The reader, I am sure, will
join me in admiring the beautiful combination of Christian principle and
brotherly affection contained in these letters. There is no affectation of
feeling; but the utterance of it in the simplest and most impressive
language. He dwells on the slight indications of religious feeling which
his brother could give, with evident delight; and fondly cherished hope as
far as the circumstances admitted. The account of the progress of religion
and of the juvenile association, is also very interesting. It shows how
completely his heart was not engaged; and, from this time, I considered
him devoted to the work of God among the heathen, should Providence be
pleased to spare his life. I accordingly wrote to him to encourage and
cherish, rather than to stimulate him, which, I perceived, he did not
require. The sermon to which he refers, as his first essay in this kind of
composition, remains among his papers; and would do credit, in point of
sentiment and expression, to a minister of some years standing.
Having been the principal
means of establishing the University Missionary Society, he appears to
have taken a very active part in its management. And as an evidence how
much it engaged his mind, and how fully he thought on all the bearings and
aspects of the great work, I must introduce an essay which he read at one
its meetings, held on the 12th of February; a few days before the writing
of the preceding letter. [See Appendix D.]
He was too busy about this
period to spend much time in correspondence; but a few of his letters,
though short, I must introduce. They will show the strength and delicacy
of his natural feelings, and how tenderly he was alive to all the
charities of human life. A sentence is sometimes more indicative of
feeling and sentiment than a volume.
"ST. ANDREW’S,
February, 1825.
"MY DEAR MOTHER — If ever
in my life I felt quite oppressed and burdened with kindness, it was on
the receipt of your very kind communication after my brother’s death; and
I am quite ashamed that I have not long before now found means to express
my gratitude. My friends seem to have vied with each other, who should be
kindest, and who should pay me most attention; and had I not been quite
overburdened with business, you should have had a letter long before now.
At the time you sent, I had a very severe cold, which seemed to show some
disposition to settle in my breast; but I am now tolerably well again.
Nothing, however, could prevent my good landlady, on the recommendation of
Mr. Smith, who called on me, from ordering flannels for me, which of
course has greatly assisted in emptying my slender purse. I have just
received my father’s letter of the 4th, and am exceedingly happy to hear
that the church have all come to one mind concerning Mr. Jack. The
choosing of a minister is in general one of the most trying times to our
churches; and I think we have much reason to bless God that roots of
bitterness have not been permitted to spring up and trouble us. Things are
going on pretty well among us. The people round about seem to be hungering
and thirsting after righteousness. Mr. Adam preached in the country on
Friday, at a new station, where the people themselves had requested that
some one should come. There is a great want of labourers — they have
pressed Mr. R-- into the service, but still there is employment which is
more than enough for them."
"ST. ANDREW’S, February 22,
1825.
"My DEAR BROTHER — I
have sometimes blamed, or rather pitied you, (for it is not a legitimate
subject of blame,) for a want of feeling; and I am quite sorry I have ever
done so; for the deep pathos that runs through some of your letters, which
are, notwithstanding, expressed in all the unaffected and unstudied
simplicity of nature, convinces me that I have been very far mistaken. I
recollect of being very much struck by your truly pathetical, yet artless
account of the death of T. Greig, which was contained in a letter you sent
me about a year ago; and I have been still more affected by your very
touching allusion, in your last, to the death of our brother. I would
indulge the hope that this event may have proved a blessing to us as a
family. In all the communications I have received from home, there has, I
think, been displayed a spirit of greater tenderness than usual. With your
own short letter I have been particularly pleased. You could not have
given me a more satisfactory proof that this dispensation has been in some
degree blessed to you than the feeling of self-condemnation which your
letter breathes."
"MY DEAR SISTER — I have
the expectation of seeing you so soon, that it may be thought almost
unnecessary for me now to write to you: but I cannot think of letting the
session pass without sending you a letter. I was gratified to hear from
Mr. Muir that you had written a letter for me. I am quite sorry you did
not send it, for I am sure that those very things which seemed blemishes
to you would have enhanced its value to me. It is an easy and unstudied
effusion of sentiment which constitutes the great charm of epistolary
correspondence. I wish you would always write to me the simple dictates of
your own heart without any external interference whatever, and with the
fullest confidence, that, what you write will never meet any eye but my
own. I hope to see you now in a few weeks, and to be able to devote a good
part of my time in the summer months to your education. I hope you have
been going on with your French. I should have written you a much longer
letter had it not been that I expect so soon to see you personally."
