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146 travelled when holidays came round; the narrow Guard Brig, where, in my youth, resided the county hangman, with his ancient endowment of four acres of land; the golfing links and the rude narrow pathway of stone over the "Swilken burn," under the West Port, and along the wide quiet street to the great hostelry of St. Andrews, the Black Bull Inn, still managed by the family of Christies.' Black Bull Inn and Christie have disappeared; and down that wide, quiet street the last wheel alike of Edinburgh and of Dundee coach has long since echoed away.

He goes over all the old scenes, to the schools, to the University, to the belfry of the old parish church, 'where I was a great hand at helping to pull the bells.' He finds the 'centre part of the main street has been new paved; and the raised middle line of stones, along which we youngsters, boys and girls, were in the habit of running or rather jumping, has long disappeared.' Even the 'reformed pavement is now condemned. £500 of subscriptions have been raised in the town, and there is to be a macadamized centre street, with broad and flagged uniform pavement (London and Edinburgh fashion) on both sides.' New sights and sounds everywhere greet him; for St. Andrews had moved too; though in the St. Andrews of 1894 he would have found changes little dreamed of in 1843. 'At seven o'clock, boys and girls, the former dressed with a smartness which has travelled railroad pace from England, were moving in numbers to the new Madras College.' He is reassured, however,