r. f. murray-第4章

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For　want　of　this　aspiring　soul；　Great　deeds　on　earth　remain　undone；　But；　sharpened　by　the　sight　of　one；　Many　shall　press　toward　the　goal。　Thou　running　foremost　of　the　throng；　The　fire　of　striving　in　thy　breast；　Shalt　win；　although　the　race　be　long；　And　ever　be　the　best。

And　wilt　thou　question　of　the　prize？　‘Tis　not　of　silver　or　of　gold；　Nor　in　applauses　manifold；　But　hidden　in　the　heart　it　lies：　To　know　that　but　for　thee　not　one　Had　run　the　race　or　sought　the　quest；　To　know　that　thou　hast　ever　done　And　ever　been　the　best。


Murray　was　never　a　great　athlete：　　his　ambition　did　not　lead　him　to　desire　a　place　in　the　Scottish　Fifteen　at　Football。　　Probably　he　was　more　likely　to　be　found　matched　against　‘The　Man　from　Inversnaid。'


IMITATED　FROM　WORDSWORTH

He　brought　a　team　from　Inversnaid　To　play　our　Third　Fifteen；　A　man　whom　none　of　us　had　played　And　very　few　had　seen。

He　weighed　not　less　than　eighteen　stone；　And　to　a　practised　eye　He　seemed　as　little　fit　to　run　As　he　was　fit　to　fly。

He　looked　so　clumsy　and　so　slow；　And　made　so　little　fuss；　But　he　got　in　behindand　oh；　The　difference　to　us！


He　was　never　a　golfer；　one　of　his　best　light　pieces；　published　later　in　the　Saturday　Review；　dealt　in　kindly　ridicule　of　The　City　of　Golf。


‘Would　you　like　to　see　a　city　given　over；　Soul　and　body；　to　a　tyrannising　game？　If　you　would；　there's　little　need　to　be　a　rover；　For　St。　Andrews　is　the　abject　city's　name。'


He　was　fond；　too　fond；　of　long　midnight　walks；　for　in　these　he　overtasked　his　strength；　and　he　had　all　a　young　man's　contempt　for　maxims　about　not　sitting　in　wet　clothes　and　wet　boots。　　Early　in　his　letters　he　speaks　of　bad　colds；　and　it　is　matter　of　tradition　that　he　despised　flannel。　　Most　of　us　have　been　like　him；　and　have　found　pleasure　in　wading　Tweed；　for　example；　when　chill　with　snaw…bree。　In　brief；　while　reading　about　Murray's　youth　most　men　must　feel　that　they　are　reading；　with　slight　differences；　about　their　own。　　He　writes　thus　of　his　long　darkling　tramps；　in　a　rhymed　epistle　to　his　friend　C。　C。　C。


‘And　I　fear　we　never　again　shall　go；　The　cold　and　weariness　scorning；　For　a　ten　mile　walk　through　the　frozen　snow　At　one　o'clock　in　the　morning：

Out　by　Cameron；　in　by　the　Grange；　And　to　bed　as　the　moon　descended　。　。　。　To　you　and　to　me　there　has　come　a　change；　And　the　days　of　our　youth　are　ended。'


One　fancies　him　roaming　solitary；　after　midnight；　in　the　dark　deserted　streets。　　He　passes　the　deep　porch　of　the　College　Church；　and　the　spot　where　Patrick　Hamilton　was　burned。　　He　goes　down　to　the　Castle　by　the　sea；　where；　some　say；　the　murdered　Cardinal　may　now　and　again　be　seen；　in　his　red　hat。　　In　South　Street　he　hears　the　roll　and　rattle　of　the　viewless　carriage　which　sounds　in　that　thoroughfare。　　He　loiters　under　the　haunted　tower　on　Hepburn's　precinct　wall；　the　tower　where　the　lady　of　the　bright　locks　lies；　with　white　gloves　on　her　hands。　　Might　he　not　share；　in　the　desolate　Cathedral；　La　Messe　des　Morts；　when　all　the　lost　souls　of　true　lovers　are　allowed　to　meet　once　a　year。　　Here　be　they　who　were　too　fond　when　Culdees　ruled；　or　who　loved　young　monks　of　the　Priory；　here　be　ladies　of　Queen　Mary's　Court；　and　the　fair　inscrutable　Queen　herself；　with　Chastelard；　that　died　at　St。　Andrews　for　desire　of　her；　and　poor　lassies　and　lads　who　were　over　gay　for　Andrew　Melville　and　Mr。　Blair；　and　Miss　Pett；　who　tended　young　Montrose；　and　may　have　had　a　tenderness　for　his　love…locks。　　They　are　a　triste　good　company；　tender　and　true；　as　the　lovers　of　whom　M。　Anatole　France　has　written　（La　Messe　des　Morts）。　　Above　the　witches'　lake　come　shadows　of　the　women　who　suffered　under　Knox　and　the　Bastard　of　Scotland；　poor　creatures　burned　to　ashes　with　none　to　help　or　pity。　The　shades　of　Dominicans　flit　by　the　Black　Friars　wallverily　the　place　is　haunted；　and　among　Murray's　pleasures　was　this　of　pacing　alone；　by　night；　in　that　airy　press　and　throng　of　those　who　lived　and　loved　and　suffered　so　long　ago　…


