"The object of the Society is to promote the propagation of the gospel amongst heathen and other unenlightened people, through the agency of well-qualified medical practitioners, who are either partially supported, or aided by grants of medicines, books, and instruments.
"The society aids and directs the education of promising young men who resolve to devote themselves to medical missionary service.
"It provides for the half of the salary of a medical missionary at Madras, whose labours, extended over four years, have been greatly blessed–5760 persons having received aid last year. This mission deals with a portion of the heathen population of Madras, beyond the direct influence of any other missionary agency.
"The society maintains a dispensary in the Cowgate of Edinburgh, in which religious instruction is combined with medical treatment. During last year this dispensary administered medical aid to 5332 patients, all of whom had the Word of Life set before them. A well-qualified superintendent, with assistants, takes charge of the dispensary, which supplies an admirable training school for the society's students. The attendance at the prayer-meetings, held for persons in their working-clothes, is very encouraging. There are not wanting proofs of these means having been blessed to the awakening and conversion of souls.
"The society organises monthly meetings for the benefit of the medical students attending the Colleges in Edinburgh, who are addressed on various subjects, more or less illustrative of the principles and progress of Christian Missions." Reminding our readers that this refers to the state of matters some twelve years ago, we return to Mr. Elmslie.
The mission work of the dispensary he enjoyed greatly; but only a little of it was permitted to him, or to any of the students, lest they should be diverted from their medical studies. In all mission dispensaries it is the practice, when the patients have assembled, to hold a short religious service with them, which affords an excellent opportunity for commending Christ. It fell to Mr. Elmslie to conduct this service once a week, and it was quite a refreshment to himself to do so; but he was not effective as a speaker on such occasions. There was a monotony in his delivery that disposed to drowsiness, and a want of point and power that surprised those who knew his logical cast of mind, and his varied stores of information. But in another part of the work he was quite an adept. The superintendent, distressed at witnessing large numbers of neglected youths lounging idle about the district where he laboured, resolved to do something for their spiritual benefit, and Mr. Elmslie joyfully assisted. The lads were frightfully wild. On the Sabbath evenings especially, work being suspended, they gathered in the neighbourhood in large and numerous groups. "It was impossible to be indifferent to their presence. Their noisy demonstrations compelled attention; and though we might contrive to pass them, utterly regardless of the interest of their souls, we were obliged to be most considerately mindful of the interest of our own 'shins.' It was not safe to go near them, for they were continually fighting, and wrestling, and plunging about in the most alarming fashion." Fourteen of these lads sat down to tea with Mr. Elmslie every Sabbath night in one of the rooms of the dispensary, and this attractive opening service was followed by a Bible lesson. At first they were inclined to be troublesome, but the quiet firmness with which he grasped the reins made the most reckless feel that opposition was hopeless. His mastery over them was complete; and without any visiting efforts on his part, the attendance was wonderfully regular. Several of his pupils were at least outwardly reformed; and one, it is hoped, got real spiritual blessing. He gave up his evil practices, attended to his business, began to go to church, and became a respectable tradesman. Dropping in at the close of Mr. Elmslie's meeting, as the writer often did, it was a touching sight to witness the band of lawless outcasts kneeling reverently around him, whilst he poured out the deep yearnings of his heart on their behalf to Him who came to seek and to save the lost.
In the household visitation of his patients, Mr. Elmslie soon became a great favourite. He had suffered, being tried, and was therefore able to sympathise with those in trial. Young as he was, he could to some extent use the language of the apostle, "That we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." He was welcomed amongst the poor not merely as a doctor, but as a friend. The children clung to him, and he had many pets amongst them who amused and refreshed him. "I am very sorry, indeed," he writes of one of these, "to learn that wee Sandy has been taken away from you. He was a great pet of mine, and I think the wee man liked the doctor. I trust Sandy is singing to-day in heaven, not 'There is a happy land, far, far away;' but this is the happy land. I do sympathise with you and Mrs. –– very sincerely, but what is in heaven is certainly not lost. Heaven has now a greater hold upon you, and if Sandy's going away helps to make you think more of Jesus, and to desire and strive to live a godly life, then wee Sandy will not have lived and died in vain."
