the utmost freedom, feeling that even trifling incidents
may not be wholly destitute of interest for them.

To begin, then, I was born in Dunfermline, in the
attic of the small one-story house, corner of Moodie
Street and Priory Lane, on the 25th of November, 1835,
and, as the saying is, "of poor but honest parents, of
good kith and kin." Dunfermline had long been noted
as the center of the damask trade in Scotland. ¹ My
father, William Carnegie, was a damask weaver, the son
of Andrew Carnegie after whom I was named.

My Grandfather Carnegie was well known throughout
the district for his wit and humor, his genial nature and
irrepressible spirits. He was head of the lively ones of
his day, and known far and near as the chief of their
joyous club -- "Patiemuir College." Upon my return
to Dunfermline, after an absence of fourteen years, I
remember being approached by an old man who had
been told that I was the grandson of the "Professor,"
my grandfather's title among his cronies. He was the
very picture of-palsied eld;

"His nose and chin they threatened ither."

As he tottered across the room toward me and laid
his trembling hand upon my head he said: "And ye are
the grandson o' Andra Carnegie! Eh, mon, I ha'e seen
the day when your grandfaither and I could ha'e hal-
looed ony reasonable man oot o' his jidgment."

Several other old people of Dunfermline told me sto-
ries of my grandfather. Here is one of them:

One Hogmanay night ² an old wifey, quite a character

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