Edinburgh University--Professor Wilson--His Life and Writings,
Genius and Character.
We will now re-enter High Street, and thence turn at right angles into
South-bridge Street, and proceed to the University. It is a large and
imposing structure, but fails to produce its proper impression from the
circumstance of being wedged in among such a mass of other buildings. We
enter by a magnificent portico on the right, supported by Doric columns,
twenty-six feet in height, each formed of a single block of stone, and
find ourselves in a spacious quadrangular court, surrounded by the
various college edifices. The buildings are of free stone, beautifully
polished, and of recent erection, the old buildings, which were
unsightly and incommodious, having been taken down to make way for this
elegant and spacious structure. The University itself was founded by
King James the Sixth, in the year 1582, and has enjoyed uninterrupted
prosperity to the present time. The average number of students is from
ten to twelve hundred. The Rev. Dr. Lee, one of the most amiable and
learned men, is at present Principal of the University, and the various
chairs are filled by gentlemen of distinguished talent. The students are
not resident within the college, but choose their boarding-houses, at
pleasure, in any part of the city. They are not distinguished, as at
Glasgow and Oxford by any peculiar badge; are of all ages, and enjoy the
liberty of selecting the classes which they attend. Those however who
take degrees are required to attend a particular course, but this is not
done by more than one-half or at most two-thirds of the students. The
government of the University is not particularly strict. The
examinations are limited and imperfect; and hence it is very possible
for a young man to slip through the University, without contracting any
great tincture of scholarship. It is mainly the talent of the
professors, and the high literary enthusiasm they inspire, which sustain
the institution. There are thirty-four foundations for bursaries or
scholarships, the benefit of which is extended to eighty students. The
aggregate amount is about fifty dollars a year, for each. The Annual
Session lasts from October to May, with an occasional holiday, and a
week or two's vacation at Christmas. The rest of the year which includes
most of the summer and autumn is vacation, which gives the professors an
opportunity for rest and preparation, and the students facilities either
for private study, or for teaching and other employments. This order
prevails in all the other Scottish Universities, and is attended with
many advantages. But a truce to general remarks.
We have not time to visit the Museum, which is quite extensive and
admirably arranged, nor the Library, which is distinguished by its ample
dimensions and beautiful decorations. Neither can we dwell upon the
celebrated men who have encircled this Institution with a halo of
literary and scientific glory. But we will step into that door in front
of us, ascend the stairs, and enter the lecture-room of Professor
Wilson, the far famed "Christopher North," poet and novelist, orator,
critic and philosopher. The young gentlemen have assembled, but the
Professor has not yet come in. Good looking but noisy fellows these!
Some of them, you perceive, are very young, others are considerably
advanced in years. Most of them are well dressed, some poorly so. A few
look studious and care-worn, but the majority hearty and joyous. How
their clear loud laugh rings through the hall! They are from all ranks
of society, some being the sons of noblemen, others of farmers and
mechanics. Most of them probably have wherewithal to pay their college
expenses, but not a few, you may rely on it, are sorely pinched. The
Scots are an ambitious, study-loving race, and quite a number of these
young men are struggling up from the depths of poverty; and if they do
not die in the effort, will be heard of, one of these days, in the
pulpit, or at the bar.
But there comes the Professor, bowing graciously to the students, while
he receives from them a hearty "ruff," as the Scots call their energetic
stamping. What a magnificent looking man! Over six feet high, broad and
brawny, but of elegant proportions, with a clear, frank, joyous looking
face, a few wrinkles only around the eye, in other respects hale and
smooth, his fine locks sprinkled with gray, flowing down to his
shoulders, and his large lustrous eye beaming with a softened fire. His
subject is "the Passions." He commences with freedom and ease, but
without any particular energy,--makes his distinctions well, but without
much precision or force; for, to tell the honest truth, philosophical
analysis is not his particular forte. Still, it is good, so far as it
goes, and probably appears inferior chiefly by contrast. But he begins
to describe. The blood mantles to his forehead, thrown back with a
majestic energy, and his fine eye glows, nay, absolutely burns. And now
his impassioned intellect careers, as on the wings of the wind, leaping,
bounding, dashing, whirling, over hill and dale, rises into the clear
empyrean, and bathes itself in the beams of the sun. His audience is
intent, hushed, absorbed, rapt! He begins, however, to descend, and O!
