"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 irradiates the world. Of that high power there is no evidence in the essay before me. To be sure there was little occasion for its use." Young Gourlay's thermometer went down. "Indeed," said Aquinas, "there's a curious want of bigness in the sketch--no large nobility of phrase. It is written in gaspy little sentences, and each sentence begins 'and'--'and'--'and,' like a schoolboy's narrative. It's as if a number of impressions had seized the writer's mind, which he jotted down hurriedly, lest they should escape him. But, just because it's so little wordy, it gets the effect of the thing--faith, sirs, it's right on to the end of it every time! The writing of some folk is nothing but a froth of words--lucky if it glistens without, like a blobber of iridescent foam. But in this sketch there's a perception at the back of every sentence. It displays, indeed, too nervous a sense of the external world." "Name, name!" cried the students, who were being deliberately worked by Tam to a high pitch of curiosity. "I would strongly impress on the writer," said the shepherd, heedless of his bleating sheep--"I would strongly impress on the writer to set himself down for a spell of real, hard, solid, and deliberate thought. That almost morbid perception, with philosophy to back it, might create an opulent and vivid mind. Without philosophy it would simply be a curse. With philosophy it would bring thought the material to work on. Without philosophy it would simply distract and irritate the mind." "Name, name!" cried the fellows. "The winner of the Raeburn," said Thomas Aquinas, "is Mr. John Gourlay." * * * * * Gourlay and his friends made for the nearest public-house. The occasion, they thought, justified a drink. The others chaffed Gourlay about Tam's advice. "You know, Jack," said Gillespie, mimicking the sage, "what you have got to do next summer is to set yourself down for a spell of real, hard, solid, and deliberate thought. That was Tam's advice, you know." "Him and his advice!" said Gourlay. CHAPTER XIX.