of pleasant associations, having been for a number of years the abiding place of

Barbour Morrison. From it I had several letters from him, one of which I insert : --

 

Pathhead, Kirkcaldy, 16th January, 1849.

My Dear Hunter,--I am here a sorrowful man. My wife is dead and buried, and I am sitting

surrounded with six children, the oldest onIy 14 years old, and the youngest only three weeks. I

have just sent the infant out to nursing, and the others will have me for both father and mother. My

feelings have got such a shock that I have scarcely known night from day since it happened. I was

worn out nursing my wife, aud three days before her death, while she was still insensible, I was

struck down. My pulse beat 200. I never saw her after. When she died I was unconscious. All this

has come upon me, and how much I have yet to suffer I cannot telL I am able as you see to write

to-day for the first time since I wrote you before.--Yours in grief,

J. H. MORRISON.

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