_PROJECTED TRAVEL--THE END_.
The route from Oban to Edinburgh passes through some of the most
beautiful and romantic scenes of Scottish landscape: by the Pass of
Brander, Loch Awe, St. Fillans, and Doune Castle, to Stirling; and then
by Bannockburn, the Strath of Falkirk, and the old Nelson homestead of
Throsk, to “the gray metropolis of the north.” After a few days or weeks
of zealous exploration around Glenfeochan, or off to neighbouring
islands and more distant glens, in the fashion already described, a run
into Edinburgh was a welcome change. There William Nelson was equally at
home when making a pleasure of business or a business of his most
favourite pleasures.
The city, built on the picturesque heights surrounding the Castle Rock,
embosomed among hills, and looking out on the sea, has a singular
fascination for its citizens; and with William Nelson it was a passion,
like that of the old Hebrew for Jerusalem, or the Athenian for the City
of the Violet Crown. The Cockburn Association, which has already been
referred to, takes its name from Lord Cockburn, the friend of Scott, of
Brougham, and Jeffrey; the enthusiastic advocate of whatever tended to
protect the historical remains and to preserve the beauty of their
native city; and the mantle of the genial old judge seemed to have been
bequeathed to William Nelson, with a double portion of his spirit. As an
active member of the council of the association, his zeal in protesting
against every piece of tasteless vandalism was unremitting. But his
enthusiasm would not allow him to be content with mere wishes or
denouncements. He had the means as well as the will, and when civic
officials and Government functionaries dallied and disputed over needful
reforms, he took them in hand himself, on a scale of liberality all the
more admirable from the genuine modesty which repelled all public
recognition. And yet evidence survives to show how far his aims exceeded
even his own comprehensive liberality.
With the fancy that begot for Edinburgh in the heyday of its literary
glory the name of the Modern Athens, there grew up in the minds of a
past generation the idea of rearing on the Calton Hill, as a modern
Acropolis, a reproduction of the Parthenon, with, it is to be presumed,
the sculptures of some Scottish Phidias as its final adornment. It was
to constitute a sacred Pantheon, in special commemoration of those to
whom the nation owed the welcome boon of an honourable peace after the
protracted strife of the Napoleonic wars. In old school-boy days it had
been a matter of liveliest interest to watch the process of construction
that promised the accomplishment of this ambitious scheme. One after
another, the lofty Doric columns rose to the number of twelve; and then
the work stopped. The builders had neglected the wise maxim to sit down
first and count the cost, whether they had sufficient means to finish
it. The funds had given out at that early stage. The boys that had
watched the first efforts of its builders grew gray with years; and the
abortive Parthenon--a monument of ambitious folly--became familiar to
the eyes of a new generation, till they ceased to realize its absurdity.
There were indeed men of taste whom it continued to offend. David
Roberts, himself a native of Edinburgh, and with the keen eye of an
artist for architectural effect, was loath to abandon the dream of a new
Parthenon. The late D. R. Hay, the ingenious author of “The Laws of
Harmonious Colouring” and “The Natural Principles of the Harmony of
Form,” united with James Ballantyne, the poet, and a little band of
kindred spirits, in a vain effort to revive the scheme. But the later
Renaissance had died out. The taste of the age had reverted once more to
mediæval art, and their exertions proved fruitless. William Nelson
thoroughly appreciated the absurdity of this gigantic failure. With
grim mirth he satirized the builders who had made such a beginning and
were not able to finish. But he did not despair of seeing even that huge
blot erased; and in May 1887, while busy with his Castle and other
restorations, he thus wrote in a letter intended for his friend Dr.
