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 'CHEISTOPHEU NORTH' 
 
 A MEMOIR OF JOM WILSON 
 
 LATE PROFESSOU OF ilOKAL IMIILOSOIMI Y IN TIIK UNIVKIISITV OF EDlNHURiiU 
 
 FROM FAMILY PAPERS AND OTHER SOURCES 
 
 BY HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 MES. GOEDON 
 
 WITH AN IKTRODUCTIOX BY R. SHELTOX MACKENZIE, D. C. L 
 
 KDITOR OF THE NOCTES AMBROSIAJ^-E, KTO 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 W. J. WIDDLETON, PUBLISHER. 
 
 1875.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S63, 
 
 By W. J. WIDDLETON, 
 
 [n the Cicrk'a OlHce of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of 
 
 New York.
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 4' Q; 
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICM EDITION. 
 
 John "Wilson was, confessedly, the greatest magazine writer 
 of his time. From the establishment of Blackwood's MaxjO- 
 zine, to the autumn of 1852, his pen was almost exclusively 
 employed upon that periodical. Two or three volumes of 
 prose fiction, and an " Essay on Burns," for an edition of the 
 peasant-poet's works, were all that Wilson wrote outside of 
 " Maga," until he closed with the final number of the " Dies 
 Boreales." 
 
 In the Magazine, however, his hand was to be seen, and 
 sometimes felt, almost every month during the thirty-five 
 years of his connection with it. His genius was as abundant 
 as his industry was tireless. The volumes which have been 
 selected from his writings in Blackwood^ three of " The Re- 
 creations of Christopher North," and five of the " Noctes 
 Ambrosianse," imperfectly represent what he supplied. He 
 was not only the best, but also the most fruitful of con- 
 tributors. 
 
 If a man's life be written by a near relative, there usually 
 is the disadvantage, that such a biographer has a natural 
 tendency to take a rose-tinted view of personal character and 
 action, — to write rather an eulogium than a fair record and a 
 just estimate. This, independent of other causes, is mainly 
 because of not taking an outside view of the departed ; of 
 not seeing him as he was seen by the world. Yet, of the 
 five best literary biographies in our language (Boswell's John 
 son, Crabbe's Life by his son, Moore's Byron, Lockhart's Scott, 
 and Pierre M. Irving's Memoir of Washington Irving), three 
 have been written by near relatives. 
 
 The present biography of John Wilson, by his daughter, 
 is worthy, from its fairness and fulness, of a place by the 
 others. Indeed, from Johnson to Wilson and Irving, as re- 
 lated in this series, the whole history of British literature, 
 during one hundred and fifty years, may be found. 
 
 A loving daughter, solicitous for her father's reputation, 
 Mrs Gordon writes of him with admirable imDartialitv. He
 
 U PKEFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 was a man of genius, with a fountain of humanity in his 
 great heart ; a man eccentric in some things, but mean, 
 Aneked, or tricky, in none. His home affections were deep- 
 rooted, and all who knew him loved him dearly. From the 
 wild mirtli, which he delighted to throw into the immortal 
 " Nuctes," the world who did not personally know him, fancied 
 that Wilson was as reckless, humorsome, and jovial, as he 
 represented their heroes to be. Mrs. Gordon's plain record 
 shows that these very remarkable dialogues were written with 
 prolonged toil, in a rapid manner, and upon no stronger in- 
 spiration than a chicken for dinner, and tea or cold water 
 as the beverage to follow ! 
 
 This biography may be called the key to B^ackvooofVs 2fag- 
 azine, and particularly to the " Xoctes." The mere list of 
 Wilson's contributions, from 1826 to 1852, occupies six pages 
 in the Appendix ; and in the nine years before 1826, at least 
 two hundred other articles were written by him. Rarely has 
 any author exhibited such abounding industry, and, even 
 when most careless, so little that is common-place or feeble. 
 
 The glimpses of Wilson's contemporaries, afforded by Mrs. 
 Gordon, show us Lockhart and De Quincey, Jeffrey and Scott, 
 Hartley Coleridge and " Delta ;" and, above all, that singular 
 " wild boar of the forest," James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, 
 the redoubtable hero of the '* Xoctes," and William Black- 
 wood, the astute publisher. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon truly writes (p. 426) : " There is no literary 
 man of our land more highly prized, or better appreciated 
 in America than Professor Wilson. In that country his name 
 is respected, and his writings are well known. It is doubtful 
 if in England he has so large a circle of admirers." 
 
 The great popularity of my own edition of the " Xoctes 
 Ambrosian^," attests the accuracy of the above statement. 
 The best personal and critical estimates of Wilson were written 
 in this country ; the first vigorously dashed off immediately 
 aft-er the announcement of his death in '• The Citizen," by 
 John Savage ; and the other, a thoughtful and analytic esti- 
 mate of his character, by Henry T. Tuckerman, which is to 
 be found in his '' Characteristics of Literature," second series. 
 
 R. Shelton Mackenzie. 
 
 P1111.ADELPHIA, April 4, 1863.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 i HAVE with much misgiving taken upon myself the duty oi 
 %vriting a Memoir of Professor Wilson, believing that my 
 father's life was worthy of being recorded, and that it would 
 bear to be truthfully told. I was well aware of the great diffi- 
 culties attending its performance, and they proved not less than I 
 anticipated ; and I knew that I rendered myself liable to the 
 charge of presumption in undertaking a task declined by abler 
 hands. But I could not give up my persuasion that an imperfect 
 picture of such a man was better than none at all, and in that 
 conviction I have done what I could. 
 
 The many-sided character of the man I have not attempted 
 to unfold ; nor have I presumed to give a critical estimate of 
 his works — they must speak for themselves. Now and then, 
 in the course of the narrative, where letters are introduced re- 
 ferring to literary subjects, I have made a few observations on 
 his writings ; but in no other way, with the exception of those 
 chapters devoted to BlacTcwood's Magazine and the Moral 
 Philosophy chair, have I departed from my original intention 
 of giving a simple domestic memoir. If I have in any way 
 done justice to my father's memory in this respect, I am re- 
 warded.
 
 A V PEEFACE. 
 
 I have availed myself of the letters of my father's principal 
 correspondeuts, so far as they served to throw light on the main 
 subject, or were in themselves interesting and characteristic. I 
 trust, in doing so, that I have inserted nothing calculated to 
 displease or give pain to any now living. If I have erred in 
 this or othei respects, my inexperience in literary work must be 
 my excuse. 
 
 I have spoken of the difficulties that I had to encounter. It 
 is now my pleasing duty to thank the friends who have so 
 kindly lent me their assistance, without which I should indeed 
 Have been much at a loss. 
 
 To my brothers, Mr. John Wilson of Billholm, Mr. Blair 
 Wilson, and my brother-in-law. Professor Aytoun, I am in- 
 debted for memoranda and many domestic letters. 
 
 Others, too numerous to mention by name, will, I hope, ac- 
 cept my thanks for their courteous kindness in rendering me 
 such service as lay in their power. 
 
 To the various students of former days, who have so heartily 
 contributed their reminiscences of the " old man eloquent" 
 whom they loved, I offer my most grateful thanks. Those parts 
 of the work which are chiefly made up of such contributions, 
 will, I am sure, be regarded by many as among its most valu- 
 able and interesting contents. To Mr. Hill Burton, the Rev. 
 William Smith, and Mr. A. T. Innes, I am under very special 
 obligations in this respect. 
 
 To Messrs. Blackwood I am indebted for a complete list of 
 my father's contributions to the Magazine from 1826, which 
 has enabled me to make use of autobiographic details otherwise 
 inaccessible.
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 To Mr. Macduff of Bonliard, and Mr. John Boyd, Publisher, 
 1 am oblit^ed for their kindness in placing at my disposal the 
 correspondence connected with the publication respectively of 
 the Isle of Palms and oi Janus. 
 
 Sir David Brewster and Sheriff Cay have conferred a most 
 valuable favor upon me in permitting the use of Mr. Lockhart's 
 portfolios. 
 
 To my friend, Mr. Alexander Nicolson, Advocate, I am es- 
 pecially indebted : his warm encouragement aided my labors, 
 and his judicious advice guided me in the arrangement of my 
 matdtials, which, both in MS. and in type, he also carefully 
 revised. The trouble which he has kindly taken in connec- 
 tion with this work is such as could have been expected only 
 from one of those whom Professor Wilson loved to call his 
 « children." 
 
 In conclusion, I may express my humble hope that this vol- 
 ume, however it may come sliort of expectation, will prove ac- 
 ceptable to my friends and that portion of the public who love 
 and respect the name of John Wilson. 
 
 Edikburgii, October, 1862.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Paisley— Nursery Amusements— His First Fish— Sermon— Oure John's Teegar— Mr. Peddio's 
 School— Life in the Mearns Manse Pages 1-14 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 
 
 1797-1803. 
 
 His Father's Death— Enters College— Professor Jardine— Professor Toting— Diary in 1801— Por- 
 trait by Eaeburn — Student Life in Glasgow — Fondness for Bark-y-sugar— Walking Feats— Es- 
 say Writing — Companions — Letter to Wordsworth 14-b2 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 LOVE AND POETRY. — LIFE AT OXFORD. 
 1803-'08. 
 
 Uychmont — First Love — Poems to Margaret — Oxford — Studies — Expenses — Commonplace-books 
 — Cock-fighting — Pugilism — Leaping — Keminiscences of Magdalen College by a Fellow-student 
 — College Anecdotes 32-55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. — UNIVERSITY CAREER. 
 
 1803-'08. 
 
 Letters to Margaret and to Mr. Findlay — Letter from Mr. Blair — Letters to Mr. Flndlay — Let 
 ter frcmi Mr. Blair — Examination for his Bachelor Degree — Letters to Mr. Findlay — End of the 
 Love Story ."iS-Tf 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAT. 
 1807-'ll. 
 Description of Elleray — The Old Cottage — The New House — First Meeting with Wordsworth; 
 with De Quincey — The Anglers' Tent — Mathetes — Poetic Compositions — Boating — His Fleet 
 on Windermere — Billy Balmer — Lake escapade — Hunting a Bull — Love of Animals — His Game 
 Birds — "A Main at Elleray" — Wrestling— "A varra bad unto Lick" — Gale House — Its Inmates 
 —A Ball; a Regatta, etc. — Letter to Mr. Harden— Letter to I)e Quincey — Poetry — Letters to Mr. 
 J. Smith, Publisher 77- IW
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 MARRIAGE. — THE ISLE OF PALMS. 
 
 1S11-'15. 
 
 Letter to Mr. Findlny, on the day of his Marriage— Letters to Mr. Smith about " The Isle of P.ilins'' 
 —Lines on James Grahame— Edinburgh, 53 Queen Street— Letters to Mr. Smith— Plans for future 
 work at Elleray— Loses his Fortune— Studies for the Scottish Bar— Note from Mr. Blair— De- 
 parture from EUeray— Letter to De Quincey Pages 10^-1 1 »> 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 LIFE IN EDINBURGH. — THE BAB. — THE HIGHLANDS. — ELLEKAT. 
 1815-'17. 
 Edinburgh— Mrs. Wilson, Senior— Called to the Bar— Letter to Mrs. "Wilson, from the " Head of 
 the Yarrow"'— The Shepherd at Home — An Adventure at Peebles — A Pedestrian Tour in the 
 Higalands by Mr. and Mrs. Wilson : their Adventures — The great Caird — Letter to Hogg, giv- 
 ing an account of the Tour— Criticism on the Poets— Letter to Mr. Smith, proposing a new vol- 
 ume of Poems- Publication of "The City of the Plague" — Letters to his Wife — Letter to Mr. 
 Smith— Letter from Jeffrey on his Poems— Loch Awe— Letter to Mrs. Wilson, from Achlian— 
 Adventure with Tinkers— His mode of Fishing— Letters to Mrs. Wilson, from Blair-Athole and 
 Dingw.all — Adventure at Tomintoul — Mrs. Grant of Laggan's rem.irk8 on Wilson — At Elleray — 
 Patrick Eobertson 119-l.VJ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LITERATURE. — BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE. 
 
 1817-'20. 
 
 His Connection with Periodical Literature — Edinhurgh Monthly Magazine — ^Letter to Mrs. Wil- 
 son from Kinloch Rannoch — Review of Lalla Eookh— Fishing Tour — Letters from Jeffrey re- 
 garding Contributions for the Edinburgh Review — Fragment from .Jeffrey regarding a Vindica- 
 tion of Wordsworth— State of Parties in Edinburgh in 1817 — Establishment of BUtckicood — 
 Early Editors and Contributors— The Scots Magazine — A change in the Management — Numbej 
 VII.— The New Contributors — The Scorpion— The Leopard — Mr. Lockhart — John Wilson — Mr. 
 Robert Syin— James Hogg— Mystifications— Leigh Hunt and Sir J. G. Dalyell— More Mystifica- 
 tion— Dr. James Scott, 7 Miller Street, Glasgow, alias The Odontist— Ciptain Paton's Lament 
 — The Dilettanti Club— Letters from Mrs. Wilson to her Sister Miss Penny on the Magazine — 
 Ensign O'Doherty — A Magazine Row, etc. — The Style of Criticism adopted — Letter to Professor 
 Laugner— The Attack upon Professor Pl.iyfair — 111 Results — Hypocrisy Unveiled — Correspond- 
 ence with the Author — Letter from Mr. Morehead— Letter to Mr. Morehead — Letter from Jeff- 
 rey, vindicating the Edinburgh liemew from the Charge of Infidelity 153-19S 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 
 1820. 
 Eemoves to Ann Street— Sir Henry Raeburn — Sir John Watson Gordon — Sir Willi-im Allan- 
 Death of Dr. Thomas Brown — Announces himself as a Candidate for the C^h.air of Moral Philos- 
 ophy — Sir William Hamilton — Fierce opposition by the Whig party — Letters from Mrs. Wilson 
 on the struggle — Letters to Rev. J. Fleming and Mrs. Grant of Laggan for a Certificate as to 
 Character— Mrs. Grant's reply— Letter from Sir Walter Scott — His Election— Letter from Mrs. 
 WiKson on her husband's success — Letter to Mr. Smith — Preparations for his Lectures — Corre- 
 spondence with Dr. Blair — A Fancy Sketch of the new Professor in his Study — Correspondence 
 with Blair — Opening Lecture of his First Course 19S-'22i
 
 COISTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 
 His Syllabus — The Professor in his Sporting Jacket — Adventure in Hawick— "A little Mill"'— 
 Makes two Students at home in Ann Street — The Professor and his " Children'' at St. Mary's 
 Loch — Mr. Hill Burton's lietniniscenees of the winter of 1S30 — A Market-day atTarland — A kind 
 Teacher — A Dinner at Gloucester Place — His Class — Saturday — A Snow-ball lliot — Any Old 
 Clothes?— "Sir Peter Nimmo" and the poet Wordsworth — Dr. Syntax — A "Conservative" Meet- 
 ing—Politics in the Class — Rev. Mr. Smith's Recollections of 1S37 — As a Lecturer- His Course 
 for 1S37-1838 — Illustration, the Love of Power — His Power as an Orator— "The Demosthenes of 
 Ireland" — An Episode in the Class-room — His Care and Industry in Examining the Students' 
 Essays — His Kindness to them privately — The Session for 1860-1851 — Mr. A. Taylor Innes — 
 "Professor Wilson's Gold Medal" — The Origin of the Moral Faculty — His Appearance in the 
 Class-room — An Unmannerly Student Pages 225-256. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 18 20-' 2 6. 
 Lays from Fairy Land — Devotion to the Magazine, and Friendship for Mr. Blackwood — Lights 
 and Shadows of Scottish Life — A Summer in Elleray once more — Letter from Mr. Blackwood — 
 Letter from Mr. Lockhart on Mr. Leigh Hunt — The Gormandizing School of Eloquence — Miss 
 Edgeworth, etc., etc. — Tom Purdie — Willie Laidlaw, etc. — Letters from Mr. Blackwood regarding 
 the Magazine — Another Summer at Elleray — Letter from Mr. Blackwood — Letters from Mr. 
 Lockhart — The People he met in London — Edward Irving's.Preaching described — Partj' Politics 
 — U^'^rary Gossij) — Old Slop and the New Timta — S. Daily Paper at the Breakfast-table, etc. — 
 Letter from De Quincey — Hill on Education — The "Breeches" Review — "A Confession" — Acci- 
 dent to Mrs. Wilson — Letter to Mr. 11. Findlay — Death of Mrs. Wilson, Senior — Letter from 
 Principal B.aird — Removal to Gloucester Place — The Proposed Chair of Political Economy — 
 Letters from Mr. Patrick Robertson, Mr. Huskisson, Mr. Canning, and Sir Robert Peel on the 
 Subject — Literary work — Projected " Outlines" — Correspondence of Mr. Lockhart and Mr. Wil- 
 son on "Janus" — Letters from Mr. Lockhart on Sir Walter's visit to Elleray — Letter from Pro- 
 fessor Jameson — Letter from Mr. Lockhart on Canning — W. Maginn — Letter from Mr. Black 
 wood — Letter to Delta on "Janus" — Illness of Mrs. Wilson — Letter from Mr. Lockhart, on be- 
 coming Editor of the Quarterly Review — Work during 1826 — Letters to Mrs. Wilson from Ken- 
 dal— Colonsay 256-298 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1827-'29. 
 As a Friendly Critic — Letter to Delta — Views on Free Trade — " Mansie Waugh," etc. — Notes tti 
 Mr. Ballantyne — Innerleithen — Letter to Mr. Fleming, Rayrig, on "Christoidier North," etc.— 
 Letters to Mrs. Wilson — Hartley Coleridge — Contributions for 182S — Letters from Allan Cun- 
 ningham, regarding " The Anniversary," " Edderline's Dream," etc. — Mrs. Wilson to Miss Penny 
 — "Evening at Furness Abbey" — Letter from James Hogg, declining an invitation to Elleray — 
 Letter to Mr. Fleming — Letter from Thomas Carlyle— Letter from Mr. Lockhart — Contest for 
 Oxford University, 1829 — Letter to De Quincey, on his Sketch of the Professor — Thomas De 
 Quincey — Affection for him — His visit to Gloucester Place 299- 32S 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. — CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 
 
 1830-'32. 
 Home Life in Glouc^jster Place — Letters to Mrs. Wilson from Penny Bridge and Westmoreland- 
 Homeric Papers — Letter from Sotheby — Letter from Miss Watson — A Conservative Meeting
 
 X CONTE>TS. 
 
 and Liberal Commentary — Critieism on Tennvson — Letter to 5Jrs. "Wilson on his Cmise with 
 
 the Experimental Sqnadron — London — Greenwich — H. M. S. the "Vernon" — Sheemess — On 
 
 board the *• Vernon" — A Sailor's Death at Sea — Plymouth — The " Campeadora" — The " Vernon" 
 
 -Holystoning — Off the Lizard — Land's End — Cork — London and Home Pages 32S-359 
 
 CHAPTER xrr. 
 
 LTTEHAHT ASD DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 1832-37. 
 Letter from an Author to a Critic — Political Feelinp — Paper on Ebenezer Elliot, and Letter frtm 
 him — " Come and break a ton" of iron — Letter from Mr. Audubon — From Rev. James White 
 of Bonchurch — Letters to James Hogg — "The Shepherd's Reconciliation"' — An Autumn in 
 Ettrick— Rover and the Witch— Pets— A Dog Fighi— Thirlstane Castle — Letters to Mrs. Wilson 
 from Edinburgh — Mr. Blackwood's Illness and Death — Letters from the Clyde to Mrs. Wilson — 
 Public Dinner at Paisley — Last Letter from Mrs. Wilson to her Sister— Illness and Death of 
 Mrs. Wilson.. 3o9-SS3 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 LITEEART AXD DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 1837-'-i4. 
 Depression of Spirits — Life at Eoslin — Marriage of his Daughters — His main work that of a 
 Teacher — His little ways at Home — Pets — The Sparrow — His Dogs : Bronte — Tory — Grog — 
 Game Birds — A new Coop — A Xote to Delta on the Dispersion of his Aviary — Work fi>r the 
 Tear — Letters to Mr. Aird on Biu-ns — Had Burns Family Worship at Dumfries? — The Pro- 
 fessor's Study — Writing for Blackwood — Habit.'* of Composition — Letter to Mr. Flndlay from 
 Rothesay — Cladich — A Fairy's Funeral — Letter to his Daughter describing Billholm — Review 
 of Macanlay's Lays— Letter to Dr. Moir SS3-407 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LITERARY AXD DOMESTIC LIFE 
 lS44-'48. 
 Characteristic Letters from John Gibson Lockhart — The Kemp Absurdity — Maga — ^Novel Read- 
 ing, etc. — Letter to his son John on Domestic matters — "The KemD Affair' — Walking Feats — 
 The Burns Festival — Letter to Sheriff Gordon — Letters from Sergeant Talfourd. excusing him- 
 self from attendance at the "Festival" — Letter to Aird — Letter to his daughter Jane — Fishing 
 in the Dochart — Letter to his daughter Jane — Maga Articles resumed in IS4o — British Critics — 
 EUeray — Letter to Sheriff Gordon, asking him to edit an Article of his for Blackwood — Opening 
 of Edinburgh Philosophical Institution, of which he was elected President — Mt-laneholy Reflec- 
 tions — Letter to Mr. Findlay requesting his presence at the Marriage of his son John — Visit to 
 the newly Married Pair — Resolves not to return to Elleray — Weakness in the Hand, writes con- 
 sequently with difficulty — Byron's " Address to the Ocean" — Peculiarities of Dress — Still in 
 Mourning for his Wife — A Street Scene — A Carter defeated — Humanity to Animals — Visits to 
 London — Sitting for a Portrait — Conversational Powers — Reminiscences of Social Meetings — 
 Jeffrey's Receptions — Lord Robertson — The Professor's Songs — Sailor's Life at Sea — Anld 
 Laug Syne—" A Quaint Ballad" 407-432 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CLOSIXG YEARS. 
 
 1849-'54: 
 
 '•Dies Boreales" — Rituals of the Church — The Scottish Service — Marriage of his youngest daugh 
 
 ter to Professor Aytoun — Playful ways — Toilet peculiarities — His Watch — Hat — Snuff-box — 
 
 Gloves, etc, etc. — Horror of Gas — Love of Children — Letter to his second son Blair, mentioning
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 " Billy's" Death — Letter to his son Blair — The " Dear Doctor" — From College Duties on account 
 of 111 Health — Illness — Desire to return to his Labors — Excursion to the Highlands in search of 
 Health — Passion for Angling — Visit to his Brother at Woodburn — Determines to retire from 
 Active Life — Letter from the Lord Advocate to Sheriff Gordon, conveying the news of the Grant 
 of a Pension of £300 per annum — Letter from Lord John Russell to the Lord Advocate, desiring 
 him to have the Queen's intentions mentioned to Wilson — Receives the News — Letter of Ac- 
 knowledgment to Lord John Russell — Takes up his abode at Woodbum — Last Papers for Mag- 
 azine — Step feeble and unsteady — Letter to his son Blair, thanking him for supplies of Books — 
 Macaulay a Candidate for the Representation of Edinburgh — Comes to Edinburgh and Votes 
 for Macaulay — Letter from Macaulay to Sheriff Gordon, expressing his kindly feelings towards 
 the Professor — Last Visit of Mr. Lockhart— Letter to Robert Findiay, congratulating him on the 
 Marriage of his Son — At Gloucester Place again — The Last Christmas — Seized with a Shock of 
 Paralysis— Rapid Decline— The End Pages 432-462 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 L — Public Funeral and Proposed Statue 463 
 
 II. — Correspondence relating to Janus 4&4 
 
 ni.— List of Professor Wilson's Contributions to Blackuioodrt 3fagamine from 1S26 470 
 
 biuEx 477
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait — from a Photograph (froxtispeece), 
 
 " The Strictures of the Eddtbcrgh Review, cox- 
 
 SIDERED AT A PRIVATE MeETIXG OF THE CaPUT." 
 
 ilR. Patrick Robertson*, 
 The " Leopard," 
 The "Scorpiox," . 
 A Scotch Minister, 
 A Scotch Judge, . 
 Mr. Gibsok Lockhart, 
 Sib "WiLLiAit Hamiltox, 
 
 AKTIST. 
 
 PAoa 
 
 D. 0. HII.T,. 
 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 54 
 
 PROF. E. FORBES 
 
 151 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 165 
 
 DO. 
 
 169 
 
 DO. 
 
 173 
 
 DO. 
 
 177 
 
 DO. 
 
 185 
 
 DO. 
 
 203
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 The epithets " pretty" and " pleasant," more than once applied 
 in the writings of Professor Wilson to the place of his birth, are 
 not those which the passing traveller would now think most appro- 
 priate to the town of Paisley, Avhere the smoke and steam of count- 
 less factories incessantly roll over the inky waters of once fair-flow- 
 ing Cart. And yet it was not the mere partiality of filial aftection 
 that made it seem both pretty and pleasant to his eyes, for such it 
 truly was in the days when he first knew it. And has it not still 
 its pleasant walks and pretty gardens, and its grand old Abbey ? 
 Do not green Gleniffer and Stanley Shaw still flourish near enough 
 to be enjoyed ? Is it not pleasant still to look beyond fields and 
 trees to the sacred spot called Elderslle ? And though gauze and 
 cotton be even more than ever the chief concern of Paisley, has it 
 not still its poets and musicians and men of taste, to make it a 
 " pleasant" habitation, in spite of smoke and steam and sluggish 
 waters ? No native of that respectable old town need be ashamed 
 of his birthplace, and justly is it proud of him who stands foremost 
 among all its sons. 
 
