JEDBURGH is a small town
in Roxburghshire, noted in the annals of Border warfare. It was
frequently attacked by the English, and the broken arches and scarred
towers of a fine Abbey still testify to the violence of their assaults.
The scenery of the neighbourhood combines somewhat of the ruggedness of
the Highlands with the delicate beauty of a Devonshire landscape. The
old red sandstone presents itself in numerous bare precipices ; the
background is formed of picturesque interminglings of dark woods,
apple-orchards, meadows and corn-fields. Nor is the charm of water
wanting. The Jed, which has given its name to the ancient burgh, flows
by hazel copse and cultured slope, and in the shadow of firs “ that
crown the heights with tufts of deeper green.” This stream has gained a
poetic celebrity, for on its banks Thomson first watched the procession
of the “Seasons and Leyden", who sleeps in distant Java, has sketched
its beauties with a loving hand in his “Scenes of Infancy.” Sir D.
Brewsteb was born in Jedburgh, in the year 1781. His father was rector
of the Grammar School, a position to which he had been appointed, partly
through the influence of the minister of the parish, Dr. Macknight,
whose learning and acuteness found scope in the famous works on the
Gospels and the Epistles.
David was educated by his father. His mind was naturally quick and
retentive, and though never seen toiling over his school-books like the
other boys, he always had his lessons ready. Genius is often started on
its career by trifling circumstances, and David’s early bias towards
natural science was occasioned by seeing the prismatic colours thrown
out by some peculiarity in a window-pane in his father’s house. The
beautiful hues thus made visible, led him to eager inquiries as to the
refraction of light. He was aided in his investigations in reference to
that and cognate subjects, by acquaintance with several individuals who
had a local renown for scientific research or mechanical ingenuity. His
principal teacher was James Veitch, who resided about half a mile from
Jedburgh, in a valley gently sloping towards wooded banks and red scaurs.
His cottage, standing on a small patrimonial estate named Inchbonny, is
described as “pleasant to sight and sound, with its walls covered with
pear-trees, its sunny little garden, its hives of bees, its song-birds
and its murmuring brook.” He was a carpenter by trade, but was able to
construct telescopes, microscopes and other instruments with a precision
not surpassed by the workmen of Edinburgh or London. He delighted in
astronomical pursuits, and was the first to discover the great comet of
1811. Men of eminence in science and literature courted his society; and
Sir Walter Scott frequently said to him, “Well, James, when are you
coming amongst us in Edinburgh to take your place with our
philosophers?” The leafy dwelling, the workshop with its mechanical
curiosities, would have been an attraction to almost any boy, but were
specially so to one so eager for information as David Brewster. Though
he had afterwards teachers of greater name, it was from the philosopher
of Inchbonny he received the lessons which prepared him for his
scientific achievements. Nor did he forget his obligations, for when
honoured by a European reputation and by the diplomas and medals of many
illustrious institutions, he turned fondly to the sequestered valley in
which his early preceptor pursued the even tenour of his way.
When twelve years old, he was sent to the University of Edinburgh, where
he distinguished himself as a laborious and successful student, and took
his degree of M.A. while yet in his teens. Though he entered the
Divinity Hall, being intended for the clerical profession, he abated
nothing of his enthusiasm for natural science, and employed all his
available time in astronomical observations and experiments in
electricity and optics. After leaving the University he preached a few
times, but excessive nervousness and a number of discouraging
circumstances, induced him to abandon the plan of ministerial life which
had been formed for him. It is evident he could have had no deep
conviction of duty in reference to the work of the ministry. He had been
simply designed to it, as to a profession, without regard to conversion
or a Divine call. There may be instances in which in childhood
predilections and qualifications for the ministry are manifested, which
ought to be sacredly cherished by parents. But what kind of ministers
are boys likely to rise up who have never been affected by the love of
Christ, and have never thought of the grave responsibilities of the
ministerial calling, yet at twelve or thirteen are sent to College as
Divinity students, and then, with no more than the cold outlines of a
system of Theology in their minds, are ordained to the care of churches?