Field, but which was found among his papers, unfinished, after his
death: “Here is a matter that I have been thinking of for some time; and
in case you may think that I am off the rails in regard to it mentally,
I have to say, ‘I am not mad, most noble Festus; I speak the words of
truth and soberness.’ You will be aware that it was intended, a great
many years ago, that there should be a building on the Calton Hill here,
which would be a facsimile of the Parthenon at Athens, and twelve
pillars which were intended for the portico of the building were
erected. But there were no funds to go further; and the pillars in
consequence stand, as it were, a monument of Scottish folly. Now it
would be a grand thing, not only for Edinburgh, but for Scotland
generally, if the building were completed, and were made a Walhalla for
statues and busts of Scotchmen who have distinguished themselves in the
service of their country and otherwise; and it would be all the better
if the completion of the building were to be made an international
object. Now I know that your worthy brother, Cyrus Field, likes to do
things that are international, and I will take it kind if you will have
a talk with him on this subject; and if he will open his purse and give
a grand contribution towards the completion of what would be a truly
noble building, I would get the matter started.” He then goes into a
calculation of the cost. He had consulted with an architect, who
estimated the necessary sum as not less than £150,000. He then goes on
to say: “I send you a photograph of the poor shivering pillars that have
been erected; and I hope that there is spirit enough among moneyed men
in America and Scotland not to allow them to stand much longer in their
solitary condition.” A blank in the letter shows that some estimated
item had yet to be ascertained; and so the letter lay unfinished and
unsent.
It is thus apparent that there were scarcely any limits to his ideal of
the Edinburgh of the future. The maintenance of his native city in
unblemished honour and beauty was the source of many a fascinating
dream, and took form at times in the union of such idealizations with
his practical liberality. Hence the desertion of the Highlands for the
city was no exchange of the poetry of life for mere prosaic realities.
Edinburgh was rich in all the materials wherewith to fashion an ever-new
romance: a thing of beauty to be preserved or to be made more beautiful.
There the landscape gardener, the architect, and decorator, were all
busily at work on his plans for renovating St. Bernard’s Well. The
sculptor’s studio had to be visited to learn of the progress of the new
statue. Then, too, official formalities and obstructions had at length
yielded to his quiet persistency, and the plans were in progress for
restorations, not only on the great hall of the Castle, but also on the
Argyle Tower, and the venerable little oratory known as St. Margaret’s
Chapel. With the latter object in view, more than one excursion had been
made to Iona, where the little Norman structure styled the Chapel of St.
Oran is affirmed to have been built by St. Margaret, the queen of
Malcolm Canmore. Hence it was assumed to furnish the fittest model for a
design to replace the somewhat commonplace modern restoration of the
original doorway. A photograph of it was accordingly secured, and
placed, for that purpose, in the architect’s hands.
The Argyle Tower, of old the state prison, was to be freed from manifold
incongruities of modern barbarism, as has since been done in the best
taste. But William Nelson’s sympathies were not narrowed within the
bounds of his native city, and a special occasion now invited his
practical co-operation elsewhere. The approaching anniversary of the
death of the good king Alexander III., last and best of Scotland’s
Celtic kings, was to be signalized by the erection of a memorial cross
to mark the scene of that fatal event of six centuries before, the
fruits of which are bewailed in the fine old fragment of native elegy
preserved for us in Wyntoun’s Chronicles, the earliest known lyric in
the Scottish language. The old chronicler pictures the prosperity of the
nation under the rule of him that led Scotland in love and loyalty; and
then he says,--
“This failèd fra he died suddenly;
This sang was made of him forthi:
When Alexander our king was dead,
That Scotland led in love and lea,
Away wes söns of ale and bread,
Of wine and wax, of gaming and glee;
Our gold was changèd into lead.
Christ, born into virginity,
Succor Scotland and remede
That stad is in perplexity.”
Kinghorn, the birthplace of William Nelson’s mother, and the scene of
many of the happiest days of his own childhood and youth, was the place
historically associated with the national disaster. When he carried off
his sisters to revisit the old scenes, it will be remembered that one of
the special spots pointed out to them was “The King’s Crag,” as the
point is called which tradition assigns as the actual cliff over which,
when his horse stumbled, Alexander III. was precipitated. The event was
thus associated with many of William Nelson’s earliest recollections;
and the proposal to mark it with a suitable monument was responded to by
him with hearty enthusiasm. From its initiation his zeal never flagged.
