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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 bloo

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