rdoch
thought that Gilbert possessed a livelier imagination, and was more of
a wit than Robert. "All the mirth and liveliness," he says, "were with
Gilbert. Robert's countenance at that time wore generally a grave and
thoughtful look." Had their teacher been then told that one of his two
pupils would become a great poet, he would have fixed on Gilbert. When
he tried to teach them church music along with other rustic lads, they
two lagged far behind the rest. Robert's voice especially was
untuneable, and his ear so dull, that it was with difficulty he could
distinguish one tune from another. Yet this was he who was to (p. 006)
become the greatest song-writer that Scotland--perhaps the world--has
known. In other respects the mental training of the lads was of the
most thorough kind. Murdoch taught them not only to read, but to
parse, and to give the exact meaning of the words, to turn verse into
the prose order, to supply ellipses, and to substitute plain for
poetic words and phrases. How many of our modern village schools even
attempt as much? When Murdoch gave up, the father himself undertook
the education of his children, and carried it on at night after
work-hours were over. Of that father Murdoch speaks as by far the best
man he ever knew. Tender and affectionate towards his children he
describes him, seeking not to drive, but to lead them to the right, by
appealing to their conscience and their better feelings, rather than
to their fears. To his wife he was gentle and considerate in an
unusual degree, always thinking of her ease and comfort; and she
repaid it with the utmost reverence. She was a careful and thrifty
housewife, but, whenever her domestic tasks allowed, she would return
to hang with devout attention on the discourse that fell from her wise
husband. Under that father's guidance knowledge was sought for as hid
treasure, and this search was based on the old and reverential faith
that increase of knowledge is increase of wisdom and goodness. The
readings of the household were wide, varied, and unceasing. Some one
entering the house at meal-time found the whole family seated, each
with a spoon in one hand and a book in the other. The books which Burns
mentions as forming part of their reading at Mount Oliphant surprise us
even now. Not only the ordinary school-books and geographies, not only
the traditional life of Wallace and other popular books of that (p. 007)
sort, but The Spectator, odd plays of