In these letters the
feelings of nature are expressed in a very interesting manner. The letter
to his brother contains some very delicate touches, and manifests much
tact and discrimination, as well as great ingenuousness and deep concern
for the salvation of his soul. May his prayers and expostulations not be
in vain!
The two following, though
the last is without date, appear to have been written during this session.
"ST. ANDREW’S, March 13, 1825.
"MY DEAR FRIEND — This is Sabbath
evening, and it is now pretty late, yet I cannot think of letting my
father go without writing by him. I have had but little experience in the
feelings of the afflicted, but yet I can remember how the receipt of a
letter from a friend, or any such little incident, would sometimes
mitigate, in a degree, the pains of disease, by chequering the dull and
tedious hours of confinement. And, if in this way I can have any hope of
ministering to your comfort, it were surely most ungrateful of me to let
slip, through negligence, a single opportunity of doing so. My father
tells me that you are still very poorly; but you know, from experience,
far better than I can tell you, that every affliction works for the good
of them that love God. You must have a satisfaction in feeling that every
trial through which God has carried you, has been an additional proof of
his love to you, and of your interest in a Saviour! A satisfaction which
that individual, whose religion (like mine) has been all in the sunshine
of prosperity, cannot enjoy. I have not yet proceeded far on the voyage of
life, and hitherto all has been smooth and prosperous; but I sometimes
look forward with dread foreboding to the many tempests which I may have
to encounter on life’s rough sea, and to the many waves of trouble and
distress which roll between me and that peaceful shore, where ‘billows
never beat, nor tempests roar.’ And at such times I could envy the case of
that bark, which, like yours, has long been tossed by many a tempest, but
which has weathered them all, and is just about to drop anchor in the
peaceful haven. But I feel that this is a sinful feeling, and proceeds
from weakness of faith. It is doubting his word, who has said, ‘when thou
walkest through the fire it shall not burn thee; and through the waters,
they shall not overflow thee.’ I am sorry that I am obliged here to
conclude abruptly, as my time is gone. May the Lord support you in all
your trials!"
"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND—I
cannot think of leaving you, as we parted last night, without some
expression of what I feel at your often repeated kindness which has
entailed upon me a debt of gratitude which I can never discharge. All that
I am, and all that I have, are devoted, I trust, to the service of God;
and the only way that I can ever repay the kindness of Christian friends
is by redoubling my ardour in the great cause for which we all live, and
for which we all die. If this shall be the effect of your generosity, it
will produce to you a double reward, and to me a double benefit. You will
not only enjoy the thought that you have gained the lasting gratitude and
good wishes of a fellow-pilgrim in this world, but when this world, and
all the things that are therein, shall be burnt up, you will be rewarded a
thousand-fold as having contributed, in some degree, through that unworthy
individual, to promote the interests of a cause, the noblest that ever
occupied the thoughts of men or of angels; I had almost said, of God
himself.
"And if your kindness prove
to me, as I trust it will, a stimulus to greater exertion in the cause to
which I am devoted, that will be an infinitely greater benefit than all
the advantages it may directly confer. Thus may the Lord make your
kindness a double blessing both to the giver and to the receiver. And to
his name be all the thanks and all the glory."
The two preceding letters
would do credit to any pen as specimens of natural and unaffected
epistolary correspondence; while the sentiments they contain, and the
spirit which they breathe, would not be unworthy of the most mature
Christian. The fears respecting the future, which he so beautifully
expresses, were never realized. His tender bark was indeed ill fitted to
encounter the storms and perils of this world; and therefore infinite
goodness brought it speedily to "the land of glory and repose."
