The gist of his book on Byron in the "English Men of Letters" series and the whole of the critical part of his sketch of Burns in Paterson's edition of Burns were delivered to his class. It is true that writing and speaking or lecturing are two different arts, rarely attaining excellence in the same person and almost never in the same product. Yet Nichol's lectures in both the cases mentioned were good and the books arising out of them are good, although the spoken and the written words were not quite the same, and perhaps they were both good for that reason among others. Nichol was a fellow-student at Oxford of Swinburne's, and they remained friends. The only occasion when I met Swinburne was with Nichol. In 1875 or 1876 I had asked John Nichol to come over to Pollokshields to lecture. He came and brought Swinburne, who was then staying with him. He introduced me and we exchanged a few words. Canon Scott Holland speaks of Swinburne's "long arms reaching to the knees, like Buddha's, with the hands wagging and out-splayed, and the very short legs, and the short crumpled trousers, ending somehow above the funny boots. Everything was queer and uncanny until you were close enough to catch sight of the fine grave eyes above the elusive chin, and the splendid brow." Although I helped him into his coat, I do not recall an impression of long arms; but the fine eyes, the massive forehead, the luxuriant yellow hair and the bewilderingly weak chin linger in my memory. Some years afterwards I had occasion to write to him about a young poet, and he replied in a friendly letter; but I never saw him again.

Nichol told me of a curious adventure in Naples. Nichol frequently carried a sword-stick which had been given him by a friend, and while doing so went into a shop with his wife. By some unintentional jerk he loosened the catch of the slender steel concealed in his cane, and the presence of the weapon was unfortunately revealed to a policeman who happened to be in the shop. This functionary at once arrested Nichol, charging him with carrying, without a licence, a lethal weapon longer than the prescribed dimensions. Nichol had to remain in durance while the British Embassy at Rome took the necessary steps to secure his release; and he had to leave Naples at once as an indispensable condition.

In 1875, Richard Claverhouse Jebb was appointed Professor of Greek in succession to Lushington, of whom Tennyson said, "his learning lay on him lightly like a flower." Jebb was in his thirtyfourth year. He had been a Fellow of Trinity and Public Orator of the University of Cambridge; his reputation as a classical scholar

was already of the highest. I attended a course of lectures on Greek Literature given by him in his first session. I think that these lectures formed the basis of the volume published by him some years afterwards called Lectures in Greek Poetry. In his youth Jebb was somewhat of a dandy. A malevolent and wholly unjustifiable Cambridge joke described him as "devoting to the neglect of his duties what time he could spare from the adornment of his person." One day I was going up one of the steep streets in Glasgow when I saw Jebb bearing down upon me "in full sail." This equipment included a glossy silk hat, smart cut-away coat, lavender-coloured trousers, in vogue at that time, gloves to match, and a cane. Years after this period, I became acquainted with a man who had been Jebb's fag at Charterhouse. His name was Lyndhurst Ogden. Part of his duty was to see that when Jebb presented himself at prayers in the school chapel he was properly dressed. As Jebb left the least possible margin for the performance of his toilet, Ogden had nearly every morning to run after him carrying parts of his clothing which he put on as he ran. Jebb's fastidiousness in person had evidently not been acquired at school; it must have been developed later. Thirty years afterwards when I saw him at Cambridge, crippled with rheumatism and bent with premature age, I recalled the brisk and elegant figure of his youth.

The incumbent of the Chair of Humanity (Latin) at Glasgow in my time and for long after was Professor George G. Ramsay. He was a tall good-looking man, whose distinguishing personal characteristic was the magnitude of his feet. These extremities were indeed somewhat out of proportion to the rest of his figure. One day I happened to go with my brother to our shoemaker to order some shoes. We noticed on a bench a pair of quite unusual size. My brother said, "I bet I know for whom these shoes have been made.' "I won't bet," I said, "I know whose they are. They could fit only one man." "That is what I thought," he said. We asked the shoemaker, and found that they had been made for Ramsay.