 A somewhat gloomy-looking house in a dingy court at the head 
 of the High Street, now used as a lecture-hall for the artisans of 
 Paisley, is preserved as classic ground, under the name of " Wil- 
 son's Hall." In that house the poet was born, on the 18th of May, 
 1785. At no great distance stands the fiunily residence, to which, 
 after the birth of John, their first son but fourth child, Mr. and 
 1
 
 2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson removed. It is a stately building, Avitli large gardens, 
 and an imposing entrance. The windows to tlie back command an 
 extensive view of a beautiful undulating country, with the nearer 
 prospect of a woody vale and rich sloi)ing tii-lds, a landscape suffi- 
 ciently attractive to have awakened the love of nature in a child's 
 heart, and to have held dominion there in after days, when memory 
 recalled the home of youth, and those delightful pictures of boy- 
 hood's life which were immortalized in the " Recreations of Chris- 
 topher North." Of Mr. Wilson, senior, I know little more than 
 that he was a wealthy man, having realized his fortune in trade as 
 a gauze manufacturer. The integrity of his character and his mer- 
 cantile successes gave him an important position in society, and he 
 is still remembered in Paisley as having been in his own day one 
 of the richest and most respected of its community; while his 
 house possessed a great attraction in his admirable and beautiful 
 M'ii'% a lady of rare intellect, wit, humor, Avisdom, and grace. Her 
 nu'iden name was Margaret Sym. Her brother Robert is not 
 unknown to fame, as the "Timothy Tickler" of the Hoctes Atnhro- 
 sianm. Her mother, of the Dunlops of Garnkirk, was lineally 
 descended, by the female side, from the great Marquis of Montrose. 
 Whether this gentle blood had any thing to do with the physical 
 characteristics of the family or not, certain it is that Mrs. Wilson, 
 her sons and daughters, were remarkably distinguished by personal 
 beauty, of a refined and dignified type. An aspect so stately as 
 *>hat of the old lady is not often to be seen. Nor was she less 
 gifted with qualities more durable than beauty ; for ere long she 
 was called upon, by the death of her husband, to exercise the 
 wisdom and strength of her chaiacter in rearing a large family of 
 sons and dauglitei's. How well she performed that duty was best 
 seen in the reverence and love of her children, all of whom, save 
 two sons and a daughter, lived to shed tears over her grave, and 
 to give proof, in their own lives, of that admirable training which 
 liad taught them betimes the way that they should go.* 
 
 * It win not be out of place hi!rc to give the names of the ton children born to Mr. Wilson and 
 his wife : — 
 
 1. Grace Wilson, married George Cashel, Esquire, Ireland; died, 1S35. 3. Jane Wilson, dieil 
 nnmarriefl, lb35. 3. Margaret Wilson, married John Ferrier, Esquire, W. 8., E<llnburgh; died, 
 1831. 4. John Wilson, married Miss Jane Penny; died, 1 864. 5. Andrew Wilttoii, ni.vrlcd Miss 
 Aitlien, Glasgow; died. 1812. 6. Henrietta Wilson, died young. 7. William Wilson, died in 
 lafancy 8. Uobert Sym Wilson, married Miss Eliza Penny. 9. Elizabeth Wilson, married Si/ 
 Jehu M'Ntill. G. C. B. 10. James Wilson, married Miss Isabella Keith, Edinburgh; died, 185C
 
 BOYHOOD. 3 
 
 In liis childish years, John Wilson was as beautiful and animated 
 A creature as ever played in the sunshine. That passion lur sports, 
 and especially angling, in which his strong nature found such char- 
 acteristic vent in after years, was developed at an age when most 
 little boys are still hardly safe beyond the nurse's api'on-strings. 
 lie was but three years old when he rambled off one day, armed 
 with a willow wand, duly furnished with a thread line and crooked 
 pin, to fish in a " wee burnie," of which he had taken note, away a 
 good mile from home. Unknown to any one, already appreciating 
 the fascination of an undisturbed and solitary " cast," the blue-eyed 
 and golden-haired adventurer sallied forth to the water- side, to 
 spend a day of unforgotten delight, lashing away at the rippling 
 stream, with what success we may perhaps find recorded in Fytte 
 First of " Christopher in his Sporting Jacket :" — 
 
 "A tug — a tug! With face ten times flushed and pale by turns 
 ere you could count ten, he at last has strength, in the agitation of 
 his fear and joy, to pull away at the monster ; and there he lies in 
 his beauty among the gowans and the greensward, for he has 
 whapped him right over his head and far aAvay, a fish a quarter of 
 an ounce in weight, and, at the very least, two inches long! Off 
 he flies, on wings of wind, to his father, mother, and sisters, and 
 brothers and cousins, and all the neighborhood, holding the fish 
 aloft in both hands, still fearful of its escape ; and, like a genuine 
 child of corruption, his eyes brighten at the first blush of cold blood 
 on his small fumy fingers. He carries about with him, up-stairs 
 and down-stairs, his prey upon a plate ; he will not wash his hands 
 before diimer, for he exults in the silver scales adhering to the 
 thumb-nail that scooped the pin out of the baggy's maw ; and at 
 night, ' cabined, cribbed, confined,' he is overheard murmuring in 
 his sleep — a thief, a robber, and a nmrderer, in his yet infant 
 dreams !" 
 
 While the future Christopher was thus early asserting himself 
 out of doors, the "Professor" also was displaying his capacity in 
 the nursery. There his activity and animation kept the little circle 
 alive from morning to night. With his sisters he was a great 
 favoi'ite; they looked up to his superior intelligence, and wondered 
 at all he did. Of in-door amusenients, the most exciting to their 
 youthful minds and his precocious genius was that of pulpit ora- 
 tory. One sermon he used himself to speak of as being a chef-
 
 4 MEMOIR OF JOHN "\^^LSON. 
 
 cToetivre. So much was it appreciated, that he Avas continually 
 called on to repeat it. Standing upon a chair, arranged to look as 
 like a pulpit as possible, he would address his juvenile congrega- 
 tion, along with the more mature audience of nurses and otlier 
 servants assembled to listen to his warning voice. The text chosen 
 "vras one from his own fertile braiu, drawn from that field of expe- 
 rience in which he was already becoming an adept, and handled 
 not without shrewd application to uioral duties. Tliese were the 
 words : " There was a fish, and it was a deil o' a fish, and it was 
 ill to its young anes." In this allegory of life he displayed both 
 pathos and humor, drawing a contrast between good and evil 
 parents that excited sympathy and laughter, while the sermon was 
 delivered with a vehemence of natural eloquence that, in a boy of 
 five years old, may well have entitled him to be looked upon as a 
 genius. 
 
 One other anecdote may here be given, which he used to tell 
 with much humor. As a child, he was very fond of drawing, an 
 accoraplishmeut he regretted in after life having laid aside, before 
 he had acquired sufficieut skill to enable liim to sketch from nature. 
 One day he had copied a tiger, and, no doubt, having given to the 
 animal considerable characteristic vigor, his mother — with natural 
 mother's pride — treasured the specimen highly. He was not aware 
 of the sensation this juvenile success in art had created, till one 
 morning a visitor was announced when he was present, and was 
 scarcely seated, ere, to his surprise, she was accosted by Mx's. Wil- 
 son with the words, pronounced in broad Scotch, as was the manner 
 in those days with many well-educated people, "Have ye seen oure 
 John's teegar?" when forthwith the "teegar" was exhibited to the 
 admiring eyes of her guest. It was not long before " oure John's 
 teegar" was well known in Paisley.* 
 
 The time had now come when the training of the nursery was to 
 be followed by regular education at school, and John was commit- 
 ted to the tuition of Mr. J.'uues Peddie, English teacher. Paisley. 
 To a child who loved to learn, the drudgery of a first apprentice- 
 ship at school would never be irksome. A year or two with Mr. 
 
 * In Flight First of " The Moors," I find an allusion to this work of art. " Stranee that, with all 
 our love of nature anJ of art, \vc never were a painter. True that in Uiyhou.l we were no eon- 
 ti-mptible hand at a lion or a tiger — and sketches by us of such cats springing or preparing ta 
 spring in keelivine, dashed off some fifty or sixty years ago, might well make Edwin Landseei 
 •tare."
 
 BOYHOOD. a 
 
 Peddle prepared him to enter upon more arduous studies. He left 
 the teacher of his childhood with regret. 
 
 The kindness and partiaUty with which he loved to speak of his 
 friends in Paisley, may be seen in the words he made use of in 
 reference to this old friend, as he was taking leave of duties he had 
 followed for upwards of half a century. They are honorable alike 
 to master and pupil : — 
 
 " It was his method rather to persuade than enforce, and they all 
 saw, even amidst the thoughtlessness of boyhood, that their teacher 
 was a cfood man ; and therefore it was their delight and pride to 
 please him. Sometimes a cloud would overshadow his brow, but 
 it was succeeded by a smile of pleasure as gracious and benign as 
 the summer sky. In his seminary, children of all ranks sat on the 
 same form. In that school there was no distinction, except what 
 was created by superior merit and industry, by the love of truth, 
 and by ability. The son of the poor man was there on the same 
 form with the sons of the rich, and nothing could ever drive him 
 from his rightful status but misconduct or disobedience. No per- 
 son would deny that the office of a teacher of youth was one of the 
 most important in this world's affairs. A surly or ignorant master 
 might scathe those blossoms, w^hich a man of sense and reflection, 
 by his fostering care, would rear up till they became bright con- 
 summate flowers of knowledge and virtue." 
 
 Tlie Manse of the neighboring parish of Mearns was the next 
 l)lace fixed upon by Mr. Wilson to continue the education of his 
 son ; and there he found a dolce pedagogo fitted in every way to 
 carry on the instruction in knowledge and virtue so well begun un- 
 der the good Mr, Peddie. The Rev. George M'Latchie won no less 
 a share of his pupil's veneration — " the minister in whose house he 
 jmsscd many of his sweetest youthful days, and who regarded him 
 with a paternal, as he always looked up to Mm with a filial 
 regard." That warm heart was ever ready with its tribute of 
 aftection to the memory of good men ; and amid the tender recol- 
 lections of the past, hallowed by sentiments of gratitude, no place 
 is more touchingly alluded to than " the dear parish of Mearns." 
 Whoever wishes to find a jjcrfect description of its physical features, 
 as well as most exquisite pictures of the youthful pleasures on which 
 memory cast back a glory, must turn to the pages of the Kecrea- 
 tions, particularly to the papers entitled " Our Paiish," " Christo-
 
 6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 pher in Lis Sporting Jacket," and " May Day." From the latter 
 I cannot resist the quotation of the opening paragraph, perliaps 
 the most beautiful of his many apostrophes to that beloved re- 
 gion : 
 
 " Art thou beautiful, as of old, O wild, moorland, sylvan, and 
 pastoral Parish ! the Paradise in which our spirit dwelt beneath the 
 glorious dawning of life — can it be, beloved world of boyhood, that 
 thou art indeed beautiful as of old ? Though round and round thy 
 boundaries in half an hour could fly the flapping dove — though the 
 martins, wheeling to and fro that ivied and wall-flowered ruin of a 
 castle, central in its own domain, seem in their more distant flight 
 to glance their crescent wings over a vale rejoicing apart in another 
 kirk-spire, yet how rich in streams, and rivulets, and rills, each with 
 its own peculiar murmur, art thou, with thy bold bleak exposure, 
 sloping upwards in ever lustrous undulations to the portals of the 
 East! How endless the interchange of woods and meadows, glens, 
 dells, and broomy nooks, without number, among thy banks and 
 braes! And then of human dwellings! — how rises the smoke, ever 
 and anon, into the sky, all neighboring on each other, so that the 
 cock-crow is heard from homestead to homestead ; while, as you 
 wander onwards, each roof still rises unexpectedly, and as solitary 
 as if it had been far remote. Fairest of Scotland's thousand par- 
 ishes — neither Plighland nor Lowland — but undulating — let us again 
 use the descriptive word — like the sea in sunset after a day of storms 
 • — yes. Heaven's blessing be upon thee ! Thou art indeed beautiful 
 as of old !" 
 
 Of the precocity of this boy there is evidence enough ; but, unlike 
 most precocious children, he was foremost in the play-ground as 
 well as at the task. With him both work and i)'ay were equally 
 enjoyed, and he threw his whole energy into the one or other iii 
 its turn. In school he was every inch the scholar ; but when the 
 books were laid aside, and the fresh air played on his bright cheeks, 
 he was king of all sports, the foremost and the maddest in every joc- 
 und enterprise. A pleasant idea of the relation in which the kind 
 minister of the IMearns stood to his pupils, is given in a note I'rom 
 Sir John Maxwell of PoUok, who was a schoolfellow of my father : 
 
 " He was above me in the ranks of the school, in stature, and 
 mental acquirements. I may mention, as an illustration of the 
 energy, activity, :ui(l vivacity of his character, that one m-orning, I
 
 BOYHOOD. 7 
 
 having been permitted to go and fisli in the burn near the kirk, and 
 liaving caught a fine trout, was so pleased, that I repaired to the 
 minister's study to exhibit my prize to Dr. M'Latchie, who was 
 then reading Greek witli him. He, seeing my trout, started up ; 
 and, ad<b"essing his reverend teaclier, said, 'I must go now to fish,' 
 Leave was granted, and I willingly resigned to him my rod and 
 line ; and before dinner he re-ai)i)eared with a large dish of fish, 
 on which he and his companions feasted, not without that admira- 
 tion of his achievement which youtli delights to express and always 
 feels." 
 
 This simple relation, to those who knew the man in after life, 
 and have heard him speak of the happy hours which gave, in his 
 eyes, so great a charm to " Our Parish," suggests one of those 
 bright days he loveil to wander to in memory, long after the sunny 
 visions of youth had glided into the silent past. " Such days," says 
 he, "seem now to us — as memory and imagination half restore and 
 half create the past into such weather as may have shone over the 
 bridal morn of our first parents in Paradise — to have been frequent 
 — nay, to have lasted all the summer long — when our boyhood was 
 bright from the hands of God. Each of those days Avas in itself a 
 life !"* 
 
 It is impossible to overrate the influence of such a training as 
 young Wilson had, during these happy years, in forming that sin- 
 gular character, in virtue of which he stands out as unique and 
 inimitable among British men of genius, as Jean Paul, DerElnzige^ 
 among his countrymen. In no other writings do we find so inex- 
 haustible and vivid a reminiscence of the feelings of boyhood. 
 There was in that heart of his a perpetual well-spring of youthful 
 emotion. In contact with him, we are made to feel as if this man 
 were in himself the type, never to grow old, of all the glorious* 
 bright-eyed youths that we have known in the world ; capable of 
 entering, with perfect luxury of abandonment, into their wildest 
 frolics, but also of transfiguring their pastimes into mirrors of 
 tilings more sublime — of rising, without strain or artifice, from the 
 level of common and material objects into the serene heights of 
 poetic, philosophic, and religions contemplation. Not in vain was 
 this brilliant youth, Avith his capacity for every form of activity, 
 bodily and mental, his passionate love of nature, and his deep rev- 
 
 * " Soliloquy on the Soasous," Wilson's Works.
 
 8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON". 
 
 erence for all things liigli and pure, placed in the springtime of his 
 days amid the manifold wholesome influences of a Scottish manse 
 and school in the " wild, moorland, sylvan, pastoral parish" of 
 Mearns. For truly has he himself remarked of the importance of 
 this period of life, " Some men, it is sarcastically said, are boys all 
 life long, and carry with them their pueriUty to the grave. 'Twould 
 be well for the world were there in it more such men. By way of 
 proving their manhood, we have heard grown-up people abuse 
 their own boyhood, forgetting what our great philosophical poet — 
 after Milton and Dryden — has told them, that 
 
 ' The bov is father of the man,' 
 
 and thus libelling the author of their existence. . . . Xot only are 
 the foundations dug and laid in boyhood, of all the knowledge and 
 the feelings of our prime, but the ground-flat too built, and often 
 the entire second story of the superstructure, from the windows of 
 which, the soul, looking out, beholds nature in her state, and leaps 
 down, unafraid of a fall on the green or white bosom of earth, to 
 join with hymns the front of the pi'ocession. The soul afterwards 
 perfects her palace — building up tier after tier of all imaginable 
 orders of architecture — till the shadowy roof, gleaming with golden 
 cupolas, like the cloud-region of the setting sun, set the heavens 
 ablaze."* 
 
 It were a vain task to attempt, in any words but his own, to re- 
 call some of those boyish experiences, which made that life in the 
 Mearns so rich a seed-field of bright memories and imaginations. I 
 must, therefore, draw upon the pages of the Recreations for a few 
 pictures of "Young Kit," as he appeared to himself looked at through 
 the vista of half a life. After describing how his youthful passion 
 for the observation of nature impelled him, when a mere child, to 
 wander away among the moors and woods, he goes on : — 
 
 " Once it was feared that poor wee Kit was lost ; for having set 
 ofi'all by himself, at sunrise, to draw a night-line from the distant 
 Black Loch, and look at a trap set for a glede, a mist overtook him 
 on the moor on his homeward way, with an eel as long as himself 
 hanging over his shoulder, and held him prisoner for many hours 
 within its shifting walls, frail indeed, and opposing no resistance to 
 rhe hand, yet impenetrable to the feet of fear as the stone dungeon's 
 
 • Wils<in"s Work*.
 
 BOYHOOD. V 
 
 thraldom. If the mist had remained, that would have been nothing ; 
 only a still cold wet seat on a stone ; bnt as ' a trot becomes a gallop 
 soon, in spite of curb and rein,' so a Scotch mist becomes a shoAver 
 — and a shower a flood — and a flood a storm — and a storm a tem- 
 pest — and a tempest thunder and lightning — and thunder and light- 
 ning heavenquake and earthquake — till the heart of poor Avee Kit 
 quaked, and almost died Avithin him in the desert. In this age of 
 Confessions, need Ave be ashamed to OAvn, in the face of the whole 
 Avorid, that we sat us down and cried ! The small broAvn moorland 
 bird, as dry as a toast, hopped out of his heather-hole, and cheerfully 
 cheeped comfort. With crest just a thought lowered by the rain 
 the green-backed, Avhite-breasted peaseweep, walked close by us in 
 the mist ; and, sight of Avonder, that made even in that quandary by 
 the quagmire our heart beat with joy — lo ! never seen before, and 
 seldom since, three wee poascwceps, not three days old, little bigger 
 than shrew-mice, all covered with blackish doAvn, interspersed with 
 long Avhite hair, running after their mother ! But the large hazel eye 
 of the she peaseweep, restless even in the most utter solitude, soon 
 spied us glowering at her, and her young ones, through our tears; 
 and not for a moment doubting (Heaven forgive her for the shrewd 
 but cruel suspicion!) that Ave were Lord Eglinton's gamekeeper, 
 Avith a sudden shrill cry that thrilled to the marrow in our cold 
 backbone, flapped and fluttered herself away into the mist, Avhile 
 the little black bits of doAvn disappeared, like devils, into the moss. 
 The croaking of the frogs grew terrible. And Avorse and Avorse, 
 close at hand, seeking his lost coavs through the mist, the bellow of 
 the notorious red bull! We began saying our prayers; and just 
 then the sun forced himself out into the open day, and, like the sud- 
 den opening of the shutters of a room, the Avhole Avorld Avas filled 
 with light. The frogs seemed to sink among the powheads ; as for 
 the red bull who had tossed the tinker, he Avas cantering away, with 
 his tail towards us, to a lot of cows on the hill; and hark — a long, 
 a loud, an oft-repeated halloo! Rab Roger, honest fellow, and 
 Leezy Muir, honest lass, from the manse, in search of our dead 
 body ! Rab pulls our ears lightly, and Leezy kisses us from the 
 one to the other, wrings the rain out of our long yellow hair (a 
 pretty contrast to the small gray sprig now on the crown of our 
 pericraniuin, and the thin tail ac^oek behind); and by-and-by step- 
 ping into Ilazel-Deanhead for a drap and a ' chitterin' piece,' by the 
 I*
 
 10 MEilOIK OF JOUN WILSOM. 
 
 time we reacli the manse we are as dry as a whistle — take our scold 
 and our pawmies from the minister — and, by way of punishment 
 and penance, after a Uttle hot whi^key-toddy, with brown sugar and 
 a bit of bun, are bundled off to bed in the daytime!'' 
 
 Could any thing be more deliciously vivid than that picture of 
 little Kit and the maternal peaseweep "glowering" at each other 
 in the midst of the Scotch mist ? 
 
 Let us see him now a few years older, and some inches taller, 
 armed with that remarkable piece of artillery, " Muckle-mou'd 
 Meg," of which he has himself given this most inimitable descrip- 
 tion, or one only equalled by Hood's glorious schoolboy epis- 
 tles : — 
 
 " There had been from time immemorial, it was understood, in 
 the Manse, a duck-gun of very great length, and a musket that, 
 according to an old tradition, had been out both in the Fifteen and 
 Forty-live. There were ten boys of us, and we succeeded by rotation 
 to gun or musket, each boy retaining possession for a single day 
 only; but then the shooting senson continued all the year. They 
 must have been of admirable materials and workinansliip ; for 
 neither of them so much as once bur^^t during the Seven Years' War. 
 The musket, who, we have often since thought, must surely rather 
 have been a blunderbuss in disguise, was a perfect devil for kicking 
 when she received her dischaige ; so much so, indeed, that it was 
 reckoned creditable for the smaller boys not to be knocked down 
 by the recoil. She had a very wide mouth — and was thouglit by 
 us 'an awfu' scatterer;' a qualitication which we considered of the 
 very highest merit. She carried any thing we chose to put into 
 her — there still being of all her performances a loud and favorable 
 report — balls, buttons, chuckystaues, slugs, or hail. She had but 
 two faults: she had got addicted, probably in early life, to one 
 habit of burning priming, and to another of hanging tire; habits of 
 which it was impossible, for us at least, to break her by the most . 
 assiduous hannnering of many a new series of flints ; but such was 
 the liigh place she justly occupied in the aSection and admiration 
 of us all, that faults like these did not in the least detract from her 
 general character. Our delight, when she did absolutely and posi- 
 tively and hondjide 'go oif,' was in proportion to the comparative 
 rarity of that occurrence ; and as to hanging fire — why, we used to 
 let her take her own time, contriving to keep her at the level as long
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 11 
 
 as our strength sufficed, eyes shut perhaps, teeth clenched, face 
 uirning, and head slightly averted over the right shoulder, till 
 Miicklc-mou'd Meg, who, like most other Scottish females, took 
 things leisurely, weut ofl'at last with an explosion like the blowing 
 up of a rock.'' 
 
 If we would see him, at a further stage of boyhood, engaged in 
 still more exciting and boisterous sport, we would need to go back 
 into the melee of the "Snowball Bicker of Pedmount,"* a quiet 
 Homeric episode, to which it is impossible to do justice by an ex- 
 tract. Those who care, in short, to obtain as complete a picture of 
 that boyish life as it is possible now to have, will find it for them- 
 selves, in the pages of the Recreations^ few of Avhich are without 
 some tender and graphic reminiscences of his early days. They 
 are not, of course, to be always taken as literal descriptions of 
 things that happened exactly as there painted ; for, as he himself 
 acutely observes, giving the rationale of such reminiscence : — " You 
 must know that, unless it be accompanied with imagination, memory 
 is cold and lifeless. . . . All minds, even the dullest, remember the 
 days of their youth ; but all cannot bring back the indescribable 
 brightness of that blessed season. They who would know what 
 they once were, must not merely recollect, but they must imagine 
 the hills and valleys, if any such there were, in which their child- 
 hood played. ... To imagine what he then heard and saw, he must 
 imagine his own nature. He must collect from many vanished 
 hours the power of his untamed heart, and he must, perhaps, trans- 
 fuse also something of his own maturer mind into these dreams of 
 his former being, thus linking the i)ast with the present by a con- 
 tinuous chain, which, though often invisible, is never broken." That 
 my father, in these pictures of his youth, did transfuse something 
 of his maturer mind into the vision is manifest enough, and therein 
 lies their peculiar charm and beauty. But of the general fidelity of 
 the impression they convey there can be no doubt. As regards in 
 particular that surpassing excellence in all physical sports which 
 might sometimes appear to be the exaggeration of poetic fancy, 
 there is sufficient testimony from contemporaries. Thus a school- 
 fellow of his writes : " There were other boys five or six years his 
 seiiior; but in all games, in running, in jumping, in hockey, he Avas 
 tlie first and fastest; and he could run faster, .and walk longer than 
 
 * Wilsons' W'lyrkH.
 
 12 MEMOIR OF JOnS WILSON. 
 
 any of us." Anotlier says : " lie excited our admiration by his ex- 
 cellence in fishing;" Avhile, in regard to "mental superiority," he 
 adds, "he was a capital scholar, and further in advance of the 
 generality of the boys at Mearns than he outshone his competitors 
 in after life." 
 
 That, with all this many-sided ability, and the undoubted con- 
 sciousness of superior power, he was a prime favorite among his 
 fellows, is not difficult to believe, when we find how aflectionate 
 and magnanimous was his nature ; a nature in which the develop- 
 ment of soul and body, of intellect and feeling, attained a harmony 
 so rare. The combination of these gifts in such goodly jtroportion 
 enabled him to enter, with a sympathy destitute of all affectation, 
 into the feelings and pursuits of persons of the most diverse char- 
 acter ; and throughout all the exuberance of his literary activity, 
 much as there is in its earlier stages of impetuosity, and sometimes 
 even sansculottism, there is nowhere, from beginning to end, one 
 trace of malignity or envy. Even such was he in those happy boy- 
 ish days, when he "bathed his feet in beauty'' by the banks of the 
 ream, and nourished "a youth sublime" in the ])ure and healthful 
 atmosphere of the dear old Manse. 
 
 I pass with reluctance from this happy period, to which my 
 fiither's heart ever turned with a freshness of delight which years 
 and sorrows seemed only to increase. The chapter may filly close 
 with his own account of the feelings with which he bade farewell 
 to that beloved parish, never mentioned without benediction and 
 eulogium. 
 
 "Then this was to be our last year in the parish — now dear to us 
 as our birthplace; nay, itself our very birthplace — for in it from the 
 darkness of infancy had our soul been born. Once gone and away 
 from the region of cloud and moimtain, we felt that most probal»Iy 
 never more should we return. For others, who thought they knew 
 us better than we did ourselves, had chalked out a future life for 
 young Christopher North — a life that was sure to lead to honor, 
 and riches, and a splendid name. Therefore we determined, with a 
 strong, resolute, insatiate spirit of })assion, to make the most — the 
 best — of the few months that remained to us of that, our wild, free, 
 and romantic existence, as yet untrammelled by those inexorable 
 laws, which, once launched into the world, all alike — young and 
 old — must oiiev. Our books were fluncr aside — nor did our old
 
 BOYHOOD. ^ 13 
 
 master and iniuister frown, for he grudged not to the boy he loved 
 the remnant of the dream about to be rolled away like the dawn's 
 rosy clouds. We demanded witli our eye — not with our voice — 
 one long holiday throughout that our last autumn, on to the pale 
 farewell blossoms of the Christmas rose. With our rod we went 
 earlier to the loch or river ; but we had not known thoroughly our 
 own soul — for now we angled less passionately, less perseveringly, 
 than was our wont of yore, sitting in a pensive, a melancholy, a 
 miserable dream, by the dashing waterfall or the murmuring wave. 
 With our gun we plunged earlier in the morning into the forest, 
 and we returned later at eve ; but less earnest, less eager, were we 
 to hear the cushat's moan from his yew-tree — to see the hawk's 
 shadow on the glade, as he hung aloft on the sky. A thousand 
 dead thoughts came to life again in the gloom of the woods, and 
 we sometimes did wring our hands in an agony of grief, to know 
 that our eyes should not behold the birch-tree brightening there 
 with another spring. 
 
 " Then every visit we paid to cottage or to shieling was felt to 
 be a farewell ; there was something mournful in the smiles on the 
 sweet faces of the ruddy rustics, with their silken snoods, to whom 
 we used to whisper harmless love-meanings, in which there was no 
 guile. We regarded the solemn toil-and-care-worn countenances 
 of the old with a profounder emotion than had ever touched our 
 hearts in the hour of our more thoughtless joy ; and the whole life 
 of those dwellers among the woods, and the moors, and the moun- 
 tains, seemed to us far more afi'ecting now that we saw deeper into 
 it, in the light of a melancholy sprung from the conviction that the 
 time was close at hand when we should mingle Avith it no more. 
 The thoughts that possessed our most secret bosom fuled not by 
 the least observant to be discovered in our open eyes. They who 
 had liked us before, now loved us ; our fiiults, our follies, the inso- 
 lences of our reckless boyhood, were all forgotten ; whatever had 
 been our sins, pride towards the poor was never among the num 
 ber; we had shunned not stooping our head beneath the humblesr 
 lintel; our mite had been given to the widow who had lost her 
 own ; quarrelsome with the young we might sometimes have been, 
 for boyhood is soon heated, and boils before a defying eye ; b\it in 
 one thing at least we were Spartans — we revered the head of old 
 a"u.
 
 14 V MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "And many at last were tlie kind — some the sad — farewells, eve 
 long whispered by iis at gloaming among the glens. Let them 
 rest for ever silent amidst that music in the memory which is felt, 
 not heard — its blessing mute though breathing, like an inarticulate 
 prayer !" 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GLASGOAV COLLEGE. 
 
 1797-1803. 
 
