am sure you can answer that question," said the Professor, alternately placing his pencil to his lip and making it stand upright on his desk (a custom he had), while with the blandest look and most exemplary patience he waited for an answer. "I am sure you can."

"No, sir," said S.

A half-suppressed titter was now going round the class, and S.'s face was very red.

"Well, Mr S., I must give you yet one other chance, with the easiest question I can frame. What is a term?" Now came a pause longer than any of the others, followed by "The word 'term' was carefully explained, and occurs in almost every lecture since the beginning of the session. Do you really not know what a term is?"

"No, sir."

"Very naughty, Mr S.; very, very naughty! You may sit down. You really must pay some more attention to your lessons."

Towards the end of the session every student

ORAL EXAMINATION—ESSAYS.

41

in the Logic class was obliged to write one of what were called the long essays. The subjects were, for choice, a descriptive essay, an original tale, or a poetical effusion. I forget the fourth subject. Students who had a turn for versification sometimes chose the third subject. The essays were read by the Professor at home, and the merits and demerits of a certain number were discussed by him in the presence of the class every morning. A very good student named Peacock attempted this higher flight. The Professor in commenting upon the essay said it was in many respects a highly creditable essay, showing wide and careful reading and generally good taste, but he was compelled in spite of these merits to say that the Peacock was no bird of song.

Professor Buchanan was a man of very retiring habits, and lived, especially during the university vacation of six months, the life of a hermit. It was commonly said that he was a hater of the softer sex. This may or may not be true, but

it is at any rate certain that he left his chair and the world without getting entangled in the bonds of matrimony. His custom was, as soon as the session was over, to withdraw from the

madding crowd" to the sea-coast somewhere near Dunoon, and rusticate in comparative solitude till his duties in the university recalled him to Glasgow in the beginning of winter. One day while he was taking a solitary walk in the neighbourhood of Dunoon a former student came across his path. Prompted by a feeling of respect for his old professor, and probably not aware of his preference for solitude, he took off his hat and said, "How do you do, Professor Buchanan?"

"I thank you," he replied, "but I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing you."

"Oh! my name is Norman M'Callum, and I was a student in your class in" (naming the year).

"Ah, yes," he replied; "I was sure I did not know you. Good-bye." This probably meant that he had not been a distinguished student,

but the kindliness and respect which led the poor fellow to address him deserved something better than the rather trying rebuff with which it was met.

Professor Buchanan was succeeded by Professor Veitch, and Professor Lushington by Professor Jebb. In connection with them one anecdote was current, for the accuracy of which I cannot vouch, but if it is not true it is at any rate a clever invention, and perhaps worthy of being recorded. Veitch was Professor of Logic and Rhetoric. His classroom was immediately above the Greek classroom. In treating of rhetoric his lectures sometimes ended with an eloquent peroration. On such occasions the applause of the students was of course exceedingly hearty, and once so very hearty as to cause a bit of plaster to fall from the ceiling into the Greek classroom, whereupon Jebb (now Sir Richard) is reported to have said, "I'm afraid our 'premises' will scarcely support my friend Veitch's conclusions.""

CHAPTER II.

TUTORING AND STUDIES IN EDINBURGH-NATURAL PHILOSOPHY
CHAIR IN ST ANDREWS-DIVINITY HALL-A DISAPPOINT-
MENT-TEMPTED TO GO TO CAMBRIDGE-TAKEN IN BY
99
SCOTTIE -CAMBRIDGE FRIENDS-INSOMNIA-SPEAKING
IN CHURCH-ACTORS AND SINGERS-LIFE IN CAMBRIDGE-

CURLING.

IN 1852 I was asked to become tutor to the son of Mr Pringle of Whytbank, and for four years spent three delightful summer months at Yair, on the banks of Tweed. Young Mr Pringle, now dead, was a singularly reticent and self-centred lad. During the four years while I was his tutor I knew him perhaps as intimately as any friend he had, but I failed, as all others did, in my attempts to gain a real knowledge of his feelings, motives, and springs of action.