ROGER KENNEDY. XV 



not forgotten by him, and his poetic nature found congenial 

 food in the ample fields of old Scottish song. Here again is the 

 link which formed such a long and close friendship between him and 

 Hugh Macdonald. Had Hugh been still living, the duty of writing 

 this Memoir ought to have been his. Those who are familiar with 

 the "Days at the Coast," " Rambles found Glasgow," and particu- 

 larly with his "Flower Lover's Song," will understand the similarity 

 of tendencies which made these two men so intimate, and led to their 

 companionship in many ' ' Rambles" Cathkin Braes and Kenmure 

 Wood, on the Clyde above Carmyle, being, from their flowers, among 

 their favourite haunts. There were a few other congenial spirits 

 who joined in these excursions, the most of whom have now passed 

 away. It was during these friendly walks that Hugh Macdonald 

 made himself acquainted with the various spots, and which led to 

 his selecting " The Rambles Round Glasgow " as a subject for his 

 pen. In one of these rambles the one to Robroyston Mr. 

 Kennedy and myself were Hugh's companions in the walk which he 

 made over the ground when about to write it out. We are both 

 alluded to in the Ramble, and I think that is the last occasion I had 

 of meeting these two friends together. 



Hugh's reference to Mr. Kennedy is so illustrative of both men, 

 both true poets in their own way, that it must be repeated. After 

 an allusion to myself, Hugh gives vent to his feelings, as follows : : 

 "An old and dear friend, whose name is associated in our mind 

 with all odorous things, he being familiar with all manner of plants, 

 " from the cedar-tree that is in Lebanon, even unto the hyssop 

 which springeth out of the wall ! ' By many a flowery, many a leafy, 

 tie, are our affections interwoven ; and many, many a sweet memory 

 of woods, and fields, and streams, and marshes, have we as common 

 property." I know, as I knew both the men, that every word of 

 this is true from the heart. Further on in this Ramble, Hugh gives 

 such a characteristic sketch that duty demands its transference here: 

 * ' Our flower-loving friend is now in all his glory, poking and prying 

 along the vegetable fringe that skirts our path. Every now and 

 then we are startled by his exclamations of delight, as some specimen 

 of more than ordinary beauty meets his gaze. Nor is his attention 

 devoted altogether to the fair children of Flora. Now he directs 

 our eyes to some richly-tinted moth, or butterfly, with coat of many 