 " Long, long, long ago, the time when we danced hand in hand 
 with our golden-haired sister ! Long, long, long ago, the day on 
 which she died ; the hour, so far more dismal than any hour that 
 can now darken us on this earth, when her coffin descended slowly, 
 slowly into the horrid clay, and we were borne, deathlike and wish- 
 ing to die, out of the churchyard, that from that moment we 
 thought we could never enter more.'' That touching reminiscence 
 of his golden-haired sister, which came back among the visions of 
 a merry Christmas long after,* points to what was probably John 
 Wilson's first deep experience of sorrow ; and it is no imaginary 
 picture of the scene it recalled. For even in those early years, and 
 still more as life advanced, he was intensely susceptible to emotions 
 of grief, as well as of gladness. A heavier trial awaited him at the 
 threshold of the new life on which he was to enter after leaving 
 the manse of Mearns in his twelfth year. He had seen the yellow 
 leaves fall, on to the close of that last memorable autumn which 
 finished his happy school-time, and now he was summoned home to 
 see his father die. As he stood at the head of the grave, chief 
 mourner, and heard the dull earth rattling over the coffin, his 
 emotions so overcame him that he iell to the ground in a swoon, 
 and had to be carried away. Such an effi^ct, on a frame more than 
 commonly robust, indicated a dejith of feeling and passion not 
 often seen in oui clime among boys, or, in its outer manifestations 
 
 * '•Cliii.-tiii:i» Dixuiiib,"' Wilfion's Worlfi. 

 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE 15 
 
 at least, among men. The aspect and the charactei' of Wilson have 
 sometimes suggested to the imagination those blue-eyed and long- 
 liaired Norsemen, who made their songs amid the smiting of 
 ^ words, who were as swift of foot and strong of arm as they were 
 skilled iu lore and ready in counsel, fierce to their enemies, tender 
 and true to their friends. And this little incident reminds one 
 uioi'e of what we read in Sagas of that passionate vehemence of 
 theirs, than any thing we are accustomed to now-a-days. 
 
 After the death of his father, he appears to have gone immedi- 
 ately to Glasgow University, where he entered as a student in the 
 Latin class for the session of l79V-'98, attending other classes in 
 due course down to 1803, During those years he resided iu the 
 family of Professor Jardine, the same prudence which had dictated 
 (lie choice of his earlier instructors being here again conspicuous, 
 and the results not less satisfactory. His life in Glasgow was a 
 ha]j]»y one; and, under the combined influences of admirable pro- 
 ft^ssorial instruction and a free enjoyment of good society and 
 innocent pleasures, his character developed by natural and insensi- 
 ble transition from boyhood to youth, from the period of school 
 lessons and " Muckle-mou'd Meg" to that of essay-writing and 
 speech-making, of first love and "lines to Margaret." 
 
 Of the various professors under whom he studied, there were two 
 who won his special love and lifelong veneration : these were Jar- 
 dine and Young.* When the relationship between pupil and teacher 
 has been cemented by feelings of respect and affection, the influence 
 obtained over the young mind is one that does not die with the 
 breaking of the ties that formally bound them. Of this Wilson's 
 own experience as a professor afforded him many a delighti'ul illus- 
 tration. To Jardine, in the first place, as not only his teacher, but 
 his private monitor and friend, he owed, he has himself said, a deep 
 debt of gratitude. He is represented as having been " a person 
 who, by the singular felicity of his tact in watching youthful minds, 
 had done more good to a whole host of individuals, and gifted in- 
 dividuals too, than their utmost gratitude could ever adequately 
 repay. They spoke of him as of a kind of intellectual father, to 
 whom they were proud of acknowledging the eternal obligations of 
 their intellectual being. He has created for himself a mighty family 
 among whom his memory will long survive; by whom, all that he 
 
 * The former was Trolessor of Logic, the lultur of Greek.
 
 16 MKMOIK OF .lOllN WILSON. 
 
 Baid and did — his words of kind praise and kind censure — his grav- 
 ity and his graciousness — will no doubt be dwelt u])on with warm 
 and tender words and looks, long after his earthly labors shall have 
 been bi ought to a close."* 
 
 Wilson's intercourse with Professor Young was of a nature equally 
 friendly, and his reminiscences of that " old man eloquent" are not 
 less pleasing : — 
 
 " Vv'e have sat," he says, " at the knees of Professor Young, 
 looking up to his kindling or shaded countenance, while that old 
 man eloquent gave life to every line, till Hector and Andromache 
 seemed to our imagination standing side by side beneath a radiant 
 rainbow glorious on a showery heaven ; such, during his inspiration, 
 was the creative power of the majesty and the beauty of their smiles 
 and tears. 
 
 "That was long, long ago, in the Greek class of the College oi 
 Glasgow ; and though that bright scholar's Greek was Scotch Greek, 
 and all its vowels and diphthongs, and some of its consonants too, 
 especially that glorious guttural that sounds in lochs, all unlike the 
 English Greek that soon afterwards, beneath the shadow of Mag- 
 dalen Tower, the fairest of all Oxford's stately structures, was poured 
 mellifluous on our delighted ear from the lips of President Routh, 
 the ' erudite and the wise,' still hath the music of that 'repeated 
 strain' a charm to our souls, reminding us of life's morning march 
 Avhen our spirits were young, and when we could see, even as with 
 our bodily eyes, things far away in space or time, and Troy hung 
 visibly before us even as the sun-setting clouds. Therefore, till 
 death, shall we love the Sixth Book of the Iliad ; and, if we under- 
 stand it not, then indeed has our whole life been vainer than the 
 shadow of a dream."f 
 
 A somewhat similar account of this interesting man, from another 
 source, is worthy of insertion here : — 
 
 "I own I was quite thunderstruck to find him passing from a 
 ti-ansport of sheer verbal ecstasy about the particle dga, into an 
 ecstasy quite as vehement, and a thousand times more noble, about 
 the deep patlietic beauty of one of Homer's conceptions in the ex- 
 pression of which that particle happens to occur. Such was the 
 burst of his enthusiasm, and the enriched mellow swell of his ex- 
 
 ♦ muck-wooil,, 1u]y, TilNi. 
 
 i '"llomiT Hill liib 'I'taiisla'i.rs," Wil-<iii"» IV'irln.
 
 GLASGOAV COLLEGE. 
 
 17 
 
 panding voice, when he began to touch upon this more majestic 
 key, that I dropped for a moment all my notions of the sharp phi- 
 lologer, and gazed on him with a higher delight, as a genuine lover 
 of the soul and spirit which has been clothed in the words of an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 " At the close of one of his fine excursions into this brighter field, 
 the feelings of the man seemed to be rapt up to a pitch I never be- 
 fore beheld exemplified in any orator of the Chair. The tears 
 gushed from his eyes amidst their fervid sparklings, and I was more 
 than delighted when I looked round and found that the fire of the 
 Professor had kindled answering tianies in the eyes of not a few of 
 his disciples."* 
 
 It may be seen from these sketches what manner of men had the 
 moulding of that young taste in its perception of the good and 
 beautiful. Nor could his mind fail to have been ennobled by such 
 training. It was the means of encouraging him to cultivate the lit- 
 erary taste, which, in addition to the more severe routine of his 
 studies, aided to make his memory a storehouse of knowledge, 
 rendering him even as a boy one of the most desirable comjianions 
 with his seniors. 
 
 Of the characteristic mixture of work and play which enabled him 
 to be both an active and distinguished student, and a vivacious racer 
 and dancer, there is fortunately some slight record extant under his 
 own youthful hand, in the pnges of a little brown memorandum- 
 book, in which he carefully noted the chief transactions of each day 
 from the 1st of January to the 26th of October, 1801. A very in- 
 teresting and curious relic it is, if only for the light it throws on 
 that beautiful portrait by Raeburn, now in the National Gallery, 
 Edinburgh, which has probably disappointed so many people as a 
 representation of young Christo])her North. That slender youth, 
 so tidily dressed in his top-boots and well-fitting coat, with face so 
 placid, and blue eye so mild, looking as if lie never could do or say 
 anything outre or startling, — can that be a good picture of him wc 
 have seen and heard of as the long-maned and mighty, whose eyca 
 were "as the wgiitnings of fiery flame," and his voice like an organ 
 bnss ; who laid about him, when the fit was on, like a Titan, break- 
 ing small men's bones; who was loose and careless in his apparel, 
 even as in all things he seemed too strong and primilive to heed 
 
 * I'tier\i Lettern. 
 
 k
 
 18 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 miicli tlie niceties of custom? So people ask and think wlio knew 
 not Professor Wilson, save out of doors or in print, and who ima- 
 gine that he could never have been otherwise than as they saw him 
 in manhood or age. But true it is, that that gentle-looking cavalier 
 represents the John Wilson in whom the deep fires of passion and 
 the hidden riches of imagination lay still comparatively quiescent 
 and undeveloped. For that youth, though he is a bold horseman 
 and a matchless leaper, as well as a capital scholar and a versifier to 
 boot, has not yet had his nature stirred by that which will presently 
 make him talk of life as either bliss ineffable, or wretchedness insuf- 
 ferable. The man whom we know in after life jotting down his 
 lectures on old backs of letters, illegible sometimes to himself, at 
 this time keeps a neat and punctual diary, with its ink rulings for 
 month, and week, and day, and £ s d, all done by his own hand; 
 the one page containing, under the heading " Appointments, Bills, 
 Memorandums," notes of each day's events, Avith the state of the 
 weather at the week's end ; the other, its careful double entry of 
 " Received" and " Paid," duly carried over from page to page ; and 
 the expenditure in no single instance exceeding the income. It is 
 altogether an illustration of chai-acter that might surprise the unin- 
 itiated even more than Raeburn's jiortrait. 
 
 As has been said, labor and pleasure seem not unequally to have 
 divided his time. Invitations to dinner, balls, parties, etc., are fre- 
 quently chronicled. A boy of sixteen might be supposed to be 
 somewhat prematurely introduced to those social amenities. But 
 in his case the thing does not seem to have been unnatural, or 
 other than beneficial. No doubt his personal attractions, and a 
 Btature above his years, combined with the knowledge of his good 
 prospects in life, made him an object of more attention than wo-ild 
 otherwise have been the case. In the heart of this gayety, too, 
 there are indications of marked attention to the ordinary but too 
 often neglected minor duties of society. lie makes frequent visits 
 of politeness ; he writes regularly to his mother and sisters; his 
 respect to his grandmother and other relatives is undeviating, for 
 upon the old lady he waits daily. Order and punctuality, in faci, 
 seem to regulate his minutest aftairs, — the more worthy of remark, 
 as in later years these praiseworthy habits were almost entirely laid 
 aside. It will perhaps not be altogether without interest to insert 
 one or two of the entries from this pocket-book, even though mo- 

 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 19 
 
 notonous, and to a certain extent unimportant, alluding to n&^mes 
 of persons, the mention of wliich, save to a very few, will scarcely 
 awaken any familiar associations. 
 
 The season is begun at home in Edinburgh, where his mother, 
 with the rest of the family, had now taken up her residence. A 
 happy band of brothers and sisters, and other relatives, there met 
 together to welcome in the new-year. So, for a while, the dingy 
 walls of Glasgow College, and its eight o'clock morning lectures, 
 Avere shut out from thought, and the bright-hearted boy rejoiced 
 with his friends. Before quoting from the memorandum-book its 
 brief record of those days, which gleams out from the past like 
 light seen from an aperture for the first time, let us hear him in ma- 
 turer years recalling the memory of such scenes : — 
 
 " Merry Christmases they were indeed ; one lady always pre- 
 siding, with a figure that once had been the stateliest among the 
 stately, but then somewhat bent, without being bowed down, be- 
 neath an easy weight of most venerable years. Sweet was her 
 tremulous voice to all her grandchildren's ears. Nor did those 
 solemn eyes, bedimmed into a pathetic beauty, in any degree re- 
 strain the glee that sparkled in orbs that had as yet shed not many 
 tears, but tears of joy or pity. 
 
 "Whether we were indeed all so witty as we thought ourselves 
 — uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, and ' the 
 rest,' it might be presumptuous in us, who were considered by our- 
 selves and a few others not the least amusing of the whole set, at 
 this distance of time to decide — especially in the affirmative ; but 
 how the roof did ring with sally, pun, retort, and repartee ! Ay, 
 with pun — a species of impertinence for which we have therefore a 
 kindness even to this day. Had incomparable Thomas Hood had 
 the good fortune to have been born a cousin of ours, how with that 
 fine fancy of his would he have shone at those Christmas festivals, 
 eclipsing us all ! Our family, through all its diflerent branches, has 
 ever been famous for bad voices, but good ears ; and we think we 
 liear ourselves — all those uncles and aunts, nephews and nieces, and 
 cousins — singing now ! Easy is it to ' warble melody' as to breathe 
 air. But we hope harmony is the most difficult of all things to 
 people in general, for to us it was impossible ; and what attempts 
 wn-s used to be at seconds! Yet the most Avoful failures were 
 rai)turously encored; and ere the night was done we spoke with
 
 20 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 most extraordinary voices indeed, every one hoarser than another, 
 till at last, walking home with a fair cousin, there was nothing left 
 for it but a tender glance of t' e eye — a tender pressure of the hand 
 — for cousins are not altogether sisters, and although partaking of 
 that dearest character, possess, it may be, some pecuhar and appro- 
 priate charms of their own ; as didst thou, Emily the ' Wild-cap!'" 
 
 " 1st of Januanj^ 1801. — Union with Ireland celebrated; Castle 
 guns fired ; no illumination. Called on Mr. Sym (Timothy Tickler 
 of later date). 
 
 " 2c? of January. — Ball at our house ; danced with the Misses 
 M'Donald, Corbett, Fairfox, Chartres, Balfour, Brown, Lundie, 
 Millar, Young." 
 
 Not too long is he to be absent from work. On the 4th of Janu- 
 ary the gayeties of home are left, and he takes a seat in the " Tele- 
 graph." 
 
 "Left Edinburgh at seven in the morning; arrived in Glasgow 
 safe., and dined with my grandmother." 
 
 Items of travelling exoenses make a curious comparison between 
 the past and present cost for a similar journey : — 
 
 "For a seat in the 'Telegraph,' £1 Is. 
 
 " For the driver and guard of ' Telegraph,' 4s. 
 
 "For breakfast and waiter. Is. 6d." 
 
 With his grandmother he was a great favorite. This lady, Mrs. 
 Sym, lived to a good old age, as did also her husband; he being 
 above ninety when he died. The old gentleman had considerable 
 character, and not a little caustic humor; a quality that may be said 
 to have })ervaded the Sym family. A story is told of his having 
 sent a note to his wine-merchant on receipt of a jar of rum, which he 
 fancied had had more than the ordinary dilution, begging him to be 
 so obliging, on his next order, as to send the water in one jar and 
 tlio rum in another. His wife was a gentle, kind woman, and very 
 attractive to young people, to whom she was ever ready to show 
 attention and hospitality. She was very handsome in her youth, 
 "stateliest among the stately," as Wilson has called her. In one of 
 her daughter's letters, written five-and-thirty years later, there is a 
 reminiscence of these early days: — 
 
 " Occasionally you and some other boys getting a Saturday's din- 
 ner, a <^oo([ four-hours, and being dismissed with — 'Now, you will 
 go all away; you have gotten all your dues ; and, besides, Pm weary
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE 
 
 21 
 
 of you^ Then, as you advanced in your academic career, came 
 Jamie Smith, Wee Willy Cumin', Alic-k Blair, sounding out, ' Ohon 
 a ree ! ohon a ree /' Your grandmother ready dressed at lier wheel 
 in the parlor, your aunts at their work, Blair announced in the <lin- 
 ing-room, and me the only one who would join him. On entering, 
 I find him groping in the press and hoioking out a book, part of 
 which was read with his peculiar hxirry* 
 
 Many a charmed spot is mentioned in this diary. The name of 
 Hallside, Professor Jardine's residence, is specially associated with 
 reminiscences of pleasant society and light-hearted diversions, which 
 show how well philosophy and geniality agreed together under that 
 hospitable roof. The following is a specimen : — 
 
 '■^ 23d March. — Ran for a wager three times round the garden; 
 accomplished it in nine minutes and a quarter. Won 5s." 
 
 Hallside is a modern house, somewhat in the style of a Scottish 
 manse. The grounds were about seventy acres in extent, gradually 
 sloping to the east, and bounded in part by the river Calder. On 
 the opposite banks stood the pretty cottage or/iee of Mrs. Jardine's 
 brother, Mr. Lyndsay, whose wife was the niece of the celebrated 
 Dr. Reid, the metaphysician. Their only child was a beautiful 
 girl, whom Professor Wilson took in after years as model for the 
 heroine of his IVials of Margaret Lyndsay. The charms of this 
 agreeable neighborhood were heightened by the beauty of the situa- 
 tion. Calder Bank, Mr, Lyndsay's residence, commanded a line 
 view of Bothwell woods and castle, the gray towers of which con- 
 trasted well with the dark spreading trees that faced the ruins of 
 Blantyre Priory, beautifying the banks of the Clyde. 
 
 Often did John Wilson and his companions from college visit 
 those enticing scenes, and pleasant it is to find, after a lapse of sixty- 
 one years, a memory fresh and distinct of these happy days. The 
 "Margaret Lyndsay" of that time, now Mrs. Palmes, says: — "]My 
 knowledge of your talented father was almost confined to the period 
 of childhood ; but I well remember my own delight when the fair- 
 haired, animated boy was my companion by the Calder, in races on 
 
 ♦ The writer of this letter, Miss Catharine Syin, long known in Glasg;ow as one of its most 
 original characters, was the only unmarried (laughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sym. She was perhaps one 
 of the wittiest women of her time, in that dry way so peculiar to Scottish nature. Before she 
 died, not many years a^o, at eighty years of iige, she returned to her nephew a correspondence, 
 wid many juvenile manuscripts that had passed between them in tin, days of his boyhood. Not 
 long before his death he destroyed those papers, which, had they been extant, might have supplisJ 
 some interesting materials for this part of the Memoir.
 
 22 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Dydimont Hill, on foot or Avith our ponies. "Whatever he did -was 
 done with all his soul, whether in boy's play or in those studies a}> 
 pointed him by my uncle, Professor Jardine. His beaming coun- 
 tenance and eager manner showed his deep interest in all he did. 
 
 "I recollect suflering from his purchase of a violin. My room 
 was under his, and during the night and early morning hours he de- 
 voted himself to bringing out the most discordant sounds ; for as 
 he would not have a master, the difficulties to be overcome only 
 proved an additional charm. The final result of his musical taste I 
 do not remember. Poetry probably succeeded, for even at that 
 early age he wrote little poems (long before the 'Isle of Palms'), 
 some of which I hope were preserved." 
 
 From his journal it is to be seen he purchased other instruments 
 besides a violin : — 
 
 '■'^ February 9th. — Got a flute and music-hook to learn. 
 
 *' loth. — Began to learn the flute by myself. 
 
 ^'- March Wth. — Patterson came to-day. Liked Patterson pretty 
 well ; agreed Avith him for sixteen lessons. Terms, a guinea. 
 Bought and paid a German flute. 
 
 " 12^/*.— Played a duet with Perkins." 
 
 There is no further mention in Diary or elsewhere of this musical 
 taste being carried out, although his playing on the flute at EUeray, 
 long years after, is a circumstance which inclines one to believe that 
 he continued some practice on this instrument after leaving College. 
 He was, however, a devoted lover of music, both vocal and instru- 
 mental, though always preferring the former. His singing was 
 charming, uncultivated as it was by study ; no one could listen to it 
 without admiration or a touched heart. His voice was exquisitely 
 sweet,* which, combined with the pathos he infused into every note, 
 and expressed in each word, made the pleasure of hearing him a 
 thing to be remembered forever. His manner of singing "Auld 
 Lang Syne" may be described as a tribute of love to the memory of 
 the poet, whose words appeared to inspire him with something be 
 
 * '■'■ yorth. — Do you like niv voico, .Tames? I hope yon do." 
 
 "■Shepherd.— I wad ha'e kent it. Mr. Xorth, on the Tower o" BabeL on the day o' the great hnb- 
 bub. I think Socrates maun ha'e had just bic a voice. Ye canna wt-el ca't safL for even in its 
 laigh notes there is a sort o" birr; ii sort o' dirl that betokens power. Ye canna ca't h-iirsh, for 
 angry as ye may be at times, its' aye in tune, frae the fineness o" your ear for music. Ye canna 
 ca't sherp. for it's .nyc sae nat'ral; andtlett it could never be, gin you were even gi'en owerby the 
 doctors. It's maist the only vuicc I ever heard that yon can say is at aince jH;rsuasive and com- 
 mandins — you micht fear 't, but you maun love 't" — Jt'iictf-s.
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 
 
 »>?. 
 
 yond vocal melody ; liis sweet, solemn voice filled the air witli 
 eouncls that, while they melted away, seemed still to lingei' on the 
 ear, delighting the sense. Many are there who can remember the 
 effect produced by his rendering of this beautiful song. 
 
 There is something very naive m the Avay some of his memoranda 
 are mixed up, in humorous contrast, the important and trivial side by 
 side. Thus we ha^e in one line — " Gave Archy my buckskins to 
 clean;" and in the next, "Prize for the best specimens of the So- 
 cratic mode of reasoning given out in the Logic," followed by 
 " Ordered a pair of corduroy breeches, tailor, Mr. Aitken ;" " Began 
 the syllogism to-day in the Logic class," and so on. 
 
 '-'•February ISth. — Called on my grandmother; went to the sale 
 of books ; had a boxing-match of three rounds with Lloyd — beat him." 
 
 " 14<A. — General examination to-day in the Logic class;" "not 
 examined; went to the Mearns ;" "went to the sale ; went to the 
 society ; the hack I had an excellent trotter ; beat Fehrzyen Avith 
 ease; found a sack on the road." 
 
 The result of the sale seems to have been most satisfoctory. Tw€ 
 entries of purchases made are such as would give delight to a boy 
 who paid due attention to his expenditure of pocket-money : 
 "Bought Foote's Works at the sale, 2 vols.. Is. 8d. ;" " also bought 
 the Raynhler, which Mr. Jardine was owing me." 
 
 The next item betrays a true boyish weakness, in the form of a 
 consuming love for sweetmeats, especially of one particular sort, — 
 thus, "For barley-sugar, 4d. ;" and at another time, "For barley- 
 sugar, at my old man's, most excellent, Gd." This taste is fre- 
 quently indulged ; the sum seems to increase too, by degrees, and 
 many a shilling was spent at £axter^s upon this favorite luxury, for 
 whicli he retained his liking even in old age. 
 
 During this winter his studies had been prosecuted with consid- 
 erable assiduity, as may be gathered from his notes. 
 
 ^^Jajmary 11th. — Agreed to-day with Mr. Jardine to give up the 
 Greek class, as I am too throng. 
 
 " 20<A. — General examination to-day ; went to the Speculative 
 Society ; spoke as a stranger. 
 
 "2l6'i. — Finished my exercise upon Logic. 
 
 " 23fZ, — Called upon my grandmother ; gave up the Greek pri- 
 vate, finding I had too much to do this winter. 
 
 '•'■ February 5th. — Finished n^ ' ^>r"*atic mode of dialogue to-day.
 
 24 MEMOIR OF JOUN WILSON. 
 
 ^'' April 26/A. — Got the first prize in the Logic class. 
 
 " J/ay Ist. — Prizes distributed; got three of them." 
 
 After this date there is no more alhision made to study at Col- 
 lege, but enough has been quoted to show how he was disposed 
 towards it. The rest of the summer is spent in various ways 
 amusing to boyhood, while it is evident that the more agreeable 
 pleasure of ladies' society was not wanting to interest him. The 
 lasting eSect of love on a boy's mind is, with most, a matter of 
 doubt ; but where there is depth of character, and sincerity as well 
 as strength of feeling, the results are not always to be judged by 
 common experience. How it fared with him in this respect, will 
 be touched upon in another chapter. 
 
 One or two more extracts fi-om the Diary before this year has 
 closed must be given. The first is characteristic of his constant 
 energy and movement. Even a simple walk with a friend finds 
 him wearied with any thing like delay : "Walked to Paisley with 
 Andrew Xapier ; tried him a race ; ran three miles on the Paisley 
 road for a wager against a chaise^ along with Andrew Napier ; beat 
 them bothy Another exploit of a similar nature, at a somewhat 
 later date, is related by a friend who was present on the occa- 
 sion :* — 
 
 " He gained a bet by walking toe and heel three miles out and 
 back (six miles in all) on the road to Renfrew, from the sheiMlnrj 
 of the roads to Renfrew and Paisley, in two minutes irithia the 
 hour. I accompanied him on foot (but not under the restriction of 
 toe and heel), and Willy Dunlop on horseback, to see that it was 
 feirly won. Xobody could match your father in the college garden 
 at 'hop, step, and jump.' Macleod (now the Rev. Dr. Xorman 
 Macleod, sen.), an active Highlander from Morven, who had also 
 the advantage of being his senior, approached most nearly to 
 him." 
 
 It appears that even in holiday-time he set himself to work. 
 
 '■'■ June 4:th. — Finished my poem on Slavery. 
 
 " 7th. — Began an essay on the Faculty of Imagination. 
 
 *■'■ August 11th. — Finished the first volume of Laing's History of 
 Scotland. 
 
 '■''August 30th. — Made considerable progress in my essay upon 
 Jmngination ; finished the second division of my exercise. 
 
 ♦ Mr. Robert Fin.llav.
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 25 
 
 "3l5<. — Stayed at home all day ; wrote an account of the Mas- 
 snore of Glencoe." 
 
 '■'■September I9th. — Stayed at home all day, and wrote an essay 
 upon the Stoical Philosophy." 
 
 The notion of John Wilson having been at any time of his life an 
 idle man, must have seemed absurd to those who knew him, ihoucjh 
 perhaps, for people who think that a hard worker must necessarily 
 be dull and tiresome, natural enough. Even in his boyhood my 
 father was no idler ; and there remains still more convincing proof 
 of his assiduity and love of study to be shown in his career when at 
 Oxford. There is yet some short time to be accounted for, spent in 
 Glasgow ; and of his friendships formed at College, something may 
 be said in this place. Boys generally combine themselves when at 
 public schools, and other seminaries of education, into select co- 
 teries, and are as frequently judged by the qualities of their com- 
 panions as by their own. The very high character of the Glasgow 
 professors at that time almost insured a certain number of first-class 
 youths, especially as several of them received into their own houses 
 young men whose education was privately, as well as in their 
 classes, under their superintendence. 
 
 Mr. Alexander Blair, to whom my father dedicated an edition of 
 his poems, was an Englishman, and with him he began, at Glasgow, 
 an intercourse that ripened into a lifelong friendship. This gentle- 
 man has been deterred from acquiring a piominent position in the 
 Avorld as a philosopher and scholar, solely by the modesty and diffi- 
 dence of his character. He was my father's companion both at 
 Glasgow and at Oxford, and in after life the Professor derived most 
 valuable aid in his philosophical investigations from this friend, 
 whose correspondence with him for many years was uninterrupted. 
 It is much to be regretted that letters of so interesting and elevated 
 a character should, with one or two exceptions, have perished. 
 Another of those early companions was Robert Findlay of Easter 
 Ilill, grandson of an accomplished and learned doctor of divinity 
 well known and beloved in Glasgow. He too continued a friend 
 until death ; and from him there have come to me many treasured 
 memorials of an affection on both sides like that of brothers. Be- 
 sides these two, the most intimate associates of John Wilson in 
 those days were JNIr. WiUiam Ilorton Lloyd, an Englishman of large 
 fortune (whose beautiful sister married Mr. Leonard Hornerj, Mr. 
 2
 
 2b M?::sioiii of joiin wilson, 
 
 "William Dunlop, and Archibald Hamilton, a distant relative of my 
 father, who afteruards entered the navy, and prematurely closed 
 his promising career in the engagement off" Basque Roads. 
 
