F.) was, perhaps, the
most interesting man of our circle; certainly he possessed more humour
than the rest of us put together. Fond of literature, with a talent for
writing, he was a regular contributor to the Glasgow Punch, _The Bailie_.
But his greatest charms were, his dear innocence, his freshness of mind,
his simple inexpensive tastes, his enjoyment of life, and his infectious
laugh. In years he was our senior, but in worldly knowledge junior to us
all. He lives still and is, I believe, as jocund as ever. Another of
these Glasgow friends I must mention--a poet, and like Burns, a son of
the soil. His name was Alexander Anderson. When first I met him he was
in the railway service, a labourer on the permanent way, what is called a
surfaceman in Scotland, a platelayer in England and a milesman in
Ireland. Self taught, he became proficient in French, German and
Italian, and was able to enjoy in their own language the literature of
those countries. A Scottish nobleman, impressed by his wonderful
poetical talent, defrayed the expenses of a tour which he made in Italy
and an extended stay in Rome, to the enrichment of his mind and to his
great enjoyment.
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