The party broke up, but not before they had all agreed to sup with Lord P- 's proposer the following evening. The latter knew that all P's wit and humour could never procure him the rectorial chair unless he could make him out to be a distinguished literary character. It was true that he had published two volumes of poetry, but these had been very coldly received. Cato learned Greek at seventy, but a paper lord can scarcely be expected to write like Tennyson at sixty years of age. If he ever possessed the divine spark, it had been thoroughly extinguished beneath a load of legal erudition; and his poems were said to be pompous, inflated, and commonplace. It was clear to all that nature had denied him the accomplishment of rhythm: his lines hobbled in their gait, and his feet were always too long or too short; still it might be that P's poems were scarcely treated with justice. From his antecedents, the world had expected something like Hudibras : they turned away with disgust when they found nothing but a feeble imitation of Milton, with whom P had certainly nothing in common. His proposer knew nothing of his poetry, nor did he care much about it, but he had made up his mind that his man should be carried, and that nothing should be neglected to secure success. So he procured the poems, and tried to read them; they were about as attractive and intelligible as the great Tupper's Proverbial Philosophy. How a really talented man should ever have written such a farrago of bombastical rhodomontade is one of those things which, as Dundreary says, no fellow can understand. The first volume was dedicated to Her Most Excellent Majesty the Queen; if Her Most Excellent Majesty the Queen ever read it, it must have been by way of penance. The second was entitled Gleams of Thought, but the gleams were so very indistinct that they never photographed themselves on any human mind. It was dedicated to J. G. Lockhart, LL.D., and the dedicatory letter, being rather a curiosity in its way, is worth transcribing:

'It is not in the vain fancy of casting a borrowed lustre over these effusions, far less in the hope of securing to my pages the powerful protection of your pen, that I thus venture to grace my labours by prefixing your distinguished name.

'I do so merely that I may have the gratification of testifying to that sincere and ardent friendship which neither severance nor difference of pursuit, nor the vicissitudes of upwards of thirty years have in any degree impaired; which has been characterized by undeviating kindness on your part, and to me been one of the most cherished endearments of life.'

How touching must have been the friendship between these two Amaryllises of the Scottish bar! it recalls the days of Damon and Pythias. Lockhart was the hero, and P his fidus Achates. The letter, in its true meaning, was something to this effect:-'I know you of old as "the scorpion that stingeth in the face," and I tremble lest you try your sting on me. Pray be merciful. As for this poem, "tis a poor thing, but all my own." Be not too severe upon it. It bears your name; treat it, therefore, as kindly as if it were your own offspring.' The critic's inherent and almost irresistible tendency to satire was partially restrained by this appeal; the scorpion showed his sting, but did not use it much: he tickled his lordship's fat ribs a little, but his sting was not charged with its worst venom. If he had been an apothecary's apprentice, the Quarterly so Tartarly,' would have shown him less mercy; even as it was, the scorpion gave him a parting sting, and a parting admonition to go and sin no more. The following epigram on P― was appended to the article:-Here lies that peerless paper lord, Lord Peter, Who broke the laws of God and man and metre.

Mrs. Gordon, in her life of her father, Professor Wilson, says that these lines were only printed in one copy of The Quarterly, which Lockhart sent to P as a joke; but this is an error. It may not have appeared in every copy, but we have

seen it in two. We may remark, en passant, that there are two very good sketches of P- in Mrs. Gordon's

book, both from the pencil of Lockhart, who had great talent in this line, and could use his pen or his pencil with equal skill. În the first P- is seated, cigar in mouth, in a boat, rowing with all his might, on one of the Lakes of Windermere, while the professor is standing erect and waving his arms in phrensied enthusiasm as he apostrophizes the surrounding scenery. In the second, P is standing in an easy attitude, attired in gown and wig; the features are very well given, but his person has not yet reached that ample development which made him subsequently occupy so large a space in the public eye. It is evident that he was a favourite with Lockhart and Wilson, as in truth he was with every one who knew him. His fund of humour was inexhaustible, and his society was as much appreciated in the southern as in the northern metropolis.