 "With these young men poetry was a frequent subject of discus- 
 sion, and there was one poet, viz., William Wordsworth, on whose 
 merits, then but little recognized, they found themselves unanimous. 
 Some time before he closed his career at Glasgow University, Wil- 
 son's attention was attracted by the Lyrical Ballads^ which had 
 been recently published. There were at that time few eyes that had 
 discerned in them the sis^ns of future greatness. Among the earliest 
 and most enthusiastic, but also most discriminating of their admir- 
 ers, was young Wilson, who ci^nveyed his sentiments to the poet in 
 a letter of considerable length, w^ritten in a spirit of profound humil- 
 itv, at the same time with perfect independence of expression. It is 
 as follows : — 
 
 "IvIy dear Sir: — You may perhaps be surprised to see yourself 
 addressed in this manner by one who never had the happiness of 
 being in company with you, and whose knowledge of your charac- 
 ter is drawn solely from the perusal of your poems. But, sir, though 
 I am not personally acquainted with you, I may almost venture to 
 affirm, that the qualities of your soul are not unknown to me. In 
 your poems I discovered such marks of delicate feeling, such benev- 
 olence of disposition, and such knowledge of human nature, as made 
 an impression on my mind that nothing will ever efface ; and while 
 I felt my soul refined by the sentiments contained in them, and filled 
 with those delightful emotions which it would be almost impossible 
 to describe, I entertained for you an attachment made up of love 
 and admiration : reflection upon that delight which I enjoyed from 
 reading your poems, wUl ever make me regard you with gratitude, 
 And the consciousness of feeling those emotions you delineate makes 
 •le proud to regard your character with esteem and admiration. In 
 whatever view you regard my behavior in writing this letter, 
 <fhether you consider it as the effect of ignorance and conceit, or 
 correct laste and refined feeling, I will, in my own mind, be satisfied 
 with yovtr oi)inion. To receive a letter from you would afiurd me 
 .norc happiness than any occurrence in this world, save the happi- 
 ness of my friends, and greatly enhance the pleasure I receive from 
 reading your Lyrical Ballads. Your silence would certainly dis-
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 27 
 
 tress mc; but still I would have the happiness to tliiiik that the 
 neglect even of the virtuous cannot extinguish the sparks of sen.si- 
 bility, or diminish the luxury arising from rciined emotions. That 
 luxury, sir, I have enjoyed ; that luxury your poems have afforded 
 me, and for this reason I now address you. Accept ray thanks for 
 tlie rapluies you have occasioned me, and however much you maj 
 be inclined to despise me, know at least that tliese thanks are sincere 
 and fervent. To you, sir, mankuid are indebted l\)r a species of 
 poetry which will continue to aiford pleasure while respect is paid 
 to virtuous feelings, and while sensibility continues to pour forth 
 tears of raj)ture. The flimsy ornaments of language, used to con- 
 ceal meanness of thought and want of feeling, may captivate for a 
 short time the ignorant and the unwary, but true taste will discover 
 the imposture and expose the authors of it to merited contempt. 
 The real feelings of human nature, expressed in simple and forcible 
 language, will, on the contrary, please those only who are capable 
 of entertaining them, and in proportion to the attention which we 
 pay to the faithful delineation of such feelings, will be the enjoy- 
 ment derived from them. That poetry, therefore, which is the lan- 
 guage of nature, is certain of immortality, provided circumstances 
 do not occur to pervert the feelings of humanity, and occasion a 
 complete revolution in the government of the mind. 
 
 "That your poetry is the language of nature, in my oi)inion, 
 admits of no doubt. Both the thoughts and expressions raay be 
 tried by that standard. You have seized upon those feelings that 
 most deej)ly interest the heart, and that also cduic within the sphere 
 of common observation. You do not write merely for tlie jjleasure 
 of philosophers and men of improved taste, but for all who think — 
 for all who feel. If we have ever known the hapjuness arising from 
 parental or fi-aternal love ; if we have ever known that delightful 
 sympathy of souls connecting pei'sons of different sex ; if we have 
 ever dropped a tear at the death of friends, or grieved for the mis- 
 fortunes of others ; if, in short, we have ever felt the more amiabk 
 emotions of human nature — it is impossible to read your poems with 
 out being greatly interested and frequently in raptures ; your sen 
 timents, feelings, and thoughts are therefore exactly such as ouglr 
 to constitute the subject of poetry, and cannot fail of exciting interes 
 in every heart. But, sir, your merit does not solely consist in delit 
 eating the real features of the human mind under those differei
 
 28 MEMOm OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 aspects it assumes, when under the influence of various passions and 
 feelings ; you have, in a manner truly admirable, explained a circum- 
 stance, very important in its elfefls upon the soul when agitated, 
 that has indeed been frequently alluded to, but never generally 
 adopted by any author in tracing the progress of emotions — I mean 
 that wonderful effect which the appearances of external nature liave 
 upon the mind when in a state of strong feeling. We must all have 
 been sensible, that when under the influence oH grief, Xature, when 
 arrayed in her gayest attire, appears to us dull and gloomy, and 
 that when our hearts bound with joy, her most deformed prospects 
 seldom fail of pleasing. This disposition of the mind to assimilate 
 the appearances of external nature to its own situation, is a fine sub- 
 ject for poetical allusion, and in several poems you have employed 
 it with a most electrifying efiect. But you have not stopped here, 
 you have shown the eftect which the qualities of external nature 
 have in for min g the human mind, and have presented us with sev- 
 eral characters whose particular bias arose from that situation in 
 which they were planted with respect to the scenery of nature. 
 Tliis idea is inexpressibly beautiful, and though, I confess, that to 
 me it appeared to border upon fiction when I first considered it, yet 
 at this moment I am convinced of its foundation in nature, and its 
 great importance in accounting for \arious phenomena in the humau 
 mind. It serves to explain those diversities in the structure of the 
 mind which have batfled all the ingenuity of philosophers to account 
 for. It serves to overturn the theories of men who have attempted 
 to write on human nature without a knowledge of the causes that 
 affect it, and who have discovered greater eagerness to show their 
 own subtlety than arrive at the acquisition of truth. 3Iay not the 
 face of external nature through different quarters of the globe account 
 lor the dispositions of different nations '? May not mountains, forests, 
 plains, groves, and lakes, as much as the temperature of the atmos- 
 phere, or the form of government, produce important eflects upon 
 the human soul ; and may not the difference subsisting between the 
 former of these in different countries, produce as much diversity 
 among the inhabitants as any varieties among the latter ? The ettect 
 you have shown to take place in particular cases, so much to my sat- 
 isfaction, most certainly may be extended so far as to authorize gen- 
 eral inferences. This idea has no doubt struck yon ; and I trust 
 that if it be founded on nature, your mind, so long accustomed to
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 29 
 
 philosophical iuvestigation, will perceive how far it may be carried, 
 and what consequences are likely to result from it. 
 
 '• Your poems, sir, are of very gi-eat advantage to the world, from 
 containing in them a system of philosophy that regards one of the 
 most curious subjects of investigation, and at the same time one of 
 the most important. But your poems may not be considered 
 merely in a philosophical light, or even as containing refined and 
 natural feelings ; they present us with a body of morality of the 
 purest kind. They represent the enjoyment resulting from the cul- 
 tivation of the social aft'ections of our nature; they inculcate a con- 
 scientious regard to the rights of our fellow-men ; they show that 
 every creature on the face of the earth is entitled in some measure 
 to our kindness. They prove that in every mind, however depraved, 
 there exist some qualities deserving our esteem. They point out 
 the proper way to happiness. Tliey show that such a thing as per- 
 fect misery does not exist. They Hash on our souls conviction of 
 immortality. Considered therefore in this view, Lyrical Jiallads 
 is, to use your own words, the book which I value next to my IJi- 
 ble ; and though I may, perhaps, never have the happiness of see- 
 ing you, yet I will always consider you as a friend, who has by his 
 instructions done me a service which it never can be in my power 
 to repay. Your instructions have afforded me inexpressible plea- 
 sure ; it will be my own fault if I do not reap from them mucli 
 advantage. 
 
 " I have said, sir, that in all your poems you have adhered strictly 
 to natural feelings, and described what comes within the range of 
 every person's observation. It is from following out tliis plan that, 
 in my estimation, you have surpassed every ])oet both of ancient and 
 modern times. But to me it appears that in the execution of this 
 design you have inadvertently fallen into an error, the effects of 
 which are, however, exceedingly trivial. No feeling, no state of 
 mind ought, in my oj)inion, to become the subject of poetry, that 
 does not please. Pleasure may, indeed, be produced in many ways, 
 and by means that, at first sight, appear calculated to accomplish a 
 very different end. Tragedy of the deepest kind produces pleasure 
 of a high nature. To point out the causes of this would be foreign 
 to the purpose. But we may lay this down as a general rule, that 
 no description can please, where the sympathies of our soul are not 
 excited, and no narration interest, where we do not eater into the
 
 30 MEMOIR OF JOnX WILSON. 
 
 eelings of some of the parties concerned. On this principle, many 
 • eelings wliich arc undoubtedly natural, are improper subjects of 
 poetry, and many situations, no less natural, incapable of being de- 
 scribed so as to produce the grand eficct of poetical composition. 
 This, sir, I would apprehend, is reasonable, and founded on the con- 
 stitution of the human mind. There are a thousand occurrences 
 happening every day, which do not in the least interest an uncon- 
 cerned spectator, though they no doubt occasion various emotions 
 in the breast of those to whom they immediately relate. To de- 
 scribe these in poetry would be improper. Now, sir, I think that 
 in several cases you have fallen into this error. You have described 
 feelings Avith which I cannot sympathize, and situations in which I 
 take no interest. I know that I can relish your beauties, and that 
 makes me think that I can also perceive your faults. But in this 
 matter I have not trusted wholly to my own judgment, but heard 
 the sentiments of men whose feelings I admired, and whose under- 
 standing I respected. In a few cases, then, I think that even you 
 have failed to excite interest. In the poem entitled ' The Idiot Boy,' 
 your intention, as you inform us in your preface, was to trace the 
 maternal passion through its more subtle windings. This design is 
 no doubt accompanied with much difficulty, but, if properly execu- 
 ted, cannot fail of interesting the heart. But, sir, in my opinion, 
 the manner in which you have executed this plan has frustrated tlie 
 end you intended to produce by it ; the aifection of Betty Foy has 
 nothing in it to excite interest. It exhibits merely the eftects of 
 that instinctive feeling inherent in the constitution of every animal. 
 The excessive fondness of the mother disgusts us, and prevents us 
 from sympathizing with lier. We are unable to enter into lur 
 feelings ; we cannot conceive ourselves actuated by the same feel- 
 ings, and consequently take little or no interest in her situation 
 The object of her aifection is mdeed her son, and in that relation 
 much consists, but then he is represented as totally destitute of 
 any attachment towards her ; the state of his mind is represented 
 as pertl'Ctly deplorable, and, in short, to me it appears alniosi 
 unnatural that a person in a state of complete idiotism should 
 excite the warmest feelings of attachment in the breast even of his 
 mother. This much I know, that among all the people ever I 
 knew to have read this poem, I never met one who did not rise 
 rather displeased frcm the perusal of it, and the only cause I could
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 31 
 
 assign for it was tlic one now mentioned. This inability to rccei\'e 
 pleasure from descriptions sucli as that of ' The Idiot Boy,' is, I 
 am c-onviiiced, founded upon established feelings of liuiium nature, 
 and the principle of it constitutes, as I dare say you recollect, 
 the leading feature of Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. I 
 therefore think that, in the choice of this subject, you have com- 
 mitted an error. You never deviate from nature ; in you that 
 would be impossible; but in tliis case you have delineated feelings 
 which, though natural, do not please, but which create a certain 
 degree of disgust an<l contempt. With regard to the manner in 
 which you have executed your plan, I think too great praise cannot 
 be bestowed upon your talents. You have most admirably deline- 
 ated the idiotism of the boy's mind, and the situations in which you 
 place him are perfectly calculated to display it. The various 
 thoughts that pass through the mother's mind are highly descrip- 
 tive of her foolish fondness, her extravagant fears, and her ardent 
 hopes. The manner in which you show how bodily sufferings are 
 frequently removed by mental anxieties or pleasures, in the descrip- 
 tion of the cure of Betty Foy's female friend, is excessively Avell 
 managed, and serves to establish a very curious and important 
 truth. In short, every thmg you proposed to execute has been 
 executed in a masterly manner. The fault, if there be one, lies in 
 the plan, not in the execution. This poem we heard recommended 
 as one in your best manner, and accordingly it is frequently read in 
 this belief The judgment formed of it is, consequently, erroneous. 
 Many people ai"e displeased with the performance ; but they are not 
 careful to distinguish faults in the plan from faults in the execution, 
 and the consequence is, that they foi-m an improper opinion of 
 your genius. In reading any c(vnposition, most certainly tlie plea- 
 sure Ave receive arises almost wholly from the sentiment, thoughts, 
 and descriptions contained in it. A secondary pleasure arises from 
 admiration of those talents requisite to the production of it. In 
 reading 'The Idiot Boy,' all persons wlio allow tliemselves to think, 
 must admire your talents, but they regret that they have been so 
 employed, and while they esteem the author, they cannot help being 
 displeased with his ])erformance. I have seen a most excelUnt 
 painting of an idiot, but it created in me inexpressible disgust. 1 
 admired the talents of the artist, but I had no other source of plea 
 sure. The poem of 'The Idiot Boy' produced upon me an efiect in
 
 32 mt:moik of joiin wilson. 
 
 every respect similar. I find that my remarks upon several of your 
 other poems must be reserved for another letter. If you think this 
 one deserves an answer, a letter from Wordsworth would be to me a 
 treasure. If your silence tells me that my letter was beneath your 
 notice, you will never again be troubled by one whom you consider 
 as an ignorant admirer. But, if your mind be as amiable as it is 
 reflected in your poems, you will make allowance for defects that 
 age may supply, and make a fellow-creature happy, by dedicating a 
 few moments to the instruction of an adnurer and sincere friend, 
 
 " JouN Wilson. 
 " Professor Jardine's College, Glasgow, 
 
 2-i:th May, 1802. 
 " William Wordsworth, Esq., 
 Ambleside, Westmoreland, England." * 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOVE AND POETEY. LIFE AT OXFORD. 
 
 1803-08. 
 
 "Then, after all tlie joys and sorrows of these few years, which 
 we now call transitory, but which our noviiooD felt as if they would 
 be endless — as if they would endure forever — arose upon us the 
 glorious dawning of another new life, — Youth, with its insupport- 
 able sunshine and its agitating storms. Transitory, too, we now 
 know, and well deserving the same name of dream. But while it 
 laste<l, long, various, and agoniziiiif, as, unable to sustain the eyes 
 that first revealed to us the light of love, we hurried away from the 
 parting hour, and looking up to moon and stars, invocated in sacred 
 oaths, hugged the very heavens to our heart." 
 
 These sentences contain one among many references in my father's 
 writings to an episode in his early life, of which, had Ave only these 
 incidental and sometimes imaginative allusions to guide us, no more 
 
 * The answer to this letter will be found at pase 192. vol. i.. of 3femoirs ,rf W. Wordiworfh, 
 by C. Wordsworth, D. D, 1351. For the foregoinn; letter I am indebted to Mr. W. Wordsworth, 
 son of the poet, who kindly sent it to me, and also pointed out the reply, which is introduced in 
 the Memoirs, without a hint as to wtiom it was addressecL
 
 I 0\'E AND POETRY. 33 
 
 could he said hy the veracious biographer, than that, at the ai:;e 
 when nature po ordains, this ardent and precocious youth was pas- 
 sionately in love. So brief and general a statement, however, wttidd 
 but very poorly express the realities of the case, or indicate the 
 depth of the influence which that first overwhelming passion exerted 
 on the whole nature of John Wilson. As he lias himself said, 
 "What is mere boy -love but a moonlight dream? Who would 
 weep — who would not laugh over the catastrophe of such a blood- 
 less tragedy? . . . But love affairs, when the lovers are full-grown 
 men and women, though perhaps twenty years have not passed 
 over either of their heads, are at least tragi-comedies, and. some- 
 times, tragedies ; closing, if not in blood, although that too when 
 the Fates are angry, yet in clouds that darken all future life, and 
 that, now and then, lose their sullen blackness only when dissolving, 
 through the transient sunshine, in a shower of tears." Such a love 
 affair was this, now for the first time to be made known beyond a 
 circle consisting of some three or four persons that are alive. 
 
 In that note-book, already made use of, the names of two ladies fre- 
 quently are noted. It may be seen that his visits to them were not 
 paid after the fashion of formal courtesy, and that Miss W. and 
 Miss M. had made Dychmont to him a charmed place. Towards 
 autumn, when walks along the banks of the Clyde begin to be de- 
 lightful, these notices are of almost daily occurrence. One day he 
 calls at Dychmont; then he drinks tea with Miss W. and Miss M. : 
 he rides to Cumbernauld with Miss W. : "Very pleasant and agree- 
 able ride;" again, "drank tea at Dychmont;" then for the next 
 three days at home, and begins his essay " On the Faculty of Im- 
 agination ;" next evening it is again, " Dr.ank tea at Dychmont ;" 
 and so on through the month, — nothing but Dychmont, walking, 
 riding, breakfasting, dining, supping "at Dychmont," or "with 
 Dychmont ladies" somewhere. 
 
 This attractive place was but a simple farm-house, unadorned and 
 almost homely, but the country around it was delightful. The hill, 
 from which it takes its name, is part of the dukedom of Ilaniilton, 
 and from its summit the valley of the Clyde, from Tinto to the 
 mountains of the west, presents a view of great beauty. No portion 
 of the Clyde is without beauty ; for the most part, more noble than 
 the Rhine, with a sweep of water quite as majestic, it flows through 
 a variety of country ever embellished by its presence. Along the
 
 34 MEMOLK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 hanks of tlie Clyde and Calder M-ere all the favorite walks of John 
 Wilson, for there were " Ila Iside," " Calder Bank," " Millheuj^h,"' 
 "Caldcrwood," and "Torrance," which, in later years, carried from 
 Dyclnnont its attraction, and became the scene of joy and sorrow, 
 deep as ever moved a young poet's heart. 
 
 The occupants of Dychmont were two ladies, Miss W. and Mar- 
 garet, as I may simply name her ; the one the guardian of the other, 
 an " or|)han-maid" of ''high talent and mental graces," with fascinar 
 tion of manners sufficient to rivet the regard of a youth keenly alive 
 tc such charms. At the time of Wilson's residence in Glasgow 
 these ladies were the most intimate friends he had beyond the cir- 
 cle of his youthftil companions. During winter they lived in the 
 College buildings, and were frequent visitors at Professor Jardiiie's, 
 so that every opportunity existed for the cultivation of a friendship 
 that gradually ripened into love, "life-deep" and passionate on the 
 one side; on the other sincere and tender, but tranquil and self- 
 contained, as if presaging, with woman's instinct, the envious bar- 
 riers that were to keep their two lives from flowing into one. 
 
 At the date when their acquaintance began, John Wilson had 
 that composed and perfected manner which is acquired intuitively 
 by the gentl-er sex, and gives them an advantage in society rarely 
 possessed by boys at the same age. Thus Margaret, though lio 
 longer a school-girl, was delighted to find a companion so congenial 
 as to excite at once her interest and friendship ; while young AVil- 
 son saw in the " orphan-maid" a creature to admire and love, with 
 all that fervor which belonged to his poetical temperament. Their 
 occupations encouraged the growth of graceful accomplishments ; 
 nor were their rides and walks merely pastimes of pleasure; sterner 
 matter arose from those early hours, and we have words of the past 
 that make every line of this love-passage a tale of sorrow, sad enough 
 for tears. A few years of this bright spring-tide of youth pass away, 
 and one heart feels the gentle quiet of its womanly interest gliding ' 
 insensibly and surely into something more deep and agitating, as 
 does the dewy calm of daybreak into the fervent splendor of noon. 
 The love of a poet is seldom so submissive as that which lonsr ago 
 wrote its touching confession in these words : — 
 
 " Braraa assai, poco spcra, e nulla cliiede." 
 Trace this story fiuthtr, and we see two years later that deeper
 
 LOVE AND I'OKTKY. 35 
 
 feelings were brought into phiy ; and though the hiili-ininded Mar- 
 garet gave no assurance to her lover entitling him to legard tier 
 heart as bound to him, it is at least apparent that when, at the end 
 of that time, he left Scotland for Oxford, tlieir communings had 
 been such that the heart of the young poet looked back to them as 
 recalling memories of " umningled bliss." There is 1)1 the essay on 
 "Streams" an imaginative episode, uumifestly /ow/icZet? on reality; 
 but as manifestly designed to be a skilful mystitication of his real 
 and unforgotten experience. As he naiveli/ hints at the end, "there 
 is some truth in it ;" truth to this extent, undoubtedly, that in " that 
 gloomy but ever-glorious glen," of which he speaks, young John 
 Wilson and Margaret did meet many a time, and hold sweet con- 
 verse together; that to her sympathizing ear he poured forth the 
 aspirations of as pure and ardent a love as ever dwelt in the breast 
 of youth; and that the recollection of those happy hours, and of her 
 many modest charms, working in a nature of fiery susceptibility 
 and earnestness, drove him afterwards, when clouds came over the 
 heaven of his dreams, to the very brink of despair. The coloring 
 of imagination has transformed the picture in " Streams" into a 
 vision of things that never were ; but there is no fiction in the de- 
 scription of that passion as having " stormed the citadel of his heart, 
 and put the whole garrison to the sword," or, elsewhere, as " a life- 
 deep love, call it passion, pity, friendship, brotherly affection, all 
 united together by smiles, sighs, anil tears." 
 
 Of his life, from the date last mentioned to the time of his leav- 
 ing GlasgoAV for Oxford, I have unfortunately no memorial in the 
 shape of letters, his coiTespondence with his aunt already referred 
 to, Avho was his confidante and constant correspondent throughout, 
 having been irretrievably lost. There has come to my hands, how- 
 ever, a memorial of his love for Margaret, consisting of an octavo 
 volume of " Poems" in MS., written in that fair and beautiful hand 
 which he wrote up to the time when (it is no fancy to say so) the 
 " fever of the soul" begins to show itself in the impetuous tracings 
 of his pen. It is without date, but must have been written before 
 he left Glasgow. On the title-page, facing Avhich are two dedica- 
 tory verses, is the inscription, "Poems on various sul)jects, by John 
 Wilson," with a poetical quotation below. On the next leaf is thi> 
 hiscription : — •
 
 3(> MliMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 TO 
 MARGARET, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING LITTLE POEMS, 
 WHICH OWE ANY BEAUTY THEY POSSESS 
 
 TO THE DELICACY OP HER FEEJ.INGS, 
 
 AND THE EMOTIONS SHE HAS INSPIRED, 
 
 ARE, AS A SMALL MARK 
 
 OP HIS ESTEEM AND REGARD, 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HER WARMEST FRIEND AND SINCEREST ADMIREB, 
 
 JOHN WILSON.* 
 
 After this comes an elaborate preface of thirty-eight MS. pages, 
 which, considering that it was the composition of a youth under 
 eighteen, is very remarkable for the ease and grace of the style, the 
 knowledge of poetical literature, the acute critical faculty, and the 
 judicious and elevated sentiments which it displays. This Preface, 
 and the poetical compositions to which it is prefixed, indicate suffi- 
 ciently that the person to whom they were addressed must have 
 possessed no ordinary mental qualities, and that the relation be- 
 tween her and the writer was founded on a true congeniality of 
 feeling. 
 
 The poems are thirty-eight in number, including an " Answer" 
 by Margaret to " Lines" of his. The titles, copied from the table of 
 contents, are given below.f There are few of these compositions 
 
 • Then follow on the next page these lines : — 
 
 TO MAKGARET. 
 
 If this small offering of a grateful heart 
 
 The thrill of pleasure to thy soul impart. 
 
 Or teach it e'er that magic charm to feel, 
 
 Which thy tongue knows so sweetly to reveal, 
 
 Blessed be the breathing language of the line 
 
 That spuaks of grace and virtues such as thine; 
 
 Blessed be those hours, when, warmed by love and thee, 
 
 I poured the verse in tremblinsr ecstasy 1 
 
 Oh that the music which these lines contain 
 
 Flowed like the murmurs of thy holy strain. 
 
 When thy soft voice, clear-swelling, loves to pour 
 
 The tones of feeling in her pensive hour, etc. 
 t ContenU. — Poem on the Immortality of the Soul. Henry and Helen; a Tale. Caledonia, or 
 Highland Scenery. Versos to a Lady weeping at a Tragedy. The Disturbed Spirit; a Fragment. 
 The Song of the Shipwrecked Slave. The Prayer of the Orphan. The Fate of Beauty. Fi'elitig 
 at parting from a beloved object. Lines on hearing a Lady play upon the Harp. Anna; a Song. 
 Love. Florentine. Parental Affection. Elegy on the Death of Dr. Lockhart. Lines suggested 
 by the fate of Governor Wall. Lines addressed to the Glasgow Volunteers. Osmond; an imita- 
 tion of M. G. Lewi.s. 'I'lii- Pains of Memory. The Sun shines bright, etc. I know some peojilo 
 ID Uii-i world, etc A Wish. 'I'ln- Cliild of Misfortune. Mary. To a Lady who said she was not
 
 LOVE AND POETKY. 37 
 
 in which there is not some fond allusion to the lady of his love, and 
 The hlissful hours spent by her side. The verses are often coriinion- 
 place enough ; but the sentiments are never other than refined. 
 The adoration is unmistakably genuine, and, though fervent, re- 
 spectful ; tinged with a sense of gratitude that touches the symija- 
 thies even now. Occasionally the strain rises above mere versitica- 
 tion into something of real poetry. I refer to this collection not 
 because of its literary merits, but solely on account of its relation 
 to his " Margaret," of whom, and the story of their love, more au- 
 thentic accounts will be given from his correspondence. 
 
 From these gentle occupations, however, Wilson was called 
 away to new scenes and pursuits, fitted to bi'ing forth the whole 
 energies of his manj^-sided character, but not of power enough to 
 deaden in his heart the recollection of that beloved glen, of Both- 
 well Banks and Cruikstone's lioary walls, of Dychmont Hill and 
 " her the Orphan Maid, so human yet so visionary," that made their 
 very names dear to him forever. 
 
