——“win
A glory from their being far,
And orb into the perfect star
We saw not when we walked therein.”
So thought Colin, looking at them from the other side, and seeing a perfection which nobody ever reached in this world. But of course he did not know that—so he postponed7 those grand days, and barred them up with shining doors, on which was written the name and probable date of the next great{32} change in his existence; and, contenting himself for the present with the ordinary hours, went light-hearted enough upon his boyish way.
A little adventure which occurred to the neophyte9 on his first entrance upon this new scene, produced results for him, however, which are too important to be omitted from his history. Everybody who has been in that dingiest10 of cities knows that the students at the University of Glasgow, small as their influence is otherwise upon the character of the town, are bound to do it one superficial service at least. Custom has ordained11 that they should wear red gowns; and the fatigued12 traveller, weary of the universal leaden grey, can alone appreciate fully13 the sense of gratitude14 and relief occasioned by the sudden gleam of scarlet15 fluttering up the long unlovely street on a November day. But that artistic16 sense which penetrates17 but slowly into barbarous regions has certainly not yet reached the students of Glasgow. So far from considering themselves public benefactors18 through the medium of their red gowns, there is no expedient19 of boyish ingenuity20 to which the ignorant youths will not resort to quench21 the splendid tint22, and reduce its glory as nearly as possible to the sombre hue23 of everything around. Big Colin, of Ramore was unacquainted with the tradition which made a new and brilliant specimen24 of the academic robe of Glasgow as irritating to the students as the colour is supposed to be to other animals of excitable temper; and the good farmer naturally arrayed his son in a new gown, glorious as any new ensign in the first delight of his uniform. As for Colin, he was far from being delighted. The terrible thought of walking through the streets in that blazing costume seriously counterbalanced all the pleasure of independence, and the pride of being “at college.” The poor boy slunk along by the least frequented way, and stole into his place the first morning like a criminal. And it was not long before Colin perceived that his new companions were of a similar opinion. There was not another gown so brilliant as his own among them all. The greater part were in the last stage of tatters and dinginess25; though among a company, which included a number of lads of Colin’s own age, it was evident that there must be many who wore the unvenerated costume for the first time. Dreams of rushing to the loch, which had been his immediate26 resource all his life hitherto, and soaking the obnoxious27 wrapper in the saltwater, confused his mind; but he was not prepared for the summary measures which were in contemplation. As soon as Colin{33} emerged out of the shelter of the class-room, his persecution28 commenced. He was mobbed, hustled29, pelted30, until his spirit was roused. The gown was odious31 enough; but Colin was not the lad to have even the thing he most wanted imposed upon him by force. As soon as he was aware of the meaning of his tormentors, the country boy stood up for his costume. He gathered the glowing folds round him, and struck out fiercely, bringing down two or three of his adversaries32. Colin, however, was alone against a multitude; and what might have happened either to himself or his dress it would have been difficult to predict, had not an unexpected defender33 come in to the rescue. Next to Colin in the classroom a man of about twice his age had been seated—a man of thirty, whose gaunt shoulders brushed the boy’s fair locks, and whose mature and thoughtful head rose strangely over the young heads around. It was he who strode through the ring and dispersed34 Colin’s adversaries.
“For shame o’ yourselves,” he said in a deep bass35 voice, which contrasted wonderfully with the young falsettos round him. “Leave the laddie alone; he knows no better. I’ll lick ye a’ for a set of schoolboys, if you don’t let him be. Here, boy, take off the red rag and throw it to me,” said Colin’s new champion; but the Campbell blood was up.
“I’ll no take it off,” cried Colin; “it’s my ain, and I’ll wear it if I like; and I’ll fell anybody that meddles36 with me!”
Upon which, as was natural, a wonderful scuffle ensued. Colin never knew perfectly37 how he was extricated38 from this alarming situation; but, when he came to himself, he was in the streets on his way home, with his new friend by his side—very stiff, and aching in every limb, with one sleeve of his gown torn out, and its glory minished by the mud which had been thrown at it, but still held tightly as he had gathered it round him at the first affray. When he recovered so far as to hear some other sound besides his own panting breath, Colin discovered that the gaunt giant by his side was preaching at him in a leisurely39 reflective way from his eminence40 of six feet two or three. Big Colin of Ramore was but six feet, and at that altitude two or three inches tell. The stranger looked gigantic in his lean length as the boy looked up, half wondering, half-defiant, to hear what he was saying. What he said sounded wonderfully like preaching, so high up and so composed was the voice which kept on arguing over Colin’s head, with an indifference41 to whether he listened or not, which, in ordinary conversation, is somewhat rare to see.{34}
“It might be right to stand up for your gown; I’ll no commit myself to say,” was the first sentence of the discourse42 which fell on Colin’s ear; “for there’s no denying it was your own, and a man, or even a callant, according to the case in point, has a right to wear what he likes, if he’s no under lawful43 authority, nor the garment offensive to decency44; but it would have been more prudent45 on the present occasion to have taken off the red rag as I advised. It’s a remnant of superstition46 in itself, and I’m no altogether sure that my conscience, if it was put to the question, would approve of wearing gowns at all, unless, indeed, it had ceased to be customary to wear other garments; but that’s an unlikely case, and I would not ask you to take it into consideration,” said the calm voice, half a mile over Colin’s head. “It’s a kind of relic47 of the monastic system, which is out of accordance with modern ideas; but, as you’re no old enough to have any opinions—”
“I have as good a right to have opinions as you,” exclaimed Colin, promptly48, glad of an opportunity to contradict and defy somebody, and get rid of the fumes49 of his excitement.
