DR. JOHN DICK.
The following statement of the life and last days of the late doctor, was given by the Rev. J. McCosh Smith at the Presbyterian Church, Naseby, on Sunday evening last: —
Dr. Dick studied at Queen's College, Belfast, and graduated at Queen's University, Ireland. Such were his zeal and energy as a student, that he was able, at the end of his curriculum, to graduate in all the branches of medical science. The highest degree, M.D. (which is generally left over till another year), was taken by him at the same time. While attending the classes required in order to his graduation, he also attended a class on the microscope, which, in his estimation, gave him a decided advantage in many cases which, in the course of his practice, came under his notice. Such also was the state of his proficiency, that the Professors of his College urged him to enter for the Medical Fellowship; and, when he was refused admittance, by the examining body on account of his youth, they did everything in their power to have the objection, so trifling, removed. The labor, so mountainous, implied in proficiency so great, was compressed within the short space of four years. Nobody at all acquainted with the full range of medical science could be astonished to hear that his health gave way under this herculean effort. This break down took him from the world, and gave him to Naseby. Two years and a half ago he came among us, a perfect stranger. He soon made himself known, and, though located in this mountain village, his fame has spread far and wide.
In medicine he was most successful. He seemed to diagnose diseases intuitively, and to lay his hand instinctively on the medicine which wrought the cure. He drove from the system diseases of long standing, and inveterate in their existence, as by a charmed power. In surgery he has proved himself a master. This was his favorite subject, and he rose like a giant to an operation. Possessed of great skill, a steady hand, and an inexhaustible amount of patience, nothing ever came to him amiss. Any thing that ever had been done, and any thing that never had been done, he was equally ready to attempt; and his courage was in such a manner sustained by his skill and caution, that he invariably succeeded.
In obstetrics he took a pride, and he has left many a mother to bless his name, and to mourn his loss.
But his professional skill was even surpassed by his devotion to his patients. He watched them night and day, anticicipated every new phase, and prevented rather than cured. By day, by night, he thought of those under his care, and was most assiduous in his attendance. Nothing was allowed to interfere with their interests. He sacrificed society, pleasure, ease, and even health for them. In him they had a friend as well as a physician.
We speak of him now as a friend. — Some have two chambers in their heart: one for intimate, and one for outside friends. If there were two in his heart, the division between them was scarcely perceptible. He opened and admitted all. In his department he had his charges, as every man must have, but whoever came and acknowledged his inability, had as ready and good treatment as any other. The needy had in him a true and a liberal friend. But we speak not so much of this sort of friendliness, as of the general interest in all. His genial manner, his affable habit, and his ready hand, won his way to the hearts of all. He was constantly thinking, devising, advising, and laboring for the welfare of all. There is no man whoever came in contact with him and left him without being the better.
We speak of him now as an elder. — Shortly after his arrival in our midst, it was your pleasure to elect him, and my duty to ordain him, to the office of elder. At first he shrank from the responsibility. After much thought, he at last consented, and entered most fully into the interests of the congregation. We shall miss him as a doctor, as a friend, and as an elder. To say what he was and did in all those capacities is too much for me, and not expected by you. You all knew him, and the savor of his life will not readily pass away. His name will be dear to Naseby, as long, at least, as the present generation survives.
The end came unexpectedly, and suddenly. When he came here he was in feeble health, but he soon recovered himself, and appeared as healthy and as robust as any. He seemed to think he was over it. He had been face to face with death before; and, should his end come, he expected it to come from the same cause which was then at work. Hence the statement of his dying bed — "This is a strange death: I am not acquainted with this form of it." The end came, and it was not taken to be the end, until an hour or two before the he was taken ill on the Tuesday, and he passed away on the Sabbath. Tuesday night was the worst of his illness. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday — weary days, but no danger anticipated. On Saturday night he seemed better, and, up to within two or three hours of his death, he himself did not think he was in any danger. The end was unexpected. It was also sudden. A change for the worse came at twelve on Saturday night. During all the time he was never left alone, night or day. His friends, whose names should be mentioned, were most assiduous in their attention — doing their utmost from first to last. He was able, up to the last, to prescribe for himself, and almost gave the last prescription with his dying breath. He was sensible, and altogether himself to the last. When the end did come, it admitted of no delay. It is impossible for me to describe the last scene, of which I was partly a witness. He awoke from a stupor which had lasted only a few moments, looked around him, and up, and laid his hand upon his chest. After a few moments (when he seemed to be collecting his thoughts, and realising the position) he called Mr. Thomson, and told him that the end was near; gave a few directions about his affairs; said how he loved his father and other relations; and how he loved those near him, and how he loved you all; a few more words, in which he spoke of his God and Saviour, and of his hope of Life. At last, looking with intense interest upwards, as though penetrating a region hitherto unknown, he said with all the sincerity of his soul, "I am going to Heaven, I am going to Heaven; good-bye! good-bye!" then, taking up the words of the twentythird psalm, the great stranger passed into unconsciousness, each word as he passed coming from a greater and a greater distance, We kissed him at his own request, and we lost him, and what was our loss was his gain. We will all mourn the loss many days. He had so wrought himself into my own soul, that laying his body in the dust seemed like laying my own there. But there are two sides — a bright as well as a sad one. Let us gaze upon the bright. Let us seek to follow him. There are those who say, Peace and safety, and then sudden destruction cometn upon them, as travail upon a woman with child. Be not among those: rather among those who hear and obey the will of Christ. "Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh." -Mount Ida Chronicle, 3/10/1874.
We notice by the Bruce Herald that Dr John Dick died at Naseby last week, after an illness of five days, during which he sometimes suffered intensely. His complaint was inflamation of the bowels. He visited the patients through his illness, there being no other doctor there. He visited up to Saturday night, but got gradually worse all Sunday. He spoke sensibly to the last, and died before seven. There is universal grief at his loss. His supposed age was twentyeight years, and he was from the north of Ireland. -West Coast Times, 5/10/1874.
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