First came his subscription, the most liberal of all; then
correspondence and deliberations as to the design, the inscription, the
most durable and best material. He writes to the Rev. Charles Shaw from
Glenfeochan in October 1886, in reference to the appeal for
subscriptions:--“Let me know as soon as you can what is the result, and
I will then see what I can do to make up the sum.” In December he
discusses the details of the design and material. He fears, from its
exposed site on the highroad from Burntisland to Kinghorn, that the
monument will be liable to injury; has “called the architect Mr. Blanc’s
attention some time ago to this circumstance, and that he ought not to
forget it in making his finished drawings.” Again he writes in the
following February:--“Mr. Blanc says that the memorial cross ought
decidedly to be of Peterhead granite; and you will please hold me
responsible for whatever shortcoming there may be in consequence.” Then
comes an equally characteristic passage: “I don’t think there is any
occasion for you or Dr. Rogers telling the committee of what you call my
handsome offer. If this were done, the matter would, I have no doubt, be
blazoned forth in the newspapers, and I would not like that at all.” The
next proposition was that he should unveil the monument, in the erection
of which he had manifested so practical an interest. But that he would
not hear of, and suggested the Earl of Elgin as Lord Lieutenant of the
county, and a good man to boot. “Failing him, you should apply to Lord
Napier and Ettrick, or Lord Rosebery.”
When at length the memorable day arrived, there was not only the
beautiful memorial cross to unveil, but a new public park and golfing
ground to open. The authorities of the ancient burgh would not be balked
of their wish to mark in some way their sense of Mr. Nelson’s generous
co-operation in the work, so Lord Elgin and he were both admitted to all
the honours and privileges of burgesses of Kinghorn. The speech of the
latter, in reply to the provost’s address in handing to him his burgess
ticket, is too replete with characteristic feeling and personal
reminiscences to be omitted here. He was no orator, and indeed shrank
with instinctive reserve from all public appearances; but the simple
utterances of genuine feeling are the best of all oratory.
“Fortunately for myself,” he said, “and perhaps still more fortunately
for those who hear me, I am not often in circumstances which call upon
me to speak in public. On the present occasion, when there has been
conferred on me the high honour of being made a burgess of the royal
burgh of Kinghorn--an honour which I never expected, and which I do not
feel that I have done anything to merit--for this, gentlemen, I thank
you most sincerely. It is an honour which shall ever be held by me, and
by those who come after me, in the highest esteem. There are many things
which make Kinghorn a place of much interest to me, and which give a
peculiar value to any mark of respect which comes from its town council
or its inhabitants. For one thing, it was the birthplace of my mother,
and we all know what that means. But it must not be supposed that my
attachment to Kinghorn is solely on this account. I love it for its own
sake, for its quaint and picturesque old character as a royal burgh; and
I love it also for its fine coast-scenery, with its beautiful sands, its
bold rocks, and its many advantages for bathing, fishing, and even for
those who think they perform their whole duty at the seaside when they
merely saunter along it and inhale its health-giving breezes. But I love
it still more--perhaps most of all--for the sunshine with which it
filled my early years, making my holidays holidays indeed. I stayed
always with my grandfather and grandmother, whose kindness was very
great and unceasing. So strong was the impression made upon me at that
early period of my life, that I never allow a season to pass without
visiting Kinghorn, and renewing my acquaintance with the rocky scenery
of the coast, which must be admitted to be exceptionally fine. So great
is my familiarity with the coast here that I know every rock of any
consequence that it contains; and I may add that there are few places
more richly endowed with all the amenities which health-seekers are in
quest of and value. It ought to be one of the most popular of the
health-resorts on our shores. Another thing which took a hold of me in
my early years, and which I still remember well, was the talk of the old
folks. They had some themes on which they never ceased to descant. One
of these was Paul Jones’s piratical visit to the Firth of Forth, which
was looked upon as a very formidable event by the small towns on the
coast of Fife, but which happily turned out a scare. My grandmother saw
the big ship of the pirate from near the hamlet of Glassmount, about two
miles from Kinghorn. And there is good news for strangers who may come
now-a-days to the old place for summer quarters. They need not be afraid
for another Paul Jones coming to alarm them, as there is now a strong
fortress on the Pettycur road, under the shadow of whose wings they may
rest in perfect safety. But there was another matter quite as
engrossing, and that was the injury which steam-boats had done or would
do to the town. Before these began to ply there were big, ordinary boats
which carried passengers; and as these boats started only at particular
times of the tide, passengers had generally to stay some time in the
town: more to the delight of the innkeepers and others, we should
imagine, than to that of the strangers thus detained, in order to have
the opportunity of leaving a little of their money behind them. We know
better now; and I am sure that the inhabitants of Kinghorn would not be
inclined to go back, on any terms whatever, to those good old ways, so
easy in all that belonged to them. Such retrospects, while both
interesting and instructive, are not without an infusion of sadness. In
my case, early companions in and about Kinghorn have all disappeared but
two: namely, Henry Darney, a worthy citizen of the town, and Major
Greig, now of Toronto, Canada. It is a touching thought, and brings to
my remembrance the tender and beautiful verses of Delta, with which I
conclude:--
‘Where are the playmates of those years?