 '• Many-towered Oxford" now summoned the young scholar away 
 from the pleasant companionship of his Ghisgow friends ; an<], in 
 the month of June, 1803, he entered as a gentleman-commo::er of 
 Magdalen College. Full of life and enthusiasm, tall, strong, and 
 graceful, quick-witted, well-read, and eloquent, of open heart and 
 open liand, apt for all things honorable and manly, a more splendid 
 youth of nineteen had seldom entered the " bell-chiming and clois- 
 tered haunts of Rhedicyna." The eftect produced on his mind by 
 the ancient grandeurs of Oxford, natui-ally stimulated his poetical 
 temperament and heightened the interest of every study. For 
 there hovered constantly around him suggestions of the high and 
 solemn ; he felt that he was in an abode fit for great men and sages, 
 and his soul was elevated by the contemplation of his scholastic 
 home. Beautifully does he recall in after days the memory of that 
 inspiring time, when, in the fulness of hope and vigor, the fields of 
 the futui'e opened out before him, stretching upwards to tie 
 heights of fame, a-glitter in the dew of life's morning : — 
 
 "For having bidden farewell to our sweet native Scotland, and 
 
 a good judge of Poetry. Lines written at Bothwell Castle. Lines written at Cniikstone Castle. 
 Lines written in Kenraore Hermitage. Lines written at Evening. Prince Cliarles's Address to 
 his Army before the Battle of Culloden. Who to the pomp of burnish'd gold, etc Petition of 
 tile .Mca"iis Miiir. Lines written in a glen by moonlight, Answer to the aUove Lines. The 
 Fei litigs of Love. Thi^ Kureweii.
 
 do MEMOIK OF JOUN WILSON. 
 
 kissed, ere we parted, the grass and tlie flowers with a show of 
 filial tears — havino- bidden farewell to all her glens, now a-glimmer 
 in the blended light of imagination and memory, with their cairns 
 and kirks, their low-chimneyed huts and their high-turreted halls, 
 ^heir free-flowing rivers and lochs dashing like seas — we were all 
 at once buried not in the Cimmerian gloom, but the cerulean glit- 
 ter, of Oxford's ancient academic groves. The genius of the place 
 fell upon us. Yes ! we hear now, in the renewed delight of the 
 awe of our youtliful spirit, the pealing organ in that chapel called 
 the Beautiful ; we see the saints on the stained windows ; at the 
 altar the picture of one up Calvary meekly bearing the cross ! It 
 seemed, then, that our hearts had no need even of the kindness of 
 kindred — of the country where we were born, and that had received 
 the continued blessings of our enlarging love ! Yet away went, even 
 then, sometimes our thoughts to Scotland, like carrier-pigeons waft- 
 ing love-messages beneath their unwearied Avings ! They went and 
 they returned, and still their going and coming was blessed. But am- 
 bition touched us, as with the Avand of a magician from a vanished 
 world and a vanished time. The Greek tongue — multitudinous as 
 the sea — kept like the sea sounding in our ears, through the still- 
 ness of that world of towers and temj»les. Lo ! Zeno, with his 
 arguments hard and high, beneath the porch ! Plato divinely dis- 
 coursing in grove and garden ! The Stagvrite searching for truth 
 in the profounder gloom ! The sweet voice of the smiling Socrates, 
 cheering the cloister's shade and the court's sunshine ! And when 
 the thunders of Demosthenes ceased, we heard the harping of the 
 old blind glorious Mendicant, whom, for the loss of eyes, Apollo 
 rewarded with the gift of immortal song ! And that av as our com- 
 panionship of the dead !"* 
 
 Yet these new feelings, and all that fascination which belongs to 
 novelty in "men and manners," could not efliace the image of his 
 old familiar Scottish home ; and he writes : — 
 
 " It is not likely that I will ever like any place of study, that I 
 may chance to live in again, so well as Glasgow College. Attach- 
 ments formed in our youth, both to places and persons, are by far 
 the strongest that we ever entertain. 
 
 *'I consider GlasgoAV College as my mother, and I have almost a 
 son's affection for her. It was there I gathered any ideas I may 
 
 •Oi«l Norib iiiid Ymi'i:; North," Wilson's n'ori-i>_
 
 LIFE AT OXFOKD. 39 
 
 possess ; it was there I entered upon the first pursuits of study 
 thut I could fully understand or enjoy ; it was there I formed the 
 first binding aud eternal friendships ; in short, it was there I passed 
 the happiest days of my life. 
 
 '' I may even there have met Avith things to disturb me, but that 
 was seldom ; and I would, without hesitation, enter into an agree- 
 ment with Providence, that my future life should be as happy as 
 those days. I dare say I left Glasgow at the time I should have 
 left it ; my dearest companions had either gone before me, or were 
 preparing to follow me; and hud I stayed another year, perhaps my 
 last best friends. Miss W. and Miss M., would not have been in 
 College buildings ; in that case I might as Avell have been at Japan." 
 
 In this honest and unaffected language may be traced that power 
 of local attachment, that clothed every home he found with a sacred 
 interest, interweaving into all the dreams of his memoiy associa- 
 tions that recalled either some day of unalloyed joy, or some mo- 
 ments of sorrow, hallowed in memory with the " tender grace of a 
 day that is dead." 
 
 Of his studies and manner of life at Oxford I have no very mi- 
 nute or extensive memorials. That he was a hard student is sufti- 
 ciently proved, both by the relics of his industry and by the manner 
 in which he passed his final examination. That he also tasted of 
 the pleasures and diversions open to a lively young Oxonian, pos- 
 sessed of abundant resources,* is only to say that he was a young 
 man, and lived at Oxford for three years and a half. But the gen- 
 eral impression that he led what is called a " fast life," and was not 
 a reading man, is by no means correct. His wonderful physical 
 powers gave him indeed great advantages, enabling hitn to overtake 
 a larger amount of work in a short time than weaker frames could 
 attempt, and to recover with rapidity the loss of hours spent in de- 
 pressing gloom or hilarious enjoyment. But with all his unaffected 
 relish for the delights of sense, his was a soul that could never 
 linger long among them, without making them " stepping-stones to 
 
 * llis father had left him an unencumbered fortune of £50,000. I find the following calculation 
 in one of his memorandum-books, apparently made soon after his coming to Oxford : — " Expenses 
 necessary for an Oxford life for five months amount to about £170; that doubled, to £340; and 
 for the other two months, £50, makes £400 the very least possible." I am afraid the " neccs- 
 wry" expenses turned out to be very far short of the actual. The book contains an account 
 of expenditure somewhere up to the month of October 1803, amounting to about £1.50, which 
 may be considered moderate. But not long after tlu re occurs this significant note : — " I find that 1 
 cannot balance my accounts, therefore will henceforth keep only general ones."
 
 40 MK.MOlIi 01-' .K)IIN WILSON. 
 
 highcM- tilings." Many, doubtless, were his wild pranks and jovial 
 adventures, and for a brief space, as we shall find, he gave himself 
 up, in the agony of blighted hopes, to "unbridled dis>ipation," if 
 BO he might drown the memory of an insupportable grief. All such 
 excess, however, was alien to his nature, which fi'om childhood to 
 old age, preserved that freshness and purity of feeling imparted by 
 Heaven to all true poets, and in few instances utterly lost. 
 
 His life at Magdalen College, and his arrangements in regard to 
 his stutiies, were marked by the same attention to order as had di- 
 rected his daily course when in Glasgow. It was not till some time 
 after he had left Scotland, that the agitation of harassing thoughts 
 caused a change in the steadiness of his habits, leading him into 
 strange eccentricities in search of peace. But the restlessness and 
 occasional deep depression of his spirit were never of long continu- 
 ance, otherwise the result might have been destructive. Fortu- 
 nately, the strength and buoyancy of his nature were too great to 
 be overcome, and he passed naturally from one condition of feeling 
 to another, according as his spirit Avas soothed or agitated by out- 
 ward circumstances. Thus, in the midst of all his sorrows, he is 
 found throwing himself not unfreqnently into the full tide of the 
 life that surrounds him, as if he had no other thought ; while again 
 he springs off upon some distant walk that takes him miles away, to 
 seek solace in the solitude of the valleys, or drown care among the 
 crowds of a city. Xotliing, however, damped his ardor in acquir- 
 ing knowledge, or in expressing admiration for those who inspired 
 it by their writings. The heroes he worshipped were numerous ; 
 and those he loved best have had their beauties recorded in essays 
 of much discriminating power and taste. 
 
 One of his first steps for methodizing the results of his study, and 
 improving his mind, was the commencement of a commonplace- 
 book, a valuable exercise which he had already begun on a small 
 scale in Glasgow, probably by the advice of Professor Jardine. Of 
 these commonplace-books several volumes more or less complete 
 are still extant, giving evidence of an industry and a systematic 
 habit of study very inconsistent with the notion that the writer was 
 an idle or desultory student.* 
 
 • " Volome I." is prefiiced in the fnUowing phiIoso))hic.'»l style, .1 few dnys after his arrival in Ox 
 ford : the elabtinitc plan of study indicated was not. of course, risidly adhered to : — 
 
 "In the followins ja;;es I propose- to make such remarks upon the rarious subjects of polite 
 litei-alure as liavc been su^-ge*lod to my mind durins: the course of my studies, by the perusal of
 
 LIFE AT OXFOliD. 41 
 
 It will be observed, from the extracts I have sul)joined, that he 
 writes of the manner in which his work is to be arranged with con- 
 siderable confidence ; a tone observable in all he says, not the result 
 of mere youthful self complacency, but of that consciousness of 
 power which accompanies genius, quickened by the freshness of 
 new studies, and an increasing capacity to discern and appreciate 
 the beauties and difficulties of the subjects laid before him. The 
 various compositions resulthig from the above plan, which have 
 been preserved, give the same impression of easy power and well- 
 balanced judgment, combined with a sensitiveness keenly alive to 
 delicacy of thought, and a ready sympathy with those feelings which 
 are excitetl by natural causes. Unlike most juvenile essays, they 
 disj)lay no aftl'cted or maudlin sentiment ; there is no exaggeration 
 or " fine writing ;" the characteristic qualities, in fact, are clearness 
 and sagacity, the true foundations of good criticism ; forming, in 
 conjunction with wide knowledge and sympathies, the beau-idCal^ 
 afterwards in him exemplified, of what a critic should be, Avliose 
 judgments will live as 2xirts of literature, and not merely talk about 
 it. As an example of the qualities now indicated, I may mention 
 
 writers upon the different branches of hnman knowledge; reflections upon law, history, philoso- 
 phy, theolosy. and poetry, will be classed under sejiarate heads; and if my inform.ition upon the 
 useful and interesting subject of political econotny can be reduced to any short discussi<ins upon 
 disputed or fundamental principles, or to a collection of maxims, such as form the groundwork jf 
 wider inquiries, observations upon the different theories of economists will form part of n)y pio- 
 jected plan. In followinp; out this general view, it will frequently happen that I shall have ooca- 
 sion to enter fully into the discussion of questions that have been merely suggested to me by ibe 
 allusion of authors; and, accordingly, essays of some length will constitute a considerable part jf 
 my plan. 
 
 " With regard to the department of poetry, original verses of my own composition will be fre- 
 quently introduced, sometimes with the view to illustrate a principle, and often with no other end 
 than self gratification. 
 
 " If, in the course of my epistolary correspondence, any interesting subjects of literature should 
 be discussed, thoughts thus communicated to me will be inserted in the words of the writer, under 
 the head to which they may belong, and accompanied by my own remarks upon them. 
 
 "Should any reflections upon men and manners occur to my mind, even with regard to tho 
 general characters of mankind, or tho particuhir dispositions of acquaintances and friends, they 
 shall be written down as they occur, without any embellishment. 
 
 "In short, this commonplace-book, or whatever else it may be called, will contain, as far as it 
 goes, a faithful representation of the state of my mind, both in its moments of study and retire- 
 ment. I will endeavor to concentrate the different radii of information upon literary topics, im- 
 pressions with regard to human life, and feelings of my own heart, in cases when that can be done 
 with good effect. In referring to these pictures of my mind at ditl'erent periods. I shall be .ible to 
 estimate the progress I have made in intellectual acquirements, and the v.arious changes that have 
 taken place in my modes of thinking and feelins. 
 
 " I shall learn to know myself. In future times it will be ple.asing to behold what I once was. 
 and what I once thought; and if I contemplate the acquirements of my youth with any thing like 
 contempt, it will, I trust, proceed from a conviction of real superiority and virtue. 
 
 "Magdalen College, </M7i<; S, 1803."
 
 42 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 an e?say out of the first of these two commonplace-books, "On the 
 Poetry of Drummond," showing a most discriminating a])preciation 
 of a poet whose genius, as he justly says, has never received due 
 acknowledgment. This essay is followed by a very elaborate and 
 ingenious dissertation on the question, " Why have the Eg}'ptians 
 never been remarkable for poetry ?" a curious question, which, so 
 far as I am aware, has never ibrmed the subject of special observa- 
 tion. A considerable portion of the volume is occu}>ied with a 
 translation of Sir Wifliam Jones's Observations on Eastern Poetry, 
 and of the specimens, which are very happily rendered. Under 
 date June 2'7th is the sketch of a proposed poem on the flight of 
 the Israelites out of Egypt, wliich dues not appear, however, to 
 have l»een entered on. A volume seems to have been set aside for 
 each of the chief branches of study, which from time to time en- 
 gaged his attention. Some of these are probably lost ; and those 
 •which remain want a good many leaves in some places. One bears 
 the heading Law, and contains a survey of the municipal law of 
 England, apparently founded on Blackstone. Another is headed 
 Theology, and contains a careful review and summary of the evi- 
 dences of Christianity, based on the study of Paley. Another was 
 intended for History, but contains, besides some general observa- 
 tions on the study of History, only an essay "concerning Ireland." 
 Another, devoted to his miscellaneous subjects, contains a consider- 
 able number of essays and reflections, some pretty elaborate, and 
 displaying a remarkable grasp and comprehensiveness of mind as 
 well as vivacity and grace of style. The following are some of the 
 subjects treated of: The Fear of Death ; Female Beauty ; Dissipa- 
 tion ; Chastity ; Rehgious Worship ; The Old Ballad Mania ; The 
 Edinburgh Review ; The Study of History ; The Xeglect of Genius 
 in Britain; The Present State of Europe; Longinus as a Crhic ; 
 The Tendency of Little's Poems ; Duelling ; Modern Poetry ; The 
 Martial Character of the Danes ; The Decline of the Moorish Power 
 in Spain ; The Influence of Climate. These interesting volumes in- 
 dicate altogether a very extensive range of study, and thorough 
 mastery of particular topics. It must be remembered, too, that 
 these were but the occasional exercises which filled up the intervals 
 of a complete and successful course of classical study. The various 
 poetical eflJusions and sketches for proposed poems, with which some 
 of tlie volumes are to a great extent filled^ belong manifestly to a
 
 LIFK AT OXFORD. 43 
 
 later period. The most important among these are the original 
 draught of several cantos of the "Isle of Palms," which will call for 
 due notice in a subsequent chapter. 
 
 The choice of friends is one of those things wliich most biing out 
 a man's character and power of discrimination. On this topic I find 
 the following sentences addressed to Margaret: — 
 
 " is a being in whom I have been most grievously disap- 
 pointed. When I was first introduced to him, I was prejudiced in 
 his favor, for three reasons : — First, He was grave, and did not take 
 great part in the conversation, which turned chiefly upon dogs and 
 horses ! secondly. He was, as I thought, something hke Alexander 
 Blair ; and, thirdly, I was informed he studied a great deal. I accord- 
 ingly thought that I had fallen upon a good companion. For some 
 time I believed that I had formed a right judgment, thought him a 
 Bensible fellow, and, from obscure hiuts that he dropped, took it into 
 my head that he was a poet. Having, however, one day got into 
 an argument with him concerning the meaning of a line in Homer, I 
 observed an ignorance in him which I w'as sorry for, and a degree of 
 stupid obstinacy that I despised. This passed ; and speakmg one day 
 of the Prince, commonly called the 'Pretender,' he thought proper 
 to remark that his title to the throne was no greater than mine. 
 
 " With this I did not altogether agree, and having stated ray 
 reasons for dissenting from him, discovered that he was entirely 
 ignorant of the history of his own country. Ignorance so gross as 
 this is at all times pitiable, but more so Avhen disguised under pre- 
 tended knowledge. I accordingly gradually withdrew from his 
 acquaintance, always preserving strict civility and politeness. At 
 last, having judged it proper to be witty towards me, I wrote an 
 epigram upon him, which it seems he did not like ; so he now keeps 
 a very respectful distance. He is a com])ound of good-nature, obsti- 
 nacy, ignorance, honor, and conceit, but the bad ingredients are 
 strongest." 
 
 The next portrait is of a more pleasing nature : — 
 
 " is a youth of such reserved manners, that although I was 
 
 first introduced to him, I scarcely spoke twenty w^ords to him to 
 which I received any other answer than Yes, or No, for the first 
 twenty days. Now, I know him rather better, and begin to like him. 
 
 " He sometimes condescends to laugh at a joke, but never to make 
 one. He is a very clos^ student, and I believe the first scholar in
 
 44 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the College among the gentlemen-commoners. His fatlier is the 
 best Greek scholar in England, and I have given tiiis youth the sur- 
 name of Sophocles, a famous Greek tragedian. He has a taste for 
 the Fine Arts, and paints, and plays upon the piano; but he is the 
 worst hand at both I ever saw or heard. He is good-natured, and 
 a gentleman." 
 
 Another still more genial companion is spoken of in the same 
 letter: — 
 
 " is a young man of large fortune, and still larger prospects, 
 
 so he does not think it worth his while to study much ; but he is 
 naturally very clever ; is an elegant classical scholar, writes goo<l 
 verses, and has very amiable dispositions. He lives in the same 
 stair with me, so we are often together, and I am very fond of him. 
 His cousin is also a clever fellow, has lived long in dashing life in 
 London, and is intimate with Kinnaird, Lamb, Lewis, Moore, and 
 other wits in London; 'a merrier man, within the hmits of becom- 
 ing mirth, I never spent an houi's talk withal.' He delights in 
 quizzical verses, and we are writing together a poem called Magda- 
 len College^ which, should we ever complete, I will send to you." 
 
 The journal breaks off here, and we find no more such familiar 
 sketches of " men and manners," but more serious matter, for what- 
 ever bears upon work is treated with earnest respect. His obviously 
 methodical study obtained for him that cleaniess of perception and 
 correctness of knowledge, without which no mind perfectly per- 
 forms its work. Accuracy may in foct be called the foundation and 
 the stronghold of all properly directed mental energy. There is no 
 faidt more common than want of accuracy, and none that might be 
 so easily cured. Great intellect never has it, though cleverness may ; 
 and there was no fault of which my father was more intolerant. He 
 often used to say to his children, in a spirit of fun, "You know lam 
 never wrong ? Whatever I state is correct ; whatever I say is right." 
 It was truly the case with regard to his information. 
 
 The early efforts of genius are always interesting, and in his case 
 they are enhanced in value, Avhen it is considered with what they 
 were combined. Very rarely does it happen that the same individ- 
 ual possesses an equal proportion of mental and bodily activity, of 
 intellect and imagination ; and the seductions that lie in the way of 
 a youth so gifted, whose path of life is smoothed by fortune, nmst 
 be taken into account in estimating the use made of his powers. No
 
 I.IFE AT OXFORD. 45 
 
 doubt conscious strength is in itself a spur to high achievements, 
 and tlie enviable possession of great gifts of mind and body gives, as 
 it were, two lives, fitting a man for a Titan's work. It was this com-- 
 bination of gifts that made Wilson singular among the men of his 
 time ; and the preservation of their harmony was proof that, amid 
 the various influences tending to overthrow the balance, a healthy 
 moral nature reigned supreme. The hard-working intellect was not 
 led astray by the fertile imagination ; the indefatigable bodily energy 
 and exuberant sportiveness were still subservient to reason ; and all 
 worked healthily together, despite the recurring gloom of cheerless 
 days, and the restless wanderings that hardly brought repose. 
 
 Judged by his poems alone, Wilson Avas to be classed with the 
 most refined and sensitive of idealists ; tested by some of his prose 
 writings and his professional reputation, he was one of the most 
 acute and eloquent of moralists. That such a man should have de- 
 lighted in angling and in boating, in walking, running, and leaping, 
 is not extraordinary ; but that he shoidd also have practically en- 
 couraged and greatly enjoyed the ruder pastimes of wrestling, box- 
 ing, and cock-fighting, may a})pear to some people anomalous. For 
 the notion is not yet wholly extinct, that a poet shoidd be a delicate 
 and dreamy being, all heart and nerves, and certainly destitute of 
 muscles; while the })hil()sopher is held bound to be solemn and dys- 
 peptic, dwelling in a region of clouds remote from all the business 
 and pleasures of men. It is unnecessary, I presume, to show the 
 absurdity of such views. But neither is it necessary to say a word 
 in favor of the cock-pit or the prize-ring. Suffice it, that at the time 
 when my fother studied at Oxford, there were few young gentle, 
 men, with any pretensions to maidiness, by whom these now pro- 
 scribed amusements were not zealotisly ])atronized. The fashions 
 change with the generations, and the fox-hunter may ere long be 
 considered a barbarian, and the deer-stalker a kind of assassin. Cer- 
 tain it is, that literary men do not now patronize cock-fighting, and 
 the world would probably be scandalized to hear of Mr. Dickens 
 inviting a party of friends to " a main."* Yet about this time there 
 
 ♦ Althouch it has been said that the saje and refined Henry Mackenzie did not consider it in 
 consistent with his character to patronize this amusement, I must omit his name from the num- 
 ber. Ue was very fond of field-sports, but I am assured, on the best authority, that there is not 
 a word of truth in the tradition, nor in the following capital story, quoted from Burir<>n"s Life of 
 
 Ti/tler : — "Drinking tea there (at Woodhousclee) one evening, we waited some time for Mr. Mac- 
 kenzie's appearance ; he came in at last, heated and excited : ' What a glorious evening I have had 1' 
 
 We thought he spoke of the weather, which was beautiful; but he went on to detiiil the iiilenBe ea- 
 
 t
 
 46 MEMOIR OF JOHN AVILSOX. 
 
 was a regular cock -pit in Edinburgh, patronized by " many gentle- 
 men still alive," says the editor of Kay's Biographical Sketches 
 in 1842, who would not, perhaps, relish being reminded of "their 
 early passion for the birds.''* John Wilson was a keen patron of 
 this exciting, though, to our eyes, cruel amusement; so much so, 
 that at EUeray he kept, as we shall presently find, a most extensive 
 establishment of cocks, whose training and destinies evidently occu- 
 pied no small share of his attention. "While unable to appreciate 
 fully the merits of this ancient but now almost extinct amusement, 
 I would observe that, in his case, the mere pleasure in the exhibi- 
 tion of animal courage was connected with a more deep and com- 
 prehensive delight in the animals themselves. For, from those 
 earliest days, when he made the acquaintance of peaseweeps in the 
 midst of lightning and rain, he had been a keen observer of the 
 habits of all kinds of birds ; and he never ceased to take a special 
 interest m them and their ways. I Avould also remark, that even 
 in those years of student life, when he mixed with all sorts of com- 
 pany, and took his pleasure from the most diversified sources, the 
 study of human nature was truly a great part of his enjoyment. He 
 went among the various grades of men and character much as a 
 geologist goes peering among the strata of the earth ; and as a nat- 
 uralist is not blamed who has his pet beasts and insects, to us repul- 
 sive, so perhaps may such a student of men and their manners be 
 rightly fulfilling his vocation, even when he descends to occasional 
 companionship with the stranger types of humanity. 
 
 Of his pugilistic skill, it is said by Mr. De Quincey, that " there 
 was no man who had any talents, real or fancied, for thumping or 
 being thumped, but he had experienced some preeing of his merits 
 from Mr. Wilson. All other pretensions in the gymnastic arts he 
 took a pride in humbling or in honoring ; but chiefly his 'examina- 
 tions fell upon pugilism ; and not a man, who could either ' give' or 
 'take,' but boasted to have punished, or to have been punished by 
 Wilson of Mallen'sr\ 
 
 One anecdote may suflSce in illustration of this subject, ha\'ing, I 
 
 joyment he had had in a cock-fi^ht. Mrs. Mackenzie listened some time in silence ; then looking up 
 !n his face, she exclaimed in her gentle voice, ' Oh. Harry, Harry, your feelins is all on jiaptr I' "' 
 
 * A few years earlier a ' main" was fought in the kitchen of the Assembly Rooms, then nn- 
 finished, between the counties of Lanark and Haddington, of which Kay gives av'vid picture,— 
 photowaphing the better known cockers who were present on the occasion. 
 
 t Edinburgh Literary Gazette, vol. i., No. 6
 
 LIFK AT OXFORD. 
 
 47 
 
 believe, the merit of being true. Meeting one day with a rough and 
 unruly wayfarer, who showed inclination to pick a quarrel, concern- 
 ing right of passage across a certain bridge, the fellow obstructed 
 the way, and making himself decidedly obnoxious, Wilson lost all 
 patience, and ofiered to fight him. The man made no objection to 
 the proposal, but repHed that he had better not fight with him^ as 
 he was so and so, mentioning the name of a (then not unknown) 
 pugilist. This statement had, as may be supposed, no efiect in 
 damping the belligerent intentions of the Oxonian ; he knew his own 
 strength, and his skill too. In one moment off went his coat, and 
 he set to upon his antagonist in splendid style. The astonished and 
 punished rival, on recovering from his blows and surprise, accosted 
 him thus : "You can only be one of the two ; you are either Jack 
 Wilsoa or the Devil." This encounter, no doubt, led, for a short 
 time, to fraternity and equality over a pot of porter. 
 
 His attainments as a leaper were more remarkable. For this 
 exercise he had, in the words of the writer already quoted, " two 
 remarkable advantages. A short trunk and remarkably long legs 
 gave him one-half his advantage in the noble science of leaping ; the 
 other half was pointed out to me by an accurate critic in these mat- 
 ters, as lying in the particular conformation of his foot, the instep 
 of which is arched, and the back of the heel strengthened in so re- 
 markable a way, that it would be worth paying a penny for a sight 
 of them." After referring to the boastful vanity of the celebrated 
 Cardinal du Perron on this point, he adds : — " The Cardinal, by his 
 own account, appears to have been the flower of Popish leapers ; 
 and, with all deference to his Eminence, upon a better assurance 
 than that. Professor Wilson may be rated, at the time I speak of, as 
 the flower of all Protestant leapers. Not having the Cardinal's 
 foible of connecting any vanity with this little accomplishment, 
 knowing exactly what could, and what could not be eftccted in this 
 department of gymnastics, and s})eaking with the utmost simplicity 
 and candor of his failures and his successes alike, he might always 
 be relied upon, and his statements were constantly in harmony with 
 any collateral testimony that chance hapjiened to turn up." 
 
 His most remarkable feat of this kitid, the fime of which still 
 lingers round the spot where it took place, is thus referred to by 
 himself: — "A hundred sovereigns to five against any man in Eng- 
 land doing twenty-three feet on a dead level, with a run and a leap
 
 48 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 on a slightly inclined plane, perhaps an inch to a yard. We have 
 seen twenty-three feet done in great style, and measured to a nicety, 
 but the man who did it (aged twenty-one, height, live feet eleven 
 inches, weight, eleven stone) was ailmitted to be (Ireland excepted) 
 the best far leapcr of his day in England."* 
 
 This achievement, worthy of one of Dr. Dasent's favorite heroes, 
 took place in the presence of many spectators, at a bend of the Cher- 
 well, a tributary of the Isis, where it glides beautifully through the 
 enamelled meads of Christ Church, the leap being taken across the 
 stream. 
 
 To one so full of life, and of the enjoyment of it in its various 
 phases, Oxford was prolific ground for the exercise of his vivacious 
 spirit ; and it will naturally be expected that, in connection with this 
 period, there are many curious stories to unfold. But the flight of 
 years soon obliterates the traces of past adventures; very few of 
 the contemporaries of those pleasant days survive; and I am sorry, 
 therefore, to say, that I have been able to gather but few authentic 
 details regarding this portion of my father's life. Every one knows 
 how a story, when it has passed from its original source, is, in an 
 incredibly short space of time, so metamorphosed, as not again to 
 be recognizable; complexion, manner, matter, all changed — just as 
 if loving and making a lie were a matter of duty. Sensible persons, 
 too, are sometimes found credulous of strange tales ; while the 
 world in general is ever ready to pick up the veriest rubl>isli, and 
 comjilacently exclaim, " How characteristic ; so like the man." Few 
 men have had more fables thus circulated I'egardiug them than my 
 father. Perhaps the most foolish story that v/as ever told of him, 
 is one that William and Mary Howitt allude to with wise in- 
 credulity, in their pleasant yet somewhat incorrect memorial of him, 
 and which now, to the disappointment of not a few, must be denied 
 in toto. It Avas said that, when wandering in Wales, he joined a 
 gang of gipsies, and married a girl belonging to that nomade tribe, 
 and lived with her for some time among the mountains. That he 
 had acted along with strolling players, and that there was one com- 
 pany to which he was kind and generous, is quite true; but that he 
 lived with them, or any other adventurers, is iuere romance, "the 
 baseless fabric of a vision." 
 