Mr. Elmslie was usually so wide-awake, that it was not often he was found off his guard. But in the course of this session he was fairly caught napping. The incident is trifling, but it shows how a good and diligent student may get into an awkward predicament through mere thoughtlessness. Mr. David Young and he were grinding in one of the empty rooms of the college. They were overheard discussing a knotty question, when –– laid his hand on Mr. Young's shoulder, and said, "If you will both promise to be good boys, I think I can help you in 'grinding' up that difficult bit." "How?" was at once the inquiry. "Dr. –– has a splendid preparation, and I'm sure he won't object to diligent students seeing it sometimes." (Rather generous, to be obliging with another man's goods!) Next day they were duly introduced into Dr. ––'s sanctum, and the magnificent preparation placed before them. Their friend then withdrew, and they fastened the door on the inside. It was a golden opportunity; but "we had not done much," says Mr. Young, "when a sharp footstep came along the passage towards us. We instinctively held our breath, and looked at each other. The surprise deepened when a key was hastily thrust into the door of our sanctum, but being snibbed, it could not be opened, and Dr. –– went along the passage calling loudly for our obliging friend, who found it necessary to be engaged elsewhere at that moment, and did not appear. Meanwhile I rose and unfastened the door, and Dr. –– soon returning, entered and found us sitting before his model. He held up both his hands, and exclaimed, "What is this? My almost priceless preparation, which I would not allow my most intimate friend to touch!" By this time the culprits were standing; and, after a becoming pause, Elmslie began to sing Miserere, but was cut short at once. "That will do, gentlemen; you may go." They crept out in the meekest attitude possible, and certain uneasy misgivings regarding the propriety of their conduct, suggested some anxious glances behind them during their departure.
The time for his final examination in Aberdeen, in the spring of 1863, drew near, and the hopes and fears that usually agitate students on such an occasion, Mr. Elmslie felt with peculiar force. He knew that the stand he made at the rectorial election had not gained favour for him in the senate; and he feared his coming to attend medical classes in Edinburgh might not be relished by the medical faculty; and therefore, during the whole session, he had studied earnestly. "I never," he said, "studied harder in my life." He did so because he wished to maintain his reputation as a student. How natural, also, that he should desire to see the end of his severe struggle, not to support himself merely, but his little household; and, besides, he longed to be free to go forth, without let or hindrance, to the blessed work of winning souls. Knowing how much depended on this, his last appearance, he says, in another letter, "I studied with might and main." He went in to his examination; he did his best; he thought he had done well, but, to his inexpressible astonishment and grief, he was "plucked,"–an ugly word, but it is the term we students best understand; it comes closest home to our consciousness, and carries in it the concentrated essence of all that is undesirable in our student life;–plucked in Aberdeen in the two subjects which unhappily he had not studied there; rejected in Aberdeen in midwifery, for which, during the session, he won Sir J. Y. Simpson's diploma, and a certificate of merit to boot; rejected in Aberdeen on medical jurisprudence, for which, in Edinburgh, by fair competition, he carried off the gold medal. It is not our province to comment, and we studiously abstain from it; it is ours simply to chronicle; but a single word of sympathy from a personal friend of Elmslie's may not be out of place:–"Dear Elmslie," writes Professor Miller, "I sympathise with you most keenly in your heavy trial.... 'God defend the right,' was a stout and good old battle-cry, and He will." Mr. Elmslie returned to Edinburgh.
On rejoining us in the dispensary, there was much prayer for divine guidance, for it was a time of great perplexity. He was strongly urged to go back to Aberdeen, and take his degree in July. This, it was truly said, was the easiest course, so far as work was concerned. It was certainly the cheapest, and that was a consideration he could well appreciate. For a time he felt the sore pangs of suspense as to the path of duty; but the more he thought over it, the more evident it became, that were he to go back to Aberdeen, so shortly after being publicly rejected, it would appear that he was getting his qualification as a favour, and not as a right, and that all through life a certain suspiciousness or doubtfulness would attach to his degree,–and therefore to his professional standing,–seeing it was so immediately preceded by a "plucking." He could not return to Aberdeen. The following short note to his mother, which is the first he wrote after his rejection, shows the quarter in which he sought support and guidance:–"M. M. Dispensary, 16th May 1863.–Dearest Mother,–I was delighted to get your cheering note, and very glad to hear that you feel comforted in mind, though very lonely. Let us cling close to Jesus, let us draw out of His fulness, and never forget that He cares for us,–for you, and for Stewart, and me–infinitely more than for the flowers which are looking so lovely just now. We may look upon ourselves as belonging truly to Him. May we not, dear mother? Then let us believe that all things will be made to work together for good for us,–even this, sore trial though at present it seems. May God bless and comfort you by His Spirit, dear mother.–Your affectionate son, William."