than on this side, where I contemplate the scene, standing on the door-step of the fatal house. The road is not more than thirty-five feet wide. Directly opposite is the greengrocer's shop mentioned in the sad, familiar story; a small shop partly overflowing into the street with potatoes and greens. Then there is a thoroughfare, flanked on the other side by a butcher's shop, which is adorned with placards of the "East London Theatre" and the "Cambridge Music Hall.” Farther on is a flaring sign announcing "Cartes de Visite, 3s. dozen," and on the other side of the greengrocer's is a tumble-down little house, which rejoices in the following announcement--"Gent's Boots Soled and Heeled -- Unitarian Christian Worship held here." As a rule the Unitarians are a well-to-do denomination. They are in very low water here, at all events. Beyond the house which so strangely combines "Gent's Boots" and "Christian Worship" is "The Flint House," a "Public" well known, it seems, in the district. It will be remembered that a drayman said he saw a man run out of Squires's on the day of the murder. When I first stood on this doorstep awe-struck and wondering, it occurred to me what sort of a van could be passing along Hyde Road, when there trotted past a dray loaded with oil casks and empty oil-cans. A huckster's cart plunged after it, a watercress man passed me, and after him came a vendor of groundsel. Other persons passed by; two customers went into the greengrocer's, the butcher came to his door, a half-drunken fellow lounged out of the Flint House, a woman looked at me from the "Gent's Boots" establishment, and there were other indications of life in the street which makes the event of three months ago all the more strange and mysterious. The murderer, I should say, lived close by; he not only knew the habits of the women, but he knew Hyde Road well. Darting over the way by the greengrocer's he would soon be lost in the great tide of London. But not to be heard, not to be seen, to leave no trace, except the inference that he did his work with a plasterer's hammer!

I dare say Hyde Road was busier than usual during my visit. Everybody seemed to be painting and mending houses. Even "Gent's Boots" was having his shutters repaired. He might at the same time have cleaned his windows. What does all this polishing mean in Hyde Road? Has the murder added a new dignity to the locality? Do the inhabitants feel that they owe something to fame? Have the visitors to Hyde Road grown so numerous that poor Mrs. Squires's neighbours have become a little ashamed of their dirty doors and shutters? Mrs. Squires got nothing, poor soul, by being clean and tidy. Her bright windows and neat blinds only made her

distinguished personages who from time to time have been educated within its walls; with Dr. Campbell's anecdotes of its members, its professors, its class and lecture rooms, and, in a word, the old college memories of those ancient buildings which have so recently given place to a more sumptuous and commodious edifice. Many of the

anecdotes which cluster round the names of Professors Ramsay, Lushington, and Blackburn will be thoroughly enjoyed, not only by members of Glasgow College, but by Oxford and Cambridge men. Take for instance the following account of the way in which the Greek chair was won a generation ago by Professor Lushington :

The story runs that there were two candidates of supreme ability and profound scholarship, Messrs. Lushington and Ramsay. Somehow or other (it is not explained how) the chair was to be decided by an examination of the candida

COLLEGE AND BLACKFRIARS.

who were required to profess beforehand the number of Greek works in which they were willing to be examined. Accordingly Mr. Ramsay entered the Fore Hall, at the head of a string of porters, with barrows laden with ponderous volumes-a whole Greek library in short. "There," he cried triumphantly, pointing to the tremendous pile, or series of piles, “I profess all these!" The learned examiners were astonished at the presence of so much knowledge, as they well might be, for the "profession" comprised three-fourths of the Grecian literature. This surprise had hardly time to cool when Mr. Lushington appeared without a porter or even a book. The examiners immediately said, "Well, Mr. Lushington, you see what your rival professes; what do you profess?" The learned Grecian gave a contemptuous glance at the heap of books, and replied with a look of ineffable scorn at his confounded rival, “I profess the literature of Greece." This was too much for poor Mr. Ramsay, who gave in on the spot. The origin of the story is doubtless Professor Lushington's immense reputation for scholarship. We students used to say that, while other professors spoke Greek, Lushington thought it.

