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IN 1883 the celebration of
the tercentenary of the University of Edinburgh took place, and brought
together a great crowd of learned people from all parts of the world. One of
the most striking sights I can recall was the gathering in the Parliament
House, when the delegates assembled to attend the opening service n St.
Giles'. Such a variety of dresses, and especially of head dresses, had never
been seen before in that ancient seat of the Scottish Parliament.
At the Synod Hall—at that
time the only place of sufficient size for such a celebration—there was a
capping of a great number of honorary graduates, of whom I was honoured to
be one, and there were orations by selected professors and other men of
distinctin. Some of these were of course in other tongues, and t was amusing
to notice that when the few who understood the language spoken applauded,
the applause increased and spread over the hall, there being an evident
anxiety to indicate acquaintance with the language, whether it existed or
not. Some of the speeches were—well, they were not brief—and one foreign
gentleman, when called on, evidently ashamed of the prolixity of its
confreres, began thus: "I eentent to be short, so I vill speak in Eenglish.
Monsieur de Lesseps, who was capped, spoke long in French, and, scarcely
apropos to the occasion, informed us that he was not an engineer, but was a
diplomatist. To show that I am not alone in considering that some speeches
might have been less drawn out and less egoistical, I quote from a
University Magazine which was sent to me by a Swiss delegate:
"Monsieur de Lesseps parla
beaucoup du Canal de Suez et de Monsieur de I'esseps."
here were, of course, varied
entertainments, culminating in a great banquet in the Queen's Brigade Drill
Hall, the largest room in the country for such a gathering. Here, again, the
lack of common sense, which is too usual as a feature of after-dinner
eloquence, was woefully manifest. The fatal idea seems too often to be, that
the association of a name with a toast is not properly responded to by the
owner of the name unless he prepares a long speech, and delivers it either
with the dryness of a professorial lecture, or the perfervid declamation of
one delivering a great oration. I do not, of course, speak of what is called
"the toast of the evening," On a great historical or political occasion, but
of the general programme of toasts. I have had to attend many public
dinners, at which the more honoured guests are at a disadvantage, as they
cannot j^o away when they have had enough of eloquence and prosy speech, and
I therefore speak feelingly. I ask leave to relate a few instances from my
experience. Of all the dreary evenings I have ever endured, the worst was at
the Literary Fund Dinner in London. I shall refer to only one speech which
began at twenty-five minutes to eleven o'clock, and did not conclude before
the clock struck that hour. Its burden was ancient hieroglyphics, cuneiform
inscription, &c.! On another occasion, at the dinner of the Royal Scottish
Academy, a fri end who sat beside me rose at the same hour—twenty-five
minutes to eleven—and proposing "The Interests of Art, spoke drearily for
about the same time. On sitting down, he turned to me and said with a grave
face: "Do you think I gave them enough, Mac?" 1 replied, with equal gravity:
"Oh, well, my dear--, I think so. Yes, on the whole, yes." As a contrast to
this, at the centenary dinner of the Speculative Society, where there were
seventeen toasts upon the list ('), Professor Blackie, whose sentiment of
"Scottish Philosophy" was kept back by the length of previous speeches till
near midnight, after pulling out his watch and announcing the hour, shouted:
"I have a splendid speech for you; I have it all here, in my brain" (and
those who knew him can see him, in their mind's eye, slapping his forehead
as he roared, "but ye shan't have it, not a word of it. I will only say
,'Long live Scottish philosophy, long live common sense, and long Blackie,
who doesn't make long speeches,"' and he sat down amid thunders of applause.
But I have wandered from the
Tercentenary. Lord Goschen—chen Mr. Goschen—was the Lord Rector at that
time, and presided over a symposium of students in the Drill Hall on the
night following the banquet. It was, as may be believed, a very lively
evening. To make speeches heard was impossible, but anyone who could
convince the lads that he had a good story to tell, got a hearing, and many
a racy story was told, Mr. Goschen good-humouredly leading off. As to
keeping order, it was hopeless, but there was no disorder, except the
disorder of high spills and good-fellowship.
There were not many amusing
incidents connected with tb<s celebration, but Professor K«rkpatrick, who
was secretary to the Senatus Academicus, received an apology from Salamanca,
containing a good specimen of "English as she is spoke." It returned thanks
for "the hopeful invitation that from its name has conducted it to his
Chancellor, Rector and principal to assist its Tercentenary of Foundation
feeling of wholy (sic) heart not to can accede to the same honorable
invitation, sending a representative of cloister; and offers from my conduit
to the illustrious members of so famous university its more distinguished
consideration."
