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"Dunediris honoured roll of
sons."
Anon.
1850 - 70
AT the commencement of the
second half of the last century there were in Edinburgh men of the highest
distinction n medical science. Such names as Simpson and Christison, Syme
and Goodsir, stand high in the history of the profession, and that great
man, whose memory will always be revered, Lister, was also for a time
associated with Edinburgh, and allied not only by professional ties to
Professor Syme, but also by the closer tie of marriage, His wife being the
Professor's daughter. And there were many shining, if at that time lesser,
lights who afterwards attained high rank in the profession—the two Begbies,
Annandale, and Watson; my old schoolfellow, Joseph Bell, the model on which
Conan Doyle formed his Sherlock Holmes; John Duncan; and, still later, John
Chiene, all friends of my own. I purposely postponed to the last two other
friends, who besides attaining position in their profession, added to our
pleasure by their productions in verse—Mac-lagan in charming lyrics and
amusing songs, and Gillespie in comic :ditties in Highland style. Alas, all
these are now gone; but there is one still with us who was Goodsir's
assistant when I first saw him, now Principal Turner. I first met him in a
third-class carriage of the night train to Liverpool, when he, with a number
of students, was making an excursion to Wales. We were a lively party, and
there was more fun than sleep that night; Turner, with the parental air that
even then marked him, watching our lively cantrips with an indulgent eye.
Many years later I sat on the Edinburgh University Court, and the capacity
and zeal he showed there marked him out as the future Principal. No one
served the University better, or showed himself more fit to preside over its
affairs. His particular care was what he always spoke of as "the University
chest." Other professors, though not of the medical school, call for
remembrance, notably the never-to-be-forgotten Professor Blackie, the
eccentric, cheerful, ram-stam scholar, who shot his critical arrows in all
directions, but never gave a wound that pained. His personality, with his
plaid over his shoulder, his weighty stick, his soft hat, and his long grey
locks, was one of the sights of Edinburgh—always vigorous, always outspoken,
and always worth listening to, even when it was not possible to agree with
him. Two anecdotes illustrate his character well. In his salad days at the
Bar, he at a Circuit Court, when defending a prisoner, took an objection to
the relevancy of the indictment. On his stating it, the judges having looked
at one another and shaken their heads, the senior said: "Oh, Mr. Blackie,
there is nothing whatever in the objection." Biackie replied, "So I thought
myself, my lord; but I did not know what your lordships might think." The
other story is that by his direction a notice was put at his class-room door
one day stating, "Professor Blackie will not be able to meet his classes
tomorrow." Some wag, on his way into the class-room, rubbed out the "c" in
"classes." The Professor, seeing this as he ascended the stair, promptly
removed the "l," and passed on to his lecture-room.
One of the professors whose
lectures I attended will always be remembered with respect and regard,
Professor Campbell Fraser, who lectured for so many years on Logic and
Metaphysics. His life and health have been prolonged far beyond the ordinary
span, and the words of the poet may be well applied to him:
"The general favourite and the
genera! friend,
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end,"
Another very interesting
personality at that time was Professor Andrew Wilson, for whom was
instituted a new Chair in the University, a Chair which, when he was called
away from this life soon after and somewhat prematurely, ceased to exist,
there being no one who could till It as he did. It was called the Char of
Technology; his intention being to convey technical information in more
direct association with practical matters than could be done from the Chairs
of Abstract Science. he idea was to have a stimulating course towards the
practical application of scientific knowledge. I attended his opening
lecture, and recall its charm. He informed us that as a symbol of his
subject he proposed a repiesentation of an eye in the centre of a hand,
indicating that discernment and technical work should be wedded, what
science could give being directly associated with practical working out of
good from scientific knowledge. He was a man whom to lose was a loss indeed,
gentle and persuasive, and discerning n an extraordinary degree, whom no one
could know without being the better for it, not only in information, but in
character. Had he lived, he would have been a great help to those who in h:s
generation were striving for practical applications of knowledge, and who so
often were crushed in their aspirations by the man of science, who was too
apt to declare that there was nothing in what others saw, because he had not
seen ^t himself, and even in many cases failed to look forward to possible
practical applications of what he did see. Of this I have given some
illustrations. If the man could be found who was fitted to fill Wilson's
place, the setting up once more of a Chair of ethnology would be valuable to
practical scientific progress.
