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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。'
Into chatter about the pecuniary aspect of literature the Lecturer
need hardly say that he did not meander。 It is absolutely true that
literature cannot be taught。 Maupassant could have dispensed with
the instructions of Flaubert。 But an ‘aptitude' is needed in all
professions； and in such arts as music； and painting； and sculpture；
teaching is necessary。 In literature； teaching can only come from
general education in letters； from experience； from friendly private
criticism。 But if you cannot succeed in literature ‘by dint of mere
diligence；' mere diligence is absolutely essential。 Men must read；
must observe； must practise。 Diligence is as necessary to the
author as to the grocer； the solicitor； the dentist； the barrister；
the soldier。 Nothing but nature can give the aptitude； diligence
must improve it； and experience may direct it。 It is not enough to
wait for the spark from heaven to fall； the spark must be caught；
and tended； and cherished。 A man must labour till he finds his
vein； and himself。 Again； if literature is an art； it is also a
profession。 A man's very first duty is to support himself and
those； if any； who are dependent on him。 If he cannot do it by
epics； tragedies； lyrics； he must do it by articles； essays； tales；
or how he honestly can。 He must win his leisure by his labour； and
give his leisure to his art。 Murray； at this time； was diligent in
helping to compile and correct educational works。 He might； but for
the various conditions of reserve； hatred of towns； and the rest；
have been earning his leisure by work more brilliant and more
congenial to most men。 But his theory of literature was so lofty
that he probably found the other； the harder； the less remunerative；
the less attractive work； more congenial to his tastes。
He describes； to Mrs。 Murray； various notable visitors to St。
Andrews： Professor Butcher； who lectured on Lucian； and is ‘very
handsome；' Mr。 Arthur Balfour； the Lord Rector； who is ‘rather
handsome；' and delights the listener by his eloquence； Mr。
Chamberlain； who pleases him too； though he finds Mr。 Chamberlain
rather acrimonious in his political reflections。 About Lucian； the
subject of Mr。 Butcher's lecture； Murray says nothing。 That
brilliant man of letters in general； the Alcibiades of literature；
the wittiest； and； rarely； the most tender； and； always； the most
graceful； was a model who does not seem to have attracted Murray。
Lucian amused； and amuses； and lived by amusing： the vein of
romance and poetry that was his he worked but rarely： perhaps the
Samosatene did not take himself too seriously； yet he lives through
the ages； an example； in many ways to be followed； of a man who
obviously delighted in all that he wrought。 He was no model to
Murray； who only delighted in his moments of inspiration； and could
not make himself happy even in the trifles which are demanded from
the professional pen。
He did； at last； endeavour to ply that servile engine of which
Pendennis conceived so exalted an opinion。 Certainly a false pride
did not stand in his way when； on May 5； 1889； he announced that he
was about to leave St。 Andrews； and attempt to get work at proof…
correcting and in the humblest sorts of journalism in Edinburgh。
The chapter is honourable to his resolution； but most melancholy。
There were competence and ease waiting for him； probably； in London；
if he would but let his pen have its way in bright comment and
occasional verse。 But he chose the other course。 With letters of
introduction from Mr。 Meiklejohn； he consulted the houses of Messrs。
Clark and Messrs。 Constable in Edinburgh。 He did not find that his
knowledge of Greek was adequate to the higher and more remunerative
branches of proof…reading； that weary meticulous toil； so fatiguing
to the eyesight。 The hours； too； were very long； he could do more
and better work in fewer hours。 No time； no strength； were left for
reading and writing。 He did； while in Edinburgh； send a few things
to magazines； but he did not actually ‘bombard' editors。 He is ‘to
live in one room； and dine； if not on a red herring； on the next
cheapest article of diet。' These months of privation； at which he
laughed； and some weeks of reading proofs； appear to have quite
undermined health which was never strong； and which had been sorely
tried by ‘the wind of a cursed to…day； the curse of a windy to…
morrow；' at St。 Andrews。 If a reader observes in Murray a lack of
strenuous diligence； he must attribute it less to lack of
resolution； than to defect of physical force and energy。 The many
bad colds of which he speaks were warnings of the end； which came in
the form of consumption。 This lurking malady it was that made him
wait； and dally with his talent。 He hit on the idea of translating
some of Bossuet's orations for a Scotch theological publisher。
Alas！ the publisher did not anticipate a demand