William Nelson A Memoir 5

William Nelson A Memoir 5

At a later stage the juvenile debaters awoke to an interest in the

stirring questions of the day. Mr. Alexander Sprunt, writing from

Wilmington, North Carolina, in 1859, says: “During the period of our

High School curriculum, questions were occupying the public mind, and

startling events taking place in Europe: the final struggle of the

Poles, the French ‘Three Days of July,’ the reform movement, etc. The

subject of the immediate or gradual emancipation of the negro slaves in

the colonies was also keenly discussed about that time. Some of us,

being related to families of the colonists, were familiar with the

arguments for a gradual abolition of slavery.” William Nelson took up

the question warmly, and was an uncompromising advocate for immediate

emancipation. As to the oft-renewed struggle in France between Bourbon

Royalists, Imperialists, and Red Republicans, it was forcibly brought

home to the realization of the young debaters by the presence of the

exiled Charles X. and his little court at Holyrood; and by the

occasional sight of the royal refugee as he passed the High School Yards

on foot, in company with one or two of his suite, to enjoy the

magnificent panorama from the Calton Hill.

 

The fruits of those early experiences could be discerned in later years.

The boy’s education was progressing under other teachings besides those

of the schoolmaster. It was altogether alien to the unobtrusiveness of

William Nelson’s sensitive nature to take, in later years, a prominent

share in political life; but his generous support was extended in the

most practical form to all philanthropic movements. He manifested the

keenest interest in all questions of liberal politics: in the

emancipation of the slaves; in the prolonged controversies which led to

the disruption of the Scottish Church; and in the more recent struggle

between the Slave and Free States in the great American Civil War. Most

of those questions belong to periods long subsequent to the time when

James and Alexander Sprunt were the champions of the West Indian

planters, and William Nelson and other juvenile debaters maintained the

cause of the enslaved negro.

 

But the members of the Literary Society, as already noted, had their

field-days as well as their Friday night sessions; and in pursuit of

material for their papers, as well as in the free use of the Saturday

and other holidays, the schoolmates had many an exciting ramble. In

spite of its uncertain climate, Edinburgh presents an unequalled variety

of choice holiday excursions; and as to the rain, it required a good

deal more than an ordinary shower to put a stop to any projected

excursion. In walking, climbing, and all the ordinary feats of healthy

boyhood, William Nelson was unsurpassed. To make our way to the summit

of Salisbury Crags by the famous Cat-Nick, or outrival each other in the

attempt to scale Samson’s Ribs, and sit supreme on some overhanging

ledge of the basaltic columns, were among the most favourite pastimes.

Or a leisurely climb along the slopes to the summit of Arthur’s Seat,

and a survey of the magnificent landscape spread out to view, were a

prelude, at the word, to a dash down the hill, scrambling like so many

goats over the western cliffs and the rough slope below, and so by the

Hunter’s Bog, for the first draught at St. Anthony’s Well. In all such

feats William Nelson was a match for any schoolmate. His coolness

equalled his courage, and he had a love for daring feats such as those

who only knew him in later years will hardly realize. When the old home

at the Bowhead was displaced by the Assembly Hall, and its lofty spire

was in process of erection, he made friends with the contractor, and I

accompanied him in more than one ascent. A steam hoist carried us up

the main portion of the way; and then came the trying ordeal on the

ladders. But as the tapering spire approached completion, it was no

longer possible to reach the summit from within; and I still recall with

vividness the composure with which, all unconscious of danger, he walked

out on the narrow plank, over a depth of upwards of two hundred feet,

and stood at the extreme end of it, noting and commenting on the various

objects spread out below.

 

A future career for life was as yet unthought of. But while aiming

solely at pleasure, and rejoicing in a holiday’s escape from school, the

boy was unconsciously educating himself. Already the botanical box and

the geological hammer were in vogue. Not, indeed, the luxurious

appliances with which amateur naturalists are now furnished. Any hammer

sufficed for getting at a coveted fossil; and as for our _hortus

siccus_, an old candle-box was appropriated by the botanical collector.

But the archæological tastes in which more than one of William Nelson’s

schoolmates sympathized, and to which he gave such practical __EXPRESSION__

in later years, were already in process of development. The pleasurable

associations with historic scenes and picturesque ruins found ample

scope in those holiday rambles. Craigmillar Castle was close at hand;

and within easy distance was old Roman Cramond, with chances of a

numismatic prize to the fortunate explorer, and with the sculptured

eagle of the legionaries of the second century still visible on the

cliff at the mouth of the river Almond. This had a special charm for

boys fresh from their Cæsar and Tacitus, giving a sense of reality to

those forgotten centuries. It was an object-lesson, better even than the

Roman altar dedicated to the goddess Epona--DEÆ EPONÆ--which Dr. Carson,

the Rector of the High School, produced to his class, and won their

attentive admiration as he pointed to the focus in which the Roman

horse-jockey had poured a libation; and adduced passages from the

Satires of Juvenal in confirmation of his theme.

