To begin, then, I was born in Dunfermline, in the attic of the small one-story house, corner of Moodie Street and Priory Lane, on the 25th of November, 1835, and, as the saying is, "of poor but honest parents, of good kith and kin." Dunfermline had long been noted as the center of the damask trade in Scotland.
My father, William Carnegie, was a damask weaver, the son of Andrew Carnegie after whom I was named.
My Grandfather Carnegie was well known throughout the district for his wit and humor, his genial nature and irrepressible spirits.
He was head of the lively ones of his day, and known far and near as the chief of their joyous club—"Patiemuir College."
Upon my return to Dunfermline, after an absence of fourteen years, I remember being approached by an old man who had been told that I was the grandson of the "Professor," my grandfather's title among his cronies. He was the very picture of palsied eld;
"His nose and chin they threatened ither."
As he tottered across the room toward me and laid his trembling hand upon my head he said: "And ye are the grandson o' Andra Carnegie! Eh, mon, I ha'e seen the day when your grandfaither and I could ha'e hallooed ony reasonable man oot o' his jidgment."
Several other old people of Dunfermline told me stories of my grandfather. Here is one of them:
One Hogmanay night an old wifey, quite a character in the village, being surprised by a disguised face suddenly thrust in at the window, looked up and after a moment's…
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