"My first distinct impression of him was crossing the College quadrangle with 'Romola' under his arm. He was kind enough to stop and introduce me to the authoress, whom I forthwith proceeded to cultivate assiduously. Shortly after this Elmslie gave a supper-party, a function much too rare among Scotch students. I had the honour to be invited to represent the juniors—an act of pure mercy, for I then neither knew Elmslie nor his set. If I were now asked by a senior man at college how he could best influence his less-advanced colleagues, I should answer, 'Make him your debtor for life by asking him up to your rooms.' Of the entertainment itself—the literary entertainment, I mean—I remember little; it was the being there that helped me. And what I do remember I do not know that I ought to divulge, for the _pièce de resistance_ was the Hans Breitman Ballads, which Elmslie carved and served himself, with extraordinary relish, throughout most of the evening. "It was this same man, unchanged by the weight of years and work, whom I met several years after in the Black Forest, and accompanied for some weeks in a walking tour. The third member of the party was Dr. Marcus Dods, and we tramped with our knapsacks through the Tyrol, the dolomite country, and the Saltzkammergut. Elmslie at first was full of the Strasburg professors under whom he had been studying, but after a few days I saw no more of his wisdom, for he gave himself up like a schoolboy to the toys of St. Ulrich and the Glockner glaciers. But of this most perfect of all vacations nothing now remains with me but an impression of health, sunshine, and gentle friendship. "Elmslie's graver side I can only dimly realise from the appearances he used to make in the Theological Society of the New College, Edinburgh. I do not remember even the theme of any debate in which he ever took part, but the figure and voice, and especially the look of the student as he stood up there amidst the almost awe-stricken hush of his classmates, lives most vividly in my mind. When Elmslie spoke every one felt that he at least had something to give, some message of his own. He never seemed to be merely saying things, _i.e._ 'making a speech,' but to be thinking aloud, and that with an intensity and originality most inspiring and impressive. His voice and tone had that conviction in them which was as impossible to define as to resist. I could with difficulty imagine any one moving the previous question after Elmslie. Another peculiarity, which added greatly to his power, was that he thought with his whole face. In fact, in listening to him one did not so much hear a man speaking as see a man thinking. His eyes on these occasions would become very large and full of light, not of fire or heat, but of a calm luminosity, expressive of a mingled glow of reason, conscience, and emotion.