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Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 31
"I knew an aged man, whose hoary head
Was bent with years, the village chronicle,
Who much had seen, and from the former times
Much had received. In the winter evenings to the
Gaping listeners, he would te ll stories of old
And tales of other times."
MICHAEL BRUCE.
" Our fathers have passed, and have mixed with the mould;
Year presses on year, till the young become old;
Time, though a stern teacher, is partial to none;
And the friend and the foe pass away one by one."
DELTA (D.M.Moir).
0N THE LECTURE PLATFORM--MY SECOND VISIT TO LONDON--"WE'LL
A' BE PROUD O' ROBlN" --THE KIND PEOPLE OF KILBIRNIE----GABRIEL
ANDERS0N--MATTHEW THOMSON--THE KILMARNOCK SOCIETY--
MATHEW WILSON----GRATITUDE--LITERARY EFFORTS--ART CRITICISM
---FINIS.
AS we near the end of our historical biographical journey, it becomes difficult what points to lift and
what to omit, so many incidents and friends rush before the mind as worthy of being noticed.
It was through a chance suggestion of Mr James Osborne, a farmer near to Mearns, that I first
made my appearance as a lecturer. He being president of the abstainers' society at Newton of
Mearns, asked me if I would come and give them a night. I said yes, and opened a new hall with
selections from a dozen of the best authors. Afterwards, at the request of Mr Struthers, a cartwright
in Glasgow but a native of Hamilton, I lectured before the Mechanics' Institute in the latter place;
and this was followed by similar engagements in the same town, and also at Dalziel, Motherwell,
and Glengarnock. My last appearance was in Kilmarnock, to raise funds for the People's Park.
Decay had, a hold of my constitution by this time, and the hall was rather large for what pith was
left. The desire was strong to state some simple truths by word o' mouth to people who had known
me in other days.
In 1864, I paid a second visit to London, in company with my friend, Mr Walter Parlane. We went
toward Soho, to have a look at my old lodging, where twenty years before I was bed-fellow with
George Mossman, an earnest art student then, who now sleeps in death. I uncovered my head as
we passed the door where he and I had passed out and in. At this moment, a barrel organ broke
the reverie by striking up " Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon," and "Green grow the rashes."
London was rubbed out, and the mind filled with morning associations and Ayrshire scenery. My
friend looked in my face, and said, "We'll a' be proud o' Robin." The spirit of Robin followed us daily
in our wanderings. As we reached St James's Palace, Robin had visited the place in a dream and
spoken familiarily to majesty. As we visited the parliament houses, Robin had been there and gi'en
wholesome advice to the representatives o' auld Scotland, and spoken words o' counsel and
warning to the highest minds then existing; and Robin's words are remembered when a' the rest o'
them are forgotten.
We visited the Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey, and paced the floor nearly as quiet as the rest
o' the statues. Here stood in stone the poets whose writings had charmed and taught us. Sermons
emanated from the stones. Their struggles for existence, their appeals for patronage, their
harrassed life and blighted hopes were ended. They recommended patience and perseverance in life
if we wished to have a place among them after death.
We went to St Katherine's Docks, and from that to the lodging house where twenty years before I
had lain three nights sleeping, dreaming, and planning for future excellence in art. I had now proven
twenty years of the then perspective, and found the point of sight as far removed from the eye as
ever, and evidently nearer to the vanishing. Yet enthusiasm painted with as brilliant colours as ever.
Man's hopes seem like the setting sun. A glory is shed over the Iandscape, and while in the act of
discanting on its beauties night gathers around him. That night, as we neared St Paul's, the sun was setting
behind this architectural triumph. The golden glow of the sky, embosoming the massive purply-complexioned
building, gave the finest and most finished view of this magnificent pile that I had yet seen.
Some fifty-one years back I was at Kilbirnie along with my master selling shoes at Brinansday Fair.
It was the first time I had been in the place. We started from Dundonald at three o'clock in the
morning, arriving at Kilbirnie before breakfast time. I had heard often of the kind nature of the
inhabitants of that district. It was said that in the village every one kept open house. Curds and
cream, with mashlum scone, oatmeal cake and cheese; and strangers were welcome to enter and
eat any hour of the day. Although we had breakfast when we started, and a piece in our pouch, still
the early travel made us to have a sharp appetite. After we passed Dalry, my master began to talk
of James Kirkwood's people living by the wayside. They were very kind people, and he hoped that
they would give us our breakfast. When we entered Mr Kirkwood's house, the servants were just
about to begin their breakfast, a jolly dish of parritch being the first course. We were invited to join
them. Whether it was that it was parritch or mock modesty, I know not, but my master took the
door, talking as fast as he could, " No use for that, no use for that, ower muckle kindness." I looked
at him as he went out of the door, and as I felt no qualms of conscience, I said to Mrs Kirkwood
that I would take my breakfast. A spoon was handed me, and I gave evidence that I knew its use.