Who can wonder if Religion languishes, and Rationalism comes with axes
and hammers to break down the carved work of the old beliefs, when
pulpits are occupied and sacraments administered by men without
experience of the first elements of Christian life? Happily there has
not been in the past, nor is there now, the slightest tendency to this
mode of procedure in Methodism. Ho one can be received as a candidate
for our ministry, in reference to whom the following questions cannot be
answered in the affirmative: “Has he grace? Has he gifts? Has God given
him fruit of his labours?”
In 1810, Mr. Brewster was married to a daughter of the Macpherson who
gained both applause and obloquy by his real or pretended translations
of Ossianic poetry. For some time after his marriage the philosopher
resided in Edinburgh, and then removed to a small estate he had bought
in Roxburghshire, not far from Melrose Abbey. Allery was the name he
gave to his new abode, which commanded a fine stretch of country backed
by the Eildon Hills, and had the additional advantage of being
favourably situated for intercourse with Abbotsford and other seats of
distinguished literary men. This picturesque spot was held by him until
1838, when he was made Principal of the United College of St. Salvador
and St. Leonard, in St. Andrews; an appointment which necessitated his
removal to that city. He occupied the house in which the famous George
Buchanan once studied and wrote, and was in the midst of antiquities
replete with the interest of great names and startling events. He could
scarcely have gone to a place more suitable for a man of studious habits
than St. Andrews. The long, parallel streets are almost cloister-like in
their quietness; the wide beach, the sands of which glisten in the
sunlight as if strewn with particles of silver, with the blue sweep of
the noble bay, afford an ample scene for meditation or recreation; the
stern masonry of the old castle, the fragmentary glories of the
Cathedral, and the gaunt tower of St. Regulus, carry the mind back to
days when prelates vied with kings in power and pomp; and in the
cathedral yard are numerous historic tombs, one of which bears the
honoured name of Samuel Rutherford, and cannot be seen without a throb
of emotion by those who have yielded to the lovely charm of his
“Letters.”
Whether in Allery or St. Andrews, Mr. Brewster was ever busy with his
scientific labours, and by his success in them won distinctions from
almost every part of Europe, and the honour of knighthood from William
IV.; while geography took charge of his name, giving it to a cape in the
Arctic, and a river in the Antarctic region. He could almost have said
with Lord Bacon, "1 have taken all knowledge to be my province.” Few
subjects, relating either to the heavens or the earth, escaped his
attention; but it was in the domain of light and optics that he found
his most congenial tasks, and made discoveries which were hailed as new
glories for science. While engaged in his favourite studies, lie
invented an instrument which, though of no utility unless to pattern
designers, has given pleasure in tens of thousands of dwellings. This
was the kaleidoscope, the appearance of which caused immense excitement.
The tube, with its endless variation of form and colour, was sought by
all ranks and ages, from peers to peasants, from grave philosophers to
little children. Kaleidoscopes could not be made with sufficient
rapidity to meet the demand. Shops were besieged, and people left their
money in order to insure the coveted article. But the inventor gained no
pecuniary advantage; means were adopted to evade the patent he took out,
and though it was said he ought to have realised one hundred thousand
pounds, he was not profited to the extent of a single farthing. Sir
David Brewster also gave to the stereoscope its present form, for though
the principle of binocular vision had been long understood, and though
instruments had been made by which two pictures had been brought into
one view, and their objects set in apparent relief, he was the first to
bring out the instrument now in universal use. One of these he took to
Paris, where its adaptation to photography was at once appreciated.
Crowds flocked to see the wonders effected by the twofold lens, and the
instrument soon became extensively popular. His optical researches also
led him to make considerable improvements in the illumination of
lighthouses. Great difficulties were placed in the way of the adoption
of these improvements, and even his claim as the originator of the
dioptric apparatus was acrimoniously denied in favour of a Frenchman ;
but his services were recognised after, if not before, his death, and a
high authority has said: “Every lighthouse that burns round the shores
of the British Empire is a shining witness to the usefulness of
Brewster’s life.” Sir David Brewster was not only a scientific but also
a literary man. His first great work, projected while he was
comparatively young, was the “Edinburgh Encyclopaedia" for which he
wrote many articles. He was involved in immense troubles by want of
punctuality, and even utter neglect, on the part of numbers who had
promised articles, and pecuniarily the work was a failure but it remains
as a fine monument of the editor’s daring and his intellectual energy.
