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being an alien。 Mallock； as you learn； was withdrawn； for which I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 finding a new
man who is good； they greatly rejoice。 But it is so difficult to do
vigorous and spontaneous work； as it were； in the dark。 Murray had
not； it is probable； the qualities of the novelist； the narrator。
An excellent critic he might have been if he had ‘descended to
criticism；' but he had； at this time； no introductions； and probably
did not address reviews at random to editors。 As to poetry； these
much…vexed men receive such enormous quantities of poetry that they
usually reject it at a venture； and obtain the small necessary
supplies from agreeable young ladies。 Had Murray been in London；
with a few literary friends； he might soon have been a thriving
writer of light prose and light verse。 But the enchantress held
him； he hated London； he had no literary friends； he could write
gaily for pleasure； not for gain。 So； like the Scholar Gypsy； he
remained contemplative；
‘Waiting for the spark from heaven to fall。'
About this time the present writer was in St。 Andrews as Gifford
Lecturer in Natural Theology。 To say that an enthusiasm for totems
and taboos； ghosts and gods of savage men； was aroused by these
lectures； would be to exaggerate unpardonably。 Efforts to make the
students write essays or ask questions were so entire a failure that
only one question was receivedas to the proper pronunciation of
‘Myth。' Had one been fortunate enough to interest Murray； it must
have led to some discussion of his literary attempts。 He mentions
having attended a lecture given by myself to the Literary Society on
‘Literature as a Profession；' and he found the lecturer ‘far more at
home in such a subject than in the Gifford Lectures。' Possibly the
hearer was ‘more at home' in literature than in discussions as to
the origin of Huitzilopochtli。 ‘Literature；' he says； ‘never was；
is not； and never will be； in the ordinary sense of the term； a
profession。 You can't teach it as you can the professions； you
can't succeed in it as you can in the professions； by dint of mere
diligence and without special aptitude 。 。 。 I think all this
chatter about the technical and pecuniary sides of literature is
extremely foolish and worse than useless。 It only serves to glut
the idle curiosity of the general public about matters with which
they have no concern； a curiosity which （thanks partly to American
methods of journalism） has become simply outrageous。'
Int