Dr. Chalmers’ class seems
to have occupied the principal share in his attention during this winter;
and in moral philosophy and political economy, he appears to have made
great proficiency. Besides his notes of the Professor’s lectures, and the
papers which he wrote on the various subjects which were assigned, or
voluntarily undertaken, he composed a synopsis, or analysis of Smith’s
Wealth of Nations, the favourite class-book of Dr. Chalmers, and which has
contributed more to produce correct views of society, and of the science
which is now so popular, than any production of the age. My young friend
read this work evidently with great care; and though he must have
generally admired it, and agreed in its statements and reasonings, he did
not blindly adopt them. His essay on the Distinction between Productive
and Unproductive Labour, will evince that he could think for himself, and
discover even in the able work of that most profound thinker, positions
that are not altogether tenable. [See Appendix E.]
Every one must admire the
acuteness and talent displayed in this essay. More than common discernment
was necessary to catch the author of the Wealth of Nations tripping; but
still greater talent was required to detect the fallacy and expose the
mistaken reasonings by which the theory was supported. A discovery, when
made, often appears very simple and easy; but the mind which makes that
discovery, and the process which leads to it, belong not to the common
order, and may be far removed from vulgar apprehension.
Among his papers, which
were written about this time, are several fragments, on subjects of great
importance, and while I feel deep regret that they are imperfect, I cannot
throw aside even the fragments of such a mind. The first is on Written
Language, in which his object appears to have been to prove that it is of
divine origin. This is a view of the subject not peculiar indeed to him,
but still not usually adopted by philosophers and philogists; though I
confess it has long appeared to me the only tenable hypothesis. The
employment of heiroglyphics, and the use of them to record facts of a
certain kind, are easily accounted for; but the discovery of alphabetic
writing is a very different matter. The extraordinary simplicity of
alphabetic characters, and their still more extraordinary power, render it
improbable that they should be the discovery of chance, or the invention
of a barbarous people: while the impossibility of arriving at any great
degree of civilization or scientific advancement without them, supposes
that the discovery must have preceded. If reason and language are the
gifts of God, it is not going too far to say, that both are imperfect and
very limited in their operation without the use of a written language. In
order to preserve and authenticate a divine revelation, a fixed medium of
that revelation seems absolutely necessary; and, perhaps, it would not be
difficult to suggest reasons amounting to high probability, that when the
law was given to Moses, the first knowledge of alphabetic writing, and the
first specimen of it were then communicated. But this is not the place to
pursue such an inquiry. [See Appendix F.]
Among his other pursuits
during this busy session, he wrote several discourses on passages of
Scripture. Some of them were read to Mr. Lothian, others of them to a
small number of his fellow-students; but none of them, I believe, was used
in any other way. They are all illustrative of the soundness and clearness
of his mind; the accuracy and extent of his knowledge of the Scriptures;
the philosophical turn of his thinking; and his prevailing disposition to
connect all his pursuits with the missionary enterprise, in which even
then, he ardently wished to engage. I am very much deceived if the
discourse, which I give as a specimen, will not be considered an
extraordinary effort of so young a mind. [See
Appendix G.]
I do not know whether the
writer of this admirable discourse ever saw the "Hints on Missions," by
Mr. Douglas; but there is a passage in that little work so applicable to
the subject of this discourse, and so important in itself, that I shall
here take the liberty to introduce it: —"While belief is connected with
truth, we shall never want converts; and while the belief of truth impels
to the communication of truth, we shall never want preachers.
"‘I believed, and therefore
have I spoken.’ Here is a measure derived from heaven to judge of the
sincerity of belief. The laws of the human mind are not circumscribed
within degrees and parallels. He who has no desire to proclaim the gospel
abroad, has none to proclaim it at home, and has no belief in it himself;
whatever professions he may make, are hollow and hypocritical. Bodies of
Christians who make no efforts to christianize others, are Christians but
in name; and the ages in which no attempts are made to send the glad
tidings to heathen countries, are the dark ages of Christianity, however
they may suppose themselves enlightened and guided by philosophy and
moderation.
"The ages of Christian
purity have ever been the ages of Christian exertion. At the commencement
of Christianity, he who believed in the gospel, became also a preacher of
the gospel. ‘We believe, and therefore we speak.’ The effort was
correspondent to the belief, and the success to the effort. Christians
grew and multiplied, and their very multiplication insured a fresh renewal
of their increase. The primitive prolific blessing was upon them, and one
became a thousand."