‘The　mist　hangs　round　the　College　tower；　The　ghostly　street　Is　silent　at　this　midnight　hour；　Save　for　my　feet。

With　none　to　see；　with　none　to　hear；　Downward　I　go　To　where；　beside　the　rugged　pier；　The　sea　sings　low。

It　sings　a　tune　well　loved　and　known　In　days　gone　by；　When　often　here；　and　not　alone；　I　watched　the　sky。'


But　he　was　not　always；　nor　often；　lonely。　　He　was　fond　of　making　his　speech　at　the　Debating　Societies；　and　his　speeches　are　remembered　as　good。　　If　he　declined　the　whisky　and　water；　he　did　not　flee　the　weed。　　I　borrow　from　College　Echoes　…


A　TENNYSONIAN　FRAGMENT

So　in　the　village　inn　the　poet　dwelt。　His　honey…dew　was　gone；　only　the　pouch；　His　cousin's　work；　her　empty　labour；　left。　But　still　he　sniffed　it；　still　a　fragrance　clung　And　lingered　all　about　the　broidered　flowers。　Then　came　his　landlord；　saying　in　broad　Scotch；　‘Smoke　plug；　mon；'　whom　he　looked　at　doubtfully。　Then　came　the　grocer　saying；　‘Hae　some　twist　At　tippence；'　whom　he　answered　with　a　qualm。　But　when　they　left　him　to　himself　again；　Twist；　like　a　fiend's　breath　from　a　distant　room　Diffusing　through　the　passage；　crept；　the　smell　Deepening　had　power　upon　him；　and　he　mixt　His　fancies　with　the　billow…lifted　bay　Of　Biscay；　and　the　rollings　of　a　ship。

And　on　that　night　he　made　a　little　song；　And　called　his　song　‘The　Song　of　Twist　and　Plug；'　And　sang　it；　scarcely　could　he　make　or　sing。

‘Rank　is　black　plug；　though　smoked　in　wind　and　rain；　And　rank　is　twist；　which　gives　no　end　of　pain；　I　know　not　which　is　ranker；　no；　not　I。

‘Plug；　art　thou　rank？　then　milder　twist　must　be；　Plug；　thou　art　milder：　　rank　is　twist　to　me。　O　twist；　if　plug　be　milder；　let　me　buy。

‘Rank　twist；　that　seems　to　make　me　fade　away；　Rank　plug；　that　navvies　smoke　in　loveless　clay；　I　know　not　which　is　ranker；　no；　not　I。

‘I　fain　would　purchase　flake；　if　that　could　be；　I　needs　must　purchase　plug；　ah；　woe　is　me！　Plug　and　a　cutty；　a　cutty；　let　me　buy。


His　was　the　best　good　thing　of　the　night's　talk；　and　the　thing　that　was　remembered。　　He　excited　himself　a　good　deal　over　Rectorial　Elections。　　The　duties　of　the　Lord　Rector　and　the　mode　of　his　election　have　varied　frequently　in　near　five　hundred　years。　　In　Murray's　day；　as　in　my　own；　the　students　elected　their　own　Rector；　and　before　Lord　Bute's　energetic　reign；　the　Rector　had　little　to　do；　but　to　make　a　speech；　and　give　a　prize。　　I　vaguely　remember　proposing　the　author　of　Tom　Brown　long　ago：　　he　was　not；　however；　in　the　running。

Politics　often　inspire　the　electors；　occasionally　（I　have　heard）　grave　seniors　use　their　influence；　mainly　for　reasons　of　academic　policy。

In　December　1887　Murray　writes　about　an　election　in　which　Mr。　Lowell　was　a　candidate。　　‘A　pitiful　protest　was　entered　by　an'　（epithets　followed　by　a　proper　name）　‘against　Lowell；　on　the　score　of　his　being　an　alien。　　Mallock；　as　you　learn；　was　withdrawn；　for　which　I　am　truly　thankful。'　　Unlucky　Mr。　Mallock！　　‘Lowell　polled　100　and　Gibson　92　。　。　。　The　intrigues　and　corruption　appear　to　be　almost　worthy　of　an　American　Presidential　election。'　　Mr。　Lowell　could　not　accept　a　compliment　which　pleased　him；　because　of　his　official　position；　and　the　misfortune　of　his　birth！

Murray　was　already　doing　a　very　little　‘miniature　journalism；'　in　the　form　of　University　Notes　for　a　local　paper。　　He　complains　of　the　ultra　Caledonian　frankness　with　which　men　told　him　that　they　were　very　bad。　　A　needless；　if　friendly；　outspokenness　was　a　feature　in　Scottish　character　which　he　did　not　easily　endure。　　He　wrote　a　good　deal　of　verse　in　the　little　University　paper；　now　called　College　Echoes。

