father. He would for a long time take no apology, and even spoke of
carrying off the youth by a certain degree of kindly violence, whether
his father consented, or not. At length the perplexed Professor pleaded
that his son was very young, and in an infirm state of health, and not
yet able to endure the hardships of a mountain life; but that in another
year or two he hoped his health would be firmly established, and he would
be in a fitting condition to attend on his brave kinsman, and follow out
the splendid destinies to which he opened the way. This agreement being
made, the cousins parted,--Rob Roy pledging his honour to carry his young
relation to the hills with him on his next return to Aberdeenshire, and
Dr. Gregory, doubtless, praying in his secret soul that he might never
see Rob's Highland face again.

James Gregory, who thus escaped being his kinsman's recruit, and in all
probability his henchman, was afterwards Professor of Medicine in the
College, and, like most of his family, distinguished by his scientific
acquirements. He was rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition;
and his friends were wont to remark, when he showed any symptom of these
foibles, "Ah! this comes of not having been educated by Rob Roy."

The connection between Rob Roy and his classical kinsman did not end with
the period of Rob's transient power. At a period considerably subsequent
to the year 1715, he was walking in the Castle Street of Aberdeen, arm in
arm with his host, Dr. James Gregory, when the drums in the barracks
suddenly beat to arms, and soldiers were seen issuing from the barracks.
"If these lads are turning out," said Rob, taking leave of his cousin
with great composure, "it is time for me to look after my safety." So
saying, he dived down a close, and, as John Bunyan says, "went upon his
way and was seen no more."*