Hills arise and oceans roll between.
We call, but scarcely one appears;
No more shall be what once has been.
‘Yet, gazing o’er the bleak green sea,
O’er snow-capped cliffs and desert plain,
Mirrored in thought methinks to me
The spectral past returns again.
‘Once more to retrospection’s eyes,
As ’twere to present life restored,
The perished and the past arise,
The early lost and long deplored.’”
While the memorial cross erected on the King’s Crag had been thus
occupying so much of his attention, the various works of restoration
undertaken by him in Edinburgh were not neglected. They continued,
indeed to engage his attention, and to furnish him with ever-renewed
pleasure, till the close of his life. He thus writes to me in April
1887:--“St. Bernard’s Well is not quite finished yet, but it begins to
look very different from what you will remember of it in our morning
visits together: quite a little gem indeed, now that the mosaic work is
done, or nearly so. A handsome parapet wall with railing runs along the
river-side. The grounds are laid out, I think, in good taste, and a fine
broad stair leads down from the street instead of the dingy back way you
and I used to have to traverse in our morning visits to the well.
Altogether it is a great success. The number of visitors to the well has
greatly increased already; and if it correspondingly diminishes the
number of visitors to the taverns, as I hope it will, then we have all
the success that could be desired. You must repeat your visit to us
soon, and have another tumbler of the water, and see all we have been
doing in the way of improvement; it will be all in order before you
arrive.”
Again, in a postscript to one of his letters to the Rev. Charles Shaw,
in the early part of the same year, he says: “My restorations at the
Castle are getting on briskly. The Argyle Tower is far advanced, and as
a piece of architecture it will be a great success. The hospital
building has been made over to me, and operations for the restoration
and conversion of it into what will be almost a facsimile of the old
Parliament Hall have been already begun. It will be a very interesting
building in its reformed condition.” In another letter to the same
correspondent, who was an active member of the local committee for the
erection of the memorial cross at Kinghorn, he thus writes:--“I send you
a letter that I received a few days ago from Lord Napier. I asked him if
he would come to the unveiling of the memorial to Alexander III., and
let his voice be heard on the occasion as one of the speakers; but this,
he says, he will be unable to do. The first part of the letter is of
special interest to you, as it refers to some discoveries that have been
made at the clearing out of the old Parliament Hall in the Castle. They
have been so important that an almost perfect facsimile can be made of
the hall as it was in the days of its glory: all except in the matter of
the tapestry with which the walls were either wholly or partly covered;
and it would be too much to hope for that any part of this should be to
the fore at this time of day. Everything else is known. The roof exists
in its entirety; parts of the floor have been found. It was of Arbroath
pavement; and the account for the freight of the stones from Dundee to
Leith has been recovered in the Rolls of the Exchequer in the Register
Office. The ancient windows have also been discovered, and they just
require to be cleared of the masonry with which they have been built up,
and have fresh mullions inserted; and it is known how the original
mullions would be from specimens that exist in other buildings of the
period. The doorway that formed the ancient main entrance to the
building has been found. The doorway and stair that led to the kitchen,
which was below the hall, have also been discovered; and the kitchen
exists in its entirety, it being made use of as a store for clothing for
the troops. From the great size of it and that of the fireplace, it is
clear that creature comforts were not overlooked in days of yore by our
old Scottish legislators.”
Public interest grew apace as the work of restoration in the Castle
progressed. The Argyle Tower, as it approached completion, presented an
attractive feature, harmonizing admirably with the older remains of the
fortress, and attracting the notice of all, as seen from Princes Street.
As the rumour of one after another of the discoveries of original
portions of the great hall, furnishing valuable guidance for its
restoration, gained currency, fresh zest was given to public curiosity.
Paragraphs, such as the one quoted below, made their appearance from
time to time in the daily press, until a general interest was revived,
and a renewed anxiety expressed, not only for completing the restoration
of the ancient buildings, but for making such modifications of the
huge, unsightly pile of barracks and other modern structures within the
Castle as should make them harmonize in some degree with its ancient
features.
