to the West, to the land of the free,
Where the mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea;
Where a man is a man even though he must toil
And the poorest may gather the fruits of the soil."

The proceeds of the sale were most disappointing. The looms brought
hardly anything, and the result was that twenty pounds more were
needed to enable the family to pay passage to America. Here let me
record an act of friendship performed by a lifelong companion of my
mother--who always attracted stanch friends because she was so stanch
herself--Mrs. Henderson, by birth Ella Ferguson, the name by which she
was known in our family. She boldly ventured to advance the needful
twenty pounds, my Uncles Lauder and Morrison guaranteeing repayment.
Uncle Lauder also lent his aid and advice, managing all the details
for us, and on the 17th day of May, 1848, we left Dunfermline. My
father's age was then forty-three, my mother's thirty-three. I was in
my thirteenth year, my brother Tom in his fifth year--a beautiful
white-haired child with lustrous black eyes, who everywhere attracted
attention.

I had left school forever, with the exception of one winter's
night-schooling in America, and later a French night-teacher for a
time, and, strange to say, an elocutionist from whom I learned how to
declaim. I could read, write, and cipher, and had begun the study of
algebra and of Latin. A letter written to my Uncle Lauder during the
voyage, and since returned, shows that I was then a better penman than
now. I had wrestled with English grammar, and knew as little of what
it was designed to teach as children usually do. I had read little
except about Wallace, Bruce, and Burns; but knew many familiar pieces
of poetry by heart. I should add to this the fairy tales of childhood,
and especially the "Arabian Nights," by which I was carried into a new
world. I was in dreamland as I devoured those stories.

On the morning of the day we started from beloved Dunfermline, in the
omnibus that ran upon the coal railroad to Charleston, I remember that
I stood with tearful eyes looking out of the window until Dunfermline
vanished from view, the last structure to fade being the grand and
sacred old Abbey. During my first fourteen years of absence my thought
was almost daily, as it was that morning, "When shall I see you
again?" Few days passed in which I did not see in my mind's eye the
talismanic letters on the Abbey tower--"King Robert The Bruce." All my