r. f. murray-第4节

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ville　tells　us：…


TO　NUMBER　27x。

Beloved　Peeler！　friend　and　guide　And　guard　of　many　a　midnight　reeler；　None　worthier；　though　the　world　is　wide；　Beloved　Peeler。

Thou　from　before　the　swift　four…wheeler　Didst　pluck　me；　and　didst　thrust　aside　A　strongly　built　provision…dealer

Who　menaced　me　with　blows；　and　cried　‘Come　on！　come　on！'　　O　Paian；　Healer；　Then　but　for　thee　I　must　have　died；　Beloved　Peeler！


The　following　presentiment；　though　he　was　no　‘waster；'　may　very　well　have　been　his　own。　　He　was　only　half　Scotch；　and　not　at　all　metaphysical：…


THE　WASTER'S　PRESENTIMENT

I　shall　be　spun。　　There　is　a　voice　within　Which　tells　me　plainly　I　am　all　undone；　For　though　I　toil　not；　neither　do　I　spin；　I　shall　be　spun。

April　approaches。　　I　have　not　begun　Schwegler　or　Mackintosh；　nor　will　begin　Those　lucid　works　till　April　21。

So　my　degree　I　do　not　hope　to　win；　For　not　by　ways　like　mine　degrees　are　won；　And　though；　to　please　my　uncle；　I　go　in；　I　shall　be　spun。


Here　we　must　quote；　from　The　Scarlet　Gown；　one　of　his　most　tender　pieces　of　affectionate　praise　bestowed　on　his　favourite　city：…


A　DECEMBER　DAY

Blue；　blue　is　the　sea　to…day；　Warmly　the　light　Sleeps　on　St。　Andrews　Bay　…　Blue；　fringed　with　white。

That's　no　December　sky！　Surely　‘tis　June　Holds　now　her　state　on　high；　Queen　of　the　noon。

Only　the　tree…tops　bare　Crowning　the　hill；　Clear…cut　in　perfect　air；　Warn　us　that　still

Winter；　the　aged　chief；　Mighty　in　power；　Exiles　the　tender　leaf；　Exiles　the　flower。

Is　there　a　heart　to…day；　A　heart　that　grieves　For　flowers　that　fade　away；　For　fallen　leaves？

Oh；　not　in　leaves　or　flowers　Endures　the　charm　That　clothes　those　naked　towers　With　love…light　warm。

O　dear　St。　Andrews　Bay；　Winter　or　Spring　Gives　not　nor　takes　away　Memories　that　cling

All　round　thy　girdling　reefs；　That　walk　thy　shore；　Memories　of　joys　and　griefs　Ours　evermore。

‘I　have　NOT　worked　for　my　classes　this　session；'　he　writes　（1884）；　‘and　shall　not　take　any　places。'　　The　five　or　six　most　distinguished　pupils　used；　at　least　in　my　time；　to　receive　prize…books　decorated　with　the　University's　arms。　　These　prize…men；　no　doubt；　held　the　‘places'　alluded　to　by　Murray。　　If　HE　was　idle；　‘I　speak　of　him　but　brotherly；'　having　never　held　any　‘place'　but　that　of　second　to　Mr。　Wallace；　now　Professor　of　Moral　Philosophy　at　Oxford；　in　the　Greek　Class　（Mr。　Sellar's）。　　Why　was　one　so　idle；　in　Latin　（Mr。　Shairp）；　in　Morals　（Mr。　Ferrier）；　in　Logic　（Mr。　Veitch）？　but　Logic　was　unintelligible。

‘I　must　confess；'　remarks　Murray；　in　a　similar　spirit　of　pensive　regret；　‘that　I　have　not　had　any　ambition　to　distinguish　myself　either　in　Knight's　（Moral　Philosophy）　or　in　Butler's。'　｛1｝

Murray　then　speaks　with　some　acrimony　about　earnest　students；　whose　motive；　he　thinks；　is　a　small　ambition。　　But　surely　a　man　may　be　fond　of　metaphysics　for　the　sweet　sake　of　Queen　Entelechy；　and；　moreover；　these　students　looked　forward　to　days　in　which　real　work　would　bear　fruit。