If the subject of these
memoirs borrowed the hint from the above passage, of which I have no
evidence, it is very clear that he has duly improved upon it. His
discourse exists but in the first rough draft, and appears therefore under
every disadvantage. I have not altered one sentence, and scarcely
corrected even a word; yet with all these drawbacks, it affords evidence
that it is the production of a master-mind. The argument is exceedingly
ingenious, and is sustained with a degree of ability and felicity of
illustration, which reflects the highest credit on the powers of the
author. The simplicity of his own views of religion, and the deep
earnestness with which he pleads for the full practical influence of
Christianity are truly delightful. How happy would it be for the
individuals themselves, for the church, and the world, did all who enter
on the office of the ministry feel the force of the high and hallowed
views which are here stated.
The references to natural
religion, as it is called, contained in this discourse, induced me to
introduce an essay on that subject, which he wrote as a class exercise at
the close of this session. The subject is one on which a great deal of
ignorance has been discovered, and a vast portion of error propagated. The
religion of nature will, I fear, go a very little way to inform the
understanding, still less to regulate the affections, and no way at all to
satisfy God, or pacify the conscience of a sinner. Whether unassisted
reason is capable of accomplishing all that my young friend, with many
others, contends for, is not perfectly clear; but no one can doubt the
admirable and beautiful manner in which he conducts his own argument, and
the justice which he does to the claims of the revelation of God. [See
Appendix H.]
From his correspondence I
select the following letter to a young friend, who was then about to
sustain a severe loss in his mother, a most amiable and eminently devoted
Christian. It is marked with much tenderness and faithfulness.
"ST. ANDREW’S, March 12,
1825.
"On looking over your last letter,
the most important, indeed the only intelligence it conveys, is an answer
(which I regret is such a painful one) to my inquiries about your mother’s
health. From what my father tells me, I fear the worst, and I cannot help
dreading you may have lost her ere now. At all events, from the nature and
virulence of her disease, your hopes cannot be very sanguine. I am writing
to one who has either just lost or who is every day expecting to lose, the
dearest of all earthly relatives; and in either case, I should feel I was
doing violence to all the finer feelings of our common nature, did I
indulge in a strain of writing that was light or frivolous. There is
something in the near view of death, either prospectively or
retrospectively, which solemnizes the gayest heart, and disposes the most
thoughtless to serious reflection. There is something in that tender
sorrow, which attends the death of one that is dear to us, which, for a
time, subdues the pride of the haughtiest, and turns the eye of the most
worldly, for a time, to heaven. If ever that spiritual blindness is
removed, which hides from our view all that is beyond the grave, it is,
when by the death of a near friend, we are led, as it were, to the very
outskirts of this world, and can thus take a nearer view of that world
which lies beyond it. You will excuse me, then, if, in such circumstances,
I call to your remembrance, and press upon your attention, those sacred
precepts which your mother has often taught you, and of which she herself
has been a living exemplification. I know the dislike of the young mind to
religion; I have felt it, but it is a dislike which should be fought
against. I know the alluring prospects of happiness which this world holds
out; but short, as has been my experience, I have found that they are
deceitful. I know the difficulty that there is in standing out against the
laugh and sneer of young and gay and light-hearted companions; but, I can
assure you, that you will be enabled to bear it, and even to rejoice under
it. All that I wish you to do is, to consider the things of
spirituality: if you but do this, your belief will follow; and your joy,
in believing, as a natural consequence. Perhaps your mother is yet
lingering in this world; if so, it is my prayer, that she may yet be
restored to you. But perhaps, even now, you are mourning her loss; if so,
it is my prayer, that your affliction may send you to seek for consolation
in the exercises of devotion. If this be the result of your trial, it will
prove to you a real blessing, and you will find you have exchanged an
earthly parent for an heavenly one."
