Nearly five years had elapsed since the receipt of this letter, and I had done nothing to put myself in communication with the Coupar Angus astronomer. Strange to say, his existence was again recalled to my notice by Professor Grainger Stewart, of Edinburgh. He said that if I was in the neighbourhood I ought to call upon him, and that he would receive me kindly. His duty, he said, was to act as porter at the station, and to shout the name of the place as the trains passed. I wrote to John Robertson accordingly, and received a reply stating that he would be glad to see me, and inclosing a photograph, in which I recognised a good, honest, sensible face, with his person inclosed in the usual station porter's garb, "C.R. 1446." I started from Dunkeld, and reached Coupar Angus in due time. As I approached the station, I heard the porter calling out, "Coupar Angus! change here for Blairgowrie!"[1] It was the voice of John Robertson. I descended from the train, and addressed him at once: after the photograph there could be no mistaking him. An arrangement for a meeting was made, and he called upon me in the evening. I invited him to such hospitality as the inn afforded; but he would have nothing. "I am much obliged to you," he said; "but it always does me harm." I knew at once what the "it" meant. Then he invited me to his house in Causewayend Street. I found his cottage clean and comfortable, presided over by an evidently clever wife. He took me into his sitting-room, where I inspected his drawings of the sun-spots, made in colour on a large scale. In all his statements he was perfectly modest and unpretending. The following is his story, so far as I can recollect, in his own words:-- "Yes; I certainly take a great interest in astronomy, but I have done nothing in it worthy of notice. I am scarcely worthy to be called a day labourer in the science. I am very well known hereabouts, especially to the travelling public; but I must say that they think a great deal more of me than I deserve.