As I left the house, Mrs Kirkwood said that I would stand a sight o' the fair better now, and that I
had mair sense than my master, who by the roadside awaited my coming, lamenting he had not
done as I had. The secret came out that, had it been tea he would have accepted.
We went on to the fair, which was held at the kirk, the shoe stands being erected in the kirkyard.
The inhabitants objected to this procedure, and invited the shoemakers to come up to the village.
However, they were mostly of the use and wont school, and refused to go. Some of them indeed
lined the road-side out the Dalry road, while a few went up to the village, among whom was our
stand. I had made the survey of the village many times, and in every house I saw the table standing
on the floor spread out as history had said. I thought I would make one grand effort at proof. I
walked into a house, drew in a chair to the table, and was looking out as to how I would proceed. It
was the house of Cork Allan, shoemaker. I was interrogated as to where I came from, while Jean
filled a dish with curds out of the large dish, put cream on them, and bade me eat, and if I could
take more after the first service was done, I would get them. I mentioned my master being with me;
I was to send him in also, which I did. Further on in the day, I made a call in another house, and
was received in the same manner. So I concluded that the people were what report had named
them, the kindest in Ayrshire; although the true meaning of the free table was, that there were few
residents in town but had friends from the country, and it was one setting out of a table for all
comers, and the same welcome.
When I removed to Glasgow, a Mr Inglis lived in the same land with me. He had seen much of the
world, was kindly, conversable, and wished every person educated. He did his part to ignite a taste
for reading in every person he came in contact with. He had an only daughter. He gave her an
excellent education. She had called several times with her father's shoes to mend, and we were on
terms of intimacy. They flitted from our corner, and after a time report reached us that Bella Inglis
was married.
She had not forgot her auld neighbour the cobbler, for after some time I was sent for by her
husband, who stated that it was his wife's desire that I should be employed to paint his mother's
likeness. I was despatched to Kilbirnie, to go to Dennyholm, the house of William Knox, and paint
the portrait of his mother, who was also the mother of my employer, Mr John Knox, manufacturer,
Brunswick Street, Glasgow. I brought home the portrait on Saturday night, and went back to
execute new orders. I was eight weeks in Dennyholm and five weeks in other houses, making a
quarter of a year in that district. This was the first year of the potato blight, 1846. I had not been in Kilbirnie
for twenty eight years till I went on this mission. I had queer reflections as I passed the auld kirk,
where I had first beheld the horse fair and where Burns bought the "Blastie," and on entering the
village I looked for the house of the cork where I had fed on curds and cream thirty years before. I
wondered if all the kind-hearted folk wad be dead, or if the auld use and wont would remain. When I
reached Dennyholm it was one o'clock, the dinner was ready, and the remark being made that I
was just in time, left no doubt but the good old fashion was still existing. Kilbirnie has had a home
feeling to me ever since.
I had painted the portrait of Mr Orr, the father of the present minister. I had known the latter when he
was a boy in Kilmarnock with Hugh Craig. In the manse I met with Mr Stewart, who was helper in
Largs. He invited me across the moor and gave me a month's home with him, and through that start
I was other six months in Largs.
Some years after my first visit to Kilbirnie as an artist, I again went thither to paint some local
landscapes for Mr John Knox, and among his friends I received commissions for nineteen portraits
before I left, which proved that the kind people of Kilbirnie were not yet all dead. My son John Kelso
Hunter died at the age of thirty-three. When he was a boy he determined to lift me off the seat, and
he did it, and kept me off it. Often when I would have lost heart he cheered me up. He fell into bad
health. His wife dying shortly after him, three sons were left to the charge of their grandmother by
the mother's side and myself. Mrs John Knox has kept the whole three children in clothes for more
than five years, and John Knox was one of a few friends who said, " Never allow yourself to be in
need; just come to me." At Kilbirnie, Mr James Maekie has sat to me three times for his portrait.