Thomas Chalmers was asked to be a contributor. At that time he was but
little interested in the themes proper to his ministerial office:
Mathematics had greater charms for him than Theology, and he made choice
of Trigonometry as his subject for the “Encyclopaedia.” But the death of
a beloved sister touched his heart, and he requested permission to write
the article “ Christianity.” This article has interest as being his
first purely religious composition for the press, and as indicating an
important crisis in his spiritual history. Though it has reference more
to the buttresses than to the inner glories of Christianity, the studies
necessary to its production brought him into closer contact with truths
on which he had hitherto looked with philosophic disdain.
An Essay on Whewell’s “Plurality of Worlds,” written by Sir David
Brewster for the “North British Review,” was expanded by him into the
volume so well known as, “More Worlds than One:” a work to which he
applied himself with the caution of the philosopher, the imagination of
the poet, and the faith of the Christian. While free from the
extravagant rhetoric, it has much of the splendour of Chalmers’
“Astronomical Discourses.” The glories of the heavens blaze over the
great argument; and the writer in a masterly manner shows the
unlikelihood of the magnificent worlds which appal our minds with their
sublime distances and stupendous magnitudes, being mere wastes without
sentient occupants. In his own vigorous way he suggests the thought,
that if we could rise to the orbs which gleam afar, if we could glide
from planet to planet and from sun to sun, we should witness most
wonderful manifestations of intellect and moral power, and mingle with
beings haying lips melodious with lofty psalms, and vision bright with
prophetic radiancy, and hearts ever intent on doing the bidding of their
Creator.
Sir David Brewster’s most elaborate work is the “Memoirs of the Life,
Writings and Discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton.” He spared no trouble in
the execution of the task he had set himself, visiting Woolsthorp, where
he saw the tree from which, it is said, the apple fell which turned
Newton’s thoughts to the law of gravitation, and Grantham, where he saw
the venerable school-house in which he was educated: he also obtained
access to papers in the archives of the Earl of Portsmouth, which
hitherto had only been cursorily examined, but were found by him to be
of great value, as clearing Newton’s character from imputations of
unworthy conduct in his differences with Flamsteed. He would willingly
have proved Newton perfectly orthodox in religious belief; but though he
was not able to do this, he was convinced that his deviations from
Trinitarian doctrine were not so wide as they are usually stated to have
been. Other works were also published by Sir David Brewster; “The
Martyrs of Science,” “Natural Magic,” a popular “Life of Newton;” while
of miscellaneous articles he contributed three hundred and fifteen to
various philosophical journals, and seventy-five to the “North British
Review.”
Sir David Brewster was a Christian philosopher. His sympathies had
always been with the Evangelical section of the Church of Scotland, and
at the Disruption he identified himself with the Free Church. He was too
long a stranger to the spiritual life of the Gospel, but he was not a
doubter. He never indulged in the haughty scepticism which interferes so
much with our admiration of some of the eminent philosophers of the
present day.
His aim was not to sacrifice religion to science, but to unite them in
harmonious labours for the well-being of man.
It was not until late in life that Sir David Brewster entered into
conscious relationship with Christ. When he did become sensible of the
one thing he lacked, he sought the Lord with his whole heart. One of his
daughters had a conversation with him on the plan of salvation, in which
she related her own experience of the love of God. He listened, took her
in his arms and kissed her, and said with child-like simplicity, “Go
now, and pray that I may know it too.” The light he craved at length
filled his soul, and he could say, “I see it all so clearly myself. It
cannot be presumption to be sure, because it is Christ’s work, not ours
; on the contrary, it is presumption to doubt His word and His work.” On
another occasion he said, while tears filled his eyes, “O, is it not sad
that all are not contented with the beautiful, simple plan of
salvation—Jesus only, Who has done all for us!”
