On the meeting-line between a moorland and lowland district of
Perthshire, stands an old baronial seat, dignified with the name of
castle, to which, no doubt, it was entitled long after the date of its
erection, in the fifteenth century, although no longer boasting of
either the strength or magnificence which such a name implies. Its
position, however, is picturesque--standing on the bank of a romantic
and finely-wooded Highland glen, and commanding a view on one side of
a mountain-range, and on the other of a cultivated country, with its
towns and villages in the distance. The mansion is flanked on one side
by a court-yard and 'louping-on-stane;' and on the other, by a velvety
bowling-green, stretching along to an antique garden of cut yews and
hollies overhanging the glen. It boasts, of course, its haunted
chamber, and traditional stories of love and murder; but we have not
now to do with life or death above stairs, though many a tale might be
founded on truths 'stranger than fiction.' Our present purpose is with
the neighbourhood of the kitchen. There, too, we find some relics of
olden times; a fireplace which would legalise the Scottish invitation,
to 'come in to the fire,' inasmuch as within the chimney-arch was the
seat of honour and comfort, where a dozen cronies could sit beside the
embers, while an ox might roast in front. From that cozy neuk did the
old fiddler play in the evening, when the spinning-wheels were put
away, and the maids, generally tenants' daughters, had their dance
with the stragglers from the stables and cottages. Near the kitchen
was a much colder and more dismal place, that went by the name of 'the
Pit'--a half-subterranean recess, several steps lower than the
kitchen, into which scarcely a ray of light penetrated through the
small 'bole' that was drilled in the massive walls for a window. The
cheerless aspect of the place seemed to confirm the tradition, that it
had sometimes served of yore as a place of involuntary restraint. Its
present occupant, however, the son of a day-labourer, found no fault
with the accommodation it afforded him. He was a young boy, who
cleaned shoes, scoured knives, and received with great deference the
commands of Daniel Don, the butler. This boy was called John Dickson.
The Pit was his domicile, as well as his work-room, and he made it
also a 'study;' for having earned a rushlight by running messages, or
doing extra work for his neighbours, he might be found at night, as
long as the light would last, poring over a book. In this way he had,
unknown to others, while still a mere boy, read through that vast
quarry of erudition, Henry's 'Commentary on the Bible.'
Old James, the gardener, was a tolerable scholar, and a well-informed
man, and took great pleasure in encouraging young students; so, on
discovering John Dickson's taste for books, he lent him an old Latin
grammar, recommending him to commit it to memory. This John did with
praiseworthy diligence, although, being written in a language he did
not understand, he could make but little use of his acquisition. Old
James, however, may be forgiven for having set John to study after the
orthodox fashion of Ruddiman, for he had never been out of his own
glen, and in those days new ideas were long in penetrating to the
country districts.
When John Dickson was promoted to assist in waiting at table, an
incident occurred, which no doubt had some influence on his dreams, if
not on his fortunes. A stranger, in regimentals, was at dinner one
day, and being prepossessed by the lad's pleasing manners and
expression of face, he turned to him, and clapping him on the
shoulder, said: 'I was once in your present station, my boy, and if
you are steady, and behave well, you may one day rise to be in mine.'
The speaker was Dr Miller, a physician in the army. John, however, had
few dreams and little ambition. He was not what is commonly called a
genius; but he possessed sterling qualities of head and heart,
perseveringly cultivated his natural abilities, and invariably
conducted himself with the greatest propriety. It was no wonder, then,
that he became a general favourite in the family; and that, when he
carried the game-bag for the gentlemen, they purposely made long
detours, and met him again at an appointed spot, in order to give him
an hour at his book; for John always had a book in his pocket for a
spare moment. Once, indeed, this custom occasioned some annoyance to
his master, whom he had accompanied to a shooting-hut in the moors,
nicknamed 'Grouse Hall,' where the unfortunate laird was detained by
an intolerable fit of gout; a circumstance not apt to engender
patience and resignation, especially when, from the other side of the
cloth partition which divided the single apartment of the hut, he
heard bursts of laughter pealing forth in succession--for John Dickson
had managed to carry off a copy of Don Quixote to the moors.
