Besides making arrangements for a special report of Parliament, I extended the old London letter of the _Mercury_ by securing for it a number of contributors who were interested in different fields of activity. Hitherto it had only been political. I now gave it a social and literary character as well. It was in carrying out this part of my work that I first became the intimate friend of William Black. I had met him years before, but our friendship was of the slightest until I induced him to take a leading part in the London correspondence of the _Mercury_. He was at that time assistant-editor of the _Daily News_, but he did not like the work, and was anxious to be relieved of the drudgery of nightly attendance at the office in Bouverie Street. I was able to offer him terms which justified him in relinquishing his connection with the _Daily News_. He was just beginning his career as a brilliantly successful novelist. "A Daughter of Heth" had won the favour both of the critics and the public, and this he had followed up with "The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton." The arrangement he made with the _Leeds Mercury_ enabled him to devote his time and strength to fiction, and, as I have said, it brought us into a relationship which quickly ripened into one of affectionate intimacy. There never was a man who stood the sharp test of prosperity better than did Black. When we first became intimate he was just beginning to be known, but within a year or two from that time he had become the most popular of English novelists, and had become famous throughout the civilised world. Obscure or famous, he was just the same. To a rare simplicity of manner he added a chivalrousness of spirit that was almost an inspiration to those who were brought into contact with him. As a friend he scarcely had an equal. In all the affairs of life he would make his friend's cause his own, and fight for it with an energy and enthusiasm that few men are capable of showing, even on behalf of their own interests. At a time, for example, when he was deep in the writing of one of his own greatest novels, he voluntarily undertook the work of a dying friend as a contributor to the Press, in order to ensure the payment of his salary to the end of his life. I remember meeting him once on his way to that friend's room, carrying in one hand a hare and in the other a can containing some soup or other delicacy. He was very particular about his appearance, always smart in his dress, and rigorously observant of the social _convenances_; yet these characteristics did not prevent his walking through the streets of London on a summer afternoon laden in this fashion. My first dinner with him was at the Pall Mall Club, in Waterloo Place, at the end of 1873. He had another young man of our own age to share the entertainment, and behind his back he spoke of this young man--who was, like himself, a Scotsman--with an enthusiastic admiration. He was an artist who had just