“That’s no the subject under discussion,” said the stranger. “I never said any man had a right to opinions; I incline to the other side of that question mysel’. The thing we were arguing was the gown. A new red gown is as aggravating50 to the students of Glasgow University as if they were so many bulls—no that I mean to imply that they’re anything so forcible. You’ll have to yield to the popular superstition if you would live in peace.”
“I’m no heeding51 about living in peace,” interrupted Colin. “I’m no feared. It’s naebody’s business but my ain. My gown is my gown, and I’ll no change it if—”
“Let me speak,” said his new friend; “you’re terrible talkative for a callant. Where do you live? I’ll go home with ye and argue the question. Besides, you’ve got a knock on the head there that wants looking to, and I suppose you’re in Glasgow by yourself? You needna’ thank me, it’s no necessary,” said the stranger, with a bland52 movement of the hand.
“I wasna’ meaning to thank you. I’m living in Donaldson’s Land, and I can take care of myself,” said Colin. But the boy was no match for his experienced classfellow, who went on calmly preaching as before, arguing all kinds of questions, till the two arrived at the foot of the stairs which led to Colin’s humble53 lodging54. The stair was long, narrow, and not very clean. It bore stains of spilt milk on one flight, and long{35} droppings of water on another; and all the miscellaneous smells of half a dozen different households, none of them particularly dainty in their habits, were caught and concentrated in the deep well of a staircase, into which they all opened. Colin’s abode55 was at the very top. His landlady56 was a poor widow, who had but three rooms, and a host of children. The smallest of the three rooms was let to Colin, and in the other two she put up somehow her own sons and daughters, and did her mantua-making, and accomplished57 her humble cookery. The rooms had sloping roofs and attic58 windows; and two chairs and a slip of carpet made Colin’s apartment splendid. Colin led the way for his “friend,” not without a slight sentiment of pride, which had taken the place of his first annoyance59. After all, it was imposing60 to his imagination to have his society sought by another student, a man so much older than himself; and Colin was not unaware61 of the worship which it would gain him in the eyes of his hostess, who had looked on him dubiously62 on the day of his arrival, and designated him “little mair than a bairn.” Colin was very gracious in doing the honours of his room to his unsolicited visitor, and spoke63 loud out that Mrs. Fergus might hear. “You’ll have to stoop when you go in at that door,” said the boy, already learning with natural art to shine in reflected glory. But Colin was less complacent64 when they had entered the room, half from natural shyness, half from an equally natural defiance65 and opposition66 to the grown-up and experienced person who had escorted him home.
“Well,” said this strange personage, stooping grimly to contemplate67 himself in the little square of looking-glass which hung over Colin’s table; “you and me are no very like classfellows; but I like a laddie that has some spirit and stands up for his rights. Of course you come from the country; but first come here, my boy, before you answer any questions, and let me see that knock on your head.”
“I had nae intention of answering any questions; and I can take care of myself,” answered Colin, hanging back and declining the invitation. The stranger, however, only smiled, stretched out his long arm, and drew the boy towards him. And certainly he had received a cut on the head which required to be attended to. Reluctant as he was, the lad was too shy to make any active resistance, even if he had possessed68 moral courage enough to oppose successfully the will of a man so much older than himself. He submitted to have the cut bathed and plastered up, which his new friend did with the utmost tenderness, delivering{36} a slow and lengthy69 address all the while over his head. When the operation was over, Colin was more and more perplexed70 what to do with his visitor; though a little faint after his fight and excitement, he was still well enough to be very hungry, but the idea of asking this unknown friend to share his dinner did not occur to him. He had never done anything beyond launching the boat, or mounting the horses on his own responsibility before, and he could not tell what Mrs. Fergus would think of his wound or his visitor. Altogether, Colin was highly perplexed and not over civil, and sat down upon the edge of a chair facing the intruder with an expression of countenance71 very plainly intimating that he thought him much in the way.