If　Murray　ever　had　any　definite　idea　of　being　ordained　for　the　ministry　in　any　‘denomination；'　he　abandoned　it。　　His　‘bursaries'　（scholarships　or　exhibitions）；　on　which　he　had　been　passing　rich；　expired；　and　he　had　to　earn　a　livelihood。　　It　seems　plain　to　myself　that　he　might　easily　have　done　so　with　his　pen。　　A　young　friend　of　my　own　（who　will　excuse　me　for　thinking　that　his　bright　verses　are　not　BETTER　than　Murray's）　promptly　made；　by　these　alone；　an　income　which　to　Murray　would　have　been　affluence。　　But　this　could　not　be　done　at　St。　Andrews。　　Again；　Murray　was　not　in　contact　with　people　in　the　centre　of　newspapers　and　magazines。　　He　went　very　little　into　general　society；　even　at　St。　Andrews；　and　thus　failed；　perhaps；　to　make　acquaintances　who　might　have　been　‘useful。'　　He　would　have　scorned　the　idea　of　making　useful　acquaintances。　　But　without　seeking　them；　why　should　we　reject　any　friendliness　when　it　offers　itself？　　We　are　all　members　one　of　another。　　Murray　speaks　of　his　experience　of　human　beings；　as　rich　in　examples　of　kindness　and　good…will。　　His　shyness；　his　reserve；　his　extreme　unselfishness；　carried　to　the　point　of　diffidence；made　him　rather　shun　than　seek　older　people　who　were　dangerously　likely　to　be　serviceable。　　His　manner；　when　once　he　could　be　induced　to　meet　strangers；　was　extremely　frank　and　pleasant；　but　from　meeting　strangers　he　shrunk；　in　his　inveterate　modesty。

In　1886　Murray　had　the　misfortune　to　lose　is　father；　and　it　became；　perhaps；　more　prominently　needful　that　he　should　find　a　profession。　He　now　assisted　Professor　Meiklejohn　of　St。　Andrews　in　various　kinds　of　literary　and　academic　work；　and　in　him　found　a　friend；　with　whom　he　remained　in　close　intercourse　to　the　last。　　He　began　the　weary　path；　which　all　literary　beginners　must　tread；　of　sending　contributions　to　magazines。　　He　seldom　read　magazine　articles。　　‘I　do　not　greatly　care　for　〃Problems〃　and　〃vexed　questions。〃　　I　am　so　much　of　a　problem　and　a　vexed　question　that　I　have　quite　enough　to　do　in　searching　for　a　solution　of　my　own　personality。'　　He　tried　a　story；　based　on　‘a　midnight　experience'　of　his　own；　unluckily　he　does　not　tell　us　what　that　experience　was。　　Had　he　encountered　one　of　the　local　ghosts？

‘My　blood…curdling　romance　I　offered　to　the　editor　of　Longman's　Magazine；　but　that　misguided　person　was　so　ill…advised　as　to　return　it；　accompanied　with　one　of　these　abominable　lithographed　forms　conveying　his　hypocritical　regrets。'　　Murray　sent　a　directed　envelope　with　a　twopenny…halfpenny　stamp。　　The　paper　came　back　for　three…halfpence　by　book…post。　　‘I　have　serious　thoughts　of　sueing　him　for　the　odd　penny！'　　‘Why　should　people　be　fools　enough　to　read　my　rot　when　they　have　twenty　volumes　of　Scott　at　their　command？'　　He　confesses　to　‘a　Scott…mania　almost　as　intense　as　if　he　were　the　last　new　sensation。'　　‘I　was　always　fond　of　him；　but　I　am　fonder　than　ever　now。'　　This　plunge　into　the　immortal　romances　seems　really　to　have　discouraged　Murray；　at　all　events　he　says　very　little　more　about　attempts　in　fiction　of　his　own。　　‘I　am　a　barren　rascal；'　he　writes；　quoting　Johnson　on　Fielding。　　Like　other　men；　Murray　felt　extreme　difficulty　in　writing　articles　or　tales　which　have　an　infinitesimal　chance　of　being　accepted。　　It　needs　a　stout　heart　to　face　this　almost　fixed　certainty　of　rejection：　　a　man　is　weakened　by　his　apprehensions　of　a　lithographed　form；　and　of　his　old　manuscript　coming　home　to　roost；　like　the　Graces　of　Theocritus；　to　pine　in　the　dusty　chest　where　is　their　chill　abode。　　If　the　Alexandrian　poets　knew　this　ill…fortune；　so　do　all　beginners　in　letters。　　There　is　nothing　for　it　but　‘putting　a　stout　heart　to　a　stey　brae；'　as　the　Scotch　proverb　says。　　Editors　want　good　work；　and　on　findi