When I went to the University in 1874 the buildings on Gilmore Hill had not been finished. Indeed, it was not for some years that the spire was placed on the main tower. While the tower was still incomplete, a couple of students mounted it to survey the landscape, a scene of much impressiveness stretching south over the Renfrewshire hills. These young fellows took out their penknives and succeeded in carving their names somewhat deeply in the stone parapet, then almost if not altogether free from such decoration. Their exploit was reported, and Ramsay was appointed by the University authorities to deal with

the case. He summoned both the culprits to appear before him in his private room. The first who presented himself halted on the threshold, became suddenly pale and before Ramsay could utter a word of inquiry or reproach, fainted. The professor, seriously perturbed, rang for a college servant, and both with much solicitude proceeded to revive the youth, whom they dismissed without reference to his offence. Meanwhile, unaware of what was transpiring, the other youth had waited his turn for an interview. When he entered, Ramsay, fearing another case of collapse, told the retiring servant to remain within reach. The second offender entered with a jaunty air, and when asked in a very mild and apologetic manner by Ramsay if he had carved his name on the tower, replied defiantly that he had done so, and that in similar places he had seen the names of Scott and Byron and other celebrities carved by them in their youth, and that the public seemed to value these memorials. "No doubt," said Ramsay, "but since you have not yet given sufficient evidence of the likelihood of future distinction in your case, you are fined one guinea. If in future years you become as great a celebrity as those you have mentioned, and if you apply for the money, it may be refunded."

With John Young, although I did not attend his classes, I came to be on friendly terms after I left the University. He was perhaps not a great man of science, but he was versatile and humorous. His sprightly air earned for him the soubriquet of "Cocky," by which he was universally known and was even on occasion impudently addressed by his students en masse. Mrs. Young for many years wrote musical criticisms for one of the Glasgow newspapers with acknowledged skill. Her husband used to go to the concerts with her, and to amuse himself by drawing caricatures of the people on the stage and in the audience. He was not the only caricaturist in the University. Mrs. Blackburn, wife of the Professor of Mathematics, was extremely skilful with her pencil and witty in her character sketches. There were two quaint and lugubrious figures in the University in my time. One was Dr. Anderson, Professor of Chemistry, and the other was Dr. Jackson, Professor of Hebrew. Both were perfectly bald alike on face and head. The latter was popularly known as "the Holy Ghost."

In 1873, Jowett, Master of Balliol, came to Glasgow and preached in the college chapel. At this distance of time, nothing remains in my mind of his sermon, which was no doubt beyond criticism; but I remember an incident that occurred at the close of it. The Principal of the University was the Rev. Dr. Barclay, a venerable minister of the Church of Scotland of unexceptional character, rather distinguished

aspect and no very distant fame. Towards the end of Jowett's discourse there was a sudden commotion, followed by the evacuation of the pews occupied by the professors and their families.

Jowett concluded, a note was handed to him by one of the college servants. He immediately said, in his characteristically shrill voice, without any attempt at emotion and even in a casual manner:

"I have to announce that the aged person who presided over the University has just died."

No exception could be taken to this. Every word was true and there was no more to be said. To Jowett and to nearly everybody else, the Principal was an "aged person" and nothing more; but to state this literal truth at that solemn moment and in so precise terms was a trifle harsh. Although Jowett was the head of a college with a Scots name and associated with Scotland, he had no special interest in the country, and had, I suspect, a somewhat modified respect for its intellectual products.

A feature of the Scots Universities, unique among the Universities of the world, and an indication of their essentially democratic character, is the election by the undergraduates of the Lord Rector, one of three highest officers in the University. It is true that the office is customarily regarded as purely honorary; but it has not always been so regarded. If the Rector chooses, he may exercise great influence upon the University. When Thomas Campbell, the poet, was elected Rector of the University of Glasgow in 1826, he took a conscientious view of his functions and entered actively into University affairs. While the Rector is entitled to nominate an assessor to represent him in the University Court-the governing body of the University-his personal obligations are now in effect confined to the single task of delivering an address to the students at some convenient time during his three years' tenure of office. The Rectorial election is of a peculiar character. The successful candidate must have a majority in at least three of the four "nations" into which the student body is divided. If two "nations" give a majority for one candidate and the other "nations" give a majority for the other candidate, the casting vote is given by the Principal of the University. Membership of the "nations" depends upon the birthplace of the undergraduate. "Natio Glottiana" comprises those born in the valley of the Clyde and contiguous regions; "Natio Rothesayana," those from the Highlands and Islands; "Natio Loudoniana," those from the Lowlands; and "Natio Transforthiana," those from beyond the Firth. It may happen that a candidate has the largest number of votes from the whole