stony ways'; of intellectual task-work; of a true love consoling the
last months of weakness and pain. The tale is not repeated here
because it is novel, nor even because in its hero we have to regret
an `inheritor of unfulfilled renown.' It is not the genius so much
as the character of this St. Andrews student which has won the
sympathy of his biographer, and may win, he hopes, the sympathy of
others. In Mr. Murray I feel that I have lost that rare thing, a
friend; a friend whom the chances of life threw in my way, and
withdrew again ere we had time and opportunity for perfect
recognition. Those who read his Letters and Remains may also feel
this emotion of sympathy and regret.

He was young in years, and younger in heart, a lover of youth; and
youth, if it could learn and could be warned, might win a lesson
from his life. Many of us have trod in his path, and, by some
kindness of fate, have found from it a sunnier exit into longer days
and more fortunate conditions. Others have followed this well-
beaten road to the same early and quiet end as his.

The life and the letters of Murray remind one strongly of Thomas
Davidson's, as published in that admirable and touching biography, A
Scottish Probationer. It was my own chance to be almost in touch
with both these gentle, tuneful, and kindly humorists. Davidson was
a Borderer, born on the skirts of `stormy Ruberslaw,' in the country
of James Thomson, of Leyden, of the old Ballad minstrels. The son
of a Scottish peasant line of the old sort, honourable, refined,
devout, he was educated in Edinburgh for the ministry of the United
Presbyterian Church. Some beautiful verses of his appeared in the
St. Andrews University Magazine about 1863, at the time when I first
`saw myself in print' in the same periodical. Davidson's poem