The poor people thanked me, hoped my prayers
would be heard both on their account and my own, seemed much
taken with my abilities, and wondered how a man of my powerful
eloquence chanced to be wandering about in a condition so
forlorn. I said I was a poor student of theology, on my way to
Oxford. They stared at one another with expressions of wonder,
disappointment, and fear. I afterwards came to learn that the term
theology was by them quite misunderstood, and that they had
some crude conceptions that nothing was taught at Oxford but the
black arts, which ridiculous idea prevailed over all the south of
Scotland. For the present I could not understand what the people
meant, and less so when the man asked me, with deep concern:
"If I was serious in my intentions of going to Oxford? He hoped
not, and that I would be better guided."
I said my education wanted finishing; but he remarked that the
Oxford arts were a bad finish for a religious man's education.
Finally, I requested him to sleep with me, or in my room all the
night, as I wanted some serious and religious conversation with
him, and likewise to convince him that the study of the fine arts,
though not absolutely necessary, were not incompatible with the
character of a Christian divine.
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