When the younger sons of the family were sent to college in Edinburgh,
John was chosen to accompany them. Let us now see how he conducted
himself in this new and trying field; for trying it is. Country lads,
in coming to a large town, meet with many temptations, and by these,
hundreds of them fall. They cannot resist petty attractions to
amusement and misspending of time. They enjoy themselves while they
should work. They take to fun, instead of to labour. Well; to which
did our hero attach himself? To regular, hard work, to be sure. He had
the good sense to see, that here was his chance of getting on in the
world. While other lads were amusing themselves at the theatre, or
kicking their heels about the street, or hanging about the
auction-rooms in front of the college, John Dickson stuck hard to his
books. He also availed himself of other advantages connected with his
situation. The tutor of the family in which he was employed was John
Barclay, afterwards the celebrated anatomist, whose valuable museum
was bequeathed to the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, on
condition that they would build a hall, and form a more extended
collection, which has been fulfilled. At this time, Dr Barclay had
commenced his private lectures on anatomy, which soon became popular;
and John made himself so useful in the arrangement of the classroom,
that the doctor was induced to encourage him to attend the lectures,
and assist in preparing the demonstrations. Thus Dickson spent many
winters, at once attendant and pupil, returning to the country in
summer in his old capacity. By degrees, he completed his medical
education, obtaining gratis-tickets from the professors--a favour
sometimes extended to deserving students, and of which he was well
worthy. Dr Barclay once gave a good lesson to those who apply for such
gratuitous favours for others. He was asked by a certain bookseller to
give a perpetual gratis-ticket for his class to a student then
standing in the shop, who could ill afford to pay the four-guinea fee.
'Most certainly,' said the doctor; 'I can never refuse in such a case.
By the by, Mr ----, I want a few books; will you look them out for me
now?' and the doctor enumerated several standard medical works, which
were produced with great alacrity. He then selected four guineas'
worth from among them, and handed them over to the astonished student,
along with a lecture-ticket, saying: 'Of course, Mr ---- intended
giving you the same value in books which I do in this ticket!' The
bookseller, although a notoriously parsimonious character, had not a
word to say. Dr Barclay took great pride in collecting a library, and
invented the following device as a mark for his books: His initials
were engraved in the centre of an oval, at the top was the sun, with
the motto--'I weary not;' below, was a mountain, with 'I am firm;' and
surrounding all, 'Excel if you can.'
These graphic mottos became the guiding-stars of John Dickson's
career: he wearied not, nor wavered in whatever pursuit he engaged;
and it was to this indomitable industry that he owed his success in
life. His perseverance was displayed even in his amusements; he was
fond of music, but had not a sufficiently correct ear to play the
violin well, yet he would not abandon it, but scraped away year after
year, in hopes of ultimate success, although in this instance without
attaining his object. In more important pursuits, his industry was
amply rewarded; and having taken his degree, we must now call the
heretofore denizen of the Pit, Dr Dickson, and record, that the
students of the university, on his leaving Edinburgh, presented him
with a testimonial, to signify their appreciation of his valuable
demonstrations in the class of Practical Anatomy. Some of his
preparations may still be seen in the Museum of the College of
Surgeons.
An appointment as assistant-surgeon in the navy was now procured for
him; medical officers being then in greater request than they are in
these piping times of peace. With affectionate regret, and not unmanly
tears, he left the home that had sheltered him for so many and such
important years of his life, and towards which he ever evinced the
warmest attachment. His gratitude was not long in shewing itself
practically. In a few years, he returned from abroad; and on landing
in Britain, heard that the son of his former benefactor, with whom he
had been on the most intimate terms, was desirous of leaving the army,
and entering into partnership with some medical man in England, for
which a considerable sum of money was necessary. Dr Dickson knew full
well that there might be some difficulty in advancing the required
amount to the youngest of a family of fourteen; so he addressed a
beautiful and touching letter to him--saying, 'that he had already,
out of the savings of his pay and prize-money, bought an annuity for
his old mother, and had no one else to provide for. To you,' continued
he, 'who always shared your jelly-pieces with me, when we were boys, I
owe a debt of gratitude, and to your family, one which I can never
repay. I trust you will not now refuse to share my earnings, but
frankly accept of L.800, to assist you in settling in life.' This
noble offer was, from motives as noble, declined, as well as the same
sum, which Dickson now pressed upon his friend, as a _loan_; but an
affectionate correspondence was kept up between them until Dr
Dickson's death, more than thirty years afterwards.
