THODIST REVIEW.

MARCH, 1933.

AR: L-BSLCP THOMSON

THOMSON is a no vesterday," spruce in Is writer. So is As of Ragly, Some gifted and . I rater. So ch vsostom and St. Joln. Each and though. yesterday, he long to to day

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METHODIST REVIEW.

MARCH, 1885.

ART. I.-BISHOP THOMSON.

"BISHOP THOMSON is a man of yesterday," said a prince in Is rael to the writer. So is Arnold of Rugby. So the gifted and lovely Switzer, Lavater. So Chrysostom and St. John. Each graced his age, and though of yesterday, he belongs to to day and to-morrow.

Edward Thomson was called to his place in the middle of the nineteenth century, and fitted to it with singular felicity. We of to-day owe something to his "yesterday." He passed in succession to various places of distinction: Doctor of Medicine, Doctor of Divinity, Doctor of Laws, Bishop-adding luster to each. But as a jewel is a jewel still, no matter what incasings its worth calls round it, so was he superior to scalpel, bema, and miter. The simple name Edward Thomson points to that for which he was most remarkable, the worth of his own rare nature.

In person he was under size, never weighing over 125 pounds; so in body, as in mind, there was nothing superfluous. His form, though delicate, was erect and vital. In walking his carriage was elegant, modest, manly. To see him pass up the aisle to the rostrum, meekly as if the humblest of all his brethren, yet erect and grand as if consciously an enibassador from heaven, was in itself part of a liberal education. The poise of that perfect head above erect shoulders gave a striking air of symmetry. The head was large, but so filled out and curved in outline as to seem neither round nor unduly long. There were no crags nor crannies for the hiding of over-developed faculties or the brewing of tempestuous passion-a head to

11-FIFTH SERIES, VOL. I.

contain what we call genius, but wherein genius must never misbehave itself. Into his fine face were set a pair of sensitive nostrils the play of which was always a little prophetic of the flashes of thought that at times seemed to leap from the entire man. The eye was a bright gray, bordering on blue, sometimes hinting of brown-a vast, deep eye. It held a latent flame, which, when kindled and turned upon any hapless rogue of a student who deserved detection, was like a search-warrant, and when lit in the hour of mental excitement flashed and swept with a far reach, like the eagle's when turned toward the sun. The lines of the mouth, not small nor large, curved into that fine shape suggestive of an eagle's wings, and which is never the gate-way for the utterances of a small soul. His voice was light but fine, and of great flexibility; less a tenor than that of Simpson, less metallic than that of Wendell Phillips, but more musical than either.

When this small man stood before a throng-the more select the more complete his control-sweeping over it the forces of his mighty spirit, men would bow before him as trees in a storm, or rise from their seats by a common impulse, an event that occurred in several notable instances. Then would his small stature seem transfigured to the towering dimensions of his soul, and he stood ranking with such as Watts, Wesley, Knox, and Paul, his brotherhood of gigantic spirits in petit forms.

He

Thomson's life was given mainly to his Church, but his nature was larger than a denomination's lines. As Payson was wider than Congregationalism, Edwards than Presbyterianism, Stanley than English Churchism, so Thomson's nature reached the communion of saints and the brotherhood of man. died fourteen years ago. A singular tardiness has held the pen of the biographer, an unaccountable silence has hung over his tomb. Meager, indeed, are the records of his worth. The great Cyclopedia bearing the name of his illustrious compeer M'Clintock devotes to him but a very brief space, scarcely worthy the fame of many an exhorter! Does it not reflect upon the men he educated and the Church he ornamented that this silence. has hung over his name and the riches of his unpublished writings more than a dozen years? Perhaps a timid sense of inadequacy for so rare a task has held others back, as the writer has found himself held from even this humble attempt. Men