He said that he would sit every seventh year as long as we were living. I would have been down this
last season, but being unable to go, I only write about it. Time is up for the fourth portrait. It is
beautiful to see the changes of the same man brought face to face.
At Bredisholmn I painted the portrait of Harry Robert de Vernet Grozet Muirhead, Esq. I made a fine
likeness of that gentleman, whose peculiarities would form a volume themselves. Suffice it to say
that he was to me a large-hearted, single-hearted, generous man, who did not well understand
himself, far less did his neighbours form a proper estimate of his character. He ran up the gamut
from sadness to madness; and, strange to say, when l am writing this notice of him, I recollect that
he was, in company with another friend, to have dined with me this day twenty-two years; but the
dinner had to be postponed owing to Nannie giving birth to her thirteenth child. On the second of the
following month, that friend and I dined with Mr Muirhead at Bredisholmn. We spent a happy day.
We had " The Lady Emily Cab" ordered to be at nine o'clock to bring us home. Mr Muirhead was
alone in the house at the time, and when he saw us going to start from his door, he said, " I will feel
lonely after you go away. I'll go to town with you." He stepped into the cab. When we came to
Baillieston Toll, we halted at his gamekeeper's. Mr Harry Maxwell, who had been tasting something
of an exciting or independence-producing spirit, without saying " by your leave," said that he would
just take the benefit of the cab and keep us company. He recognised nobody, and was recognised
by nobody. Muirhead made a remark, "I have been the worse of liquor myself, and perhaps
unmannerly without knowing it." Another wayfarer, who had at least been smelling the cork of a
bottle, would be up beside the driver, and forced his way to his seat, saying, "Now, you can go on; I
have got myself right. " Whether the man thought that it was a public conveyance or not he never
said. He also was sympathised with. Strange to say, on the following Tuesday, Harry Muirhead was
arrested and lodged in jail. On Wednesday, my friend was lodged to keep him company. On
Thursday, Harry Maxwell was also incarcerated; and on the Friday the man who forced himself up
beside the driver was put into prison also. All but myself and the driver of that special cab were now
tenants of the grand mansion in Duke Street, where I visited my two friends for twenty eight days
without failure to see if there was no friendly office to be performed by the only freeman of the group.
Gabriel Anderson, a native of Fenwick, came to Glasgow, having next to nothing in the shape of
property. He was earnest in business, and accumulated wealth. He was a true friend of mine.
Gabriel was not without peculiarities, but he had a large heart, and did many things which the world
never knew. He was near to thirty years a strict abstainer. There was a friend of ours, a jolly man
who whiles forgot himself, and Gabriel had often tried to reason him out of the use of intoxicating
drink. Our friend had a large heart, and Gabriel thought it would be a great pity if such a man should
be brought low. Gabriel asked him to come and hear John Gough when he was in Glasgow. He
promised; and as the night drew nigh, I had strict charges to go to the man's home and bring him
down. We would sit one on each side of him, and at the end of every serious picture we were both
to look in his face as if heavily impressed with the evils of strong drink. I went. The man and his wife
came with me to the City Hall. We took our seats on the platform. What Gabriel desired was
accomplished. The man came next day with some of his sons and took the pledge. I met Gabriel
afterwards, and although an estate had been left to him he could not have been prouder. After a
while Gabriel thought that if he could get the man persuaded to stir up the temperance cause in the
district where he lived, he would be secure. This seemed to me carrying the business rather far, as
there were only a few houses, not near any village within a mile.
However, Gabriel advised the man to give his neighbours a tea party. The scheme was gone about.
Some of us went to back up our friend, who after tea rose to address his neighbours on his new
proposal; and he humorously told them that he did not require to tell them what he had been. Some
of them knew that better than himself, but he meant to be a good boy in future, and here he read
the pledge signed by himself, wife, and daughter, as a foundation for a society. After he had read it
three times, no response came forth. I felt that I could not sit and see him beat, so I asked the
book and enrolled my name, after having been an abstainer for fourteen years. I was thus the first to
take a stand beside him, and he held on till death removed him from the world. A sick and funeral
society was founded by him on the same ground. Some ten or eleven years of its life have run, and
in that time near to �1800 have been expended to support trouble and pay funeral charges. We built
a hall capable of containing near to three hundred people, had sermons on Sabbath evening during
summer, courses of lectures in winter, concerts, soirees, and many other meetings. Our friend is
now dead. The hall is now clear of debt, and remains a monument for Matthew Thomson at
Blackhill. I painted Matthew's portrait and his wife's, presented by the members of the Sick and
Funeral Society and a few friends. Matthew got up many a job for me by subscription and
otherwise. He would travel any distance to oblige a friend.