“Yesterday afternoon the Marquis of Lothian, along with Mr. William
Nelson, drove up to Edinburgh Castle and examined the alterations which
are being carried out there at the expense of the latter. The work of
clearing out the old Parliament Hall is proceeding apace. Finely-carved,
and in most cases well-preserved, freestone corbels have been uncovered
underneath the plaster. In no two cases are the designs on these corbels
alike. In one it is a lion’s head, in another a thistle, in a third a
rose, a fourth is a female head, while others bear the letters I.R., and
I.H.S., the former evidently meant for ‘James Rex.’ At the north-eastern
corner of the hall, the top of a staircase which apparently must have
led from ‘the Queen Mary’ apartments in the Palace to the balcony
outside the Parliament Hall, has been discovered; but it is not yet
known at what point in the royal apartments the lower end of the
staircase came out. The restoration of the Argyle Tower is rapidly
approaching completion, and the masons are now engaged in building the
hewn stones on the roof.”
One result of all this was that Mr. Nelson responded to the intelligent
interest manifested in the work now in progress by arranging for a
succession of Saturday visits to the Castle. I am indebted to an old
friend, who shared in the pleasure of those informal gatherings, for the
following account of them: “They were attended by artists and
antiquaries, professors from the University, and literary men; to whom
were added occasionally some distinguished stranger, as well as officers
of rank who felt a professional interest in the work. Along with those
were always to be seen some of the clerks and workmen from Parkside; and
it was very pleasant to notice the kind way in which he made them feel
at their ease, and indeed seemed totally unconscious of anything
unusual, as he turned from some learned professor or officer of rank to
address himself with marked respect to one of his own employés, and
explain to him the significance of some recently disclosed portions of
the original building.”
Meanwhile the grand scheme of a tour by the Volga to Astrakhan, and by
the Caspian Sea and the overland route to Batoum on the Black Sea, and
so to Greece, had been first delayed, and then greatly modified. In the
midst of all this preoccupation with mediæval restorations in his own
romantic town, he turned anew to the favourite classical studies of
early years; and his letters in the spring and summer of 1886 show that
Hellenic history, and the associations that linger around every cape and
mountain, river and vale of Greece, had quickened into an intense
longing to explore their storied scenery. In the month of August 1887,
I was off on a holiday ramble in the White Mountains--the Highlands of
New England--where a letter followed me, the last I was ever to receive
from my oldest surviving friend. “I intend,” he wrote, “to set out on a
trip to Greece about the middle of next month, taking with me a party
which will consist of Mrs. Nelson, Meta, Alice, and Dr. Walter Smith,
who will act as chaplain. We will go direct to Trieste from London,
_via_ Dover, Calais, Basle, and Venice; and will sail for Athens by the
Austrian Lloyd’s steamer which leaves on Saturday, the 24th, for the
Piræus; a voyage which will occupy about three and a half days. After
spending a fortnight there, we will likely, if all is well, push on for
Constantinople; and after being there for about a week, will return home
as rapidly as possible. Such at least is my present intention, and I
trust that nothing will occur to prevent my carrying out the programme.”
He then gives an account of the successful completion of the work at St.
Bernard’s Well, and thus proceeds: “As to the Castle, the Argyle Tower
is finished, and it forms a striking object viewed from Princes Street,
and is a great improvement to the outline of the north side of the
Castle. The architect deserves great praise for having done his part so
well in the restoration of this building. The room that is above what
was the old state prison is a very fine one, and the feeling of the
architecture of the period that he has aimed at--which is, if I remember
right, about the year 1500--is admirably carried out. The room, when I
get it hung round with engravings of the Castle at different periods
from 1573 downwards, and also get it decorated in various parts with
trophies of arms and armour, which I am to have permission to select
from the armoury in the Castle, will be one of the most interesting
rooms there. My collection of views of the Castle will be largely taken
advantage of for the decoration of this room. The view from the top of
the tower is, I need not say, one of the finest in Europe; and there is
a path right round, so that the view can be seen from all points.