I well remember a series of
evening lectures for ladies and gentlemen, promoted by a lady-known for
practical good work and philanthropy, Miss Sinclair of Ulbster; and how
delightful and instructive were Professor Wilson's contributions, full of
simple striking experimental illustrations over a wide range, most
stimulating to the inquiring mind, and free from the jargon that too often
tends to obscurity, leaving the listener bewildered.
Professor Piazz Smythe was
also an interesting figure in the scientific world. He taught astronomy, I
fear to a very small class. The work he did was stupendous. Pie was good
enough to present to me a great volume entitled Stat dialogue, which
conveyed nothing to me except the knowledge that when I ejaculated "My
stars! I did not know what I was talking about, but I could form an i lea of
the indefatigable labour that must have been necessary to compile it. A less
technical work, but one also giving evidence of laborious research, was his
book on the Great Pyramid, n which he sought to show that the structure had
a scientific purpose, and was not a mere ostentatious tomb. I am aware, that
his views were pooh-poohed and sneered at; but I will confess that they made
more impression upon me than could be squeezed out of me by the pressure of
the critics. This much he is entitled to be remembered for, that his
life-work was un-weariedly carried out, and that most certainly he smoothed
the way for those who were to follow him in a branch of study of the deepest
interest. Although a dabbler, I will confess that I have shunned astronomy,
having the strong feeling that once it were mounted as a hobby, it might
become winged like Pegasus and carry me away from all other leisure
interests into the skies among the stars, where I would lose my time, and so
lose myself. But I can honour one who devoted his life to the study of the
heavens.
William Edmonstone Aytoun,
the Professor of Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres, also deserves to be
remembered. He held a distinguished place in literature. His Lays of the
Scottish Cavaliers and his Bothwell entitle him to high rank, and in a
lighter vein, the Bon Gaultier Ballads, in which he and Sir Theodore Martin
collaborated, are a standing testimony to lr 5 powers in humorous
versification.
A man who did great work as a
preacher and as a practical philanthropist was Dr. Guthrie, who was
described in Cockburn's Journal as—"preeminently the orator of the poor.''
He will always be remembered with regard. His city work, and especially his
organisation of the "Ragged Schools" entitle him to the gratitude of all
good citizens, and his eloquence as a preacher—not the eloquence of mere
freedom and elegance of speech, but the eloquence of the eager, loving
heart—cannot be forgotten by those who heard him speak.
A word about a man who, if he
were famous for nothing else, would deserve to be remembered for a story
which many thousands have read, and which few can have read without feeling
its touching simplicity and pathos. It is with that little book that the
name of Dr. John Brown will always be associated. I cannot resist the
temptation to tell an anecdote regarding "Rab,' which is known to no one but
myself. An English lady, on a visit to Edinburgh, required medical
attendance, and called in Dr. John Brown. A friend, learning the fact that
he was attending, said, "I didn't know you knew Dr. Brown." he reply was in
quiet, soft English-lady tones: "Well, I did not know him, but I sent for
him for the sake of Rab and his Dogs, you know.
Another citizen whose
characteristics give him a claim to remembrance is Sir Daniel Macnee, who
migrated to Edinburgh from Glasgow when his position as a portrait-painter
was ensured, and who afterwards became President of the Royal Scottish
Academy. He is remembered as a teller of stories, with extraordinarily
graphic and humorous power. but he himself put them together is certain;
however it may be as to the suggestion he received from actual occurrences.
With a face which if not classical in featurewas full of vivvacity, and
capable of assuming expressions which gave point to his words, his presence
at a dinner-table made ft certain that host and guests would enjoy a How of
humour that even a "John Shand" could not have resisted, I well remember an
occasion when I sat next him at dinner, and came nearer the sensation of
being choked with laughter than I ever was in all my life. For Sir Daniel
apostrophised me as if I was the person that was being addressed by the
character he was assuming for the moment, and the face and the tone gave
such intensely comic flavour to the words that I became almost unable to
breathe from pressure of laughter. His powers might well be called
inimitable, but feeling, as I did, that when he was gone it would be
regrettable f his stories should all fall out of knowledge, I tried to keep
some of them alive. Having a retentive memory, I have at times—confessing
that I was trying to give a reproduction—endeavoured to convey to a new
generation some idea of his extraordinarily racy humour, and while no one
could hope to reproduce exactly, I have always found that his stories are
very acceptable, and give amusement to audiences of very varied types.