He considered that it was his duty to countenance anything belonging to Kilmarnock, because I
came from that place. We had him often at the soiree of the Kilmarnock Social and Benevolent
Society in Glasgow. This society grew out of social meetings which took place annually, and it
owes its origin to a suggestion made one year by Andrew Armour. Its object is to relieve cases of
distress which may occur among the natives of Kilmarnock and neighbourhood resident in
Glasgow. Another object is to afford young men coming from Kilmarnock to the city an opportunity
for friendly council and championship. It was established in 1865. I had something to say at nine of
the annual soirees. It started with and retains an active and a cautious committee.
The late Mathew Wilson was one of its early members, and he printed the first copy of its articles
as a donation. Mathew was one of our Kilmarnock men who pushed for position as a teacher, and
attained it. People competent to judge declared it. He was impulsive and rapid in muscular as well
as mental motion. His ambition to be great was great, and he refused that mental composure
requisite, and took no seasons of rest. He refused to slacken the bow, and it prematurely lost its spring
and he was early old. He was a wit, was full of drollery, and in some cases an excellent mimic. He was ill at
being civil to long-winded people, quick in perception, rapid in concluding, free from mean calculations as to
how he would get through at the nearest -never such a thought fashed him. He had a strong desire that this
Retrospect should come before the world. He offered at one time to print it and give it to the world as a token
of friendship. As he neared his end his friends were fewer and his need of them greater. I stood by him till the
last. I was sent for by him the night before he died. It was visible he was not to get better, but I did not think
he would have died so soon. I helped him out of bed, and he walked across the room and back to his
bed, and lying down, bequeathed to me an edition of the works of Robert Burns, in five vols., with
reliques by R. H. Cromek. He knew that I would set a value on them, and, when looking on them,
remember him. Strange, that at the very time I am writing this, it is three years to a minute since I
was by the side of his death-bed--22d October, 1867, half-past six p.m. He died ten hours and
a-half afterwards.
My son John was a teacher of a branch of education in his Model Schools, and when he died
Mathew offered to school his three boys gratis. I told him that as his life and mine were both
uncertain, and as I considered it a duty to provide for them, and as the Ayrshire Society gave
orphans education, I had resolved to apply. I did so, and they granted one pound a-year each for
schooling, and gave books. Mathew then insisted that I would stipulate with the society to leave the
boys with him, there being only two at school at this time. I did so, and it was listened to. When
the half-year came round I went with the pound. He looked defiant and said, " No, boys need
stockings and shoes, Hunter; " and, said he, " You are what I call a hero to take up a young family
after having had so many of your own. I know quite well if you could you would, therefore it is my
duty to help you. Your son was a faithful teacher." Mathew never took a farthing for schooling the
boys. I owe the society gratitude, and Mathew more. Had Mathew Wilson been in possession of all
the currency in the world, he would have scorned to have put a penny of it in his own pocket for
private use till others were served.
One day I received a letter that a friend of Mathew's and mine was to have a look at their honours,
The Lords, and that counsel would be required--yea, good counsel-- and that was an expensive
commodity. I was expected to call on a few friends in Glasgow, and try to raise a few pounds in a
hurry. When I received the letter I had just three bawbees in the world, and where to get more was a
mystery. I felt that a bawbee for paper, and a postage stamp to say that I could do nothing in the
matter, would clean me out and not advance the cause of the prisoner at the bar. I went across to
Mathew, and stated the facts. "Never mind about siller," quoth he; "there's a pound for you. Away
you go to Andrew Armour, he'll give you another ;" and other three he mentioned. " Off as quick as
you can. Say that it is a desperate case." I was off like a post-runner, and got a pound from each. I
had a friend to whom I wrote--Mr George James Morrison. I offered him a head of my own--or
rather my own head--if he would give me two pound, stating the purpose I was going to apply it to.
He sent me the two pound next day, saying that he would consider it a case of cruelty to take a
man's head from him when he showed such an excellent heart to his friend. Thus, within thirty-six
hours after receiving the letter, I forwarded seven pounds to the party who wrote to me. And when
Mathew Wilson was near his end I gave my head again for a kindly purpose towards him; and at
that time, the individual whom he so generously aided being in receipt of four hundred and fifty
pounds a year, I wrote three letters to him to help me; and as yet he has not answered one of
them. Such was the shape of his gratitude.