It was towards the close of
the session, he wrote for the prize at the Moral Philosophy class,
proposed by Dr. Chalmers. It appears, that, till near the end of the term,
he had no intention of becoming a competitor, and that it was not till
within four or five days of the period fixed for the giving in of the
essays, that he set himself in good earnest to the task. To this, and
several other subjects of importance he refers, in the following letter to
his father: —
"ST. ANDREW’S, April
18, 1825.
"MY DEAR FATHER — I am
happy to be able to inform you, that I did not speak at the meeting
at Cupar, nor ever had the slightest intention of doing so. I have been
intreated by some of our friends, and have been reproved for want of zeal
by others, because I did not come forward and preach in the country, but I
have withstood both intreaties and reproofs. Mr. Reid has been pressed
into the service, and even Mr. -- , at the risk of being called to an
account by the Presbytery, preached one Sabbath at Denino. I acknowledge
that I have much higher ideas of preaching than are generally entertained
among our brethren; and I do sincerely think, that it has been one of the
greatest evils (perhaps, for a time, a necessary one,) in our system, to
bring forward people to preach who were not rightly qualified for this
most important of all engagements. I think, from what you say in yours,
you do not seem to have a right idea of the prize essay which I said I was
writing. Most perfectly do I agree with you, that I stand no chance of
gaining it; but, at the same time, I should have thought it a breach of
duty, and was afraid it might offend Dr. Chalmers, did I not give it in.
They were entirely motives of this nature, which induced me, after I had
burned an essay I had written, in order to compete for the prize, to write
another when the time was almost run out. I am sure you will not think me
capable of so much presumption, as to expect that a production which cost
me only five days’ labour, at spare hours, should come into competition
with those which have cost my competitors the continued application of
four months.
"I feel sincerely grateful
for your letter. It is exactly what I need at present. I feel the praise
which is of men, to be one of the severest trials I can meet with, and to
be more especially the besetting temptation of an academic career."
The modesty which formed a
marked feature of his character, is strongly indicated in this letter.
Though he had been frequently urged to preach, and to speak at some public
meetings, he had decidedly refused to do so. He considered himself much
too young to appear in public; and in his ideas of preaching, I most fully
concur. Those who did not know him, might suppose there was something of
affectation in his intimations of having no expectation of the prize. But
his friends at College, as well as myself, are persuaded that this was
really the state of his mind, notwithstanding the effort which he made.
"He was distinguished,"
says Mr. Duff, "for a remarkable diffidence in his own abilities, uncommon
though they were. An instance of this occurred during his second session.
The subject of a prize essay was proposed by the Professor of Logic. Mr.
Urquhart began to write the essay, and brought it nearly to a close; when,
upon readnig it, he was so dissatisfied with its merits, that he threw it
into the fire He was, however, encouraged to renew the attempt, and
prosecuted the subject with vigour. He submitted the performance to a
fellow-student, whose tried abilities rendered him capable of estimating
the talent with which it was executed. He was much struck with the
superior excellence of the essay, and strongly advised Mr. Urquhart to
give it to the Professor. Notwithstanding this encouragement, having once
more read the essay himself he was so much displeased with its execution,
that he burnt it without any hesitation."
The highest prize was
assigned him for the essay composed under the circumstances adverted to in
the letter to his father. The opinion of Dr. Chalmers is evident, from his
having awarded it, and from the sentence which he has written upon the
last page of the essay itself. In this opinion, not only did the class in
general concur, but even those individuals from whom he had carried off
the boon. [See Appendix I.]
Besides gaining the first
prize at the Moral Philosophy Class, on the subject prescribed by the
Professor; he gained also the first prize for the best essay read in the
Class. He had also distinguished himself in the private Greek class; and,
indeed, in all the departments to which he directed his attention. "In
estimating his success," says a fellow-student, "it must be remembered,
that there never was at St. Andrew’s a more brilliant assemblage of talent
and of genius, attracted from all parts of the kingdom, by the fame of Dr.
Chalmers, than there was during the session of 1824-25." In this opinion,
it will be seen from Dr. Chalmers’s letter, how fully he concurs.