 A journal of his Avanderings through Wales and the south of 
 
 * " Essay on Gymnastics "
 
 LIFE AT OXFuRI). 
 
 49 
 
 England, the Lake District, the HighLancls, and Ireland, would have 
 been more amusing than most books of travel, for we have his own 
 word for it that they were sometimes "full of adventure and .scraj>e." 
 But of these journeys he kept no record, and all that can now be 
 gleaned is an incidental allusion here and there in his works.* 
 
 The circle of his acquaintance at Oxfoi-d was most extensive, 
 from the learned President of his College, Dr. Kouth, with whom, 
 as De Quincey says, "he enjoyed an unlimited favor," down through 
 " an infinite gamut of friends and associates, running through every 
 key, the diapason closing full in groom, cobbler, and stable-boy." 
 But though a universal favorite, his circle of intimate friends was 
 more select. Among these were Mr. Home Drummond (of Blair- 
 Drummond), Mr. Charles Parr Burney, Reginald Ileber ; Mr. Sib- 
 thorpe, brother of the late Colonel Sibthorpe; Mr. N. Ellison, Mr. 
 Charles Edward Grey. None of these gentlemen Avas of his own 
 college. 
 
 An anecdote may here be given, illustrating a somewhat unusual 
 mode of shutting up a proctor. One evening one of these important 
 functionaries was aroused to the exercise of his authority V)y a con- 
 siderable noise in the High Street. Coming forth to challenge the 
 authors of the unlawful uproar, he found that " Wilson of JVIagda- 
 len's" was tlie prime author of the disturbance. Remonstrance and 
 warning were alike thrown away on the indomitable youth ; he had 
 put on his "boldest suit of mirth, for he had fi-iends that i)urposed 
 merriment." Nothing could be made of him. In vain the proctor 
 advanced ; he was received with speeches, and a perfect flood of 
 words. The idea of repose was flouted by this incorrigible youth. 
 Still the proctor protested, xmtil he was fairly driven away by Wil- 
 son repeating to him, with imperturbable gravity, nearly the whole 
 of Pope's " Essay on Man." 
 
 I am glad to be able to make up, in some respects, for the meagre- 
 ness of these outlines, by some very interesting reminiscences kindly 
 furnished by one who truly says, that he is " perhaps the only per- 
 
 *"'7'/te Tipperary shillelaglis came tumhling about his nob as thick as ffrass.'' This is a 
 sweet iiustonil iuiasrc, wliich we ourselves (dice lie:ii-<l eniiiloyed by a very delicate aiul modest 
 youiiLj woman in a cottage near Limerick, when speakin;; of the cml^'els in an atl'ray. A brokeu 
 head is in Ireland always spoken of in terms of endearment; much of the same tender feel- 
 ing is naturally transferred to the shillelai.'h th;it inllieted it. 'Ood bless your honor 1' said 
 the same gentle creature to us while castins an atVeclionatc look of admiration on our walk- 
 lug-sMck. ' YouivotUd gice a sicute blow with it.^ " — Blackioood, vol. v., p. OCT.
 
 50 MEMOIR OF JOHN "SVILSON. 
 
 son now living wlio could give so many details at the end of half & 
 century." 
 
 " I became acquainted with the late Professor "Wilson at Magda- 
 len College, Oxford, about the year 1807 or 1808. He had ah-eady 
 graduated, taken even (as I best recollect) his Master's degree, 
 when I entered that College as a gentleman-commoner. His per- 
 sonal appearance was very remarkable ; he was a powerfully built 
 man, of great muscular strength, about five feet ten inches high, a 
 very broad chest, wearing a great profusion of hair and enormous 
 whiskers, which in those days were very unusually seen, particu- 
 larly in the University. He was considered the strongest, most 
 athletic, and most active man of those days at Oxford ; and certainly 
 created more interest among the gownsmen than any of his contem- 
 poraries, having already greatly distinguished himself in the schools, 
 and as a poet. 
 
 '• The difference of our standing in the College, as well as of our 
 ages and pursuits, did not allow of our forming any close intimacy, 
 and we seldom met but in our common room, to which the gentle- 
 men-commoners retired from the dining-hall for wine and desse t, 
 to spend the evening, and to sup, etc. 
 
 " I am not able to say who ^^•ere "Wilson's intimates in the Uni- 
 versity ; he certainly had none in the College. I rather think he 
 was much with Mr. Gaisford, the celebrated Grecian. I think of 
 our men, ^Ir. Edward Synge, of the county of Clare, saw the most 
 of him. The fact is we were all pi jjinies, both physically and men- 
 tally, to him. and therefore iinsuited to general companionship. It 
 was therefore in the convi\'iality of our common room, to which 
 Wilson so much contributed, and which he so thoroughly himself 
 enjoyed, that we had the opportunity of appreciating this (even 
 then) extraordinarily gifted man, who combined the simpliciiy of 
 a child with the learnmg of a sage. He was sometimes, but 
 rarely, silent, abstracted for a time, which I attributed to his 
 mind being then occupied with composition. He never seemed 
 unhappy. 
 
 "It was the habit and f:\shion of those days to drink what would 
 now be considered freely ; the observance was not neglected at 
 Maudlin^ though never carried to excess. Wilson's great conversa- 
 tional powers were drawn out during these social hours. Pie de- 
 lighted in discussions, and would often advance paradoxes, even in
 
 LIFE AT OXtX)lil). 61 
 
 order to raise a debate. It was evident that (like Dr. Johnson) he had 
 not determined which side of the argument he would take upon the 
 question he had raised. Once he had decided that point, he opened 
 with a flow of eloquence, learning, and wit, which became gradually 
 an absolute torrent, upon which he generally tided into the small 
 hours. No interruption, no difference of opinion, however warmly 
 expressed, could ruffle fur a moment his imperturbable good temper. 
 He was certainly one of the most charming social conn)anions it has 
 ever been my lot to meet, although I have known some of the most 
 agreeable and witty that Ireland has produced. There was a ver- 
 satility of talent and eloquence {ixot of opinions) in Wilson, such as 
 I have never seen equalled. I have heard him with equal cleverness 
 argue in favor and disparagement of constitutional, absolute, and 
 democratic forms of government ; one evening you would suppose 
 him to be {as he really teas) a most determined, unbending Tory; 
 the next he assumed to be a thorough Whig of the old school ; on 
 a third, you would conclude him to be a violent and dangerous 
 democrat ! You could never suppose that the same man could 
 uphold and decry, with equal talent, propositions so opposite: and 
 yet he did, and was equally persuasive and conclusive upon each. 
 In the same manner with religious discussions : to-day there could 
 be no more energetic and able ' defender of the faith ;' to-morrow 
 he would advance Voltaireism, Hobbism, and Gibbonism enough to 
 induce those who did not know him to conclude that lie was a 
 thorough unbeliever. He was, on the contrary, of a higlily pioi:8 
 and religious mind. I may sura up his cliaracteristics, as they ap- 
 peared to me, in a few words: simplicity, kin<lness, learning, with 
 chivalry ; for certainly his views and sentiments were highly chiv- 
 alrous, and had he lived in those days, he Avould have been found 
 among the foremost of 'les preux chevaliers.' 
 
 "The established rule of our common room was, that no one 
 should appear there without being in full evening dress : non-com- 
 pliance involved a fine of one guinea, which Wilson had more than 
 once incurred and paid. Having one day come in in his morning 
 garb, and paid down the fine, he asked, ' What then do you con- 
 Bider dress?' ' Silk stockings,' etc., etc., was the answer. Tlie next 
 day came Wilson, looking very well satisfied with himself, and with 
 us all. ' Now,' he cried, ' all is right, I hope to have no more fines 
 to pay ; you see I have complied with the rules,' pointing to hia
 
 52 MEMom OF joirs" wilsox. 
 
 silk stockinfjs, which he had very carefully draxcn over the coarse 
 -woollen walking stockings which he wore usually ; his strong shoes 
 he still retained ! 
 
 " He told us one evening that he imagined he had a taste for, and 
 might become proficient in music, and tliat he would commence to 
 practise the French horn ! Mhich he did accordingly, connnencing 
 after we had broken up for the night, which was generally long after 
 twelve. Some days after, old Dr. Jenner, one of the Fellows, ac- 
 costed me with piteous tones and countenance : ' Oh, Southwell ! do, 
 for pity's sake, use your influence with TTilson to choose some 
 other time for his music-lessons ; I never get a wink of sleep after 
 he commences !' I accordingly spoke to him ; he seemed quite sur- 
 prised that his dulcet notes could have disturbed his neighbors ; 
 but he was too good-natured to persevere, and, as far as I know, 
 his musical talents were no further cultivated. Being a Master of 
 Arts, he was no longer subject to college discipline, and might 
 have, if he wished, accompanied his horn with a big drum ! One 
 of his great amusements was to go to the 'Angel Inn,' about mid- 
 night, when many of the up and down London coaches met ; there 
 he used to preside at the passengers' supper-table, carving for them, 
 mquiring all about their respective journeys, wliy and wherefore 
 they were made, who they were, etc. ; and in return, astonishing 
 them with his wit and pleasantry, and sending them off wondering 
 who and ichat he could he! He frequently went from the 'Angel' 
 to the ' Fox and Goose,' an early ' purl and gill' house, where he 
 found the coachman and guards, etc., preparing for the coaches 
 which had left London late at night ; and there he found an audi- 
 ence, and sometimes remained till the college-gates were opened, 
 rather (I believe) than rouse the old porter, Peter, from his bed to 
 open for him expressly. It must not be supposed, that in these 
 strange meetings he indulged in intemperance; no such thing ; he 
 went to such places, I am convinced, to study character, in which 
 they abounded. I never saw him show the slightest appearance 
 even of drink, notwithstanding our wine-drinking, suppers, punch, 
 aii'l smoking in the common room, to very late hours. I never 
 shall forget his figure, sitting with a long earthen i>ipe, a great tie 
 wig on ; those u igs had descended, I fancy, from the days of Addi- 
 son (wlio had been a member of our College), and were worn by 
 us all (in order, I presume, to preserve our hair and dress from
 
 THE OKPIIAN MAID. 55 
 
 tobacco smoke) when smoking commenced, after supper; and a 
 strange appearance we made in thorn ! 
 
 "His ])edestrian feats were marvellous. On one occasion, hav- 
 ing been absent a day or two, we asked him, on his return to the 
 common room, where he Imd been ? lie said, in London. When 
 did you return ? This morning. How did you come ? On foot. 
 As we all expressed surprise, he said : ' Why, the fact is, I dined 
 yesterday with a friend in Grosvenor (I think it was) Square, and 
 as I quitted the house, a fellow who was passing was impertinent 
 and insulted me, upon which I knocked him down; and as I did 
 not choose to have myself called in question for a street row, I at 
 once started, as I was, in my dinner dress, and never stopped until 
 I got to the College gate this morning, as it was being opened.' 
 Now this was a walk of fifty-eight miles at least, which he must 
 have got over in eight or nine hours at most, supposing liini to 
 have left the dinner-party at nine in the evening.* 
 
 "He had often spoken to me when at Oxford of a protracted 
 foot-tour which he liad made in Ireland some years previous, and 
 about which there appeared to me a sort of mystery, which he did 
 not explain. " R. H. S."f 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. UNIVERSITY CAREER. 
 
 1803-'08. 
 
 The course of true love, whether calm or troubled, whether issu 
 ing in sunshine or in storm, is " an old, old story ;" but it is one 
 that sums up the chiefest joys and sorrows of men and women, and 
 
 * Mr. SouthweU's statfiment may seem an exacrseration ; but a reference to Mr. Findlay's ac- 
 count, at p. 24, will show that my father had easily performed six miles an hour in what I take 
 for granted to be a more difficult mode of progression than the ordinary, viz., "toe and heel." 
 
 tAs a tail-piece to Mr. Southwell's letter, I take the liberty of inserting here one of Mr. 
 Lockhart's Ilogartliian skotches, containing, I have no doubt, correct if not very flattering por- 
 traits of some of the Oxford dignitaries of that day. The "strictures of the Edinburgh lien'e'c,'" 
 which appear to have excited so much dissatisfaction, were contained in two articles in the Ii'ettie'o 
 of July, 1S09, and of April, ISIO, in which some of the weak points of the contemporary system of 
 education at Oxford were handled with a roughness characteristic of t[:e criticism of that peried.
 
 5G MEMOIR OF JDllX MILSON. 
 
 ian only be regarded with indifFereiice by those who arc dead to 
 he influence of all deep and worthy emotions. The best and 
 brightest spirits have shown how their lives were ennobled by the 
 passion of love, the faith and purity of which in one heart were the 
 spring of the finest song that ever immortalized genius, and the 
 highest compliment that ever was paid to woman. Should it some- 
 times happen, when the heart is overburdened with its weight of 
 sorrow, that comfort and forgetfuluess are sought in the tumultu- 
 ous excitements of life, it does not always follow that nature bo- 
 comes lowered, any more than that love is quenched ; for nothing 
 in reality can soothe an unfeigned grief but resolution to bear it. 
 Those who can endure a sorrow, whatever its cause, elevate thereby 
 their moral being, experiencing soon that all comfort from outward 
 sources is but vanity. A strong and uncorrupted soul rises ere 
 long above the aid of idle pleasures, and gratefully turns to the 
 wisdom that teaches submission, believing, 
 
 " Tal pose in pace uuo ed altro disio." 
 
 So was it with John Wilson, to tlie story of whose early love we 
 now again turn. The reader may have ere this imagined that it 
 was to be heard of no more ; that Oxford and its varied excite- 
 ments had deadened the recollection of Dychmont and Both well 
 Banks. So little w.ts it thus, that from all the evidence which let- 
 ters supply, there seems to have been no portion of his time, during 
 the seven years preceding his permanent settlement at Elleray, in 
 which his love for Margaret did not influence the tenor of his exist- 
 ence, inspiring him at one time with ardent hope, oftener sinking 
 him into the deepest anguish, from which he at times sought escape 
 in assumed indifference or reckless dissipation. It shows hoAv little 
 the outward life of such a man can reveal of his whole nature and 
 actual history, that but for these letters we could not have had even 
 a glimpse of what was in reality the dominant thought of his life 
 at Oxford, nor ever known of the trial which brought out so 
 strongly the nobleness of his nature and the depth of his filial love. 
 Had it not been that so many years of his life were spent ia the 
 indulgence of a fond ho]ie and engrossing passion, ending in a 
 sacrifice to duty such as iew men of spirit so impetuous have ever 
 made, this tale had not been told. -It may well move the admira- 
 tion of all who reverence the power of self-control in tutoring the
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. 57 
 
 lieart, while its brightest dreams are still objects of faith. It will 
 be seen from these letters how hard it must have been for lum to 
 bend before obstructions, of whose reality and strength he was 
 long in utter ignorance. 
 
 Of all his letters to Margaret, the only one that survives of what 
 must have been an extensive correspondence, is one written soon 
 after his arrival at Oxford. Of hers to him there is, I regret to 
 say, none to be found. The pensive simplicity that pervades it is 
 in entire harmony with the strain of the " Poems," and, like the 
 portrait by Kaeburn, will perhaps surprise those who may have ex- 
 pected to find young Christopher North addressing the lady of his 
 love in the impassioned and eloquent style of a troubadour. The 
 thino; was much too genuine for that : — 
 
 " Magdalex College, Oxford, Jvne 1 2, 1 803. 
 
 " Next to seeing yourself, my dear Margaret, and the greatest 
 pleasure I know upon this earth, is that of seeing your writing ; 
 and I cannot describe what I felt when I read your letter, even 
 although it contained some little censure for not having written 
 you ere this. When I knew by the direction who it was from, my 
 heart leaped within my breast, and I read it over and over again 
 without .ntermission, so rejoiced was 1 to hear from one so denr to 
 me as you are. Indeed I must confess that I was always afrnid 
 you would not write me, although this was more an unaccountable 
 presentiment than an apprehension for which, after your promise, I 
 could assign any reason. But where the strongest wishes are, 
 there also are the strongest fears. I see now, however, that you 
 )'eally will write me, and that, I trust, often. AVhat a wretch, 
 therefore, would I be, were I to deprive myself of such a blessing 
 by my owii foolishness! When I read your letters, I will be with 
 you in spirit, notwithstanding the distance between this place ar.d 
 Dychmont. My silence was far from proceeding out of forget ful- 
 ness of my promise to write you. Before I could have forgot that, 
 I must have forgot you, which never will be to my dying moment; 
 and should it ever happen, may iny God forget me. The truth is, 
 I had several reasons for not writing you sooner. I wished first 
 to have seen your picture, which has not yet arrived, and indeed 
 has scarcely had sufficient time yet. But I should have written 
 you notwithstanding that, had I been able, but believe me when I 
 tell you, that hithei-to I was not.
 
 68 mi:moik of joiin wilson. 
 
 "Whenever I thought of writing to yon, I thought of tlie dis- 
 tance I was from you, of the sadness I suffered when I bade you 
 farewell, and the loss of almost all the happiness I enjoy in this 
 world by no longer seeing you. All this quite overpowered me, 
 and I could no more have written to you than 1 could tell you that 
 forenoon I last saw you not to forget me when 1 was away. Youi 
 letter has revived me ; and if you have any regard for me, which 
 I believe you have, oh, write often, often ! You know I am w\- 
 happy ; comfort me, comfort me ! A few lines will delight nie, 
 and you are too kind to refuse me such a gratification. It will also 
 serve to keep you in remembrance of me, when perhaps you might 
 otherwise forget me, which, should it ever happen, would complete 
 my sum of wretchedness. If hearing from me will alford you any 
 pleasure, I will write as often as you choose — a small mark of all'ec- 
 tion surely to one, to serve whom I would endure any thing on the 
 face of the earth. It will also afford myself greater pleasurv' than 
 you. When I left you, my dear Margaret, you know that i was 
 afraid that Oxford would be to me a dull, unhappy place. You 
 seemed to think not yourself, and believed that the change of situa- 
 tion and novelty of company would make me forget any tiling that 
 distressed me, and even make me think less on those friends I had 
 left. 
 
 "Perha])S though you said this, you did not exactly thi;dc it, and 
 wished only to comfort me, which you have so often and so sweetly 
 done. All my suspicions have been verified, and how indeed could 
 it be otherwise ? Oxford is a gay place most certainly, and, I dare 
 say, to peo])le Avhose minds are at ease, a pleasant one ; but to me 
 it api)ears very different. It is true, that when I was in Glasgow 
 I endeavored to dissipate my melancholy by company, for which I 
 could often feel nothing but contemj^t, and by pursuits which I 
 heartily despised. I imagined such a course of life might have 
 moderated the violence of what my mind suffered, and I had cer- 
 tainly acquired such a portion of self-command as frequently to ap- 
 pear the happiest and most indifferent person in company. But 
 this conduct did not do. When alone I was worse than ever, ami, 
 adde<l to my other distress, had the idea of being guilty of decep- 
 tion, and following conduct unworthy of myself Accordingly here 
 I follow another plan. I do not dissipate ; I live retired. I have 
 no need to follow a course of deception, which, if long persevered
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. 69 
 
 in, 1 could imagine capable in some measure of deadening the sense 
 of right and wrong, and which is at all events grating to the soul. 
 I now try to read, and have, since I came lierc, read a great deal ; 
 but all won't do ; my mind is ill at ease. Once, when I was un- 
 happy, I had only to step across the street, hear your \'Tjict', see 
 your face, and take hold of your hand, and for a time I forgot all 
 my sorrow. This now I cannot do. At night I sit in a lonely 
 room, nobody within many miles of me I love, left to my own med- 
 itations and the power of darkness, which I have long detested. 
 
 "I think of sad things, and weep the more, because I have no 
 hope of relief. In such moments what a treasure will your picture 
 be to me ! How it will delight me ; make me forget every thing on 
 earth but you, and you looking like what you were when you 
 agreed at last to give it to me. Would to God it Avei'e here! 
 When, Margaret, you see how happy it will make me, how could 
 you refuse it ? And yet to give it me w^as goodness I had no title 
 to expect, and for which I will often thank you in moments of still- 
 ness and solitude. Oh, what a treasure is a friend like you ! How 
 little is real friendship understood ! Who could ever conceive ihe 
 happiness I have felt when with you, or so much as dream the n)is- 
 ery T endured when I left you for a long, long time ! As long as 
 there is a moon or stars in the firmament will I remember you ; 
 and when I look on either, the recollection of Dychmont Hill, the 
 house, the trees, the wooden seat, which I am grieved is away, will 
 enter my mind, and make me live over again the happiest period 
 of my existence. Last night I was in heaven. I dreamed that I 
 w^as sitting in the drawing-room at College Buildings with you 
 alone, as I have often done. The room was dark, the window-shut- 
 ters close ; the fire was little and just twhikling. I had my feet 
 upon the fender; you were sitting in the arm-chair; I was beside 
 you; your hand was in mine; we were speaking of my going to 
 Oxford ; you were j)romising to write me ; I was sad, but hap])y ; 
 somebody opened the door, and I awoke alone and miserable. 
 
 "I have given you my promise not to think of a plan you dis- 
 suaded me from carrying into execution. Be assured that I never 
 will change my mind. I consider you as my better angel, for using 
 your simple eloquence to make me abandon the project. It would 
 have been cruel to my dearest friends, and perhaps useless to 
 myself. 
 
 3*
 
 60 MKMOIU OK U UN WU.SOX. 
 
 " Lev none, not even Miss W., see this. Heaven protect you, uiy 
 dear My.rgaret, and love you as Avell as your aft'ectionate fiiend, 
 
 "John Wilson." 
 
 I 
 The plan here referred to was a romantic project which he had 
 
 entertained of going with the exjiedition of 1804, being Park's sec- 
 ond journey to the interior of Africa. Apparently, the hostile in- 
 fluences which ultimately prevailed in dividing him and Margaret 
 had hegun, before he left Glasgow, to disturb the current of his fe- 
 licity. However extravagant the idea of a journey to Timbuctoo 
 may a])pear as a medicine for disappointed love, he unquestionably 
 meant it ; and with all the hardships and dangers connected with 
 such an enterprise, it was one highly calculated to excite his imag- 
 ination and love of adventure. A very old friend thus Avrites re- 
 garding it : — '' He had certainly a wild project of going there, and 
 used to talk of it in his usual enthusiastic way. But I did not im- 
 agine it had taken any hold of him till one day he astonished me by 
 appearing in a complete sailor's dress, and told me he was going to 
 join the expedition to Africa. I used all my influence to dissuade 
 him from such a foolish proceeding. You may suppose Avhat dismay 
 he would have occasioned in his own family, who almost worshipped 
 him." To them he never communicated his intentions in the mat- 
 ter, which only became known long after the project liad been 
 abandoned. 
 
 The next letter from which I shall quote is addressed to his dear 
 friend, Findlay. The post-mark bears the date of "August IG, 1803." 
 What had occurred between that and the month of June to give 
 rise to expressions of despondency so unmeasured, can only be con- 
 jectured to have been a further development of the cause of distress 
 alluded to in the letter to Margaret. 
 
 ..." Since I saw you, my mental anguish has been as great as 
 ever. I feel that I am doomed to be eternally Avretchcd, and that 1 
 am cut out from all the most amiable and celestial feelings of hu- i 
 man nature. ... At particular times I am perfectly distracted, and 
 hope that at last the torment my mind suffers may waste a frame 
 that is by nature too strong easily to be destroyed. I dare say faw 
 would leave life with fewer lingering looks cast behind. My abili- 
 ties, understanding, and affections are all going to destruction. I 
 can do nothing ; I can't, by Heavens ! even assume that appearance
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. 61 
 
 of indifference and gayety I once did, without a struggle tliat I can- 
 not support. I started in the career of early life as fair as tliat of 
 any of my companions, and had, I confess, many hopes of being 
 something in the Avorld. But all these are blasted ; I cannot un- 
 derstand any thing that I read, and nothing in the world gives, or 
 ever will give me pleasure. I see others enjoying the world, and 
 likely to become respectable and useful members of society ; for 
 myself, I expect to be looked at as a being who wants a mind, and 
 to feel inwardly all the torments of hell. By Heavens! I will, per- 
 haps, some day blow my brains out, and there is an end of the 
 matter. If you will take the trouble, when you have nothing else 
 to do, of writing now and then to me, I know it will be one of 
 those few things that keep my heart from dying in my breast, and 
 depend uj^on it, that every word coming from one whom I regard 
 so dearly as you, will be interesting to me. What the happiness is 
 which you so pleasantly allude to, I cannot understand, unless it be 
 that J. S., yourself, Blair, and I are soon to meet. I will be glad to 
 see you, but the word happy will never again be joined to the 
 name of " John Wilsox." 
 
 The next letter, marked "September, 1803," shows an improve- 
 ment in spirits : — 
 
 " Your former letters, my dear Bob, so far from offending, or 
 giving me an idea that you are addicted to frivolous levity, relieved 
 in a great measure the burden of my heart. Although few, per- 
 haps, ever suffered more from mental anguish in a short lime than 
 I have done, this suffering has not had the effect of making me look 
 gloomy disapprobation upon the happiness of others. 1 feel, if all 
 went well with me, I would be one of the hajjjjiest of beings that 
 ever saw the light of heaven, and that nothing would be too insig- 
 nificant to delight me. This conviction has never quitted my heart 
 even in its darkest moments, and has been the means of making me 
 look with complacency upon every kind of innocent and reasonable 
 enjoyment. 
 
 " The little girl who brings the newspaper into the room, and* 
 trips smilingly along the floor, gives me sometlnng like happiness ; 
 fur, Vvherever I see joy and peace, I t:ike a sad drlight in looking 
 at it. When your letters showed me how pleased you were with 
 your new situation, and that nothing disturbed you there, it gavo
 
 0- MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 me much ]<lt,:isure, therefore I hope you will not leave off that light 
 and happy strain wliich pervaded them. 
 
 " I know that you and I are sworn friends, ami that you are in- 
 terested in every thing that concerns me. Nothing, therefore, in 
 your behavior towards me, will ever appear unfeeling; and what 
 you are afraid I might have mistaken for indifference, I know to be 
 the hallowed voice of friendship. Were you here, I would have an 
 opportunity of pouring out my w^hole soul to you, and in that I 
 would find much relief. 
 
 " But a letter is such a short thing, and to me, sorrow is when 
 written so unintelligible, that in cases of absence I am convinced it 
 is best to say little upon such mournful topics. 
 
 " If writing to you, and hearing from you, can divert my atten- 
 tion from my own mind, much is accomplished ; and I assure you 
 that your letters, with the minute superscription, effected this 
 end. Before I go further, your resolution to be sorrowful be- 
 cause I might be happier is very injudicious, upon this princi])le, 
 that while it hurts yourself, so likewise does it him whom you 
 mean to benefit." 
 
 To divert his thoughts, he went off in these autumnal days on 
 one of those long solitary rambles which often landed him un])re- 
 meditatedly at night in an unknown region, some fifty miles from 
 his starting-point. A glimpse of one of these excursions is afforded 
 in the next letter, the greater portion of which, however, is occu- 
 pied with an outpouring of his woes. These seem to have received 
 fresh stimulus from an ungrounded alarm that a rival had come be- 
 tween hiui and the dear object of his anxieties. 
 
