native country. His Birks of Invermay long survived in the recollection of his associates, as a musical gem of the first lustre. The following anecdote, communicated by his biographer Sommers, at once proves his vocal powers and reflects a light upon his character. "In one of his convivial frolics, he laid a wager with some of his associates that, if they would furnish him with a certain number of printed ballads, (no matter what kind), he would undertake to dispose of them as a street singer in the course of two hours. The bet was laid, and next evening, being in the month of November, a large bundle of ballads were procured for him. He wrapped himself in a shabby great-coat, put on an old scratch wig, and in this disguised form commenced his adventure at the weigh-house, head of the West Bow. In his going down the Lawn market and
High Street, he had the address to collect great multitudes around him, while he amused them with a variety of favourite Scottish songs, by no means such as he had ballads for, and gained the wager by disposing of the whole collection.
He waited on his companions by eight o'clock that evening, and spent with them in mirthful glee, the produce of his street adventure."
Fergusson's disposition led him into many frolics; of which the following instances are recounted. His landlord happened to be a man very much given to intemperance, at the same time that he aspired to all the honours of a saint. One night, he attempted to perform family worship, in a state of complete intoxication, when, to his inconceivable horror, every sentence of his prayer was echoed by some unseen being at no great distance. Confounded with drunken terror, he ordered his family to retire, and tak awa the buiks. It was Fergusson who thus alarmed him from a neighbouring closet Afterwards, the poor man gave his family an impressive lecture on the necessity of their improving their ways, as he felt certain that something serious was about to befall them. He even unbosomed his own conscience to the waggish cause of all his terrors, and received, with marks of extreme contrition, the absolution which Fergusson administered to him in consideration of his repentance. On another occasion, Fergusson went, with some companions, to the door of a similar zealot, and began to whine forth a psalm in burlesque of the hypocritical habits (as he considered them) of those within. With even less justifiable thoughtlessness, he once threw into the open window of a Glassite meeting-house, a paper, on which he had inscribed some lines in imitation of the manner in which they were pleased to perform their devotions. A more innocent frolic was as follows: having procured a sailor's dress, he dressed himself in it, assumed a huge stick, and, sallying out, paid a round of visits to his acquaintances. He was so effectually disguised that few or none of them knew him; and by throwing forth hints of some of their former indiscretions, he so much surprised them, that they imputed his knowledge to divination. By this means, he procured from many of them such a fund of information, as enabled him to give them a greater surprise when he resumed the genuine character of Robby Fergusson. For in the sailor's habit he informed them of many frailties and failings, which they imagined it impossible for any one of his appearance to know; and in the habit of Robby Fergusson, he divulged many things which they believed none but the ragged sailor was acquainted with. Fergusson's power of mimicry were, indeed, admirable, and he displayed a considerable turn for acting in general. Towards the end of his life, he was the very life and soul of a particular spouting club to which he attached himself.
In the circle of his acquaintance, though it extended through nearly all ranks of society, he had few more respectable friends than Mr Woods, a distinguished player long established in Edinburgh. Woods was a man of wit, taste, and good sense, to which good qualities he added a prudence of conduct,