But other memories besides those of the College crowd upon us. The following, however, relating as it does to the noble house of Argyll, may serve as a specimen of its fellows::

In 1756 Mr. Fleming, wood merchant, purchased a large quantity of timber growing on the banks of the Holy Loch, and he occasionally repaired to Kilmun to look after the cutting down of the timber. The accommodation at the hamlet was so miserable that Mr. Fleming was induced to get a temporary bed put up in the burial vault of the Dukes of Argyll, and there to sleep surrounded by the coffins of departed dukes and duchesses. While occupying this dark and dingy "bedroom," he on one occasion stepped out rather early on a fine Sunday morning in his white night-shirt; and while indulging in stretching himself and giving a loud yawn, he was perceived by some sailors, who were loitering near the tomb waiting for a tide to carry off their small craft. The superstitious mariners, appalled by the apparition issuing from the charnel house, instantly took to their heels and, hurrying into their boat, set off to Greenock, where they gave such a connected and circumstantial account of the resurrection of one of the Dukes of Argyll as to induce the authorities to make a formal inquiry into the circum

stances.

Glasgow is proud, and deservedly proud, of the position which its citizens have achieved for it by their energy and industry, as the first mercantile city north of the Tweed: and their pride very naturally extends to the ancient Trades Hall, or Merchants' Hall, which among them answers more or less exactly to our own Guildhall. We learn from Dr. Campbell's work that it still remains very much in its ancient condition, and exhibits two pieces of sculpture, the one consisting of three portraits of old and worthy citizen merchants, and the other a beautiful model of a ship in full sail, both clearly of the teenth century.

distinguished personages who from time to time have been educated within its walls; with Dr. Campbell's anecdotes of its members, its professors, its class and lecture rooms, and, in a word, the old college memories of those ancient buildings which have so recently given place to a more sumptuous and commodious edifice.

Many of the

anecdotes which cluster round the names of Professors Ramsay, Lushington, and Blackburn will be thoroughly enjoyed, not only by members of Glasgow College, but by Oxford and Cambridge men. Take for instance the following account of the way in which the Greek chair was won a generation ago by Professor Lushington:

The story runs that there were two candidates of supreme ability and profound scholarship, Messrs. Lushington and Ramsay. Somehow or other (it is not explained how) the chair was to be decided by an examination of the candidates,

COLLEGE AND BLACKFRIARS.

who were required to profess beforehand the number of Greek works in which they were willing to be examined. Accordingly Mr. Ramsay entered the Fore Hall, at the head of a string of porters, with barrows laden with ponderous volumes-a whole Greek library in short. "There," he cried triumphantly, pointing to the tremendous pile, or series of piles, "I profess all these!" The learned examiners were astonished at the presence of so much knowledge, as they well might be, for the "profession" comprised three-fourths of the Grecian literature. This surprise had hardly time to cool when Mr. Lushington appeared without a porter or even a book. The examiners immediately said, “Well, Mr. Lushington, you see what your rival professes; what do you profess?" The learned Grecian gave a contemptuous glance at the heap of books, and replied with a look of ineffable scorn at his confounded rival, “I profess the literature of Greece." This was too much for poor Mr. Ramsay, who gave in on the spot. The origin of the story is doubtless Professor Lushington's immense reputation for scholarship. We students used to say that, while other professors spoke Greek, Lushington thought it.

But other memories besides those of the College crowd upon us. The following, however, relating as it does to the noble house of Argyll, may serve as a specimen of its fellows:

In 1756 Mr. Fleming, wood merchant, purchased a large quantity of timber growing on the banks of the Holy Loch, and he occasionally repaired to Kilmun to look after the cutting down of the timber. The accommodation at the hamlet was so miserable that Mr. Fleming was induced to get a temporary bed put up in the burial vault of the Dukes of Argyll, and there to sleep surrounded by the coffins of departed dukes and duchesses. While occupying this dark and dingy "bedroom," he on one occasion stepped out rather early on a fine Sunday morning in his white night-shirt; and while indulging in stretching himself and giving a loud yawn, he was perceived by some sailors, who were loitering near the tomb waiting for a tide to carry off their small craft. The superstitious mariners, appalled by the apparition issuing from the charnel house, instantly took to their heels and, hurrying into their boat, set off to Greenock, where they gave such a connected and circumstantial account of the resurrection of one of the Dukes of Argyll as to induce the authorities to make a formal inquiry into the circum

stances.

Glasgow is proud, and deservedly proud, of the position which its citizens have achieved for it by their energy and industry, as the first mercantile city north of the Tweed and their pride very naturally extends to the ancient Trades Hall, or Merchants' Hall, which among them answers more or less exactly to our own Guildhall. We learn from Dr. Campbell's work that it still remains very much in its ancient condition, and exhibits two pieces of sculpture, the one consisting of three portraits of old and worthy citizen merchants, and the other a beautiful model of a ship in full sail, both clearly of the sixteenth century.