After Mathew died I went to Kilmarnock, secured a lair in the same grave in which his first wife was
laid, went out and saw him interred. I saw the earth receive a sincere friend.
At one period of my life I had a strong desire to be able to write down my thoughts on paper. I did
not know anything about grammar, and when I looked at the point of the pen I lost sight of my subject.
At length, however, I was induced by the friend to whom I have dedicated this volnme to try my hand in the
way of writing art-criticism and reminiscences of Ayrshire life for the journals of which he was the conductor.
Mr Wylie said to me, " Just think that you are speaking to me and write on." I did so, and I soon found that it
was as easy to speak on paper as to a friend. For the late Mr James Waterston of Paisley, when he started a
paper in that town, I wrote "The Cobbler's Career in Art." Subsequently, I had a very handsome offer from Mr
Arthur Guthrie, of the Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald, to become one of his regular contributors,
which led to a connection with his popular journal that has been very pleasant. I have written not a
little for the defunct Kilmarnock Chronicle, as also for the living Glasgow Sentinel, Greenock
Telegraph, and other journals.
For the Falkirk Herald I had written several articles, and signed them Tammas Turnip. It was a
vegetable name, indicating something fresh and green. I have since frequently employed the same
signature. Tammas stands at the head of a respectable family of vegetable friends, who have come
into communion on the voluntary principle. Sandy Sybo and his cousin Nelly, Peter Parsnip,
Charley Carrot, Willie Parsley, Jeamie Greenpea, Cuddy Leek, Brussel Sprout, Andrew Bowkail,
Matthew Cauliflower, and Sir Frazer Ingan. In addition to these, I have had several other literary
friends, including Ringan Earnest (Mr Andrew Armour), who dedicated "The Greenhill Meal Mob" to
me, and Archibald M'Kay, historian of Kilmarnock, who dedicated his third edition of " Drouthy Tam"
to me.
For the sake of preservation I will embody a specimen of the love that existed between me and my
art brethren, or some other power that acted unseen. This article I styled
A GRATIFYING GRUMBLE AT USURPTION; OR, A VOICE FROM THE TURNIP INSTITUTE, in a
letter to Sandy Sybo, Esq., dated 3d December, 1861:--
" Dear Sandy,-There is at present in Glasgow an exhibition of paintings by living artists. They are
to be seen in the Corporation Galleries. Eight hundred and ninety-seven different works of art are
visible, although a number of them are as the man saw the moon--at a respectable distance from
the eye. In putting up so many pictures on the walls there is a great difficulty to get suitable places.
Leading pictures are first put up, then size and shape often get a place. Fourteen gentlemen are
named as an executive committee, whose office it is to do justice to the various artists from whom
they solicit works for exhibition. John G. Gilbert and Dan Macnee are two of the committee. In the
eyes of the public they are magnets attracting various bodies, each having their admirers, and not
unworthily.
" Before the hanging of the pictures commenced report said, so liberally had the artists responded
to the call of the Institute, that there was not sufficient room on the walls to hang so many pictures.
With this fact before their eyes, J. G. Gilbert either took or was allowed 309 square feet of wall to
hang ELEVEN of his own pictures on, some of them large. As a portrait painter he is out of sight
the best in the exhibition. His portrait of the Rev. Dr. Leishman is the best male figure in the rooms.
In the female department, dignity of expression and classical purity of composition are manifest in
the portrait of Miss Oswald. With these two portraits and his Beggar Girl, a thing of tone though
soulless in expression, he could take his stand unsubdued before the best artists in the world. His
full-length portrait of Dr Muir is worthy of any exhibition where there is room. As for his other
pictures, with which he has so copiously bespattered the walls, they merely prove that the
ridiculous and sublime may and do exist in the same man. He has eleven specimens. Dan Macnee
has a spread over 267 square feet of first-class position, where he exhibits ten paintings, more
ethereal than terrestrial in their bodies, yet all attractive through the powers of dexterity or
cleverness.
" Having given those two their height and weight, I will introduce Sir John Watson Gordon to their
company. He represents the Royal Scottish Academy, and on nine square feet of wall displays
more genuine art than Dan Macnee on his 267. In Sir John's portrait of James Smith, Esq.,
Jordanhill, a playful truthful expression of thought is brought out on under-stratas of substance so artfully
hidden and judiciously sumtotalled, that a sermon or poem on art is here given-blending cleverness and
greatness joyously on a fine specimen of humanity.