how beautifully, like a falcon from "the lift," or an eagle from the
storm-cloud. And, now he skims along the surface with bird-like wing,
glancing in the sunlight, swiftly and gracefully. How varied and
delicate his language, how profuse his images, his allusions how
affecting, and his voice, ringing like a bell among the mountains. At
such seasons his style, manner and tone, are unequalled. Chaste and
exhilarating as the dew of the morning in the vale of Strathmore, yet
rich and rare as a golden sunset on the brow of Benlomond. But listen,
he returns to his philosophical distinctions,--fair, very fair, to be
sure, but nothing special, rather clumsy perhaps, except in regard to
his language. True, undoubtedly, but not profound, not deeply
philosophical, and to me, not particularly interesting. His auditors
have time to breathe. You hear an occasional cough, or blowing of the
nose. A few of the students are diligently taking notes, but the rest
are listless. This will last only a moment, and now that he is
approaching the close of his lecture, he will give us something worth
hearing. There, again he is out upon the open sea. How finely the sails
are set, and with what a majestic sweep the noble vessel rounds the
promontory, and anchors itself in the bay.[15]
[Footnote 15: The writer describes not an imaginary, but an actual
lecture of Professor Wilson's, which he heard some years ago.
We have honestly given our own impressions relative to Wilson's
metaphysical powers, and stated simply what we heard and saw while
attending his Lectures in Edinburgh University. Others however may have
different impressions; and we cheerfully append the following from
_Gilfillan_ as an offset to our strictures:
"It is probable that the very variety and versatility of Wilson's powers
have done him an injury in the estimation of many. They can hardly
believe that an actor, who can play so many parts, is perfect in all.
Because he is, confessedly, one of the most eloquent of men, it is
doubted whether he can be profound: because he is a fine poet, he must
be a shallow metaphysician;--because he is the Editor of _Blackwood_, he
must be an inefficient professor. There is such a thing on this round
earth, as diffusion along with depth, as the versatile and vigorous mind
of a man of genius mastering a multitude of topics, while others are
blunderingly acquiring one, or as a man 'multiplying himself among
mankind, the Proteus of their talents,' and proving that the Voltairian
activity of brain has been severed, in one splendid instance, at least,
from the Voltairian sneer and the Voltairian shallowness. Such an
instance as that of our illustrious Professor, who is ready for every
tack,--who can, at one time, scorch a poetaster to a cinder, at another
cast illumination into the 'dark deep holds' of a moral question, by a
glance of his genius; at one time dash off the picture of a Highland
glen, with the force of a Salvator, at another, lay bare the anatomy of
a passion with the precision and force of an Angelo,--write, now, the
sweetest verse, and now the most energetic prose,--now let slip, from
his spirit, a single star, like the 'evening cloud,' and now unfurl a
_Noctes_ upon the wondering world,--now paint Avarice till his audience
are dying with laughter, and now Emulation and Sympathy till they are
choked with tears,--write now 'the Elder's Deathbed,' and now the
'Address to a Wild Deer,'--be equally at home in describing the
Sufferings of an Orphan girl, and the undressing of a dead Quaker, by a
congregation of ravens, under the brow of Helvellyn."--_Literary
Portraits_, p. 209.]
Instead of spending our time gazing at public buildings, let us continue
our conversation about the Professor, whose life has been a tissue of
interesting and romantic events. We shall find it profitable as well as
pleasant, to glance at the principal points in his history, as they tend
to throw light on the Genius of Scotland.