It was matter for regret that
the principal parts of the programme had to be fulfilled in not very
suitable buildings, the University at that time having no great hall of its
own in which to conduct ceremonials w1':h becoming dignity. It was probably
a realisation of this want that led to the munificent gift of Mr. M'Ewan—the
great University Hall, in which the architect, &c Rowand Anderson, has shown
the power and skill of genius, so that now all great ceremonials can be
conducted in noble surroundings.
At the time of the
Tercentenary, Sir Alexander Grant was the Principal of the Edinburgh
University. He was the most indefatigable promoter of its interests. Shortly
before, the work of erecting a suitable building for the medical and
surgical departments had been undertaken, and was carried out according to
the designs of Sir Rowand Anderson, and these were completed by the time of
the occurrence of the Tercentenary, and were universally admired, both for
their architectural features and the efficient character of the buildings
for their purpose. I have reason to know myself how indefatigably the
Principal worked at this time. He was the most "sturdy beggar" I ever
encountered, not contenting himself with lithographed circulars, but writing
with his own hand appeals for ald, which were for that reason the more
effectual. His unpretentious enthusiasm was boundless, and he brought a
great work to fruition.
I came to know h_ r\ very
well. He had nothing of the learned pedant about him. He enjoyed a joke with
infinite relish. I can recall his delight at a shot I fired at hi m on an
occasion when he had engaged himself to me as a partner for a foursome of
golf at Musselburgh. He did not arrive at the station platform until the
last seconds were running, and I was anxiously looking out for him. At last
he appeared, hasten'ng in a very unacademic manner, and as he came up, he
gasped: "So sorry, I have barely done it." "Yes," I replied, "I was just
saying to myself as the seconds flew by, 'Shall I not have barely my
Principal." He staggered into the train and laughed with most unprofessonal
glee.
The year 1885 witnessed a
restoration to Edinburgh, most welcome to all lovers of the old city. In the
rage for what was called improvement, in the eighteenth century—improvement
proceeding upon the postulate, that what was venerable was rubbish —the city
cross, a relic which silently told of many a sad and joyful incident of
Scottish history, was in 1756 ruthlessly thrown down, the column falling and
being smashed in the operation. Fortunately, Lord Somerville secured the
despised fragments and set the column of the cross up at his family estate,
and so the relic was saved. 1 his vandalism of the city authorities was
denounced by Walter Scott, who makes the minstrel say:
"Dear Edin's Cross, a pillar'd
stone
Rose on a turret octagon;
But is razed that monument
Whence royal edict rang,
And voice of Scotland's law was sent
In glorious trumpet clang.
O, be his tomb as lead to lead,
Upon its dull destroyer's head!—
A minstrel's malison is said."
A successful effort was made
by some citizens of patriotic zeal and sound good taste to have the cross
restored to the city, and this was accomplished in 1866. The Corporation, on
receiving the cross, not yet awakened to a spirit of veneration, could think
of no better place to erect it than in the filth-bespattered space behind
the railings of St. Giles' Church, which has been pictured elsewhere, and so
it stood for many years surrounded with the unsavoury garbage and foul
rubbish which I have detailed as lying there, thus deprived of all the
d;gn:tyof position to which its historical association gave if unanswerable
claim. It was a happy and kind thought of Mr. Gladstone, the member for the
County of Midlothian, descended as he was in direct line from an ancient
Edinburgh burgess of 1631, to place the city cross in a more worthy
position. With the aid of a skilful architect, Mr. Sidney Mitchell, he in
1885 placed it where it now stands, as near as possible to its or gi ial
position, and m a setting appropriate to its. claim for honour.
When the lamented death of
Queen Victoria took place, the proclamation of King Edward's accession was
made, for the first time for 150 years, from the city cross, and the
dignified building on which it had been re-erected enabled the Lyon King of
Arms and the Scottish heralds in their gorgeous tabards to make the
proclamation in a much more honourable way than had been possible formerly.
The Royal Archers, King's Bodyguard, acted as guard for the, occasion, and
the judges of the Supreme Court and many public bodies attended along with
the Lord Provost, Magistrates, and Counc:5. he same ceremonial took place on
the accession of King George.
As I am speaking of
restorations to Edinburgh, I would mention another winch has historical
interest. All know the story of the worthy lady who was brave enough to
carry the regalia of Scotland concealed on her person, with the sceptre
wrapped up as a distaff, from Dunottar Castle-when it was besieged. As a
reward, the highly ornamented belt of the State sword was presented to her,
to be handed down as an heirloom to her family, in honour of her brave
exploit. A few years ago, her descendant generously gave it up, and I had
the honour of attending in the Castle when the sword and its belt were
brought together again, thus completing once more the Regalia of Scotland. |
