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George Wilson was a native
of Edinburgh, where he was born on the 21st of February 1818. As a child
he was characterised by a quiet, studious habit, and a precocious love of
books, as well as by quick sensibility and many noble moral qualities. His
parents, fully estimating the value of education, gladly availed
themselves of the facilities, which this city so plentifully affords, to
secure that inestimable boon to their children. Having finished his
elementary training, he was sent to the High School, and went through the
course usually pursued in that venerable and illustrious seminary, if not
with pre-eminent distinction, yet in a manner highly creditable to his
diligence and abilities. From the High School he passed to the University,
where he soon found a congenial sphere for his tastes and talents in the
study of physical science. Having adopted the profession of medicine,
less, it is believed, with a view to practice, than because it brought him
more directly into relation with his favourite scientific pursuits, he
went through the necessary course for qualifying himself for that
profession. On finishing his college studies, he accepted the situation of
assistant to Mr Graham, then Professor of Chemistry in University College,
London, and now Master of the Mint. In this situation he remained about a
year, when he returned to Edinburgh, where he took his degree of M.D., and
where he continued to reside up to the time of his death.
Up to this point Dr Wilson
presented no other appearance than that of a diligent, enthusiastic, and
highly-gifted student of science, whose private character was stained by
no vice, and in whose spirit and bearing there was much that was noble and
winning. But as yet there was no evidence that the depths of his soul had
been stirred by those considerations of spiritual and religious interest
which alone have power to touch man's innermost being, and to evoke his
higher nature to its full nobleness. He had, it is true, been religiously
brought up; his early life had been spent amid the hallowing influences of
domestic piety; and at times, no doubt, there had passed over a mind so
impressible and loving as his, trains of emotion and conviction of a
religious kind— shadows cast upon his spirit by those "powers of the world
to come," with which the teaching of the nursery and the pulpit had alike
conspired to make him acquainted. But as yet divine and eternal things had
taken no firm and paramount hold upon him. He had never felt himself
brought into earnest personal contact with the awful realities of the
spiritual world. God was for him a doctrine— a world-power—perhaps little
beyond a venerable name; as yet he had no realising sense of Him as the
Being "with whom he had to do"—the merciful Father who had, ever since he
was born, been watching over him and seeking to draw him to Himself—the
holy and righteous Sovereign, who "cannot look upon sin," and whose law
cannot be violated with impunity by any of His creatures. A student of
God's works, and not ignorant of His Word, he as yet stood only in the
outer court of the temple of divine truth; the veil had yet to be parted
that hung between him and the mysteries of its inner shrine; and there
needed a power to be put forth to draw him with meet reverence and
trustful confidence into the presence of Him who is there revealed.
It pleased God, whose
"judgments are a great deep," to make use of affliction as the means of
awakening the mind of Dr Wilson to the consideration of the things that
concerned his eternal state. Called to undergo a painful operation, and
one which his medical knowledge told him was attended with imminent risk
of life, he suddenly felt himself brought face to face with the question
of his relation to God, into whose immediate presence he might, ere many
hours had passed, be summoned to "give account of the deeds done in the
body." His first earnest look into himself, and his state as before God,
was painful in the extreme. All appeared to him dark and unpropitious. He
felt that he was not at peace with God. Neglected instructions, forgotten
warnings, despised opportunities, convictions and impressions lightly
superseded, crowded on his mind. He saw nothing before him, should he now
be called to the judgment-seat of the Omniscient, but the righteous
condemnation of a forgotten and offended God. His mental conflict became
almost overwhelming; but he manfully strove to realise his state—to
estimate his true position, cost what it might. With deep earnestness, as
of a man whose all was at stake, he betook himself to the Word of God; and
from the time that conviction first laid hold of his mind, he hardly
remitted his study of it until the moment when he had to submit himself to
the surgeon's hands. Happily, in the providence of God, there was one near
him at that crisis of his history, who, though young in years, was able to
deal skilfully with his spiritual malady. A student of divinity, with
whom, shortly before, he had become acquainted, learning his state, felt
impelled to devote himself to his service, and became, for a season, his
almost constant companion. He read the Scriptures to him, as he lay on his
couch, talked to him of the love of God, and the Saviour's willingness and
power to save, prayed with him, soothed and cheered him in moments of
depression and suffering, and in every possible way rendered him the
kindest offices of a warm-hearted, self-denying friendship. The gentle and
kindly spirit of the sufferer expanded under the genial influences of such
treatment. As health and strength returned, his mind opened gradually to
the full power of the saving truths of the gospel; and a bond of profound
and undying intimacy was knit between him and his kind instructor, which
the intercourse of after years might prove, but could hardly strengthen.