“The old Parliament Hall has been at a stand-still for some time; but
Mr. Blanc has drawings for the windows and doors completed, and
estimates for them are now being taken. Here is a point on which I would
like to be enlightened. You say in your ‘Memorials of Edinburgh:’ ‘From
the occasional assembling of the Parliament here, while the Scottish
monarchs continued to reside in the Castle, it still retains the name of
the Parliament House.’ Now at a gathering of eminent men of Edinburgh
that I had at the Castle some time ago, Mr. Dickson of the antiquarian
department of the Register Office took it upon him to give an address to
the party when they were in the said hall; and he said in the course of
it that it was quite a misnomer to connect the word parliament with the
building, as the old Scottish Parliament met in the Tolbooth, and there
does not exist any evidence to show that any of its meetings were ever
held in the old Parliament Hall. What do you say to this, my dear old
fellow? A few lines about the matter by return of mail from you will be
a favour. By the way, a discovery has been made lately in regard to the
building which will interest you. It is that the walls are much older
than the corbels, the latter having been found to have been stuck into
them: Mr. Blanc is of opinion about two hundred years after they were
built. What do you say to this discovery?”
I was out of the reach of mails, as well as of books; and so August had
passed into September ere an answer could be penned to the above
queries. “The hall,” as I wrote in reply, “was undoubtedly the great
banquet-hall of the Castle, where, when the king resided there, he
occupied the daïs, along with the nobles in attendance, while inferior
guests and retainers sat at the table below. But such halls were
available for any large assembly; and in truth Scotland had no regular
Parliament House till the reign of Charles I. Old Parliaments for the
most part followed the Court, and found a place for meeting as they best
could--in the hall of some great abbey or royal castle; or failing
either, in a church or town hall. When, for example, Philip IV. of
France quarrelled with the Pope in 1302, the only place of meeting that
Paris could furnish for the States General was the church of Notre Dame.
When the English Court was at Westminster, the Parliament turned St.
Stephen’s Chapel to like account; and the Blackfriars’ Monastery at
Perth, in all probability, afforded the usual place of meeting for the
Scottish Parliament, till the assassination of James I. in 1437 led to
the transference of the Court to Edinburgh, with a view doubtless to
safe royal residence within the Castle. Only one Parliament, the
thirteenth of his reign, met at Edinburgh, in what hall is not
specified. But, immediately after the death of the poet-king, the first
Parliament of the new reign assembled there; and the record for once
leaves no doubt. It runs thus: ‘Quo die comparentibus tribus regni
statibus apud Edinburgh, omnes comites, nobiles, et barones, ac
liberi-tenentes dicti regni, venientes ad Castrum de Edinburgh.’ From
that memorable date may possibly have originated the tradition which
survived when, in the middle of last century, Maitland described the
hall as ‘a large ancient edifice, formerly the Parliament House, now
converted into a barrack.’ As to the Tolbooth, the one we know of was
only erected in the reign of James V., and while it was building the
council met in the Holy Blood aisle of St. Giles’s Church.”
This and much more, in response to the welcome letter from beyond the
sea, was all fully set forth; for the subject gave occasion for frequent
correspondence between us, as one in which his sympathies were largely
enlisted, and which engaged his latest thoughts; and so it claims a
place here. But the letter was never to meet the eye of him for whom it
had been penned. His keen appreciation of the humorous aspect that lurks
at times in the gravest proceedings was very familiar to his friends,
and a touching illustration of it claims notice now. Much that has
transpired since his death shows how fully he realized the uncertainty
of life, and the fact that the days of his years had already reached
man’s allotted span. Of this the ample provision in his will for the
completion of the works he had undertaken for his native city furnishes
the best proof. But on one of his visits to the Castle, in company with
friends interested in the progress of the work there, a university
professor who was of the party, after satisfying himself as to the
extent and character of the designed restorations, proposed a vote of
thanks to Mr. Nelson. The proceeding itself was one peculiarly
distasteful to him; but in the course of some eulogistic remarks the
professor somewhat inopportunely expressed a hope that Mr. Nelson would
be spared to see the completion of his costly and patriotic undertaking.
As the work was already so far advanced that the finishing of it was a
matter of months only, he dryly replied that the learned professor must
surely mean to assign him a very brief term of life, for he hoped to see
the work finished before the year was out; and as for the cost, he
believed it would prove one of the best investments he had ever made. If
the lasting appreciation of a generous, public-spirited act furnishes an
adequate compensation for such liberality, it was indeed so. But the
ominous remark was all too apt. Within three months of that memorable
gathering, the words were recalled by some of those who had been
present, as they bent in sorrow over his grave.
