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Updated: May 11, 2025
However, I suppose it's foolish to tell such things. It is pleasant to be foolish at the right time, said the divinity-student; saying it, however, in one of the dead languages, which I think are unpopular for summer-reading, and therefore do not bear quotation as such. Well, now, said I, suppose a good, clean, wholesome-looking countryman's cart stops opposite my door.
With this preliminary caution I shall proceed to the story of the Little Gentleman's leaving us. When the divinity-student found that our fellow-boarder was not likely to remain long with us, he, being a young man of tender conscience and kindly nature, was not a little exercised on his behalf.
However, I suppose it's foolish to tell such things. It is pleasant to be foolish at the right time, said the divinity-student; saying it, however, in one of the dead languages, which I think are unpopular for summer-reading, and therefore do not bear quotation as such. Well, now, said I, suppose a good, clean, wholesome-looking countryman's cart stops opposite my door.
Don't ever think the poetry is dead in an old man because his forehead is wrinkled, or that his manhood has left him when his hand trembles! If they ever were there, they are there still! By and by we got talking again. Does a poet love the verses written through him, do you think, Sir? said the divinity-student.
The next morning we got talking a little on the same subject, very good-naturedly, as people return to a matter they have talked out. You must look to yourself, said the divinity-student, if your democratic notions get into print. You will be fired into from all quarters. If it were only a bullet, with the marksman's name on it! I said.
Simson was a great humorist, and was particularly averse to the company of ladies. Matthew Stewart, afterwards Professor of Mathematics at Edinburgh, was a constant attendant at this club. On the breaking out of the Rebellion of 1745, the young divinity-student, having returned to Edinburgh, joined the Volunteers, and entered warmly into all the bustle and business of those exciting days.
From the divinity-student came the loveliest English edition of "Keble's Christian Tear." I opened it, when it came, to the Fourth Sunday in Lent, and read that angelic poem, sweeter than anything I can remember since Xavier's "My God, I love thee."
The question is, whether he'll meet you, said the young fellow John, rather smartly. The divinity-student hadn't thought of that. However, he is a worthy young man, and I trust I have shown him in a kindly and respectful light.
Steam 's up! said the young man John, so called, in a low tone. Three hundred and sixty-five tons to the square inch. Let him blow her off, or he'll bu'st his b'iler. The divinity-student took it calmly, only whispering that he thought there was a little confusion of images between a galvanic battery and a charge of cavalry.
The young fellow sitting near me winked; and the divinity-student said, in an undertone, Optime dictum. Your talking Latin, said I, reminds me of an odd trick of one of my old tutors. He read so much of that language, that his English half turned into it. He got caught in town, one hot summer, in pretty close quarters, and wrote, or began to write, a series of city pastorals.
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