Perhaps I cannot do better
than introduce, at the conclusion of the course of Moral Philosophy, the
account of him, with which I have been favoured by another of his
fellow-students, and a competitor along with him for the prize. It
contains some traits of character worthy of being preserved, and besides
showing the estimate which was formed of him by others, is highly
creditable to the talents, and still more the generous feelings of a
fellow-candidate. It is not necessary that I should subscribe to every
sentiment which it expresses; but the description is, on the whole,
correct and faithful: —
"The seeds of talent, wherever they
were sown, could not fail to spring up under the fostering eloquence of
Dr. Chalmers. His enthusiasm, intense, and almost approaching to juvenile
extravagance, communicated its ardour to every mind that could appreciate
his bold and original speculations in moral and political philosophy, or
could be animated by the eloquence with which they were illustrated and
enforced. Mr. Urquhart caught, in common with his fellow-students, the
contagion of the example, which emanated from the chair. The activity of
his mind was awakened, and the veneration which he entertained for the
character, and admiration of the genius of his professor, were the
strongest motives to exert his own. I remember well the impression which
his first essay made upon his class-fellows, and the flattering, though
merited approbation it received from his professor. He began in a low,
timid, faltering voice, shrinking from the silent and fixed attention of a
public display, till by degrees his voice assumed a firmer tone, and when
he closed it was not without animation and feeling. As his unpretending
manners, and his previous public examinations, had given but little
promise of his talents, the triumph was the more complete, as it was
unexpected. Not to feel vain or proud of the distinction which literary
eminence confers, is a modesty of nature but rarely found, even among
those who have been longest accustomed to the homage of the public. To a
young man, though the sphere in which his merits are displayed is
narrower, yet the novelty of the feeling, combined with the gentler
sensibility of his mind, renders the impression irresistible. It is,
perhaps, the proudest moment of his life, when he is first commended for
his literary acquirements, his taste, or his promise of future talent.
That Mr. Urquhart was insensible to this praise, would be saying too much.
Such an indifference would have proved rather a want of feeling, than an
absence of vanity. But whatever secret pleasure he may have felt, it was
betrayed by no assumed airs of consequence or pride. Those who were
attracted by his talents were not repelled by his vanity. He levied no
contribution of admiration from his friends, as a tax to his merit; and as
no one could be less disposed to gratify others at the expense of truth,
so none was ever less solicitous of flattery. In his intercourse with his
fellow-students, there was a total absence of all ostentation or
pretension. No one was forced in his presence upon the disagreeable
conviction of his own inferiority, so that without any of the arts of
pleasing, or those popular qualities that attract general favour, he had
made many friends, but no enemies. Few fancied they saw in him a rival to
their own ambitious hopes; and when he crossed the path, and gained the
hill in advance, it was with so noiseless a step, and with so little show
of a triumph, that he either escaped the vigilance of his competitors, or
they pardoned his success for the manner in which it was obtained. What
they might imagine themselves
entitled to, for their superior talents, they willingly resigned to his
virtue. Indeed, a little observation of the world shows, and the remark is
applicable to every period of life, that men are more easy under a defeat
than a triumph, and that the prosperous might enjoy their success without
envy, if they had the prudence to conceal it. Not that by this reflection
we mean to resolve Mr. Urquhart’s modesty into a refinement of
selfishness. His conduct was equally remote from that haughtiness, which
is one of the forms of pride; and from that affectation of humility, which
is often the same passion under a new disguise. Nature in him had not
learned to conceal her feelings, and still less to assume those which did
not belong to her. Reserved without pride, and grave beyond his years,
without any mixture of severity, he avoided the promiscuous society of his
class-mates, not from any feeling of superiority, but partly from the
timidity of his disposition, and from a want of sympathy in their ordinary
sports and conversation.
"‘Concourse and noise, and
toil, he ever fled.’
"This disposition was as
beautifully illustrated as the action was characteristic of his modesty,
in his conduct on that day in which the prizes were distributed, at the
close of the session, and of which he was to bear away some of the most
distinguished and honourable. While the more ambitious and showy youths,
had selected a distant station in the hall, that they might advance to the
spot where the prizes were distributed, through a line of admiring
spectators, Mr. Urquhart had shrunk unobserved into the corner of a
window, near to the seat of the Professors, and no sooner was his name
announced, than he had again drawn back and disappeared. There was scarce
time to put the usual inquiry of who he was, when a new candidate for
attention was summoned. The same simple, unostentatious manner, and
aversion to display, which appear in this action, was the result of his
general habits and feelings, and not of singular or accidental occurrence.