But the stranger was much above any consideration of Colin’s countenance. He was very tall, as we have said, very gaunt and meagre, with a long, pale face surmounted72 by black locks, thin and dishevelled. He had a black beard, too—a thing much less common at that time than now—which increased his general aspect of dishevelment. His eyes were large, and looked larger in the great sockets73 hollowed out by something more than years, from which they looked out as from two pale caverns74; yet, with all this gauntness of aspect, his smile, when he smiled, which was seldom, threw a wonderful light over his face, and reminded Colin somehow, he could not tell how, of the sudden gleam of the sun over the Holy Loch when the clouds were at the darkest, and melted the boy’s heart in spite of himself.
“I was saying we were not very like classfellows,” said the stranger; “that’s a queer feature in our Scotch75 colleges; there’s you, a great deal too young, and me, a great deal too old; and here we meet for the same purpose, to learn two dead languages and some sciences that are only half living; and that’s the only way for either you or me to get ourselves made ministers. The English system’s an awful deal better, I’m meaning in theory;—as for the practice, that’s neither here nor there. Nothing’s right in practice. It’s a great thing to have a right idea at the bottom if you can.”
“Are you to be a minister?” said Colin, not well knowing what to say.
“When I was like you I thought so,” said his new friend; “it’s a long time since then; but, when I get a good grip of an idea, it’s no’ easy to get it out of my head again. This is my second session only, for all that,” he said, after a momentary76 pause; “many a thing I little thought of has stood in my way. I’m little further on than you, though I suppose I’m twice your{37} age; but to be sure you’re far too young for the college; that’s what the Greek professor in Edinburgh is aye havering about; he might turn to the other side of the question if he knew me.” And the stranger interrupted his own monologue77 to give vent8 to a long-drawn breath, by way of a sigh, which agitated78 the atmosphere in Colin’s little room, as if it had been a sudden breeze.
“Mr. Hardie’s son was only thirteen when he went to the college; and that’s two years younger than me,” said Colin, with some indignation. The lad heard a sound, as of knives and plates outside, and pricked79 up his ears. He was hungry, and his strange visitor seemed rooted upon his hard rush-bottomed chair. But, just as Colin’s mind was framing this thought, his companion suddenly gathered himself up, rising in folds, as if there was never to be an end of him.
“You want your dinner?” he said; “come with me, it will do you good. What you were to have will keep till to-morrow; tell the decent woman so, and come with me. I’m poor, but you shall have something you can eat, and I’ll show you what to do when you are tired of her provisions; so come along.”
“I would rather stay at home,” said Colin; “I don’t know you, I don’t know even your name,” he added a minute after, feeling that he was about to yield to the strong influence which was upon him, and doing what he could to save himself.
“My name’s Lauderdale; that’s easy settled,” said the stranger; “tell the honest woman; what’s her name?—I’ll do it for you. Mrs. Fergus, my young friend here is going to dinner with me. He’ll be back, by-and-by, to his studies; and, in the meantime,” said Colin’s self-constituted guardian80, putting the lad before him, and pausing in the passage to speak to the widow, who regarded his great height and strange appearance with a little curiosity, “take you charge of his gown; put it up the chimney, or give it a good wash out with soap and soda81; it’s too grand for Glasgow College; the sooner it comes to be like this,” said the gigantic visitor, holding up his own, which was of a dingy82 portwine colour, “the better for the boy.”
And then Colin found himself again walking along the Glasgow streets, in the murky83, early twilight84 of that November afternoon, with this strange unknown figure which was leading him he knew not whither. Was it a good or a bad angel which had thus taken possession of the fresh life and unoccupied mind? Colin could not resist the fascination85 which was half dislike and half admiration86. He went along quietly by the side of the tall student, who kept delivering over his head that flood of{38} monotonous87 talk. The boy grew interested even in the talk before they had gone far, and went on, a little anxious about his dinner, but still more curious concerning the companion with whom Fate had provided him so soon.
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1
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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2
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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3
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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4
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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5
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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6
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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7
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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8
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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9
neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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dingiest
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| adj.暗淡的，乏味的( dingy的最高级 )；肮脏的 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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12
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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13
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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14
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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15
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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16
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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17
penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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benefactors
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| n.捐助者，施主( benefactor的名词复数 )；恩人 | |
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19
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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21
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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23
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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26
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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29
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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31
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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33
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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34
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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36
meddles
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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40
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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41
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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42
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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43
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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45
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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49
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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50
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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51
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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52
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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53
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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54
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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55
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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56
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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57
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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58
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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59
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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60
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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61
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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62
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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65
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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66
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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67
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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68
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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69
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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71
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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72
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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73
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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74
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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82
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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85
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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86
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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