The party of the previous evening met as agreed, and formed themselves into a committee, of which P's proposer was appointed chairman. All their doubts and difficulties were removed: it was resolved that every effort should be put forth to secure the election of their candidate. It was somewhat against the grain with all of them to hold him forth as a great poet, and it was agreed that the Gleams of Thought should be left in their own innate obscurity.

In

order to understand what follows, we must explain a little the position of the different students in a northern university. The curriculum in arts extends over four years. Students of the first year are known as Bajeants, which evidently corresponds with the French béjaune (bec jaune), the German fuchs, and the English freshman; those of the second year as Semis; those of the third as Tertians; those of the fourth as Magistrands. There is also a considerable number of students who, after having passed through the curriculum of arts, devote themselves to the study of theology, law, or medicine for three

or four years. There is always a feeling of rivalry between the students of medicine and theology, which leads them to support different candidates at rectorial elections. No sooner, therefore, was it known that P- was about to be brought forward, than the medicals started D'Israeli, and then the literary warfare began. There was a constant exchange of 'squibs,' the technical name given to the broadsheets, ridiculing the claims of the rival candidates, which were issued almost every day. Quiet citizens, on rising from their beds, were surprised to find their walls covered with placards, calling upon all and sundry to vote for Lord P- and to have nothing to do with old clo'; and groups of badauds might be seen every morning inquiring of one another what it could all mean. Others from the opposite party described P- as swallowing countless barrels of native oysters and Guinness's stout, making it appear, in fact, that his powers of absorption exceeded those of the renowned Dando himself, and indignantly asking, ‘Ought such a man to occupy the rectorial chair?' The great point was to secure the Bajeants, the most numerous of all the classes: a lithograph was issued, representing P, robed and wigged, trampling on Dizzy, as he was familiarly called, whose lower extremities were metamorphosed into those of a serpent, and whose magnificent curls (where are they now?) stood out from his head like the hair of the Furies. Above was the inscription, 'The Scottish Hercules crushing the Jewish Hydra.' That lithograph, poor enough in conception and execution, carried the day: every Bajeant was ready to pledge his vote, in order to secure a copy of it. We wonder if any of these squibs are in existence now. know of one student who collected the whole of them, and carried them with him to the far East: when depressed or despondent he used to glance them over, and never did so without being restored to his usual self. We believe he would have preserved them till this present hour if those heluones librorum,

We

the white ants, had not devoured them.

There were several preliminary meetings, at which speeches were delivered in favour of the two candidates. These meetings, we are afraid, were of a somewhat uproarious character: the unfortunate chairman seemed to be placed on a pinnacle, in order to be pelted with pease, which the principal, it was said, claimed as his own perquisite. He must have netted something handsome: there were several bushels scattered over the floor of the college hall. One of the most distinguished orators was a student known as Daghesh Forte, a sobriquet clearly of Hebrew origin; but how it came to be applied to him we cannot tell. The learned reader will find a long dissertation on Daghesh in general, and Daghesh Forte in particular, at page 28 of Gesenius' Hebrew Grammar: we intend to speak only of the living Daghesh. No name was ever more provocative of laughter: the very mention of it in this article will elicit something more than a smile in every quarter of the globe. We have seen men convulsed with it in the East: it was only the other evening that a London editor, a grave, serious man, tumbled off his chair on hearing it pronounced. Oh, for the pen of a Dickens to do justice to Daghesh! Nature must have been in a sportive humour, or trying her apprentice hand, when she made him: his face was like nothing else but itself; his hair in softness and colour resembled the brush of a fox. His mouth extended from ear to ear; his eyes had a fishy expression; his face ever wore a ghastly grin of self-complacency. A young lady once rushed into a house where a friend of ours was visiting: she was almost breathless with terror: a dreadful man had peered into her face in the street, and given such a horrible leer that she almost fainted on the spot: every one recognized Daghesh. Though he bore a name of Hebrew origin he was not of oriental extraction, having first seen the light in one of the purlieus of the Saltmarket, and finished his studies at

Glasgow. It was his ambition to enter the Church, but he had never been able to pass the Presbyterial examination. For sixteen years he had stood like a Peri at the gate of heaven, but no representative of St. Peter would open the latch and let him come in. Thus he had wandered witheringly from Presbytery to Presbytery, seeking entrance, and finding none: all turned their backs coldly upon him. Most men would have given up the attempt in despair: Daghesh became only the more determined to succeed. He presented himself before our Presbytery with the air of a man who could count upon success. The brethren began with Church history: 'Mention the names of the two Jewish sects prevalent at the beginning of the first century.'