It was in consistence with the other parts of his conduct. No one knew
when Mr. Urquhart entered or retired from his class. He had no circle of
literary dependants who crowded around him, to receive his philosophical
dicta, or his canons of criticism. Yet, to those who observed him, there
was something in his appearance in the class, singular and interesting. He
had an awkward habit of biting his nails, a practice in him not
disagreeable, it was so much of a piece with the simplicity of his look.
His head generally inclined to one side, and as he sat it was supported by
his arm. This was his usual position while listening to the lecture. As
Dr. Chalmers’s animation increased, Mr. Urquhart gradually elevated his
head, and when he rose into eloquence, you would have seen his arm drop by
his side, and his eye steadfastly fixed, looking the orator broad in the
face. I know not whether Dr. Chalmers marked these changes in the attitude
of his pupil; but if he had, they would have afforded no inaccurate test
of the degree to which his eloquence had risen. These incidents are of
little value in themselves, but they will convey more truth and effect
than any description of the disposition and manners of Mr. Urquhart.
"Of his intellectual
character, the most distinguised feature, I would say, was a sound
understanding; more clear and judicious, however, than either subtle or
comprehensive. Endowed with a mind thoughtful and considerate, he adopted
none of the rash speculations and dazzling paradoxes which so often delude
the inquirer of his age. Temperate and cautious in the exercise of his own
judgment, he was the less disposed to receive the unripe and hasty
inventions of others. In a conversational society of his fellow-students,
for the discussion of the opinions on moral and political philosophy, that
were delivered from the chair, Mr. Urquhart took an intelligent and
sometimes active part. The subjects were intricate, and did not admit of
an easy flow of conversation. But, such as they were, Mr. Urquhart, when
he hazarded his sentiments, generally spoke with clearness and precision.
Profound remarks, exhibiting mature knowledge and previous speculative
habits, were neither required on such an occasion, nor expected. Plain and
natural in his tunrs of thought, and not venturing beyond what he
understood, he escaped those unintelligible extravagances into which more
fearless thinkers on intricate subjects not unfrequently fall. If he was
unsuccessful in communicating new instruction by his remarks, he pleased
from the simplicity with which he expressed ideas that were familiar; and
every one eagerly invited and listened with pleasure to Mr. Urquhart as he
spoke. There was an air of candour and truth in whatever he said, and the
modesty with which he urged his opinions, was only surpassed by the
readiness and good nature with which he retracted them when convinced of
his error. His name will not soon be forgotten by the members of that
society of which, if he was not the brightest ornament by his talent, none
was more beloved.
"In his class essays,
which, I believe, were among his first attempts at regular composition,
there was a correctness of taste, felicity of illustration, and
perspicuity in the arrangement of his thoughts, such as is rarely to be
found in the early efforts of the juvenile pen. There is often an
irregular exuberance in the productions of youthful talent, which it
requires years of study to prune into form. The crop of Mr. Urquhart’s
imagination, if less luxuriant than many, was more free from tares, and
more beautiful in its growth. He never blundered into a conceit or
extravagance in search of ornament. His mind rested rather upon the broad
analogies of things, and converted them into illustrations of his
subjects, than upon those nice and secret resemblances which wit discloses
in unexpected allusions and metaphors. It was imagination rather than
fancy, which he possessed. Though he enjoyed the humour and lighter
attempts at wit, of his companions, yet these were fields into which he
seldom strayed. His excellencies consisted not in brilliant ornaments of
style, or in the higher flights of imagination; but in illustrations
happily conceived, and closely incorporated with his subject. The same
simplicity, which was the charm of his manners, and the prevailing feature
in his character, was the grace of his compositions. So chaste, and yet so
young, was a union of circumstances so rare, that it opened prospects the
most sanguine, of future excellence, when his mind should be
enriched by knowledge, and disciplined by cultivation." |