earlier, as we have seen, he visited in company with his mother. Mr. Forbes now, in addition to being farmer of Round Lichnot, and holding several lucrative factorships, was tenant also of the farm of Forrester Hill, in the same region, and was a man of considerable worldly substance. By his recommendation to Lord Finlater, FERGUSSON got his bursarship, and he had hopes now, perhaps, of procuring suitable employment through his uncle's influence. Though he stayed six months at Round Lichnot, however, nothing came to him in this way. And then the visit ended abruptly, in a painful rupture of their friendship. The story of the rupture has been told with varying details. Dr. Irving's account of it (in 1851 rejected by Dr. Grosart, and after fuller investigation accepted by the same authority before 1898) may be taken as correct. Mr. Forbes, Irving tells, at first treated his nephew with civility; although, instead of exerting himself, as he had opportunity, to promote his interest, he suffered him to remain six months in his house, and then dismissed him in a manner which reflects very little honour on his memory. His clothes were beginning to assume a threadbare appearance; and on this account he was deemed an improper guest for his purse-proud uncle's house. It is told, plus Irving, that, on a certain day when Lord Finlater and another local magnate were guests at the factor's dinner table, FERGUSSON, after an hour or two's diversion in the woods of Lichnot, appeared with his clothes showing signs of tear as well could be no longer delayed. ordered him from the room. youth was stung to the quick.

as wear, and the crisis
Indignantly his uncle
The shy and sensitive
He went forth, immedi-

ately packed up his little belongings in a bundle, and set out for Edinburgh and home on foot. At a little solitary inn, not far off on the way of his journey, he sought shelter for a space, and procuring pen, ink, and paper, he wrote his uncle a letter full, it is said, of the most manly sentiments. After his departure, too, it seems, Mr. Forbes began to relent, and dispatched a messenger after him with a few shillings, to bear his expenses upon the road;" the poet was in a mighty. rage, says Alexander Gordon, and refused to accept a penny. Dr. Irving says "this paltry present the lowness of his funds compelled him to accept." But no matter which may be correct, the important fact remains undisturbed that he walked the weary journey all the way to Edinburgh, and the fatigues of the road, added to the depression of his mind, had such an effect upon his delicate constitution that on his arrival at his mother's house he was sent to bed for several days. Here, in a period of convalescence, he endeavoured to console his grief by composing his poems on "The Decay of Friendship" and "Against Repining at Fortune.' The story goes that while at

Round Lichnot FERGUSSON was accustomed to assemble the servants who were detained from public worship on the Sabbaths, and taking his stand at the mouth of the peat-stack, he would address them for more than an hour at a time, in language so eloquent and fervid that they were often seen bathed in tears. As regards his uncle's treatment, it may be, of course, that the matter-of-fact farmer and factor, discerning that his nephew was addicted to the silly practice, as he would esteem it, of writing poetry, and had neither the muscle nor the will, perhaps, to fill dung, or dig pota

toes, saw little excuse for his existence. He should not have forgotten, however, that he was his sister's son, and that he was young, and poor, and not strong.

A "sticket minister," FERGUSSON had now to face the urgent problem of how to get a livelihood. If he did not work to-day he might starve to-morrow. So he took the first situation that came to his hand, which happened to be the post of "writer," or copyist, in the office of the Commissary Clerk of Edinburgh, Mr. Charles Abercromby. This was poorly-paid work, and although the poet was an expert penman, and through long and weary hours did write until his fingers ached his remuneration never rose higher than a mere pittance. But the situation brought him into contact with persons who were connected with the Law, and he formed numerous friendships. He became a theatregoer, too, and cultivated the society of "several players and musicians," with whom he spent convivial and not unprofitable hours, in so far as dallying with the Muses was concerned. Chief among those boon companions was Mr. William Woods, then the leading and favourite actor of the Edinburgh boards; and his intercourse with this amiable gentleman soon ripened into a warm mutual friendship, which did not cease until death drove his chilly finger to the heart of the gay and wonderful stripling. FERGUSSON was now nineteen. A year earlier in 1768-the brothers Ruddiman had started their Weekly Magazine of Edinburgh Amusement: and in 1771-though still working as a copying drudge-our poet began to make contributions to the pages of this popular and fairly well-conducted periodical. His first pieces were the pastorals, "Morning, Noon, and Night," which were

published anonymously, with an editorial note of appreciation. Following these came other pieces in English, equally imitative and artificial, by which he could never by any possibility have achieved fame: no such fame, anyway, as he enjoys by having it admitted to his credit that he handed Burns his poetic impulse. But, by and by, the youthful singer struck a new note. In 1772, "The Daft Days" appeared; and this, followed by other poems of similar character, in the familiar Doric, of which he possessed such a rich vocabulary, immediately brought the whole of Scotland to his feet in worshipping attitude. Allan Ramsay had been fourteen years in his grave, and the Scottish lyre in the interval had remained silent but for a feeble touch now and again. Burns was not yet. FERGUSSON was hailed generally as Ramsay's worthy successor. Indeed, as one has said, if a Scots poetlaureateship had been vacant, he would have been voted the only worthy candidate for the bays. And the appointment, we will add, would have had more to be said for it than some laureateships with which reading has made the world familiar. In his "Leith Races," "The King's Birth-day," "Caller Oysters," "Hallow Fair," and the "Rising" and "Sitting of the Session," there are powers of humorous description exhibited which stamp their author as a poet of superior genius, even (as Chambers says) if the nervous sense of his " Braid Claith,' Caller Water," and other poems upon general subjects, and the homely grace of his "Farmer's Ingle," which describes in the most vivid and genuine colours, a scene worthy of the highest efforts of the muse, had not placed him unequivocally in that rank. By minor bardies as widely separated geographically as Berwick and Perth, his

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