of Oxford or Cambridge say to the daily life of
the humble student of Aberdeen? A breakfast
of porridge and milk, to begin the day; then
away through the streets, in a red cloak, with a
strapful of books at his side; four hours of
Greek and Latin; a short interval for dinner
(consisting rather often of tea, with a haddock),
back again in the red cloak to more dead
languages and dry mathematics; and then the evening
spent at home, getting up the tasks for the
next day. Few of the students can afford to
have the assistance of private tutors, and it is
often very hard work for the young students,
whose preliminary education has been conducted
in a hurry, to keep pace with the progress of the
classes. I should mention that the salaries of
the professors range from three hundred to six
hundred pounds a year.

The education received at the University of
Aberdeen is not as high as that of Oxford or
Cambridge; but the chief reason of this is the
early age at which the students are allowed to
matriculate. A lad who goes to college at
fourteen is necessarily but little advanced in
learning, and with the same opportunities for
the next four years, it is not to be expected
that he will come out at eighteen with the same
amount of knowledge as an Oxford or
Cambridge man of three or four-and-twenty. Still the
Aberdeen universities have produced some very
sound and accomplished scholars. On four
occasions in succession lately, the highest
honours of Cambridge have been carried off by
Aberdeen students.

Scotland has done all this upon a little
oatmeal. Could not England do something of the
kind upon her roast beef and plum-pudding?

From Aberdeen, I betook myself further northward
by a railway which has only a single line
of rails. This is a peculiarity of all railways
running north of the Granite City. They have
been constructed with a due regard to economy,
but with little regard to speed. The distance
from Aberdeen to Banff is only forty-six miles,
and the journey occupies more than three hours.
I have a very strong impression that the Scotch
are not so enterprising at home as they are
abroad. There is lack of spirit shown in making
shift with a single line of rails on the great highway
which connects the capital of the lowlands
with the capital of the highlands. Like want of
enterprise is manifested in minor matters. At
Inveramsay there is a junction, where, the trains
going north wait for the trains coming south,
and vice versâ. This delay in both journeys is
caused by the single line arrangement. But
at this junction, where passengers are waiting
at all hours of the day, there is no refreshment-room.
Is this being canny, and having a keen
eye to business? At every turn in this country,
so celebrated for its thrift, and industry, and love
of the bawbees, I notice many little opportunities
of making money, which the people neglect, either
because they don't see them, or because they
despise them. Here, at this junction, where I am
kicking my heels for half an hour, I want a bottle
of ale, and I cannot have it; I want a newspaper,
and I cannot have it; I want a time-table, and
I cannot even have that.

There is another peculiarity of these northern
railways. There are only two classes of
carriages, first and third. There is no second class.
I have a theory that this arrangement corresponds
with the state of Scotch society. There are
only two classes in Scotland, the upper classes,
and another class immediately below them.
The distinction which the Scotch railways make
has reference to means, not to station. Those who
travel third class in Scotland are equal in
respectability and intelligence to the middle class
of England; but they are not so well able to pay
the middle class fare. Third class is merely
written on the doors of the carriages to meet the
provision of the act of parliament for carrying
passengers at a penny a mile. When I go north
of Aberdeen, I prefer to travel by the third class.
Your first class Scotchman is a very solemn
person, very reserved, very much occupied in
maintaining his dignity, and while saying little,
appearing to claim to think the more. The people
whom you meet in the third-class carriages, on the
other hand, are extremely free. There is no
reserve about them whatever. They begin to talk,
the moment they enter the carriage, about the
crops, the latest news, anything that may occur
to them. And they are full of humour and
jocularity.

My fellow-passengers on this journey were small
farmers, artisans, clerks, and fishermen. They
discussed everything, politics, literature, religion,
agriculture, and even scientific matters, not in
the heavy style of the Mutual Association for
the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, but in a
light and airy spirit of banter and fun. An old
fellow, whose hands claimed long acquaintance
with the plough, gave a whimsical description of
the parting of the Atlantic telegraph cable,
which set the whole carriage in a roar.

"Have you ony shares in it, Sandy?" said one.

"Na, na," said Sandy. "I've left off speculatin'
since my wife took to wearing crinolines.
I canna afford it noo."

"Fat d'ye think of the rinderpest, Sandy?"
inquired another.

"Weel, I'm thinking that if my coo taks it,
Tibbie and me winna ha' muckle milk to our tay."

The knotty question of Predestination came
up, and could not be settled. When the train
stopped at the next station, Sandy said:

"Bide a wee, there's a Doctor o' Deveenity
in ane o' the first-class carriages. I'll gang and
ask him fat he thinks aboot it." And out Sandy
got to consult the doctor. We could see him
parleying with the eminent divine over the
carriage door, and presently he came running back,
just as the train was starting, and was bundled
in neck and crop by the guard.

"Weel, Sandy," said his oppugner on the
Predestination question, " did the doctor o'
deveenity gie you his opinion?"