The first thesis was better suited for the legislature than an academic body, and there must have been some peculiar reason for bringing it on. It was, “that sheriffs and other inferior magistrates should not be hereditary,” which was oppugned by Professor Lands “with many pretty arguments.” The king was so pleased with the oppugnation, that he turned to the Marquis of Hamilton, hereditary sheriff of Clydesdale, and said, “James, you see your cause lost—and all that can be said for it clearly satisfied and answered.” _N.—B._ It is just worth noticing that the College and the Marquis were then at feud. There was a question about the possession of the old lodging of the Hamilton family, then constituting a considerable portion of the University edifices. The “gud old nobleman,” his father, had been easily satisfied, but the young man was determined to stand upon his rights, and, though he could not recover possession, get something in the shape of rent or damages; nor would he take the judicious hint that “so honourable a personage would never admit into his thoughts to impoverish the patrimony of the young University, which had been so great an ornament, and so fruitful an instrument of so much good to the whole nation, but rather accept of some honourable acknowledgment of his munificence in bestowing upon the College an honest residence for the muses.” But to return to the impugnment. The next thesis was on local motion, “pressing many things by clear testimonies of Aristotle’s text;” and this passage of literary arms called out one of James’s sallies of pawky persiflage. “These men,” he said, “know Aristotle’s mind as well as himself did while he lived.” The next thesis was on the “Original of Fountains;” and the discussion, much to the purpose, no doubt, was so interesting that it was allowed to go on far beyond the prescribed period, “his majesty himself sometimes speaking for the impugner, and sometimes for the defender, in good Latin, and with much knowledge of the secrets of philosophy.” Talking is, however, at the best, dry work. His majesty went at last to supper, and no doubt would have what is termed “a wet night.” When up to the proper mark, he sent for the professors, and delivered himself of the following brilliant address:—