In 1814, Dr Dickson visited Scotland, and was received as a beloved
and honoured guest at the table where, long ago, he had waited as a
servant, and where had sat the stranger gentleman in regimentals, who
clapped him on the shoulder, and spoke to him words of encouragement
which perhaps had sunk deeper into his mind than he was conscious of
himself. His native politeness had always been remarkable, and now his
general information and agreeable manners made his society a true
acquisition. After a few months' visit, he left Scotland never to
return. Again he went abroad, and finally settled at Tripoli, the
African port on the Mediterranean, under the Turkish dominion. Here
the sultan's viceroy, the pacha, soon appointed Dr Dickson to be his
chief physician--a post which he held for thirty years under various
successive pachas, although the rival claimants for vice-regal
authority sometimes fought so fiercely, that the English residents
were glad to seek shelter in Malta, until it was decided who should
reign. Still, Dr Dickson never lost his office, which has now
descended to his son; an extraordinary instance of permanent favour
under so arbitrary a government. Dr Dickson had married a Scottish
lady, and being now settled in every way, his life, so far as we know,
affords no farther incidents necessary to record. It was a career,
however, of continued usefulness and benevolence, and, surrounded by a
promising family, who revered their father, we believe he enjoyed as
much happiness as usually falls to the lot of humanity.
One only drawback there was to the favour in which he stood with the
pacha: the doctor was obliged, when attending the high ladies of the
court, to drink in their presence one-half of every drug he
prescribed--a custom it might not be amiss to introduce into England,
although not with the view, as in Tripoli, of guarding against poison!
Dr Dickson also acted as consul for Portugal, although for many years
he received no salary: at last, on paying a flying visit to London,
two years before his death, he was recommended to go home by Lisbon to
seek redress. He found, however, that amid the clash of political
factions, justice was difficult to be found, and so he gave up both
the search and the post.
The estimation in which Dr Dickson was held at Tripoli, both by the
English residents and native population, cannot be better described
than by quoting entire a paragraph from a London newspaper, which
inserted a notice of his death in the year 1847: 'Letters from
Tripoli, just received, announce the death, on the 27th February,
after only four days' illness, of Dr John Dickson, a half-pay surgeon
of the British navy, who had been upwards of thirty years a resident
at Tripoli, and where, such was the extent of his gratuitous
attendance on the indigent, that the mournful event cannot but be
looked upon as a great public calamity; and happening as it did, at
the very instant the first gun announced the anniversary of the birth
of the Prophet, not a few of the Mohammedans regarded the event with a
superstitious awe. On the 1st of March, the remains of the lamented
deceased were interred in the Protestant cemetery, which is distant
about two miles from the town, escorted by a military guard of honour,
sent by order of his Excellency the Pacha, and followed not only by
every foreign consul, but by all the European residents of every
class, and by several thousands of Jews and Mohammedans; and so
anxious were many whom he had attended professionally to pay this last
tribute of respect to his memory, that they actually rose from their
beds of sickness and joined the mournful procession. Whilst it passed
along the crowded streets, the shrieks and cries of the natives
bewailing his death were audible, issuing from the miserable hovels
which he had been wont to enter, to prescribe for suffering humanity.'
After this, it is needless to add anything in the way of exhortation.
The little history here given is full of encouragement. It is that of
a man who raised himself from humble life, not, it is true, to any
dazzling eminence, but to a respectable and respected position in
society; and this not by means of rare talent, but simply by industry,
perseverance, and general propriety of conduct. The interest of the
piece, we believe, would have been much lessened, had we, through
false delicacy, withheld the real name of the individual. It is
happily not the fashion in our day for self-educated and self-raised
men to blush for their origin; and we are quite sure that every word
of this narrative will be read both with pride and pleasure by the
flourishing and widely-scattered family of Dr John Dickson.