In 1859, he was appointed to the Principalship of the Edinburgh
University. His official life in St. Andrews was ruffled by strife and
litigation, for which he was to a large extent to be blamed. He was
somewhat pugnacious in disposition, and his strong phrases and
imperative manner, even in the assertion of what was right, tended to
rouse and embitter opposition. But in Edinburgh—and doubtless the
mellowing influence of Divine grace may be taken as accounting for it—he
worked in harmony with the College authorities, and one who had feared a
repetition of the St. Andrews squabbles, said after his death, “ Would
that Sir David Brewster had lived for ever; we shall never see his like
again ! ” His last public appearance was in Dundee, at the Meeting of
the British Association. The “old man eloquent,” with the beautiful
white hair and the expressive countenance, gave his testimony in favour
of revealed religion. One who was present wrote, “To see a phllosopher
like him, of worldwide reputation, vindicating the inspiration of God’s
Word, and humbly receiving the truth in the love of it, was most
encouraging.”
But though the faculties of his mind were well-nigh as bright as in the
days when with boyish glee he bounded along the bank of the Jed or
climbed the towers of the ruined Abbey, his body was weakened by lapse
of years. At one of the meetings he fainted on the platform. On his
return home, he expressed himself as feeling every day “ an inch nearer
the end since Dundee.” The closing days of his long and laborious life
were spent in his own charming Allery. He employed himself in calmly
arranging his affairs; and as each little task was completed, a letter
dictated or papers put in order, or books restored to their right place
on the shelves he would say, “There; that’s done.” The last time he was
in his study, his little daughter, the issue of a second marriage, came
in, and read to him the twenty-seventh Psalm and the sixth chapter of
the Epistle to the Hebrews, and then sung to him the hymn he always
delighted to hear, “There is a happy land.” When he left the study he
said, “Now you may turn the key, for I shall never be in that room
again.” When he undressed he said, “Take away my clothes, this is the
last time I shall wear them;” and when he lay down, “I shall never again
rise from this bed.”
Sir James Simpson visited him when on his death-bed, and told him that.
he hoped he might yet rally. “Why, Sir James, should you hope that?” he
asked; and then added, “The machine has worked for above eighty years,
and it is now worn out. Life has been very bright to me, and now there
is brightness beyond.” A little before he died, he said, “Jesus will
take me safe through.” One of the members of his family said, “You will
see Charlie,” a son who had been drowned many years before. After a
pause he replied, “I shall see Jesus, Who created all things; Jesus Who
made the worlds; I shall see Him as Ho is.” His closing testimony was,
“I feel so safe, so satisfied!” And then the blue eyes became dim, the
features rigid, and the patriarch was “for ever with the Lord.” His body
was borne through alternations of storm and calm, snow and sunshine, to
a grave near one of the sculptured windows of Melrose Abbey. On his tomb
there is an inscription highly appropriate to one who had studied the
properties of light with such assiduity, “The Lord is my light.” The
daughter who has written his life with tender care and in beautiful
words, has honoured his memory with a graceful poem, from which the
following lines are taken :—
“Under the storm!
Under the storm!
Lift ye gently the aged form!
Bear him tenderly down the stair—
Carry him out to the wintry air!
Let him into the shelter go
Of the plumy pomp of the conquer’d foe.
“Under the calm!
Under the calm!
Bear him along with a victor’s palm!
Borrow a glow from the purpled dell,
And a gleam from the river he loved so well;
Let the bells ring out a birthday chime
For a soul new-born from the throes of time.
“Under the snow!
Under the snow!
Into the damps and the dews below!
Lay him down with his long-loved dead,
Weep if ye will o’er his silver head,
We have not an honour to reach him now,
We have not a love that can touch his brow.
“Under the sun!
Under the sun!
Joy! for the saved whose race is run!
Joy! for the gift of the doubtless trust
That shall parry many a doubter’s thrust.
Joy! for the saint with his fair white stole,
Of Christ’s finished work in the glorious goal.” |