The Anabaptists and the Jumpers,' said Daghesh, unhesitatingly.

The examiners stared, but thought they would try him in metaphysics. Every Scotchman is supposed to be born a metaphysician, but we question whether all the writings of our northern neighbours can tell us more about the difference between mind and matter than Punch has told us in four words: 'What is mind?' 'No matter.' 'What is matter?' 'Never mind.' Daghesh had a theory of his own regarding the qualities of matter, as will be seen from his reply to the following question:

Does matter fill all space?'

'No, no,' said the shrewd metaphysician: if it did, where would there be room for you and me?'

"The question is immaterial,' said one of the examiners, laughing: 'let us try him in Latin.'

6

The first line of the first book of the Eneid was submitted to him, and Daghesh began: Arma virumque cano. I sing the arms of a man.'

"Stop, stop,' said the examiner, despairingly: 'you are as bad as the student who rendered "A Gaul of extraordinary size,-Fel eximiœ magnitudinis," and was known as "Fel" ever afterwards. Pray, can you tell me who Eneas was?'

'A Phaneshin wooman,' said Daghesh, triumphantly.

'Go, sir,' said the examiner, almost speechless with anger. 'You are a disgrace to-to-to humanity. You are rejected.' Daghesh quietly went: he was accustomed to such rebuffs.

Daghesh first rose into notoriety amongst us by the strange trick he played on a brother student who resided in the same house, and who had in some way incurred his displeasure. He persuaded the unsuspecting youth to allow himself to be bound hand and foot under the promise that he would be shown something he had never seen before. In this helpless condition he was placed upon a table, with his face downwards, and Daghesh proceeded to apply a cane to a tender part of his person with such effect that his cries attracted the attention of the other students in the house, who released him from his unpleasant position. His persecutor would have stood a good chance of undergoing the same punishment had he not contrived to make his escape. After this he became a notable at all the students' parties, where he used to sing The Angel's Whisper' with a voice like thunder, and deliver speeches remarkable for the utter absence of all sense. One evening, at the supper-table of one of the professors, he stood up to propose the health of his entertainer. There were seven things,' said Daghesh,' which Solomon did not understand, and he was esteemed the wisest of men. Through the progress of science, to my mind, the number has been reduced to two; but there are two things which even my intellect cannot fathom: the one is Dr. -; the other is the steamengine.' No two objects in nature could have been more inapposite than those which Daghesh thus placed in the same category. the steam-engine may be accepted as the emblem of velocity, the vis inertia of matter was as appropriately represented by the host, one of the slowest and heaviest of men. There was, in truth, no possible resemblance between them, except that the doctor used to snort and puff a good deal while delivering his ponderous lectures. Daghesh's

If

speech was received with immense applause; but the poor doctor, indignant at being thus held up to ridicule at his own table, groaned in spirit, and refused to respond. We are afraid that those northern professors and others used Daghesh very much as the Philistines used Samson-they brought him out to make sport to them. When the enjoyment of an evening party began to flag, they invited him to sing, or placed him before one of the windows, and called upon him to deliver a speech; and so ready was the flow of his eloquence that he could speak for hours upon any subject; and however serious the subject might be, he had the happy talent of convulsing his hearers with laughter. The effect of his eloquence was enhanced by another student being concealed behind the curtains, and giving with outstretched arms the action appropriate to the sentiments of the speaker -a mode of delivery, the effect of which can only be appreciated by those who have witnessed it. No orator of ancient or modern times ever excelled Daghesh in his command of language: no innocent was ever inferior to him in his utter dearth of ideas. He was an inexplicable phenomenon, a vox et præterea nihil. His fluency in prayer was something wonderful. Many a reader of Fruser will remember the sensation produced by his praying for the professor as the youthful Gamaliel at whose feet we have sat during the session,' and his shouting 'fire' with such a stentorian voice while delivering his celebrated sermon on predestination, that old John, the sacrist, alarmed by the cry, opened the door of the classroom, and peeped in. The stories he told illustrative of his talent for extempore prayer, transcend the bounds of credence, and leave the wonderful doings of Munchausen far in the background. On one occasion a clergyman in Glasgow having some other duty in hand, requested Daghesh to conduct a prayer-meeting at the church. 'I went there,' he said, and found the church crowded: they knew who was to officiate. If it had been old