 " I have been ex])ecting to hear from you for some time ])ast ; 
 that is to say, I would not have been greatly astonished though I had 
 heard from you, neither am I in the least surprised that you have not 
 written. As I feel, however, what Wordsworth and other gentle- 
 men of his stamp would think proper to call 'impulse to write 'mid 
 deepest solitude,' I have disregarded entirely the great advance 
 upon the price of writing materials, and will add to the revenue oi 
 "the Post-Oflice by the postage of one letter, which you will nevei 
 grudge to pay, when you have discovered the hidden soul whicl 
 pervades these effusions. I have lately returned from a walk ovei 
 a pretty wide extent of country, during w^hich, if at particular times 
 blistered soles and stiff joints did not vastly increase the pleasures
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. 63 
 
 of reflection, other moments amply recompensed me, and gave mo 
 enjoyment, though not unalloyed, of as perfect a kind as the general 
 nature of frail humanity, assisted by the workings of particulai 
 melancholy, could possibly admit. Without being able to assign 
 any reason for my conduct, though I entered into many philosophi- 
 cal inquiries concerning all the possible combinations of motives, I 
 arrived at Coventry, distant from Oxfoi'd fifty miles. The days of 
 riding naked upon horseback being gone, I beheld no elegant nude 
 bestriding a prancing courser, therefore I met with no gratification 
 in the assumed character of peeping Tom. From this foolish place 
 I went to Nottingham, distant fifty-one miles, and stayed there 
 three days." 
 
 Here he abruptly dismisses his pedestrian adventures, and enters 
 on the subject more near his heart. 
 
 ..." What will time do to such love as mine ? It is not pas- 
 sion founded on whim and fancy ; it is not a feeling of her excellent 
 disposition resembling fiiendship ; it is not a regard that intimacy 
 preserved, but whose force absence may diminish. Such feelings 
 constitute the common love of common souls. But with me the 
 case is different. No holy throb ever agitates my heart ; no idea 
 of future happiness ever elevates my spirit; no rush of tenderness 
 ever warms eveiy fibre of my frame, that Margaret is not the cause 
 and object of such emotions. If such a being were to confess she 
 loved me ; if she were to sink upon my breast with love and fond- 
 ness, I would be the happiest being that ever lived among men. I 
 feel I have a mind that could then exert itself, and a heart that 
 would love all the human race. But if this union is denied me ; if 
 she I love reposes on the bosom of another, — then is the chain 
 broke which bound me to the woi'ld ; I have nothing to live for ; 
 all is dark, solitary, cold, Avild, and fearful. When IMargaret is 
 married, on that night that gives her to ;mothor, if I am in any part 
 of this island, you must pass that night with me. Bhiir will do the 
 same. I don't expect, indeed I won't suffer either of you to soothe 
 the agony of my soul, for that surely were a vain attempt. But 
 you will sit with me. I know I could never pass that night alone. 
 I would crush to death this cursed heart which has so long tor- 
 mented me, and bless with my latest breath my own INIargaret ; for 
 she is mine in the secret dwellings of the soul, and not a power in 
 the universe shall tear her from that hospitable home. Wluii I
 
 64 MEMOIK OF JOHN' WILSON. 
 
 consider the ways of Providence I am astonished. Whoever mar- 
 ries her, let his \ivtues be what they may, I know he never could 
 make her as happy as I could. lie would not love her with so vast 
 and yet so tender a love." 
 
 With a true poet's mind, he fears the change an unworthy help- 
 mate would bring to her refined and enlightened spirit : — 
 
 " If my rival in her affections were a being superior to myself, 1 
 "would not repine; at least, not so much as I now do, when I am 
 afraid he is unworthy of her and inferior to me. Does Margaret 
 prefer this man to me ? That she does I am afraid is too true. 
 Will he make her as happy as I could ? Can he like her as well as 
 I do ? Both suppositions are impossible. The wife of a soldier 
 seldom sees intellectual scenes ; and, in progress of time, that 
 angel Margaret, for whom I would sacrifice every thing on earth, 
 may become — oh, I shudder to think of it ! — a person of common 
 feelings,* and laugh at all I have said to her, at my misery, my 
 love, and my delusions. Such are often the transmigrations of 
 spirit ; or, rather, the transformations which Providence permits to 
 humble the hopes and destroy the happiness of those it made ca- 
 pable of prodigious enjoyment. May I never live to see that day !" 
 
 After relieving bis breast by this outburst, he returns to his 
 walking : — 
 
 " I had almost forgot our walking match. I went from Xotting- 
 ham to Birmingham. There I met Blair. . . . He intends visiting 
 me, perhaps at Christmas ; but I will tell you, however, when I 
 expect him, and you must try to spare a few days from that eternal 
 copying of letters, and see what an appearance an old friend cuts 
 in purgatory. 
 
 " I have sent — at least, am going to send — you a small parcel, 
 containing the sermon I wrote, and a letter to Margaret. You may 
 open the parcel, and read the sermon, if you choose. Pack them 
 up in your best manner, and direct them to Miss M., College 
 Buildings, Glasgow. I suppose you have safe communication with 
 Glasgow, for I would not for the world the parcel was lost, as the 
 letter is not for every eye, and contains secret feelings. 
 
 * This reminds one of Lockileij Hall : — 
 
 " la it well to wish thee happy ?— having known me, to decline 
 On a range of lower feelings, and a narrower heart than mine I 
 Tet it shall be : thou shall lower to his level day by day, 
 What is fine within thee growing coarse to symi>athize with clay."
 
 lliK Oia'lIAA' MAID. 05 
 
 "Isabella S., I 'inderstand, is married. I wish oer all possible 
 joy. For God's sake, take care who thou fallest in love with.' 
 I wisli I had done so, f;dth ! 
 
 "The sooner you send Margaret the parcel the better, for I 
 should have written her before now, and she will be wondering at 
 my silence. And let it be safe. Write me when convenient, and 
 don't be interrupted by your mercenary concerns and emijloyments. 
 I would have given you another sheet, from which you are saved 
 by the entrance of the drill-sergeant, who has come to teach me 
 how to fight the French, if they come. I am their man. ' God 
 save the king !' " Yours, 
 
 " J. Wilson. 
 
 " Oxford, Uth October, 1803." 
 
 The next letter in the series is from Blair to Findlay, showing 
 how deeply these two friends entered into the feelings of one 
 whose trust in them was as that of a brother. It is dated 
 
 " Hill Top, January 19, 1804. 
 " The vacation is over next Tuesday week. I left him on Mon- 
 day morning last ; but one of the gentlemen-commoners came to 
 Oxford for two or three days, and briiakfasiod, dined, and supped 
 with us on Sunday, so that I had no opportunity of speaking to 
 him on many things of which I wished to have talked to him. 
 From this, it happened that I said nothing to him of what we 
 talked over that Wednesday night. If I had not thought we 
 should have had all Sunday night to ourselves, I would certainly 
 have spoken of it before ; but it is a subject on which I dare not 
 speak to him, except at those moments when he seems happier 
 than usual from my presence. If he is gloomy and dejected, as he 
 is sometimes with me, I know that his mind will be shut to all 
 rensonings favorable to his happiness ; and that to touch on that 
 subject would be merely to give him occasion to overwhelm me 
 M ith one of tliose long bursts of passion and misery to Avhich I can 
 make no answer. He was out of spirits the first two days I was 
 there ; and I thought it most probable that in the last evening he 
 would, from the idea of my going so soon, feel a greater degree of 
 kindness and alfection for me, which would keep his mind in a 
 state of gentle feeling, and dispose it more easily to think happily 
 of himself. If Ave had been alone that night, I should have talked
 
 GO mi:mi)IU of joiin wilson. 
 
 it all o\er witli him. I am doubtful whether I ought to write to 
 him about it." 
 
 This aftectionate friend did Avrite to him on the subject, and a 
 few days later he again addresses Findlay: — 
 
 "Hill Top, Sunset, Tuesday, 180J. 
 
 " I am writing to Wilson, and shall send the letter to-morrow, 
 so that he will get it on Thursday morning. I tell him why I am 
 convinced that he is loved ; and what I fear she may be induced to 
 do, both from her delicacy and just pride, which njust shrink from 
 the idea of the disapprobation of relations, and from her scrupulous 
 sense of right, which makes her refuse to separate him from those 
 relations. I will say, that she is now guided in everything she does 
 by the resolution she has formed since he left her, of sacrificing her 
 happiness to her sense of right (she may perhaps think) to his haji 
 piness ; and I will, on that account, caution him against writing to 
 her on that subject, because she might have strength of mind to 
 write a refusal, that would blast all his hopes, and make him never 
 dare to speak of it to her again. My wish is that he should see her 
 next summer, and force from her a confession of her feelings. 
 
 " See what he thinks about P — . He has talked to me as if he 
 feared she was attached to him. P — left his country when she 
 knew nothing more of Wilson than that he was a fine boy, and ] 
 think it very probable at that time she might feel a grateful attach- 
 ment to him for his love to her, and what she might think his gene- 
 rosity. Does Wilson know so little of her and of himself as to 
 dream for a moment that, after knowing him as she has done for 
 these last three years, her heart can still hold by one wish to such 
 a man as P — ? If she has formed any engagement to such a man 
 as P — , God help us ! I cannot think it possible. J£ it had been, 
 she must have acted differently. Her love might overpower in her 
 for a time her sense of what she thinks she owes to the order of 
 society ; while her only restraint was the idea that she ought not to 
 separate Wilson from all his family connections. I can conceive her 
 doing all thut she has done with the purest and most virtuous mind, 
 for she acted under a great degree of delusion ; I am convinced she 
 did not suspect the consequences to her own heart or to Wilson's. 
 But if she could in the slightest degree look on herself as the prop- 
 erty of another, every thing becomes utterly incomprehensible ; a 
 positive engagement loaves no room for delusion, and in that situa-
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. C7 
 
 tion a woman of delicate feelings has but one way of acting. I have 
 not time for more. " Yours ever, 
 
 "Alex. Blair." 
 
 The next letter in my possession is dated March 7, 1804,* and 
 may be inserted below for the sake of chronological order, as show- 
 ing the kind of studies which were meantime engaging his attention. 
 
 JVom this dale down to September of the same year there is no 
 record of his doings. Blair Avriting to Findlay, September 30th, 
 says: — "I imagine Wilson should be in London about this time to 
 meet his mother. I have not seen him this summer." It may be 
 inferred that he was occupied during the spring with liis studies, 
 and struggling as best lie could to overeome the dejection of spirits, 
 which, judging from the next letter, did not for a time pass away. 
 During the summer, he went off on a long excursion through Wales, 
 to which he subsequently alludes in no very agreeable terms. It 
 could not fail, however, to arouse his poetic sensibilities, and in one 
 of the commonplace-books I find a sketch of an intended poem on 
 this subject, entitled "Hints for the Pedestrian." 
 
 The next glimpse of him from correspondence is in a letter from 
 Blair to Findlay, of date November 24, 1804 : — 
 
 " Wilson has been walking about in Wales all this summer, and 
 is now at Oxford again. I have not once seen him. He says he is 
 going to Scotland in about five weeks. I believe he had better not. 
 
 * It is little more than a mere catalogue of books, but the playful tone in which the commission 
 is rendered, gives interest and not a little character to the document. 
 
 "Bon, you scoundrel, did you get my last letter? If you can get any bookseller to trust me 
 under my own name, or me under your nnme, for the following books, until this time twelve- 
 months, buy them, and send them down^as soon as possible. I think that, with proper manage- 
 ment, you may manage to get it done. 
 
 "1. Ferguson's Roman Republic, in octavo; don't buy it unless in octavo. 2. Mitford's Greece, 
 in octiivo; don't buy it unless in octavo. 3. Stewart's edition of Keid's Philosoi>liy. This book 
 is only in octavo, therefore don't buy it unless in octjivo. 4. Malthus's Essay on Population — an 
 excelli'iit book — read part of it; most acute thing of the present day. 5. Godwin's Political Jus- 
 tice; don't buy it unless in octavo. 6. Gillies' Greece in octavo; don't buy it unless in octavo. 
 7. PInkerton's Ancient Scottish Poems; recollect this is not his Ancient Comic Ballads. S. All 
 Pitson's publications, except English Romances, and Essay on Abstinence fi-om .\nimal Food. 
 
 9. Hartley on Man ; last edition in three vols, octiivo. with notes by some foreigner or aimther. 
 
 10. Rou.sseau's Works, if cheap and complete; thirty-four volumes, or jie' liaps less; but complete, 
 certainly complete. 11. Reguier's History, if tolerably cheap. 12. Tiu-ner's History of the An- 
 glo-Saxons, three vols. 1.3. Any good edition of Gilbert Stuart's Works; also. Mallet's Northern 
 Antiquities, translated. 1.5. Bisset's History of this Country. 16. Al\ Piukerton's works indeed 
 you may buy, except his Geography. If possible, let them all be in boards. 
 
 "J. WiLSOH. 
 
 "Maodalek College, March, 1S04, 
 " Tumday Evening."
 
 68 MEMOIR OF JOHN 'WILSON. 
 
 Jolin J'luL'.y * is to come back with liim. I expect to be in London 
 about the middle or end of January, and I suppose Finluy will 
 come v/hile 1 am there, and we may settle him comlbrtalily. Wil- 
 son S3ys, in speaking of some prize he means to undertake, that he 
 feels the vigor of his mind returning. God grant it ! If he will 
 proD-ise to return happy, which I think he may do, from Scotland, 
 his going will be a blessed event; but if he is to come away again 
 in the same miserable uncertainty, it will destroy the little calm he 
 has gained, and repeat the same sufferings with less strength to bear 
 them. I shall see him before he goes." 
 
 Soon after this he Avas seized with a fit of illness, which caused 
 much concern to his affectionate correspondents, Blair ^id Findlay. 
 He quickly recovered, however; and his brother Andrew, then 
 serving at Chatham, on board H. M. S. " Magicienne," writes to 
 Robert ou the 7th of December, " that he had found him in very 
 good health, but in very bad spirits." His own account of the 
 matter in a letter to Findlay, of December 10, 1804, is sufficiently 
 plain, and needs no comment : — 
 
 "Though Avell when Andrew came here, as bad luck would have 
 it, I Avas taken ill before he left me, but not dangerously, and I am 
 rather better. I believe my complaint is nervous, and mortally 
 affects my spirits. I have a constant beating at my heart, and a 
 •wavering of thought resembling a sort of derangement ; but I have 
 been bled and feel better. 
 
 "This wretched complaint has been brought on by my late at- 
 tempt to bury in unbridled dissipation the recollection of blasted 
 hopes. But God's will be done." 
 
 Between this date and the next letter, there is a gap of ten 
 mouths. Of what passed in the interval, there is no memorial be- 
 yond the allusions in his letter, from which we gather that he trav- 
 elled during the summer in the north of England and in Irelano 
 that a considerable portion of the holidays was spent among the 
 Lakes; and that there and then he seized the opportunity offered 
 < f becoming the proprietor of Elleray, one of the loveliest spots in 
 which a poet ever fixed his home. This letter is dated London, 
 October 3, 1805, and is written in a cheerful strain, yet betraying 
 
 ♦John Finlay, a yoiin? poet of great promise, aiitnur of Wallnce. or the Vale, of ElUrnUe : 
 ITijitorical an/l liomantic liuUads, etc. etc., was born in 17s2, and dietl at MotVat iu ISIO. Wil- 
 son wrote an account of his life and writings in Bhtckwood for November, 1817.
 
 UNIVERSITY CAKEEK. 69 
 
 the overhanging of the clouds, which were deepening over his love- 
 prospects, though fur a brief space breaking into delusive sun- 
 Bhine : * — 
 
 " London, October 3, 1805. 
 
 "My dear Bob: — I received your letter in a wonderfully short 
 time after it was written, considering the extensive tour of his Ma- 
 jesty's dominion it had judged it expedient to take before conde- 
 scending to pay me a visit. It spent the greatest part of the sunnner 
 in visiting Oxford, London, Scarborough, llarrowgate, Edinburgh, 
 and the various post-towns of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and 
 Lancashire. When it finally reached me, its visage was wofuUy 
 begrimed with dirt, and its sides squeezed into a shape far from 
 epistolary. It truly cut a most ridiculous appearance, and, indeed, 
 was ashamed of itself, for it made its escape from my [)Ossession 
 the day after I first cast salt upon its tail ; and as I have never seen 
 it since, I am led to suppose that it may have once more set out on 
 its travels, in Avhich case you probably will meet Avitli it soon in 
 Grlasgow. 
 
 " I was not a little provoked to find, that during my solitary 
 rambles in Ireland, you were improving yourself in polite accom- 
 plishments among the mountains of Wales. The rapidity with 
 which you travelled seems to have been a^tonishing and praise- 
 worthy. 
 
 " I do not feel myself in a mood just now to give you any 
 account of my Irish expedition, which afforded me all the possible 
 varieties of pain, and a good many modifications of pleasure. It 
 was prolific in adventure and scrape, and made me acquainted with 
 strange bed-fellows. Had you been with me, I am sure we would 
 have enjoyed it more than you can well imagine. I have spent this 
 summer at Scarborough, llarrowgate, and the Lakes. The weather 
 has been sufiiciently bad to provoke an old sow to commit suicide — 
 a fact which actually took place near Ambleside. The creature cut 
 its throat with a hand-saw. 
 
 " .... I have bought some gi'ound on Windermere Lake, but 
 whether in future years I may live there, I know not. I think that 
 a settled life will never do for me ; and I often lament that I did 
 
 * As he in after life said, "Sometimes, my dear Sbeiiherd, my life from eisrliteen to twenty-four 
 is an utter blank, like a moonless miilniglit; at other times, oh! what a refulgent dayl" — N'octw, 
 
 XXXV.
 
 70 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 not enter tlie army or navy, a thing wliich is now entirely impos- 
 sible. While I keep moving, life goes on well enough, but Avhen- 
 ever 1 pause, the fever of the soul begins. 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 There is no letter again for a period of six months ; and we are 
 left to imagine that the interval was filled up with alternations of 
 gloom and gayety, of hard study and hard living. He was giving 
 himself, like the royal preacher, not only " to know wisdom," b:it 
 to know also " madness and folly." The mention of Margaret is 
 briefer than hitiierto, even slightly suggestive of constraint, and one 
 l)egins to see some shadowing of the truth in that sentence of the 
 Essay on " Streams :" — " For two years of absence and of distance 
 brought a strange, dim, misty haze over the tires — supposed un- 
 quenchable — of our hearts ; then came suspicion, distrust, wrathful 
 jealousy, and stone-eyed despair !" It had not come to that yet, 
 for, before the curtain closes on this love-drama, there is one 
 glimpse of ecstatic happiness, followed only by deeper gloom and 
 imbroken silence. 
 
 The next letter is addressed to Findlay, and dated 
 
 " OxFOED, April 13, 1806. 
 
 " 3Iy dearest Robert : — If I have not answered your letter so 
 soon as perhaps I should have done, it was neither from being in- 
 diiferent to the very agreeable contents of it, nor careless of that 
 happiness Avhich I see awaits you in life, and which no soul on earth 
 better deserves than you. Most genuine satisfaction it did give me 
 to hear of the kindness which your father's memory has procured 
 you. 
 
 " In your case it may justly be said that a good man's righteous- 
 ness is an inheritance to his children. That happiness, prosperity, 
 and pence may ever attend you, is a wish I need not express to one 
 who knows me so well as you do. As to myself, I have not a very 
 great deal to say. I am going on pretty much in the old way, 
 sometimes unha])py enough, God knows ! and at other times tol- 
 erably comfortable. 
 
 " I bi'lieve that I live rather too hard, and I have formed a very 
 determined resolution to change my ways ; but it is one thing to 
 make a resolution, and another to kj •]• it. I have certainly led a 
 dissipated life for some time, but, 
 
 I
 
 I 
 
 UNIVERSITY C.'.REER. 71 
 
 " ' Wine, they say, drives off despair, 
 And bids even hope remain, 
 And that is sure a reason fair 
 To fill my glass again.' 
 
 " I expected to have heard something from D., informing me of 
 your intention relative to our summer tour to the Lakes. I wrote 
 him how I was situated at present ; but I would like to hear how 
 your intentions are, as I might pt'rhaps accommodate myself in a 
 great measure to them, I am uncertain whether I shall be in 
 Scotland again for some years. If you could meet me at the Lakes 
 in July early, even without our other friends, I think we might 
 pass the time most happily. But I expect to hear from you very 
 soon at great length. By the by, I know not what excuse to 
 make for not having visited Tar'*ance. If ever you see Margaret, T 
 wish you would tell how happy you know I would have been to 
 see her, but that it could have been only for an hour or two, and 
 that I therefore put off tlie happiness till I could stay a day or two 
 with her in a few months. Perhaps she may attribute to coldness 
 what arose from the deepness of love. It will give me sincert^ 
 happiness to hear often and soon from you. Every thing interest- 
 ing to you will interest me, so omit nothing of that kind. 
 
 " Remember me kindly to Finlay and Smith, and to all you love, 
 mother and sisters. Blair is with me, and wishes you well. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 It would appear from the following letter, written from his 
 mother's house in Edinburgh, that the tour to the Lakes was 
 changed for one in the Highlands of Scotland, which, during the 
 space of six weeks' time, was agreeably spent by the aforesaid 
 friends : 
 
 " 53 Queen Street, Edinburgh, 
 July 29, 180G. 
 
 " My dear Bob : — I have long been conjecturing the reason of 
 your unconje<;turable silence. What in the name of wonder are 
 you about? I had a letter from Dunlop, ti-Iling me you j)roi)Osed 
 accompanying us to the Highlands. I hope you will do so. Both 
 Dunlop and myself are good fellows, but we should get d — ly 
 tiresome without a third. I think the best way will be to meet at
 
 72 MKMOIK OF Jt)HN Vll.SOX. 
 
 Stirling. I shall be there on Saturday, the 9th, by five o'clock, 
 and whoever arrives first can order dinner for the others. You 
 can let me know of the inn we had best go to. It would be a 
 foolish waste of time for you and Duulop to come to Edinlnirgh, 
 except in the case of going to St. Andrews, which I strongly give 
 my vote against. " I am thine ever, 
 
 "Joii.v WiLSOX." 
 
 There are no more letters dated from Oxford or elsewhere for 
 some months. The next to which we come is, however, of deep 
 interest. It is from Blair to Findlay, of date March 19, 1807, 
 giving an account of Wilson's examination for his Bachelor 
 Degree : — 
 
 " ]My deae Robekt : — About a fortnight ago, Wilson wrote to 
 me to desire I would go to him immediately, and he would tell me 
 what had happened with regard to her. I went, of course, and 
 found him very much distressed, with a degree of anxiety that I 
 could not have conceived, about his examination, Avhich was to 
 come on in a few days. If his mind had had its former strength, 
 this, he said, would not have aiFected him, but after what had haj)- 
 pened to him, he had no strength left. The terror of this exam- 
 ination preyed so on his mind, that for ten days before I saw him 
 he had scarcely slept any night more than an hour or two. I wish 
 to know from you what it is that has liapi)ened in Scotland, that 
 has shaken his mind to this degree, for he has not spoken a word 
 on the subject to me ; and I could not begin to speak of it, after 
 having seen, as I have seen, the state into which it threw him, to 
 give Avay to his feelings. I could not begin a conversation that was 
 to terminate in such bursts of anguish as I have witnessed. 
 
 " Write to me as soon as you can to tell me this, though you 
 should have time to write nothing more. When he walked from this 
 college to the schools, he w^ent along in full conviction that he 
 was to be plucked. His examination was, as might naturally be 
 expected, the most illustrious within the memory of man. Sotheby 
 was there, and declared it was worth coming from London to hear 
 \\\x\\ translate a Greek chorus. I was exceedingly pleased with 
 Shepherd, his examiner, who seemed highly delighted at having 
 got hold of him, and took much pains to show him ofi^. Indeed he 
 is given to show people off; and those who know little are said
 
 UNIVERSITY CAREER. 73 
 
 not to relish the operation, so that his name is a name of terror, 
 but nothing could be luckier for John than his strict, close style of 
 examination. 
 
 "The mere riddance of that burden, which had sat so long on his 
 thoughts, was enough to make him dance ; but he was also elated 
 with success and applause, and was in very high spirits after it. I 
 left him last night." 
 
 The examination was truly, to use his private tutor's expression, 
 a "glorious" one. '•'■It marked the scholar,^'' is the measured but 
 emphatic phrase of the formidable Mr. Shepherd, in referring to it. 
 "I can never forget," said another of the examiners, the Rev. 
 Richard Dixon, Fellow and Tutor of Queen's, "the very sjilendid 
 examination which you passed in this University; an examination 
 which afforded the strongest proofs of very great application, and 
 genius, and scholarship, and which produced such an impression on 
 the minds of the Examiners, as to call forth (a distinction very 
 rarely confL-rred) the public expression of our approbation and 
 thanks."* 
 
 * From subsequent testimonies regariMng his Oxford studies and reputation, a few may in this 
 place be inserted. The Rev. Benjamin Cheese, who was his private tutor during the last two 
 years of liis University course, thus referred to that period : — " Among all my pupils I nevei met 
 with one who read with greater zest the sublime i)ages of the Greek tragedians, or penet.-ated 
 with the same rapid acuteness into the abstruse ditliculties of Aristotle. The analyses which you 
 then ma<le for me of the Ethics, Rhetoric, and Poetics of that great philosopher, I still preserve as 
 a memorial of you. I never refer to them without regrettiuij that your Oxford examination for a 
 degree took place previously to the introduction of the new system, under which men are now 
 arranged in distinct classes, according to their real merits, as I am well assured that the public 
 appear.'jnee which you then made (for I was myself present on the glorious occasion) would now 
 fully entitle you to the very highest honors which our University can bestow." 
 
 " He was always considered by me," writes the Rev. William Rnsscll, Fellow of .Magdalen 
 College, "anil by other members of the College in which wo were educated, to be a man of strong 
 powers of mind, great industry and zeal for learning, and no ordinary degree of taste. His college 
 exercises and compositions invariably displayed much genius and skill in argument; and the 
 snjivll poem on Sculpture, Architecture, and Painting, which gained the University Prize, given 
 by the late Sir Roger Newdigate, on the first year of its establishment, was esteemed on all hands 
 to be a superior specimen of talent. And I can truly say, that the reputation ho acquired during 
 his residence in Oxford, not only in our own Society, but in the University at large, remains 
 fresh amongst us, though many years liave elapsed since he left us, and many others of high talent 
 have arisen during that period to attract our admiration." 
 
 The venerable President of his College. Dr. Routh, bore similar testimony : — " I can safely say, 
 that amongst the non-foundationers of Masdaleii College, who are generally about twelve in num- 
 ber, I do not recollect any one, during my long residence in it, who has had an equal share of 
 reputation with yourself for great natural abilities, united with extensive literary acquit ements. 
 I remember the satisfaction I generally felt at the appearance you made at the exaniinaiions ii; 
 classical authors, lield thrice in the year within the College, and have often perused with delight 
 that elegant composition which obtained a University prize, and whose only fault seemed to be 
 that it was too short." 
 
 The Ucv. Charles Thorp, formerly a Fellow of University College, Ox'ord, says, " Your char
 
 74r MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOJ«». 
 
 Little did these Examiners and admiring fr.ends imagine with 
 Avhat feelings John Wilson had walked into the schools that morn- 
 ing, "in the full conviction that he was to be plucked." Little did 
 they know, as they propounded difficulties in Greek choruses and 
 the Ethics^ of the more oppressing thought that had made the last 
 ten nights so dreadful, — "what had happened with regard to her P^ 
 Compared with that, what to him was Hecuba, or Antigone either ? 
 On this subject, let it be noted, he did not open his lips to the be- 
 loved friend whom he had expressly summoned, that he might tell 
 him " what had happened." And that sympathizing friend, who 
 had hastened to hear and to console, religiously held his peace, and 
 " could not begin to speak of it, after having seen the state into 
 which it threw him ;" and had to go elsewhere for information. It 
 is altogether a singular exhibition of character on both sides, re- 
 minding one of those old Easterns who sat seven days sj^eechless 
 before their friend, " for they saw that liis grief was very great." 
 