In due time he came forth from his chamber, maimed, indeed, for life, and
with his health irreparably broken, but having found that for which a man
may well part with all that he hath, and the loss of which a world could
not compensate.
It was some time after this
that I had the happiness of becoming acquainted with Dr Wilson, and
ultimately he placed himself under my ministry, and joined the church
under my pastoral care. In the presence of many who were thus brought into
close spiritual fellowship with him, I need not to say how blamelessly he
walked in the ordinances of the Lord; how wisely and piously he behaved
himself in the house of God; with what anxious regard for the opinions and
feelings of others he pursued his course; and how ready he was at all
times to lend his aid to the furtherance of everything that tended to
promote the efficiency of the church, or to diffuse knowledge or enjoyment
amongst its members. Very pleasant was his presence amongst us; and, now
that he is gone, a blank has been created in our ranks which all feel will
not readily be filled.
Having at an early period
addicted himself to the study of chemistry, Dr Wilson selected the
teaching of this science as his vocation in life. In this department he
soon gained wide and well-founded reputation. His thorough mastery of his
subject, alike in its principles and its details; his power of lucid
statement, graphic description, and felicitous illustration; his command
of a copious and elegant style; the accuracy of his analysis, and the
skill with which he prepared and conducted experiments: conspired speedily
to elevate him to a foremost place as a lecturer on the valuable and
fascinating science to which he had consecrated his energies. For several
years he continued to teach it; first in the School of Arts, afterwards
along with this in the extra Academical Medical School in this city;
besides giving frequent lectures and courses of lectures of a popular kind
on branches of his science at the Philosophical Institution and elsewhere,
as his strength and regular engagements permitted. His merits as a man of
science and a scientific teacher at length attracted the attention of
those in power, and when the Professorship of Technology was created in
the University in 1855, Dr Wilson was appointed to occupy that chair, as
to him had been intrusted the formation and the Directorship of the
Industrial Museum, which it was resolved to collect for the purpose of
promoting the culture of scientific industry in this country. Thus,
without any of those advantages which wealth or patronage confer, by sheer
dint of talents usefully directed, and labour perseveringly employed, he
had gained for himself a place of honour and influence in that illustrious
seat of learning which, two and twenty years before, he had entered as a
humble student without any "extrinsic advantages."
To the duties of his new
sphere, Dr Wilson devoted himself with an ardour and laboriousness which
filled his friends with anxiety lest the toils to which he exposed himself
should operate injuriously on his already fragile frame. The public have
yet to learn how much they are indebted to him for the valuable collection
of objects and implements of industry which has been brought together as
the nucleus of the museum of which he had the care; but how much of his
life was expended in accomplishing that end, none but those constantly
with him can ever know.
In the Chair of Technology
a new and congenial field was opened for him, in which, from the extensive
range of his scientific attainments and sympathies, as well as his matured
experience as a lecturer, the most auspicious expectations were
entertained as to his success. These hopes were just beginning to be
largely realised when they were destined to be smitten for ever. Dr Wilson
had for many years laboured under a tendency to pulmonary complaint, and
though it was marvellous how little his physical weakness was allowed by
him to interfere with his mental activity or professional labours, the
very efforts he put forth were only strengthening the hold upon him of
that insidious disease. At the commencement of this session he appeared to
be as he had been for years before, and he entered upon his duties with
his usual vivacity and energy, and with the largest class he had as yet
enrolled. But he had barely entered upon them when he was summoned from
them, and all sublunary pursuits, by that dread call which none can
resist. He continued lecturing up to Friday the 18th of November last, and
on Tuesday the 22d he died.