Macskreigh himself few would have turned out. I never felt the spirit of prayer so strong within me: I was borne along by an irresistible power: I was unconscious of time and space. But all things must have an end; and at length I stopped. Judge of my surprise when, on opening my eyes, I found the church empty; not a soul was there, and the gas was burning low. I took out my watch, and found that I had been engaged in prayer for exactly two hours and forty-five minutes. Next in intensity to his powerful eloquence was his passionate admiration of the fair sex, and more particularly of one young lady, who reduced Daghesh to a state of frenzied jealousy by showing a preference for an officer, whom he would gladly have annihilated. One evening this officer was pointed out to him in the street. Daghesh, anxious to see his rival, clattered after him with his heavy hobnailed shoes. The pursued turned round in surprise, and beheld close to his own a face of such hideous and grotesque ugliness that he quailed before it, and shrunk back with terror. He was a brave man; he has fought before and since in different parts of the world: he has been honourably mentioned in despatches: no one who knows him would ever venture to question his courage; yet he has confessed to us that the sight of that fearful face peering into his own gave him a sort of deadly sickness at the heart: he staggered, and was glad to take refuge in a neighbouring shop. We have dwelt long upon Daghesh: he was the comedy of our youthful existence: even now, after the lapse of many years, the mention of his name never fails to excite a smile, and it has also the same effect upon many others.

Of course we were all quite prepared, from our knowledge of Daghesh's character and antecedents, to find him striking out a new line of action for himself at the rectorial election; nor were we disappointed. On the day of nomination he mounted the rostrum in the place of meeting, with a large bouquet of flowers in his hand, the delicate

tints of which contrasted admirably with his dingy complexion andshall we say?-auburn hair. In a speech, remarkable alike for its length and its logic, he proposed the great Macallum Mohr. Our Sassenach readers, perhaps, do not know who Macallum Mohr is. But here we are interrupted by a son of the Gael,' who tells us that both Daghesh and Macaulay have fallen into a singular and ludicrous mistake regarding the patronymic of the great Argyle, the chief of the Campbells. In styling Argyle Macallum,' he says, with a snort such as no being but an indignant Highlander can give, 'the two blockheads have not only deprived him of his own name, but have given him one of the most obscure and least-honoured names in the whole country of which he is the head. Mac Cailein Mohr, "the big son of Colin," is the designation by which Argyle has been known to every Highlander for many centuries.' Perhaps our Gaelic friend is right; but we prefer Macallum Mohr: it is more easily spelt. It would be impossible to report Daghesh's speech, but we shall give a few verses of a paraphrase of it, which was printed the following morning, and does full justice to its logical sequence:Schiehallion is very high,

Ben Nevis it is more ;
So therefore, yes, accordingly,
Vote for Macallum Mohr O.
The grass is green, the sky is red,
The donkeys bray and roar 0;
So don't you see? 'Tis clear as mud,
Vote for Macallum Mohr O.

He'll bring his pipers from the hills,
And we'll have fun galore O;
We'll dance and sing, and kick and fling,
Voote for Macallum Mohr O.

If it should be objected that this is the merest doggrel, our simple answer is that there has been no attempt to improve upon the original.

There were many fluttering hearts among the students, whose minds had been worked up to an unnatural state of excitement through the keenness of the contest, when they assembled on the morning of the election in the college hall, to