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]

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."