John Wilson is the oldest son of a wealthy manufacturer in the city of
Paisley, and was born there in the year 1788, and is now therefore
fifty-eight years of age. He was reared and educated, with almost
patrician indulgence, and inherited from his father a considerable
amount of property, variously estimated from twenty to fifty thousand
pounds sterling. Of course he enjoyed the best facilities for acquiring
a thorough and polished education. His instructor in classical learning
was Mr. Peddie of Paisley, to whom a public dinner was given in 1831 by
his friends and pupils. Professor Wilson was present, and on proposing
the health of his venerable preceptor, delivered a brilliant oration,
not the least interesting portion of which had reference to his somewhat
erratic course at school. "Sometimes," said he, "I sat as dux--sometimes
in the middle of the class--and I am obliged to confess, that on some
unfortunate occasions, I was absolutely _dolt_!" The confession was
received, of course, with roars of laughter.
From this school he was entered at the University of Glasgow, when he
was little more than thirteen years of age. But he was tall for his
years, and possessed an original and remarkably exuberant mind; and
though distinguished at this time, more for the vigor of his physical
constitution, and the buoyancy of his spirits, than for any particular
attainments in literature, he generally kept his standing among his
fellow students, many of whom were greatly his seniors.
From Glasgow he was transferred to Oxford, and here he first
distinguished himself as a man of genius. He contended in the annual
competition for the Newdigate prize of fifty guineas for the best fifty
lines of English verse, and though the contest was open to not less than
two thousand individuals, he carried off the palm from every competitor.
At Oxford as at Glasgow he was distinguished for his fine athletic
frame, his joyous and even boisterous spirits, and his excessive
devotion to all sorts of gymnastics, field sports and frolicking. This
however was blended with an extraordinary devotion to literature, and a
peculiar simplicity and frankness of character, which rendered him a
universal favorite. It is well known that at Oxford great latitude is
enjoyed, especially by "gentlemen commoners," as they are called, to
which class Wilson chose to belong. It is expected that the "gentlemen
commoners" shall wear a more splendid costume,--spend a good deal more
money,--and enjoy various immunities, which amount occasionally to a
somewhat unbridled license. "Once launched on this orbit," says a fellow
student of Wilson's, writing to a friend in America, "Mr. Wilson
continued to blaze away for four successive years. * * * Never did a
man, by variety of talents and variety of humors, contrive to place
himself as the connecting link between orders of men so essentially
repulsive of each other; from the learned president of his college, Dr.
Routh, the Editor of parts of Plato, and of some theological selections,
with whom Wilson enjoyed unlimited favor, down to the humblest student.
In fact from this learned Academic Doctor, and many others of the same
class, ascending and descending, he possessed an infinite gamut of
friends and associates, running through every key; and the diapason
closing full in groom, cobbler, stable boy, barber's apprentice, with
every shade and hue of blackguard and ruffian. In particular, amongst
this latter kind of worshipful society, there was no man who had any
talents, real or fancied, for thumping, or being thumped, but had
experienced some taste of his merits from Mr. Wilson. All other
pretensions in the gymnastic arts he took a pride in humbling or in
honoring, but chiefly did his examinations fall upon pugilism; and not a
man who could either 'give,' or 'take,' but boasted to have been
punished by Wilson of _Mallens_ (corruption of Magdalen) College."
Whether the statement of Wilson's pugilistic attainments is not somewhat
exaggerated we have not the means of deciding. All reports however go to
confirm its general accuracy. His career was certainly a wild and
hazardous one, and would have ruined an ordinary man. But underlying the
wild exuberance of Wilson's nature, there was a solid foundation of good
feeling and good sense, which ever and anon manifested itself, and
finally formed the principal element of his character. Besides, he could
never forget the holy instructions of his childhood. Scotland throws a
thousand sacred influences around the hearts of her children; and hence,
wild and wayward in their youth, they not unfrequently live to be the
safeguards of virtue and the ornaments of society.