Speaking of Sir Daniel Macnee,
leads to a word on the Royal Scottish Academy. There can be no doubt that
from the time of Wilkie and Raeburn onwards, there was a development of
pictorial art in Scotland which gave the Scottish painters a position of
mark of no mean degree. It would be incidious to name a few, and it is not
possible co name the many. Let it suffice to call attention to the fact that
so many Scottish artists have attained the highest honours in London, a
thing to be proud of, although in one view to be regretted. Just as the
commanding position of Edinburgh in literature has been weakened by so much
of Scottish literary power migrating to the great metropolis, so in the case
of art London carries away many of our best men, after they have made their
reputation in the Scottish School. I take this opportunity to mention a
circumstance connected with our Edinburgh Raeburn, which is, I think,
interesting. When Rochefort, the French anarchist, was an exile in this
country, he wrote for the. Pans Figaro critiques on art, in which he was
skilled. I saw in that paper an article of his, in which he said that he had
gone to visit a collection of pictures by a Scotsman called Raeburn, and he
ventured to predict that in another quarter of a century he would be looked
on as the most distinguished portrait-painter of his time. How true was this
prediction. Pictures which he painted for £100 or £200 are now selling at
sums going in some cases above ,£20,000.
Another citizen who calls for
notice was the lovable Dean Ramsay of whom I knew well, and who enriched our
Scottish literature with a collection of humorous anecdotes which have been
a delight to countless readers. In his sacred office he served long and
well, and the esteem in which he was held was by no means limited to those
with whom he was directly associated in his ministry.
There was also coming into
notice at this time one who became a marked character in Edinburgh life for
many years—the Reverend Dr. Macgregor. Never in the history of the world was
there a greater triumph of mind over matter.
All who remember his
diminutive body supported on feeble limbs, and the great massive head above,
will admit the truth of the intellectual triumph. With a powerful stentorian
voice, and a mind supplying a torrent of well-chosen and apposite words, the
listener lost all sense of the smallness of the man in the greatness of his
powers as a preacher, he was sometimes so carried away, when he left his MS.
and spoke at large, that things came pouring from his lips, of which :it
might be said that they were such as "one would rather they had been
differently expressed." One of his hearers assured me that upon an occasion
he burst forth thus—I wish it were possible to give the almost raucous
utterance, and the accompanying action: "And in that great and dreadful day,
when you all stand before the great white throne, this question will be
asked: 'Did not Dr. Macgregor tell you over and over again that unless you
repented and turned from your evil ways, you would have to answer for it!"
It says much for the consciousness of all present that the words came from
the depth of affectionate earnestness, that their almost grotesque
application of the sheep and goat parable could be accepted for its good
intention, When this was told to me, my informant saw some incredulity in my
face, but he solemnly assured me that what he said was true. Against such an
extravagance as this, let all the earnest work he did during his long life,
and particularly in St. Cuthbert's, stand to his honour. He was a man who
left hosts of friends and not an enemy, and was an uncompromising servant of
his Master.
In view of the extraordinary
development which has taken place since the opening o the twentieth century,
it may be worthy of notice that during the Sixties of last century Mr.
Thomson, the engineer, who had been associated with my friend Colonel
Crompton—now the consulting engineer of H.M. Road Board—in using steam-power
for transit on roads in India, and who was admittedly the first inventor of
the pneumatic tire, came to settle in Edinburgh on retiring from
professional work. Of a highly ingenious and inventive mind, he pursued his
efforts on mechanical road locomotion, and I have seen his steam tractor,
with solid rubber tires several inches thick, on the street in Edinburgh. He
also built a steam omnibus, which plied for a short time between Edinburgh
and Leitb, but being contrary to law at that time, his promising venture was
crushed by the police. I saw that omnibus some years later in a coach-house
in Leith Walk, and have inquired what became of it, but could not learn
anything about it. It must have been broken up long ago. It is to be
regretted that it could not find a place in a museum, as it was the first
public: vehicle that was run on rubber tires, by mechanical power, anywhere.