The call was sudden, but it
was one for which he was fully prepared. He had long contemplated death as
a change which he might be called upon without much previous warning to
undergo; and so little hold had mere life on his desires, that the
expression he once used to a friend was, "I am quite resigned to live." To
another friend he said six months ago, when there seemed no immediate
prospect of death, "I am trying to live every day, so that I may be ready
to go on an hour's notice." Nor was it merely by such expressions as these
that he made it evident how much he was unconsciously realising his
proximity to the eternal world; those who were around him in the domestic
circle, and whose eyes affection had sharpened to note every varying phase
of his inner life, were struck with the growing indications which daily
met their notice of advancing ripeness and mellowness in his spiritual
development. Earth seemed to be loosening its hold upon him, while heaven
was drawing him by its fine and powerful attraction nearer to itself. It
was as if a message had come to him from the world of spirits, which he
alone had heard, announcing to him that the Lord had need of him in his
heavenly temple, and was about ere long to call him up thither. Like the
apostle, he had the sentence of death within himself; and having long
learned "to trust not in himself, but in God who raiseth up the dead," the
bitterness of death was for him already past. No need on his part,
therefore, for long and anxious preparation! It was not a distant and
perilous journey he was about to make, far less a plunge into a dark and
uncertain region; it was only to a higher and grander apartment of that
house of the Father, in which he had long dwelt, that he was to be
removed. When the summons came, therefore, he calmly and joyfully obeyed
it. His last days were days of great bodily prostration, and the nature of
his illness rendered it impossible for him to hold much intercourse by
speech with those around him. He was able, however, to give constant
indication of the entire serenity with which he awaited the will of his
heavenly Father, and to express confidently and unhesitatingly the peace
with which he rested "in the hands of a good and kind Redeemer." His
endeared friend Dr Cairns had arrived just in time to see him ere death
had overmastered his powers of utterance, and in answer to his question,
"Is all peace?" he replied firmly, and with a sweet smile on his lips,
''Yes." As the evening wore on a touching scene occurred. His venerable
mother, whom he loved with all the tenderness of his affectionate heart,
knowing that his end was drawing nigh, entered the room, and imposing upon
herself a strong constraint, lest she should in any way agitate his
departing spirit, took her farewell of him by simply kissing his hand. He
recognised the loving touch—what true son does not recognise a mother's
kiss?—and unable to speak so as to be heard by her, he raised his hand and
pointed upwards, as if to say, "Farewell for the present; we meet again in
yonder place, where there is no more death, and where parting is unknown."
Having repeatedly expressed a wish, in the course of the evening, to have
"the room darkened, and to get to rest," this was at length done, and he
was left alone with a beloved sister, his constant and endeared companion
for many years. To her, after some words of thanks for some kind office
she had done, he said, "I've been an unworthy servant of a worthy and
gracious Master." More he tried to say, but only one word could be
distinguished—"sin." Was this word part of a confession, or part of a
thanksgiving? Perhaps it was both—the utterance of one who in humble
penitence acknowledged his transgressions, but who at the same time could
thank Him "who pardoneth iniquity" that his transgressions had been
covered. As his end drew near, his friends again surrounded his couch. The
last sounds that fell upon his ear were those of prayer offered up by Dr
Cairns. And so he went away from the prayers of earth to the songs of
heaven; and whilst they that had accompanied him to the river's brink
knelt in solemn supplication beside his lifeless remains, his happy spirit
had passed over to the further side, and the clarion peal from the
battlements of heaven had proclaimed that the crown was won, and that
another of Adam's race had gotten the victory through the blood of the
Lamb!
The tidings of his death
caused a profound and wide-spread sensation throughout the city, which
found its expression in the extraordinary demonstration that accompanied
his funeral. In all the circumstances of it, we may safely say that never
before was such a tribute of respect and love offered at the grave of any
of our citizens. In the procession which conveyed his remains to the tomb
were men of all classes and parties; the magistrates in their robes of
office, the professors of the university in their gowns, students of the
university, members of the literary and scientific societies of the city,
clergymen of different denominations, the members of this congregation,
and a large body of citizens representing every class and interest in the
community : all met under the shadow of one common grief, and united to
pay the last marks of respect to him whose remains were about to be
committed to the narrow house. The shops were closed along the line of the
procession, and business suspended for a time in other parts of the city;
multitudes of both sexes crowded the streets by which the cortége was to
pass; and as the hearse moved slowly along, many tears were shed, and the
crowd looked on with bated breath, and even the rude and thoughtless
uncovered their heads, and offered their silent tribute of homage. It was
a scene never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it; and it carried in
it a deep moral significancy, and uttered a lesson which it behoves us not
to overlook. To what was such a demonstration due? What was there in this
man, who was not venerable from age nor illustrious by rank; who was the
founder of no school, the leader of no party, the representative of no
public interest; who had not distinguished himself by any unparalleled
discovery in science, or done anything to put men in possession of new
rights, new resources, new enjoyments: what was there in him, and what had
he done during his comparatively short life, to evoke so universal and
spontaneous an expression of regard and homage from his fellow-citizens?