It may be well supposed that on leaving Oxford, in the very hey-day of
youth, with an amazing exuberance of animal spirits, and the command of
an ample fortune, he must have run a somewhat extravagant career. He
purchased a beautiful estate on the banks of Windermere, not far from
the residences of Southey, Coleridge and Wordsworth, and yielded himself
to the full enjoyment of every pleasure. Having built upon his estate a
new and splendid edifice, he furnished it with every appliance of taste
and luxury, and succeeded by his "magnificent" style of housekeeping,
in spending a large amount of his property. He gave himself up to the
most diversified pursuits, now conning his literary treasures, and now
frolicking in sailor jacket and trowsers, with the young men of the
country.
The following, from a writer already quoted, will give a lively idea of
Wilson's habits and appearance, at this period of his life. "My
introduction to him--setting apart the introducee himself--was memorable
from one circumstance, viz., the person of the introducer. _William
Wordsworth_, it was, who in the vale of Grasmere, if it can interest you
to know the place, and in the latter end of 1808, if you can be supposed
to care about the time, did me the favor of making me known to John
Wilson. I remember the whole scene as circumstantially as if it belonged
to but yesterday. In the vale of Grasmere--that peerless little vale
which you, and Gray, the poet, and so many others have joined in
admiring as the very Eden of English beauty, peace, and pastoral
solitude--you may possibly recall, even from that flying glimpse you had
of it, a modern house called Allan Bank, standing under a low screen of
woody rocks, which descend from the hill of Silver Horn, on the western
side of the lake. This house had been recently built by a wealthy
merchant of Liverpool; but for some reason, of no importance to you or
me, not being immediately wanted for the family of the owner, had been
let for a term of three years to Mr. Wordsworth. At the time I speak of,
both Mr. Coleridge and myself were on a visit to Mr. Wordsworth, and
one room on the ground floor, designed for a breakfasting room, which
commands a sublime view of the three mountains, Fairfield, Arthur's
Chair, and Seat Sandal, was then occupied by Mr. Coleridge as a study.
On this particular day, the sun having only just risen, it naturally
happened that Mr. Coleridge--whose nightly vigils were long--had not yet
come down to breakfast; meantime and until the epoch of the Coleridgean
breakfast should arrive, his study was lawfully disposable to profane
uses. Here, therefore, it was, that opening the door hastily in quest of
a book, I found seated, and in earnest conversation, two gentlemen, one
of them my host, Mr. Wordsworth, at that time about thirty-eight years
old; the other was a younger man, by at least sixteen or seventeen
years, in a sailor's dress, manifestly in robust health--_fervidus
juventa_, and wearing upon his countenance a powerful expression of
ardor and animated intelligence, mixed with much good nature. _Mr.
Wilson of Elleray_--delivered as the formula of introduction, in the
deep tones of Mr. Wordsworth--at once banished the momentary surprise I
felt on finding an unknown stranger where I had expected nobody, and
substituted a surprise of another kind. I now understood who it was that
I saw; and there was no wonder in his being at Allan Bank, as Elleray
stood within nine miles; but (as usually happens in such cases) I felt a
shock of surprise on seeing a person so little corresponding to the one
I had half unconsciously prefigured to myself."
Mr. Wilson here appears in a comparatively grave and dignified aspect.
The same writer describes him in quite a different scene. Walking in the
morning, he met him, with a parcel of young "harum skarum" fellows on
horseback, chasing an honest bull, which had been driven off in the
night from his peaceful meadow, to furnish sport to these "wild
huntsmen." About this time, also, he was the leader of a "boating club,"
which involved him in great expense. They had no less than two or three
establishments for their boats and boat-men, and innumerable appendages,
which cost each of them annually a little fortune. The number of their
boats was so great as to form a little fleet, while some of them were
quite large and expensive. One of these in particular, a ten-oared
barge, was believed at the time to have cost over two thousand dollars.
In consequence of these and other expenses, and perhaps the loss of some
of his patrimony by the failure of a trustee, subjected him to the
necessity of seeking a change of life. This led to his becoming a
candidate for the chair of Moral Philosophy in the University of
Edinburgh.