 

Farther afield lay Woodhouselee, Seton and Roslin chapels; Niddry,

Borthwick, and Crichton castles; Preston Cross and Tower; and many

another storied ruin associated with familiar historic events. Pinkie

Cleugh, Carberry Hill, Lasswade, Dalkeith, and Prestonpans, were each

linked with song or story. Maclagan was an ardent collector of plants

and insects; geology divided with botany the interest of George Wilson;

John A. Smith had already begun the collection of coins; and William

Nelson was forming the tastes which manifested themselves in later years

in his love for every venerable nook of his native city, and in his zeal

for the preservation of its historic memorials.

 

The change from school to college life is in every case an important

one. With the majority it involves emancipation, in a large degree,

from enforced and distasteful studies, and their exchange for congenial

pursuits. The youth begins for the first time to estimate knowledge at

its real worth, and to shape out plans of study for himself. But the

novel arena is no less important as that in which the companionships of

the playground give place to that discriminating choice of congenial

associates in which life-long friendships have so often originated. It

is the joyous season in which the springtide is just merging into life’s

early summer; when youth is animated by all generous aspirations, and

hope’s rainbow arch spans the horizon.

 

The period of William Nelson’s admission as an undergraduate of the

University of Edinburgh was in some respects a brilliant one in its

history; and even more so in relation to its students than its

professors. Dr. John Lee, the learned Church historian and black-letter

scholar, was principal, and Dr. Chalmers occupied the chair of divinity;

the chair of natural philosophy was successively occupied by Sir John

Leslie and by James D. Forbes. Before the abrupt close of William

Nelson’s academic career, Sir William Hamilton had assumed the lead in

its school of mental science; and the fame of John Wilson, its professor

of moral philosophy, under his pseudonym of “Christopher North,”

attracted many to his class-room for whom his professed theme would have

had no charm. But in the department of classics, for which all William

Nelson’s previous training had been specially directed, the faculty was

imperfectly equipped. Dunbar, a poor representative of Hellenic

scholarship, had then filled the Greek chair for upwards of a quarter of

a century. On the other hand, the professor of humanity was James

Pillans, an elegant scholar, and, in the words of Sir Alexander Grant,

“a born teacher and educator;” though latterly more prone to dwell on

little critical niceties than to give himself up to the drudgery which

was indispensable for the training of his large and often inadequately

prepared class. Among other traits that his old pupils will recall was

the never-failing protest at the opening of a new session, which

reminded the class that he enjoyed the dubious fame of being pilloried

by Byron in his “English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.” The irate bard, in

his indiscriminate _furor_, had characterized the professor of humanity

as “Paltry Pillans;” and William Nelson used to quote this incident of

his own experience in justification of the title:--He had an essay to

give in on a certain day, and not having finished it till late on the

previous night, instead of walking to the professor’s remote residence

at Inverleith Row, he dropped his manuscript into the nearest post-box.

Next day, when the class assembled, the first intimation from the

professor was, “I will thank Mr. William Nelson to hand twopence to the

janitor for the postage of his essay!” Notwithstanding some amusing

eccentricities, Professor Pillans was held in great esteem by his old

pupil as an apt and painstaking enthusiast in his profession; and the

good feeling was mutual. William Nelson was a favourite pupil, in whose

progress he took a lively interest, and it was in spite of his most

urgent remonstrances that the classic muse was abandoned at the call of

filial duty.

 

But it was the fortune of William Nelson, in those happy days of student

life, to find himself among a rare band of undergraduates, many of whom

subsequently won a name for themselves in ampler fields. Edward Forbes

was then a zealous volunteer on the staff of the _University Maga_,

contributing with pen and pencil, in prose and verse, to its columns. He

had a rare power of winning co-operation in whatever he set on foot; and

he gathered around him a band of kindred spirits, who, as sharers in the

exuberant frolic and satire of the _Maga_, formed themselves at length

into the Magi, or members of the Maga Club. Out of this grew the famous

“Brotherhood of the Friends of Truth,” with its archimagus, its ribbon,

and its mystic motto:-

 

ΟΙΝΣ ΕΡΩΣ ΜΑΘΗΣΙΣ,

 

which still survives under its later guise of the Red Lions of the

British Association gatherings. There was a curious admixture of

youthful exuberance and frolic with a lofty earnestness of aim in the

Brotherhood. The search after truth was declared, in its programme, not

only to be man’s noblest occupation, but his duty; and the spirit of the

order is thus set forth: “This brotherhood is a union of the searchers

after truth, for the glory of God, the good of all, and the honour of

the order, to the end that mind may hold its rightful sway in the

world.”

 

Of the youthful band of undergraduates, John Goodsir, Bennett, Blackie,

Lyon Playfair, George Wilson, and Edward Forbes, all ultimately filled

chairs in their own university. Day succeeded to a professorship in St.

Andrews, and Struthers to one in Aberdeen. Henry Goodsir, a youth of

high ability, accompanied Sir John Franklin as naturalist in the

ill-fated Arctic expedition, from which none returned. Dr. Stanger