"'The heart's aye the part aye
That maks us richt or wrang.'"
In my boyhood I was familiar with a thin emaciated man, that used to be seen in the streets of Sandyriggs. Consumption had wasted his body, and utterly quenched his spirit. Wan and dumb, he moved among the healthy faces of the town folk like a ghost; and it was a painful sight to see him crawl up the outside stair that led to his solitary room above the butcher's shop. People called him "a blighted being" and "a living wreck," and associated his name with a tragedy which had long been the talk of the county. Yet, twenty years before, he began his career under the most favourable auspices.
When Malcolm Blair entered the University of St Andrews, he might have been considered a favourite of Fortune. He was the only son and the pride of his father, a prosperous farmer. His body was healthy and handsome, and his mind agile and enthusiastic. He had a keen relish, not only for material blessings, but for knowledge of every kind. It was as pleasant to him to study as to take a bracing morning walk. Without any difficulty he drank in classics, mathematics, literature, and science. In all the college competitions he easily took the first place, and at the end of every session came out the first man of his year.
At the same time, his learning did not make him moody and unsocial. He put it (to use a homely phrase) "into a good skin." It was thoroughly digested, became part of his being, promoted his general health, and fed his buoyant spirits. When the time came for tossing aside his books, mirth danced in his eyes and rioted in his laugh. His motto seemed to be "Taste life's glad moments." At all the students' recreations—the social gatherings on the Friday night, the Saturday excursions into the country, the jolly junketings at Guardbridge and at Leuchars—he was the life of the company. He could sing, recite, tell stories, make a speech or "screamer," as it was called, and give the most ludicrous imitation of the different professors.
"Blair," said one of his friends, "is irrepressible. How does he keep up that vivid tone, both of body and mind? One would imagine that his food was ambrosia and his drink was nectar; and the air which he breathed was laughing-gas."
Altogether Blair was a youth full of promise, and apparently destined for a popular and successful career.
But it was this highly-strung excitable temperament that brought him into danger. The time came, towards the end of his Arts curriculum at St Andrews, when "the young man's fancy lightly turned to thoughts of love." If he had been privileged to mix in cultured family life, his fancy might have settled on a suitable object. But in St Andrews, where the distinctions of caste are strongly defined, the students are unfortunately placed. They are regarded as being beneath the upper or professional class; and they consider themselves as above the under or trading class. They are, therefore, shut out from family life, and are left to herd together in their lodgings. And thus it came to pass that Malcolm Blair's fancy was unable to find a resting-place till it settled on his landlady's daughter.