"Having respectfully named John. G. Gilbert and Daniel Macnee, I mean to put them under pictorial
influence, and leave them there. Do you mind, Sandy, of Daniel Macnee painting a presentation full
length of James Reid, Esq., of Calderbank ? After it was finished, it was exhibited to the
subscribers and friends in Mr Maclure's. At the same time I had painted a subscription portrait of
Matthew Thomson sq, Blackhill. My work was exhibited in Mr Fisher's, West Nile Street. Many
persons saw both portraits, and I was awarded as much praise for mine as Macnee got for his.
" I had a note from the Glasgow Fine Art Institute to send them works of art for exhibition, and to
send liberally. I not only sent, but went and carried Mr Thomson's portrait to their rooms. When the
show opened, I went to see how my work looked among the living artists, but no Matthew Thomson
was there, although I saw the portrait of James Reid looking down on me from a finely-selected
spot. I enquired at one of the servants, if he knew anything of my portrait of Mr Thomson. "Troth I
do," said the honest Hibernian, " it is confined into one of the front shaps, and you can have it on
Saturday." I went on Saturday along with my son George. We got the portrait on our shoulders,
and bore the truthful resemblance to its home.
"Now, Sandy, had you and I been on the Hanging Committee, instead of J G. Gilbert and Dan
Macnee, and had we like them, spread our works in gaudy glorification, regardless of their claims to
justice at our hands, how would Dan Mcnee have looked had he come to the toom shop in
company of his son, and shouldered the portrait of James Reid, moving slowly with it to
Calderbank, there to make the humbling statement that the Cobbler and Sandy Sybo, Esq., had
so clad the walls with their own superb specimens, that there was no room for this one ? Or how
would John G. Gilbert have looked, in absence of a son, to have taken long Tom Coffin on his back,
and moved away in solitary grandeur like Sampson carrying off the gates of Gaza ?
"Mr Knott, another member of committee, has seven paintings, and Mr Woolnoth eight. Here we
have four members of Council hanging up thirty-six paintings of their own, some of them of no mean
dimensions.
" Now, Sandy, I may some day be translated to the helm of art affairs; and if so, rather than seek
personal greatness through an unprincipled breach of trust, like our ain poet let me say--
" Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain,
My horny fist assumes the awl again. "
I am now drawing to a close these scraps of my history, written not so much to make a book, as to
be a testimonial to many kind friends whom I have met with and by whom I have been aided. Had
my health not failed, you would not have had this volume. When you have read it, should it so
happen that you think that it might have been better written, just try and write your life better. It
does not by any means present an unbroken line of events. It is written just as the remembrance of
past events came up, sometimes catching at the subject by the wrong end; but I have done my
best to seize on points of interest, which may please some and disgust others. The points I have
named are thoses which are not yet buried by the sands of time.
The morning and evening of life seem nearest each other. The middle department is more bustle
and confusion. I have said very little of my married life; it was more the artistic life I engaged for. I
have parted with a wife and eight of my family, and have a wife and seven children alive at this date.
Should any one think that I am inexperienced in family matters, when he has faced so much he will
be apt to change his mind.
The Finis of this book is sacred to the memory of a man whom I have only met with twice. He
represents the capital of Scotland in my mind. When Edinburgh is mentioned by any one, he
stands out in bold relief. This man only knew me through my writings. I had never seen him, nor he
me. Yet we knew something of each other. When my last child died, I sent him notice of the death; a
simple notice. Next night I was sitting by the fire looking up some wants for to-morrow. Some had
to stand over in the arrangement. What can and what cannot be done without was the field of study.
When the man with the child's coffin reached the door, so did the postman, and handing me a letter
bearing the Edinburgh post-mark, I opened and read.-"When I received you note announcing your
son's death, I was sitting thinking what little present I would send him. Seeing now that he is gone,
I transfer the gift to the parents." It was a Post Office order for five pounds. I should never wish to
see the same man in such circumstances as to need my he]p; but if ever he be, and I able to move
in the matter, I certainly vvould give my own head to raise something for his comfort. The signature
to this letter was " D. O. HILL."
" And who that, having won the field,
Will rest, and say ' My work is done,'
Nor sigh to think that life can yield
No race he now would care to run."
THOS. WILSON, Glasgow.
THE END.