There was a gentleman, well
known in Edinburgh for many years, to whom the expression ''a character" was
freely applied—Mr. John Hope, W.S. He was one of those men, rarely met with,
who by dogged passivity, which no pressure of authority could move, and no
opposition could overcome, succeeded in getting his own way in almost
everything he desired. Correspondence carried to the most extreme limit
would wear down the other side, as constant dropping of water wears the
hardest rock. He was unmoved by all appeals to sentiment. "Show me that it's
not my right," he said to a friend of mine who remonstrated with him on a
point of sharp practice, "you need not talk to me about honour and that kind
of thing; convince me that it is not my right, and I will give it up at
once." That was the epitome of the man— loopholes for himself, none for the
opposite party, was the essence of Ids business policy. To keep himself
abstractly in the right was sufficient for him, and unless his opponent
could show him that he was technically not entitled to maintain his view, he
was adamant to all appeals to considerate feeling it; told of him that when
anyone came to his office on business, a secret record was taken of what
passed. If the visitor made a statement as to what had been said at a
previous meeting, John Hope, if he thought it inaccurate, would say, "Ah,
but that is not consistent with what you said then," and going across the
room spoke to his shorthand clerk, who was behind a screen, saying, "Bring
the notes of my conversation with Mr. - on 11th of last April," and when
they were brought, directed him to read them to the astonished visitor, who
little knew that when he called on business there was "a pen scratching
behind the arras," recording his every word. It was characteristic of Mr.
Hope, that he was quite open about this reporting behind a screen, evidently
seeing nothing in it that anyone could object to.
His vis inertia was sublime.
No one but he could have received toleration, when he formed a corps of
Volunteers, in which every man on joining had to sign an undertaking of
abstinence from alcohol and tobacco. Yet he was allowed to carry on an
organisation of 500 men for many years on that footing, and dismissed men
whose only offence was their being seen with a pipe. No one else would have
been suffered to break the regulation that Volunteers were not to wear gold
lace or gilt buttons, but again, for more than a quartet of a century, John
Hope's men paraded with gold ornaments. No one but he would have been
successful in resisting discipline for a long period, arid holding on to his
battalion command for many years contrary to the Queen's Regulations
regarding retirement at a certain age. Correspondence in heavy sheaves bore
down and smothered official authority. Dr. Cifford's passive resistance was
nothing to his.
Two anecdotes will illustrate
his claim to be classed as a "character." In the Queen's Brigade, when under
my command, the company of John Hope was most carefully inspected by him, he
paying little regard to rifles or accoutrements, but slowly moving along and
sniffing, that any trace of scent of spirits or tobacco might be detected.
On one occasion, on a Sunday afternoon, he met a man who had recently
enlisted, and stopped to speak to him, standing up pretty close. Suddenly he
looked the man hard in the face, and the following conversation took place:
"John, you've been drinking
"No. Master Hope, upon ma
wuurd, I havenut tastit a drop since I jined the caump'y."
The man spoke so earnestly
that Hope was inclined to believe him,( but he took another snuffle, and
holding up his finger said slowly:
"But you've been smoking,
John!'
"Dod, Maijter Hope, yee'd
make an uncommon fine pinterbitch," was the reply, being a compliment to the
dehcacy of the feminine olfactory nerves.
I was a party to the other
story myself. Hope had succeeded, as no one else could have done, in
obtaining authority to erect a stone building at the entrance to the
Hunter's Bog in Queen's Park, as a storehouse for ammunition, offensively
affecting the almost unique solitary character of the view, in a situation
close to—practically in—the city. It was a most objectionable obtrusion,
erected before the public knew of the proposal. The artistic soul of the
President of the Royal Scottish Academy, Sir George Harvey, was roused by
this vandalism, the more so as it faced him when he looked out at the lovely
view from Regent Terrace. He immediately took steps to go with a deputation
to Mr. Layard, who then was at the head of the Woods and Forests Department,
to endeavour to obtain redress. I met him shortly after, on the steps of the
Post Office, and said:
"Well, Sir George, I see
you've been in London about 'Hope's Hut"' (as we had dubbed it); "how did
you get on?"
"Oh," he replied, beaming all
over, "we had a most satisfactory meeting with Mr. Layard, and the building
is to be taken down."
I said, "Sir George, don't be
too sure—remember who you have to deal with; it will not be taken down."
"Oh, but indeed, I assure
you; the Commissioner was most kinnd, and the fiat has gone forth. It is to
be removed at once."
