hree closely-written pages! I dare say it's the size of the
adjectives he uses that makes the thing so heavy," quoth Tam, and
dropped it thudding on his desk. "Life is short, the art of the
MacTavish long, and to tell the truth, gentlemen"--he gloomed at them
humorously--"to tell the truth, I stuck in the middle o't!" (Roars of
laughter, and a reproving voice, "Oh, ta pold MacTa-avish!" whereat
there was pandemonium). MacTavish was heard to groan, "Oh, why tid I
leave my home!" to which a voice responded in mocking antiphone, "Why
tid you cross ta teep?" The noise they made was heard at Holyrood.

When the tumult and the shouting died, Tam resumed with a quiver in his
voice, for "ta pold MacTavish" had tickled him too. "Now, gentlemen," he
said, "I don't judge essays by their weight, though I'm told they
sometimes pursue that method in Glasgow!"

(Groans for the rival University, cries of "Oh-oh-oh!" and a weary
voice, "Please, sir, don't mention that place; it makes me feel quite
ill.")

The Professor allayed the tumult with dissuasive palm.

"I believe," he said dryly, "you call that noise of yours 'the College
Tramp;' in the Senatus we speak o't as 'the Cuddies' Trudge.' Now
gentlemen, I'm not unwilling to allow a little noise on the last day of
the session, but really you must behave more quietly.--So little does
that method of judging essays commend itself to me, I may tell you, that
the sketch which I consider the best barely runs to half a dozen short
pages."

Young Gourlay's heart gave a leap within him; he felt it thudding on his
ribs. The skin crept on him, and he breathed with quivering nostrils.
Gillespie wondered why his breast heaved.

"It's a curious sketch," said the Professor. "It contains a serious
blunder in grammar and several mistakes in spelling, but it shows, in
some ways, a wonderful imagination."

"Ho, ho!" thought Gourlay.

"Of course there are various kinds of imagination," said Tam. "In its
lowest form it merely recalls something which the eyes have already
seen, and brings it vividly before the mind. A higher form pictures
something which you never saw, but only conceived as a possible
existence. Then there's the imagination which not only sees but
hears--actually hears what a man would say on a given occasion, and
entering into his blood, tells you exactly why he does it. The highest
form is both creative and consecrative, if I may use the word, merging
in diviner thought. It irra