old time royalty and romance lingered amid its vulgar surroundings; and
midway of its squalid length a quaint brown frontage kept behind it
noble halls of learning, and pleasant old courts full of the "air of
still delightful studies."

From this building came out two young men in academic costume. One of
them set his face dourly against the clammy fog and drizzling rain,
breathing it boldly, as if it was the balmiest oxygen; the other,
shuddering, drew his scarlet toga around him and said, mournfully,
"Ech, Davie, the High street is an ill furlong on the de'il's road! I
never tread it, but I think o' the weary, weary miles atween it and
Eden."

"There is no road without its bad league, Willie, and the High street
has its compensations; its prison for ill-doers, its learned college,
and its holy High Kirk. I am one of St. Mungo's bairns, and I'm not
above preaching for my saint."

"And St. Mungo will be proud of your birthday yet, Davie. With such a
head and such a tongue, with knowledge behind, and wit to the fore,
there is a broad road and an open door for David Lockerby. You may come
even to be the Lord Rector o' Glasgow College yet."

"Wisdom is praised and starves; I am thinking it would set me better to
be Lord Provost of Glasgow city."

"The man who buried his one talent did not go scatheless, Davie; and
what now if he had had ten?"

"You are aye preaching, Willie, and whiles it is very untimeous. Are you