‘You　must　grind　up　the　opinions　of　Plato；　Aristotle；　and　a　lot　of　other　men；　concerning　things　about　which　they　knew　nothing；　and　we　know　nothing；　taking　these　opinions　at　second　or　third　hand；　and　never　looking　into　the　works　of　these　men；　for　to　a　man　who　wants　to　take　a　place；　there　is　no　time　for　anything　of　that　sort。'

Why　not？　　The　philosophers　ought　to　be　read　in　their　own　language；　as　they　are　now　read。　　The　remarks　on　the　most　fairy　of　philosophersPlato；　on　the　greatest　of　all　minds；　that　of　Aristotle；　are　boyish。　　Again　‘I　speak　but　brotherly；'　remembering　an　old　St。　Leonard's　essay　in　which　Virgil　was　called　‘the　furtive　Mantuan；'　and　another；　devoted　to　ridicule　of　Euripides。　　But　Plato　and　Aristotle　we　never　blasphemed。

Murray　adds　that　he　thinks；　next　year；　of　taking　the　highest　Greek　Class；　and　English　Literature。　　In　the　latter；　under　Mr。　Baynes；　he　took　the　first　place；　which　he　mentions　casually　to　Mrs。　Murray　about　a　year　after　date：…


‘A　sweet　life　and　an　idle　He　lives　from　year　to　year；　Unknowing　bit　or　bridle；　There　are　no　Proctors　here。'


In　Greek；　despite　his　enthusiastic　admiration　of　the　professor；　Mr。　Campbell；　he　did　not　much　enjoy　himself：…


‘Thrice　happy　are　those　Who　ne'er　heard　of　Greek　Prose　…　Or　Greek　Poetry　either；　as　far　as　that　goes；　For　Liddell　and　Scott　Shall　cumber　them　not；　Nor　Sargent　nor　Sidgwick　shall　break　their　repose。

But　I；　late　at　night；　By　the　very　bad　light　Of　very　bad　gas；　must　painfully　write　Some　stuff　that　a　Greek　With　his　delicate　cheek　Would　smile　at　as　‘barbarous'faith；　he　well　might。

*　*　*　*　*

So　away　with　Greek　Prose；　The　source　of　my　woes！　（This　metre's　too　tough；　I　must　draw　to　a　close。）　May　Sargent　be　drowned　In　the　ocean　profound；　And　Sidgwick　be　food　for　the　carrion　crows！'


Greek　prose　is　a　stubborn　thing；　and　the　biographer　remembers　being　told　that　his　was　‘the　best；　with　the　worst　mistakes'；　also　frequently　by　Mr。　Sellar；　that　it　was　‘bald。'　　But　Greek　prose　is　splendid　practice；　and　no　less　good　practice　is　Greek　and　Latin　verse。　　These　exercises；　so　much　sneered　at；　are　the　Dwellers　on　the　Threshold　of　the　life　of　letters。　　They　are　haunting　forms　of　fear；　but　they　have　to　be　wrestled　with；　like　the　Angel　（to　change　the　figure）；　till　they　bless　you；　and　make　words　become；　in　your　hands；　like　the　clay　of　the　modeller。　　Could　we　write　Greek　like　Mr。　Jebb；　we　would　never　write　anything　else。

Murray　had　naturally；　it　seems；　certainly　not　by　dint　of　wrestling　with　Greek　prose；　the　mastery　of　language。　　His　light　verse　is　wonderfully　handled；　quaint；　fluent；　right。　　Modest　as　he　was；　he　was　ambitious；　as　we　said；　but　not　ambitious　of　any　gain；　merely　eager；　in　his　own　way；　to　excel。　　His　ideal　is　plainly　stated　in　the　following　verses：…


＇Greek　text＇

Ever　to　be　the　best。　　To　lead　In　whatsoever　things　are　true；　Not　stand　among　the　halting　crew；　The　faint　of　heart；　the　feeble…kneed；　Who　tarry　for　a　certain　sign　To　make　them　follow　with　the　rest　…　Oh；　let　not　their　reproach　be　thine！　But　ever　be　the　best。

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　Chastela