One of the noticeable gifts of William Nelson was a memory of rare
compass and accuracy. An incident distinctly recalled by him in recent
years was proved by its association with the death of an aunt to date at
a period when he was only two and a half years old. His recollections of
playmates went back to early childhood; and he seemed to retain in
well-defined and even minute detail events associated with many
schoolmates and fellow-students of later years. Numerous as they were,
the tie of such early fellowship was never slighted. There was only one
point in which his memory failed. A wrong done to himself retained no
place in his thoughts; nor did he allow the failures due to misconduct
to dull his ear to the appeal of the needy for help. The number of such
that made claim to his charity was large. But of friendship in its true
sense his conception was high. Of those who were admitted to that
intimate relationship he seemed to hold in memory the minutest incidents
of a life-long intercourse, and startled them at times by the accuracy
with which he recalled the events of long-forgotten years. His
large-heartedness was such that he seemed to identify himself with every
interest of theirs, with a rare tenderness, as of a love “passing the
love of women.” One on whom an intimate knowledge of the enduring
sacredness of one of his earliest friendships had made a strong
impression, thus wrote to me shortly after his death: “The friendship
uniting you seemed to me one of the charming things so rarely met in
life. That two men with wives and families, business cares, and
different pursuits and tastes, should so cleave to one another from
early youth onward was refreshing to realize. I always delight in such
friendships being possible. They seem the gems shining out from the dull
mass of common humanity.”
There is no exaggeration here, for the subject of this memoir was of a
rare type of humanity; though, if those who most resemble him in all
other respects are marked by a like sensitive shrinking from publicity,
we may indulge in the pleasant belief that they are more numerous than
the world imagines. But it is vain to linger over such fancies. The
memory so prompt in business, so retentive in its literary
reminiscences, and so responsive to all the sympathetic impulses of love
and friendship, suddenly failed. At the very time when his long-desired
visit to the classic scenes of Greece was to have been carried out, and
every arrangement was completed for the journey, he seemed to lose his
hold on the past. The vessel had been determined upon, and the day of
departure fixed, when symptoms, little heeded at first, developed into
the fatal malady which brought all his plans to a close. The silver cord
was loosed. He had finished his course; and on the 10th of September
1887, the very day on which he was to have set out for Greece, he passed
from the circle that for so many happy years had been gladdened with the
sunshine of his presence, to join the loved ones who had gone before him
to the heavenly home. He was one whose creed found its full expression
in deeds, not in words. Only in rare moments of confidence did he give
utterance to his simple faith. At best the highest efforts of the
biographer but dimly approximate to the original. God sends many a
beautiful soul into this world to do its appointed work, and then to
live only in the memories of the loved ones left behind. Perhaps in this
case also it had been better if no biography had been attempted; but he
seems to me to have realized in his life that “pure religion” which the
apostle James had in view: “To visit the fatherless and the widows in
their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.”
The wide-spread manifestations of grief when the news of William
Nelson’s death became known abundantly manifested the sense of a great
public loss. At the urgent request of the city authorities the desire of
the family for a strictly private funeral was abandoned. The Lord
Provost and magistrates of Edinburgh and the Provost and magistrates of
Kinghorn attended in their robes; and along with them the Principal and
many of the professors of the University, the President and members of
the Royal Scottish Academy, with leading citizens, clergymen, and
others, many of whom came from great distances to mark their respect for
one whose loss was so widely deplored. The shops were closed as the
mournful procession, headed by the employés from Parkside, moved on to
the Grange Cemetery, where his remains were laid beside those of his
loved father and mother and his brother John, with the graves of Dr.
Chalmers and Hugh Miller near by. The turf was fragrant with the wreaths
of flowers laid there by many sincere mourners; and it continued to be
visited from day to day by crowds, including many humble admirers who
deplored the loss of their benefactor, until the turf around was
trodden out and had to be replaced. Now that his remains are laid at
rest in the quiet cemetery among those of loved ones who formed the
happy home circle of his early years, and the busy outer world has
resumed its wonted avocations, his widow has erected a memorial tablet
to mark the sacred spot, aptly inscribed with the text: “After he had
served his generation by the will of God, he fell asleep.”
THE END.