Previous to this he had formed plans of extensive travel. One was a
voyage of exploration to Central Africa and the sources of the Nile.
Another was concocted with two of his friends, with whom he proposed to
sail from Falmouth to the Tagus, and landing wherever accident or fancy
might determine, to purchase mules, hire Spanish servants, and travel
extensively in Spain and Portugal, for eight or nine months; then, by
such of the islands in the Mediterranean as particularly attracted them,
they were to pass over into Greece, and thence to Constantinople.
Finally, they were to have visited the Troad, Syria, Egypt, and perhaps
Nubia!
But the reduction of his means, and his marriage with a young and
beautiful English lady, to whom he was greatly attached, broke up these
extravagant schemes. His marriage took place in 1810. Two sons and three
daughters were the fruits of it; and the connection has doubtless proved
one of the happiest events in the Professor's life. Death however has
entered this delightful circle. "How characteristic of him," says
Gilfillan, "and how affecting, was his saying to his students, in
apology for not returning their essays at the usual time, 'I could not
see to read them in the Valley and the Shadow of Death.'"
His application in 1820 for the professorship of Moral Philosophy which
he now fills, was successful, notwithstanding he had for his competitor
one of the profoundest thinkers, and most accomplished writers of the
age, Sir William Hamilton, who conducted himself in the affair with the
greatest dignity and urbanity. Many things were said, at the time,
derogatory to Wilson's personal character, and his fitness to fill the
chair of Moral Philosophy. The matter probably was decided, more with
reference to political considerations than any thing besides, as at that
time party politics ran exceedingly high. Professor Wilson has
disappointed the expectations of his enemies, to say the least, and has
been gaining in the esteem and good will of all classes of the
community.
His splendid career as a poet, editor, critic and novelist, is well
known. His poems, the principal of which are the "Isle of Palms," and
the "City of the Plague," are exquisitely beautiful, but deficient in
energy, variety and dramatic power. He excels in description, and
touches, with a powerful hand, the strings of pure and delicate
sentiment. Nothing can be finer than his "Address to a Wild Deer"--"A
Sleeping Child"--"The Highland Burial Ground," and "The Home Among the
Mountains" in the "City of the Plague." His tales and stories, such as
"Margaret Lindsay," "The Foresters," and those in "The Lights and
Shadows of Scottish Life," are well conceived, and charmingly written.
They breathe a spirit of the purest morality, and are highly honorable
not only to the head but to the heart of their eloquent author. But it
is in criticism and occasional sketching in which he chiefly excels. In
this field, so varied and delightful, he absolutely luxuriates. His
series of papers on Spenser and Homer are remarkable for their delicate
discrimination, strength and exuberance of fancy. No man loves Scotland
more enthusiastically, or describes her peculiar scenery and manners
with more success. Here his "meteor pen," as the author of the Corn Law
Rhymes aptly called it, passes like sunlight over the glowing page. His
descriptions of Highland scenery and Highland sports are instinct with
life and beauty. In a word, to quote the eulogy of the discriminating
Hallam, "Wilson is a writer of the most ardent and enthusiastic genius,
whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters."
Professor Wilson's nature is essentially poetical. It is sensitive,
imaginative and generous. It is also said to be deeply religious. Age
and experience, reflection, and the Word of God, which he greatly
reveres, have tamed the wild exuberance of his youth, strengthened his
better principles, and shed over his character the mellow radiance of
faith and love. "The main current of his nature," says Gilfillan, "is
rapt and religious. In proof of this we have heard, that on one
occasion, he was crossing the hills from St. Mary's Loch to Moffat. It
was a misty morning; but as he ascended, the mist began to break into
columns before the radiant finger of the rising sun. Wilson's feelings
became too much excited for silence, and he began to speak, and from
speaking began to pray; and prayed aloud and alone, for thirty miles
together in the misty morn. We can conceive what a prayer it would be,
and with what awe some passing shepherd may have heard the incarnate
voice, sounding on its dim and perilous way."