paper, which were at last bound up, rudely indexed, and put by for future reference.  Such volumes as have reached me contain a surprising medley:  the whole details of his employment in the Northern Lights and his general practice; the whole biography of an enthusiastic engineer.  Much of it is useful and curious; much merely otiose; and much can only be described as an attempt to impart that which cannot be imparted in words.  Of such are his repeated and heroic descriptions of reefs; monuments of misdirected literary energy, which leave upon the mind of the reader no effect but that of a multiplicity of words and the suggested vignette of a lusty old gentleman scrambling among tangle.  It is to be remembered that he came to engineering while yet it was in the egg and without a library, and that he saw the bounds of that profession widen daily.  He saw iron ships, steamers, and the locomotive engine, introduced.  He lived to travel from Glasgow to Edinburgh in the inside of a forenoon, and to remember that he himself had ’often been twelve hours upon the journey, and his grand-father (Lillie) two days’!  The profession was still but in its second generation, and had already broken down the barriers of time and space.  Who should set a limit to its future encroachments?  And hence, with a kind of sanguine pedantry, he pursued his design of ‘keeping up with the day’ and posting himself and his family on every mortal subject.  Of this unpractical idealism we shall meet with many instances; there was not a trade, and scarce an accomplishment, but he thought it should form part of the outfit of an engineer; and not content with keeping an encyclopaedic diary himself, he would fain have set all his sons to work continuing and extending it.  They were more happily inspired.  My father’s engineering pocket-book was not a bulky volume; with its store of pregnant notes and vital formulas, it served him through life, and was not yet filled when he came to die.  As for Robert Stevenson and the Travelling Diary, I should be ungrateful to complain, for it has supplied me with many lively traits for this and subsequent chapters; but I must still remember much of the period of my study there as a sojourn in the Valley of the Shadow.

The duty of the engineer is twofold—­to design the work, and to see the work done.  We have seen already something of the vociferous thoroughness of the man, upon the cleaning of lamps and the polishing of reflectors.  In building, in road-making, in the construction of bridges, in every detail and byway of his employments, he pursued the same ideal.  Perfection (with a capital P and violently under-scored) was his design.  A crack for a penknife, the waste of ‘six-and-thirty shillings,’ ’the loss of a day or a tide,’ in each of these he saw and was revolted by the finger of the sloven; and to spirits intense as his, and immersed in vital undertakings, the slovenly is the dishonest, and wasted time is instantly translated into lives endangered.