The question is an important one, and I shall endeavour briefly to answer
it.
It was not due merely to
Professor Wilson's genius and talents. These, indeed, were of a high
order, and could not but command respect. In him, great intellectual
powers were combined with a rich, poetic imagination, a fine aesthetic
sensibility, and a fertility of quaint and quiet humour, which not only
widened the range of his mental sympathies greatly beyond the sphere of
science, but enabled him to lend to scientific discussion a freshness and
grace which made scientific discussion in his hand something altogether
peculiar. A combination so rare in itself, and the separate elements of
which were so powerfully developed as they were in him, could not but give
him a high place in the respect of a community like this, which has always
shewn a readiness to appreciate and honour mental superiority. But there
must have been something more than this to call forth such a demonstration
as that which accompanied his funeral.
Nor will Professor Wilson's
reputation as an author suffice to account for this. Something, it must be
allowed, is due to this cause; for his writings possess a singular charm,
and he cultivated so many different kinds of writing with success, that he
found admiring readers among persons of very widely different tastes; but
it would be absurd to suppose that mere admiration of writings, many of
which were anonymous, would have kindled such feelings towards the author
as were so plentifully manifested on the occasion referred to.
Something more must be
ascribed to Professor Wilson's popularity as a lecturer. He had so
frequently appeared before the public in this capacity, he had addressed
himself to so many different classes in the community, and he had
invariably so gratified, instructed, and captivated his audience, that
there was a very large number of persons who felt themselves lying, as it
were, under personal obligations to him, and whose feelings towards him
were consequently greatly beyond those which mere admiration of talents or
of authorship could inspire. Added to this was the affection which his
unfailing gentleness, his brave resolution to work, notwithstanding
manifest bodily infirmity and fluctuating health, and his promptitude to
meet the wishes of the public, at whatever sacrifice of time, energy, and
personal convenience, could not fail to excite. As in private so in public
life, there was something about him which inspired love. People came to
feel as if they would like to do something kind to him, even when they
were not personally acquainted with him. No wonder, then, that a feeling
of this sort, which had been gradually accumulating for years in the heart
of the community, should have burst forth in such a demonstration as that
of which our city was the scene when an opportunity of shewing respect to
him, which was felt to be the last, was presented.
But I believe that which
chiefly moved the multitude to do homage, was the sense which all had of
how true and good a man he was. It was his religion—so simple, so sincere,
so unobtrusive, and yet so constantly operative, that stamped upon his
character its highest worth; and it was this, I believe, which drew to him
the confidence, the respect, and the love of the community, more than
anything else. Men felt that in him there stood before them one of the
finest combinations of genuine science and genuine Christianity that had
ever been presented to their view. For with him religion and science were
not two things—they were one; so interwoven with each other, that every
contribution which he made to science was also laid as an offering on the
altar of religion. He did not, as is too common with men of science,
content himself with merely making his obeisance to religion, and then
passing by on the other side to prosecute an independent course. Religion
went with him all along his path, and it was on her head he sought to
place the crown that science had enabled him to win. It was his daily
endeavour to make all his work bear on the glory of his God and Saviour—to
turn all into a solemn liturgy that should rise up as incense before God.
And in this he so succeeded, that his whole soul came to be pervaded with
Christian influences; and religious thoughts and feelings flowed unbidden,
and with the most perfect naturalness, into all his discourses and
writings. I have often felt as if there was something sublime in the sight
of this man, with his fragile frame and modest attitude, standing amongst
the aristocracy of science, or before some popular assembly, or in the
presence of his students, and calmly, unostentatiously, with the
simplicity of a child and the unfaltering confidence of a confessor,
giving utterance to the sentiments of faith and worship that came, as from
his inner soul, spontaneously to his lips. To the influence of such a
manifestation, it was not possible that a sound-hearted community like
this could be insensible. I believe they were not. I believe it was
Professor Wilson's high moral character, and religious earnestness and
truthfulness, that more than anything else drew to him the respect and
affection of the general public. The homage that followed him to the grave
was an expression of the respect and reverence which high moral character
and spiritual earnestness, when associated with gentleness, kindness, and
genius, never fail to evoke.
Memoir of George Wilson (pdf) |