I replied, "I hope you will
forgive me for being obstinate, Sir George, but I know John Hope a great
deal better than you do, and the 'Hut' will never be taken down as long as
John Hope is alive.' We parted, each of us equally confident—he delightedly
and I morosely.
Hope set to work with his
usual pertinacity. He succeeded—in many cases by the water-dropping process
of wearing down—in getting all the members of the Town Council to sign a
Petition in favour of allowing the "Hut' to remain on the express
stipulations that it should be lowered by one-half, and that it should be
overgrown with ivy.
Prophets do not generally
mourn when their predictions are fulfilled, but I lament my success in the
role. The Hut was never reduced in height; no ivy was ever planted round it,
and it stands to this day, another Edinburgh blot on natural beauty, like a
square of diachylon plaster on a lovely woman's face. John Hope's triumphs
were many, and all to official or public chagrin. The next time I met
Harvey, I said: "Well, what about Hopes Hut?" "Ah," was the reply, "you were
right— alas, Mr. Hope was too many for us. What can't be cured must be
endured."
Another "character" is
brought to memory by this reference to "Hope's Hut." Many can recall the
bluff exterior of one who was always spoken of as Sam Bough, and whose work
as an artist was and is well known. He was of the rough diamond order, and
coming from the Midlands of England, he still retained his characteristic
style of speech, although settled for many years in Edinburgh. He did not
get on well with his chief in the Scottish Academy, Sir George Harvey, and
lost no opportunity to have a "dig'' at him. I have heard him speak of
Harvey's pictures as specimens of the "Soolpher and Traycle ' school. It so
happened that he got to know the fact that Sir Georgewas making efforts to
have "Hope's Hut" removed, and he took an opportunity in a company to
perpetrate a sarcastic allusion to this effort
SARAH SIBBALD, "APPLE GLORY"
of Harvey's. Said he: "I've
eerd a good deal letly about 'Ope's 'Ut in the 'Unter's Bog, and 'Arvay
doosn't lyke it; now if' Arvay was a lanscep penter, he would know that it's
a gret himprovement to the scene." It s said—I know not with what amount of
verity—that on one occasion when Harvey sent in for exhibition a Highland
glen with deer m the foreground, Sam sent in a practically empty canvas, and
on varnishing day, with amazing speed rushed a similar scene on to it, and
the story goes—although again I do not vouch for it —that having put down a
itmilar price of this hasty performance in the catalogue as £200, the red
star for "sold" was affixed to it on the first day of the exhibition, while
Harvey's was not starred. But having known Sam, I can vouch for it, that
inspite of these cantrips, he was a kind-hearted man at bottom. When
M'Culloch died, leaving unfinished pictures in his study, Sam Bough went to
the house, and spent much labour in making good what was unfinished, for the
sake of the family, and this although he and the deceased Academician had
not been on speaking terms for some time before the death. I have known of
other kind and generous things done by him in a most unostentatious way. I
have always felt that in these "digs," as I have called them, and from which
Harvey was not the only sufferer, there was more of the rough joker than of
the vindictive satirist.
Two artists of the period
call for notice—Sir Noel Paton and Sir George Reid, representing the
imaginative and the portrait branches of art, the latter President of the
R.S.A. Many others might be mentioned. As already stated, most of them
migrated to London, an action to be regretted, perhaps not for their own
sakes, but for ours.
Those I have enumerated are
of the interesting men of Edinburgh during my earlier years of manhood.
There were others—many; but it is not possible to refer to all, and I
therefore confine myself to those with whom I came into contact personally,
or in connection with public business.
One other "character" calls
for a word—and it is one of the fair sex. Sarah Sibbald, the lady who had a
fruit-barrow at the corner of the old Theatre Royal, was known to all
Edinburgh. Stout—very stout—and with a face as rubicund as the finest of her
apples—she sat and sold in a gruff order, "Move on there", making her
afraid. Her character was as good as her fruit. So esteemed was she that
when the sheds were put up for the erection of the new Post Office, the
Board of Works installed her on a raised dais in the corner, where,
sheltered from the weather, she carried on her business in great style. I
remember my friend, Charles Doyle (Sir Conan's father), who was an official
in the Works Office, seizing my arm, and pointing to Sarah on her throne,
saying, "Isn't that grand?" It was. The only extant portrait of her does
not, except as regards breadth, do her justice. Hers was a bright kindly
face, with cheeks as rosy as her best apples. |