 "What it was that had " happened with regard to ^er," to bring 
 him to this state of wretchedness, may be gathered from his own 
 letter, apparently wiitton about the same time, to Findlay : — 
 
 " October 19, 1S07. 
 " My dearest Robert : — I have often wished to write to you, 
 but to such an intimate fiiend as you I know not how to speak. 
 There is not one ray of hope that I shall ever be able to make my 
 mother listen for a moment to the subject nearest my heart. I 
 know her violent feelings too well ; I even know this, that if I were 
 to acquaint her with my love for Margaret, we never could again bo 
 on the footing of mother and son. 
 
 actcr and talents were known to me when I was a tutor at Oxford, and yonrself a stiiJeot there, 
 before I had the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with you; an acquaintance I suui;ht luid 
 prized, and have always wlsaed to improve."' '• Those who, like myself," says Ardideacoa 
 Biirnc}-, "loved and admired yon at Oxford, would, I am sure, feel pleasure in bcarinjj ii just testi- 
 mony to your acnteness of discrimination, yonr keen spnrit of inquiry, your extended rfuding, 
 your copiousness in illustration, which even then rendered you eminent above your felKiws." 
 "The course of studies at Oxford," says Sir Charles E. Grey (formerly of Oriel Oollepc, Oxford, 
 afterwards Chief-Justice of Bengal), "had shortly before been placed upon a new and excellent 
 footing; and I shall always consider it a fortunate incident in my life that I fell on that period 
 when all members of the University were full of zeal for the new improvements, and were on- 
 paging in the course that was opened for them with an ardor which it was not to be hoped could 
 l;o sustained for many years. With what e:iserness and assiduity were the writings of the mora] 
 philosophers, orators, historians, and tragedians of Greece and Rome read, and almost learned 
 by heart. The distinguished examination which you passed, the prize which yon obtained, and 
 the general reputation which you acquired, are proofs that you were amongst the most succcfiaful 
 students of the day."
 
 [JNITERSn'Y C A REEK. 75 
 
 "All this may be to yon inexplicable; that T cannot help ; that it 
 is the fact, I know to my sorrow. Blair is witli me, and unless he 
 had been so, I must have died. Before my examination, my state 
 of mind got dreadful. He sat up several nights with me, and at 
 last I was examined and got my degree 'cum laude,' a matter 
 certainly of indifference to me. I do not wish you to come to Lon- 
 don if you could, for I shall not be there. The only reason I have 
 for writing is to show you how perfectly I am your friend, and ever 
 will be so, for by your last I saw my silence had surprised you. If 
 I feel more at home to-morrow, I will write you again, but unless 
 I saw yourself I could not tell you my feelings and future plans of 
 existence, which must be joyless and unendeared. Thine eternally, 
 
 "J. Wilson." 
 
 "Oxford, 1807. 
 "My dear Bob: — I received your letter this morning, and it has 
 confirmed me in what I feared, that I have written some infernal 
 thing or another to Margaret: the truth is, that about the time I 
 wrote her I was in a curious way, as indeed I am now, from having 
 taken laudanum, not exactly with a view to aimihilation, but spirits. 
 That blessed beverage played the devil with my intellects, and ab- 
 solutely destroyed my capacity of distinguisliing right from wrong, 
 or what was serious from ludicrous. At times I was in the same 
 state as if I were as drunk as Chloe ; and at others, sober, sad, and 
 sunk in despair and misery. If this be any excuse to you for wliat 
 I may have said, of which I do not recollect one word, you can em- 
 ploy it as such ; if not, you are a severer judge than I have ever yet 
 found you. As to saying any thing savage to Margaret, I scarcely 
 think that possible, for why should even a madman do that ? ^ 
 have since written her, and hoi)e whatever ofiences I have com- 
 mitted, I have her forgiveness. If you regard my soul, go again to 
 her and try to explain my conduct as best you can, for I am unable 
 to justify myself my thoughts are so dreadful when I wish to write 
 to her. This love of mine has been a tine thing; iiist kei>t memany 
 years in misery, and noAV perhaps alienated from me the friendship 
 and good opinion of those I love and regard; however, I need not 
 expatiate much on that. As to the other parts of your letter, I can 
 say nothing to them. Do you really imagine that I would easily 
 give up the prospect of eternal felicity ? I have corresponded with 
 4
 
 70 MOIOIR OF JOUN ■NVII.SOX. 
 
 often upon the subject, and know too well how it is. I shall 
 
 not injure them so far as to let you know all they have said on the 
 suhject; the enclosed letter may give you some faint idea of it, as 
 it is the n)ildest and most fitted to inspire hope of them all. 
 
 "J. W." 
 
 We are now approaching the close of this tender episode. 
 That summer the lovers met, and the obstructing clouds for a brief 
 space clear away in the light of mutual confidence and utter joy. 
 But the obstacles remain, nevertheless ; and as soon as he is left 
 alone, he becomes a prey to the most distracting fears and perplex- 
 ities. Thus he writes to his dear Robert from " Bowness," some 
 time, as I conjecture, in the autumn of 1807 : — 
 
 " My dearest Robert : — I have often said that I would write 
 you a long letter, and as often have I tried it; but such a crowd of 
 feelmgs of all different kinds comes across my heart, that I sit for 
 hours "with a paper before me, and never write a single word. 
 Indeed, even if we were together, I know not if I could say much 
 to you, for with me all is strange and inextrical)le perplexity. I 
 love, and am beloved to distraction, and often the gleams of hope 
 illumine the path of futurity with a glory hardly to be looked at ; 
 while, again, extravagance of love seems only extravagance of 
 foUv, and excess of fondness excess of desj)air. I am betimes the 
 most miserable and the happiest of created beings. So for I am bet- 
 ter than during former years, when I had no hope, no wish to live. 
 Now, indeed, my sadness almost wholly regards Margaret. For 
 myself, I have been inured to wretchedness, and though, in some 
 respects, or as fiir as it made me a man of worse conduct than of 
 principles, I have yielded to the common eff'ect of misery, in future 
 I could look forward to dreary solitude of spirit with some tolerable 
 degree of composure. But for her, whose peace is far dearer to me 
 than my own, I have many dreadful anticipations. Should our union 
 be rendereil impracticable, and Miss W. to die, an event which, I 
 trust in God, is far, for distant, God only knows what would 
 become of her." 
 
 In anticipation of these obstacles being removed, he turns his 
 thoughts to homo, and addresses a beautiful short poem (" My 
 Cottage") to Margaret. Ilis spirit then did
 
 LIFE AT ELLKRAY. il 
 
 " Travel like a summer sun, 
 Itself all glory, aud its path all joy ;"* 
 
 but this bright change was of brief duration. The curious would, 
 doubtless desire to know something more of why this " love never 
 found its earthly close," while others will rest satisfied with such 
 conclusions as may be drawn from the following expressions, met 
 with in letters addressed to his dear friend, Robert Findlay: "I 
 feel myself in a great measure an alien in my own family, and all 
 this is the consequence of that my most unfortunate attachment." 
 And once more, in allusion to this subject, he says: "I know 
 enough now to know that ray mother would die if this happened." 
 
 The following fragment will terminate this story : — 
 
 " I have made up my mind not to visit Torrance at present, in 
 which case I must not come to Glasgow. This resolution, I hope, 
 is right. It has been made after many an hour of (painful) i-eliec- 
 tion. TJiis I know, that were I to go, I could not bear to look on 
 my mother's face, a feeling which must not be mine. Enclosed is a 
 letter to Margaret. If you could take it yourself, and see how it is 
 received, it would please me much ; yet there may be people there, 
 in which case that would be useless. 
 
 "Thine till death in joy or sorrow. 
 
 "BowNESS, December 22." 
 
 We know not how they parted, but this we may imagine, that 
 "they caught up the whole of love, and uttered it," and bade adie\i 
 forever. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAT. 
 
 1807-1811. 
 
 In 1807, John "Wilson concluded his University career, the bril- 
 liancy of which, for many years, gave his name a prestige worthy 
 of long remembrance within the academic walls of Oxford. He 
 loved the beautiful fields of England, and, with all the world before 
 him where to choose a place of rest, he turned his steps from his 
 
 ♦ ^fUiceUaneoHs Poems.
 
 To MEMOIR OF JOUK WILSON. 
 
 Alma Plater, to tliat lovely land where cluster the f:iir la-KCs of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland. Having seh'Cted a home on the 
 banks of Windermere, we find him there in the prinie of youth, 
 with that keen nature of his alternating between liglit and shade, 
 and every possible humor attendant on the impulses of an ardent 
 heart, yet uneasy with a burden which there was none other to 
 share. Possibly the restless hfe he led began in a hope of self- 
 forgetfulness ; yet there was at the same time, in the conscious 
 possession of so much bodily strength, and that unceasing activity 
 of spirit, an irrepressible desire to exercise every iaculty. To 
 many his life in Westmoreland may appear to have been one of 
 idleness, but not to those who, with a kindly discernment of human 
 nature, see the advantages which varied experience gives to a 
 strong mind. 
 
 We now follow him to Elleray. For a description of this beau- 
 tiful spot I gladly avail myself of the striking description of Mr. 
 De Quincey :* — 
 
 " With the usual latitude of language in such cases, I say on 
 Windermere ; but in fact this charming estate lies far above the 
 lake ; and one of the most interesting of its domestic features is the 
 foreground of the rich landscape which connects, by the most gen- 
 tle scale of declivities, this almost aerial altitude [as, for habitable 
 ground, it really is] Avith the sylvan margin of the deep water 
 which rolls a mile and a half below. When I say a mile and a 
 half, you will understand me to compute the descent according to 
 the undulations of the ground ; because else the perpendicular ele- 
 vation above the level of the lake cannot be above one-lialf of that 
 extent. Seated on such an eminence, but yet surrounded by fore- 
 grounds of such quiet beauty, and settling downwards towards the 
 lake by such tranquil steps as to take away every feeling of pre- 
 cipitous or dangerous elevation, Elleray possesses a double ch:t!-ac 
 ter of beauty rarely found in connection ; and yet each, by lingular 
 good fortune, in this case, absolute and unrivalled in its kind. 
 Within a bowshot of each other may be found stations of the 
 deepest seclusion, fenced in by verdurous walls of insuperable for- 
 est heights, and jiresenting a limited scene of beauty — deep, solenm, 
 noiseless, severely sequestered — and other st:»tions of a magniti- 
 
 * Letter addressed to the Edinburgh Literary Gazette, IS'29, a forgotten newspaper, of whic]| 
 tlierx were only two vols, imblished.
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAV. 79 
 
 cence so gorgeous as few estates in this island can boast, and of 
 those few, perhaps, none in such close connection with a dwelling- 
 house. Stepping out from the very windows of the drawing-room, 
 you find yourself on a terrace which gives you the feeling of a 
 'specular height,' such as yoii miL^ht expect on Ararat, or might 
 appropriately conceive on ' Athos seen from Samothrace.' The 
 whole course of a noble lake, about eleven miles long, lies subject to 
 your view, with many of its islands, and its two opposite shores so 
 different in character — the one stern, precipitous, and gloomy ; the 
 other (and luckily the hither one), by the mere bounty of natin-e 
 and of accident — by the happy disposition of the ground originally, 
 and by the fortunate equilibrium between the sylvan tracks, mean- 
 dering irregularly through the whole district, and the ))roportion 
 left to verdant fields and meadows, wearing the character of the 
 richest park scenery; except indeed that this character is here and 
 there a little modified by a quiet hedge-row, or the stealing sinoke 
 wliich betrays the embowered cottage of a laborer. But the 
 sublime, peculiar, and not-to be-forgotten feature of the scene is 
 the great system of mountains which unite about five miles off, at 
 the head of the lake, to lock in and enclose this noble landscape. 
 The several ranges of mountains which stand at various distances 
 within six or seven miles of the little town of Ambleside, all se})a- 
 rately various in their forms, and all eminently picturesque, when 
 seen from EUeray, appear to blend and group as i)arts of one con- 
 nected whole ; and, when their usual drapery of clouds happens to 
 take a fortunate arrangement, and the sunlights are projjerly broken 
 and thrown from the most suitable quarter of the heavens, I cannot 
 recollect any spectacle in England or Wales, of the many hundreds 
 I have seen, bearing a local, if not a national reputation for magnifi- 
 cence of prospect, which so much dilates the heart with a sense of 
 power and aerial sublimity as this terrace-view from Elleray." 
 
 At the time when my father ))urehased Elleray, there was no 
 suitable dwelling-house on the estate, A rustic cottage indeed 
 there was, which, with the addition of a drawing-room thrown out 
 at one end, was made capable for many a year to come of meeting 
 the hospitable system of life adopted by its owner. It was built 
 of common stone, but it might have been marble for aught that the 
 eye could tell. Pretty French windows opened to the ground, and 
 were the only uncovered portion of it ; all else Avas a profusidn of
 
 so MEMOIR OF JOHN' WILSON. 
 
 jessamine, clematis, and honeysuckle. A trellised entrance, cluster- 
 ing with wild roses, led to the chief part of the dwellinsr. IJevond 
 the dining-room windows was the entrance to the kilchen and otlicr 
 parts of the house, only diftering from the first door in being made 
 of the dark blue slate of the country, and unadorned by roses. 
 The bedroom windows to the front, peeped out from their natural 
 festoons unshaded by other curtains, while the cottage was pio- 
 tected by a tine old sycamore-tree that, standing on a gentle emi- 
 nence, sent its spreading branches and umbrageous foliage far over 
 the roof, just leaving room enough for the quaint, i>icturesque chim- 
 neys to send their curling smoke into the air.* The little cottage 
 lay beneath the shelter of a well-wooded hill, that gave a look of 
 delightful retirement and comfort to its siiuation ; a poet's home it 
 might well be called. The lofty peaks of the Langdale Pikes ever 
 greeted the eye, in the dark shadows of evening or gHttcring be- 
 neath a noonday sun ; and Windermere as seen from EUeray was 
 seen best — every point and bay, island and cove, lay there un- 
 veiled. Perhaps in the clearing away of mist in early morning the 
 scene was most refreshing, as bit by bit a dewy green cluster of 
 trees appears, and then a gleam of water, Avith some captive cloud 
 deep set in its light, a mountain base, or lar-oif pasture, the well- 
 defined colors of rich middle-distance creating impatience for a per- 
 fect jiicture ; when all at once the obscuring vapors passed away, 
 and the Avhole landscape was revealed. 
 
 Although this picturesque cottage remained the dwelling-house 
 till 1825, my father began to build in the year 1808 a mansion of 
 more elegant proportions, after plans of his own. Wc may gather 
 some idea of what these plans were by referring to his ideal descrip- 
 tion of Buchanan Lodge. The whole tenement was to be upon the 
 ground fiat. " I abhor stairs," said he, " and there can be no peace 
 in any mansion where h^avy footsteps may be heard over liead. 
 Su]ipose three sides of a square. You approach the front by a fine 
 serpentine avenue, and enter slap-bang through a wide glass-door 
 
 ♦Of this sycamore he often spoke. "Never in this well-wooded world," soliloqiiszed the i-*>et, 
 " not even in the days of the Druids, could there have been such another tree ! It would be easier 
 to suppose two Sliaksperes. Yet I have heard people say it is far from being a largo tree. A 
 small one it cannot lie, with a house in its shadow — an unawakened house tl\at looks as if it were 
 dreaming. True, 'tis but a cottage, a Westmoreland cottage. But then it has several roofs si jiv- 
 ing .iway there in the lustre of loveliest lichens ; e.ich roof with its own assortment of doves »nd 
 pigeons preening their pinions in the morning pleasance. Oh, sweetest and shadiest of all ajca- 
 niores, we love thi-u beyond all otlier trees I" 
 
 I
 
 LIFE AT ELLEUAY. 81 
 
 'into a green-house, a conservatory of every thinfj rich and rare in 
 the Avorld of flowers. Folding-doors are drawn noiselessly into 
 tbe walls as if by magic, and lo ! drawing-room and dining-rooin 
 stretching east and west in dim and distant perspective. Another 
 side of the square contains kitchen, servants' rooms, etc. ; and the 
 third side my study and bedrooms, all still, silent, composed, stand- 
 ing obscure, unseen, unapproachable, holy! The fourth side of the 
 square is not ; shrubs and trees and a productive garden shut me 
 in from behind, while a ring fence enclosing about live acres, just 
 sufficient for my nag and cow, form a magical circle into which 
 nothing vile or profane can intrude." 
 
 The new house at E'.leray, of which this was an ideal descrip- 
 tion, was, as Mr. De Quincey remarked, a silent commentary on its 
 master's state of mind, and an exemplification of his character. 
 The plan, when completed, which in appearance h:id been extrava- 
 gant, turned out in reality to have been calculated with the coolest 
 judgment and nicest foresight of domestic needs. 
 
 In this beautiful retirement the young poet was now at liberty to 
 enjoy all the varied delights of poetic meditation, of congenial 
 society, and of those endless out-door recreations which constituted 
 no small part of his life. Soon did his presence become identified 
 with every nook and corner of that lake region. In the mountain 
 pass, by the lonely stream, on the waters of the lake, by night and 
 by day, in the houses of the rich and the poor, he came to be recog- 
 nized as a familiar and Avelcome presence. Often would the early 
 morning find him watching the rising mist, until the whole land- 
 scape lay clear before his enraptured eyes, and the fresh beauty of 
 the hour invited him to a long day's ramble into the heart of the 
 valley. Though much given, as of old, to solitary wanderings, he 
 did not neglect to cultivate the society of the remarkable men 
 whom he found in that district, when he took up his residence at 
 Elleray, — Wordsworth at Rydal, Southey and Coleridge at Kes- 
 Avick. Charles Lloyd at Brathay, Bishop Watson at Cal garth, the 
 Rev. Mr. Fleming at Rayrig, and other friends of lesser note, but 
 not less pleasant memory, in and around Ambleside. 
 
 The first meeting with Wordsworth did not take place till the 
 year 1807, the poet and his family having lived the greater pait of 
 that year at Colerton, returning to Grasmere in the spring of 1808. 
 At his house there, towards the latter end of that year, AVilson met
 
 82 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 De Qiiinccy. Strange to say, tliey had, when at Oxford, reinanied 
 unknown to each other; but here, attracted by the same inlhienee, 
 a mutual friendship was not long in being formed, which endured — 
 independent of years of separation and many caprices of foitune — 
 till death divided them. The graces of natm'e with which De 
 Quincey was endowed fascinated my father, as they did every mind 
 that came within the sphere of his extraordinary power in the days 
 of his mental vigor, ere that sad destiny — for so it may be called — 
 overtook hiin, which the brightness and strength of his intellect had 
 no power to avert. The first impressions of the " Opium Eater" 
 must be given in his own graphic words :* — " I remember the whole 
 scene as circumstantially as if it belonged to but yesterday. In the 
 vale of Grasmere — that ])eerless 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 Hying glini])se you had of it, a modern house 
 called AUanbank, standing under a low screen of woody rocks which 
 descend from the hill of Silver How, on the western side of the 
 lake. This house had been then recently built by a worthy merchant 
 of Liverpool ; but for some reason of no importance to you and 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 tlie three 
 mountains — F^airtield, Arthur's Chair, an<l Seat Sandal (the first of 
 them within about 400 feet of tlu; highest mountains in Great 
 Britain) — was then occupied by Mr. Coleridge as a study. On this 
 particular day, the sun having only just set, it naturally haj)pened 
 that Mr. Coleridge — whose nightly vigils were long — had not yet 
 come down to breakfast; meantime, and until the epoch of the Cole- 
 ridgian breakfast should arrive, his study was lawfully disposable to 
 profaner uses. Here, therefore, it was, that, opening the door hastily 
 in quest of a book, T found seated, and in earnest conversation, two 
 gentlemen : one of them my host, Mr. Wordsworth, at that time about 
 thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old; the other was a younger man 
 by good sixteen or seventeen years, in a sailor's dress, manifestly in 
 robust health, fervidus juventa, and wearing upon his countenance 
 
 * DisiiiierrcJ from th columns of the Edinburgh Lilerary Gazette.
 
 LIFE AT ELLEllAT. 83 
 
 a powerful expression of ardor and animated intelligence, mixed 
 Avith much good-nature. ^ Mr. 'WiUoix of Elleray' — .lelivered as 
 the formula of introduction, in the deep tones of Mr. Wijrdsworth — 
 at once banished the momentary surprise I felt on finding an un- 
 known stranger where I had expected nobody, and substituted a 
 surprise of another kind: I now well understood who it was that I 
 saw ; and there was no wonder in his being at AUanbank, Elleray 
 standing 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. . . . Figure to your- 
 self, then, a tall man, about six feet high, within half an inch or so, 
 built with tolerable apjicarance of strength ; but at the date of my 
 description (that is, in the very spring-tide and blossom of youth), 
 wearing, for the predominant character of his j)erson, lightness and 
 agility, or (in our Westmoreland phrase) lishness y he seemed framed 
 with an express view to gymnastic exercises of every sort. . . . 
 Viewed, therefore, by an eye learned in gynmastic proportions, Mr. 
 Wilson presented a somewhat striking figure ; and by some people 
 he was pronounced with emphasis a fine-looking young man ; but 
 others, who less understood, or less valued these advantages, spoke 
 of him as nothing extraordinary. Still greater division of voices I 
 have heard on his pretensions to be thought liandsome. In my 
 opinion, and most certainly in his own, these pretensions were but 
 slender. His complexion was too florid ; hair of a hue quite unsuited 
 to that complexion ; eyes not good, having no apparent depth, but 
 seeming mere surfaces ; and, in fine, no one feature that could be 
 called fine, except the lower region of his face, mouth, chin, and the 
 parts adjacent, which were then (and perhaps are now) truly elegant 
 and Ciceronian. Ask in one of your ])ublic libraries for that little 
 quarto edition of the Rhetorical Works of Cicero, edited by Shutz 
 (the same who edited ^Eschylus), and you will there see (as a front- 
 ispiece to the first volume), a reduced whole length of Cicero from 
 the antique ; which in the mouth and chin, and indeed generally, if 
 I do not greatly forget, will give you a lively representation of the 
 contour and expression of Professor Wilson's face. Taken as ;i 
 whole, though not handsome (as I have already said), when viewed 
 in a quiescent state, the head and countenance are massy, dignified, 
 and expressive of tranquil sagacity. . . . Note, however, that of all 
 this array of personal features, as I have here descinbed them, I then 
 4*
 
 8-1 MKMOIIi OF JOHN AVILSUN. 
 
 saw nothing at all, my attention being altogether occupied with Mr. 
 Wilson's conversation and demeanor, which were in the highest de- 
 gree agreeable ; the points which chiefly .struck me being the 
 liuniility and gravity with which he spoke of himself, his large ex- 
 pansion of heart, and a certain air of noble frankness which over- 
 sj^read every thing he said ; he seemed to have an intense enjoyment 
 of life; ind(;ed, being young, rich, healthy, and full of intellectual 
 activity, it could not be Aery wonderful tliat he should feel happy 
 and pleased with himself and others ; but it was somewhat unusual 
 to tiiid that so rare an assemblage of endowments had communicated 
 no tinge of arrogance to his manner, or at all disturbed the general 
 temperance of his mind." 
 
 Many Avere the pleasant days spent by these friends together; 
 many the joyous excursions among the hills and valleys of the lake 
 country. One memorable gathering is still remembered in the lone 
 places of the mountains, and spoken of to the stranger wandering 
 there. One lovely summer day, in the year 1809, the solitudes of 
 Eskdale were invaded by what seemed a little army of anglers. It 
 consisted of thirty-two persons, ten of whom were servants brought 
 to look after the tents and baggage necessary for a week's sojourn 
 in the mountains. This camp Avith its furniture Avas carried by 
 twelve ponies. Among the gentlemen of the party Avere Wilson, 
 Wordsworth, De Quincey, Alexander Blair, tAVO Messrs. Astley, 
 Plumphries, and some others Avhose names have escaped notice. 
 After passing through Eskdale, and that solenm tract of country 
 Avhich ojiens upon WastAvater, they there pitched their tent, and 
 roaming far and near from that point, each took his own Avay till 
 evening hours assembled them together. 
 
 The beauty of the scenes through Avhich they rambled, the fine 
 weather, and, above all, that geniality of taste and disposition Avhich 
 had brought them together, made the occasion one of unforgotten 
 satisfaction. It formed the theme of one of Wilson's most beautiful 
 minor poems, entitled the "Anglers' Tent," which Avas Avritten soon 
 after at Elleray, Avhere WordsAVorth Avas then living. One morning 
 a great discussion took place between the poets about a verse Wil- 
 son had some difficulty in arranging. At last, after mucli trying 
 and questioning, it Avas made out between them: — 
 
 " The placid lake that rested far l>elow, 
 Softly embosoiping another sky,
 
 LIFE AT JJLLKKAY. 85 
 
 Still as we gazed assumed a lovelier glow, 
 And seemed to send us looks of auiily." 
 
 The troublesome line was — 
 
 "Softlj' embosoming anotlior sky." 
 
 In a letter I received from Dr. Blair, he says : — *' ' The Friend ' 
 was going on at that time — Coleridge living at Wordsworth's — 
 Wordsworlii making, and reading to us as he made tlieni, the 'Son- 
 nets to the Tyrolese,' first given in 'The Friend ;' and from EUeray 
 that winter went ' Mathetes.'* I remember that De Quincey was 
 with us at the time. He may have given some suggestions besides, 
 but we certainly owed to him our signature." 
 
 Of my fatlier's poetic compositions during tliese years I shall 
 speak j)resently. I find in one of his commonplace-books some 
 unpublished verses, which may, however, be inserted here, if only 
 in illustration of what at this time was a frequent practice of 
 his, and continued to be indulged in for many years of his after 
 hfe, viz., the habit of walking in solitude during the hours of niglit. 
 In spite of his generally even flow of good si)irits, and his lively 
 enjoyment of social pleasures, it seemed as if in the depths of his 
 heart he craved some influence more soothing and elevating than 
 even the most congenial companionship could aftbrd. In these 
 silent hours, whether pacing among the hills, or resting in contem- 
 plation of the glories of the earth and sky, the solemnity of feeling 
 which was thus induced found natural expression in words of re- 
 ligious adoration. At the head of the lake stood the niansion of 
 Brathay, the property of Allan Harden, Escp There, on his way for 
 a midnight ramble, did he often gain admittance, and, for some 
 time, hold converse with his friend, before taking his solitary way 
 to the mountains, within the deep shadoAVS of which he would 
 wander for hours, engaged in what he appropriately calls 
 
 "MiDNiGUT Adoration. 
 
 " Beneath the fuU-orb'd moon, that bathed in liglit 
 The mollovv'd verdure of Ilclvellyn's steep, 
 My spirit tecnung with creations bright, 
 
 I walked like one who wanders in his sleep! 
 
 ♦ A letter on Education, tho .joint composition of Wilson and Blair, udilresscd to the editor of 
 " The Friend."
 
 ^^ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "The glittering stillness of the starry sky 
 Shone in luy heart as in the waveless sea; 
 And rising up in kindred majesty, 
 
 I felt my soul from earthly fetters free 1 
 
 "Joy filled my being like a gentle flood; 
 I felt as living without pulse or breath ; 
 Eternity seem'd o'er my heart to brood, 
 
 And, as a faded dream, I thought of death. 
 
 "Through the hush'd air awoke mysterious awe 
 God cheer'd my loneliness with holy mirth; 
 And in this blended mood I clearly saw 
 The moving spirit that pervades the earth. 
 
 " While adoration blessed my inward sense 
 I felt how beautiful this world could be, 
 When clothed with gleams of high intelligence 
 Born of the mountain's still sublimity. 
 
 " I sunk in silent worship on my knees, 
 
 While night's unnumber'd planets roll'd afar; 
 Blest moment for a contrite heart to seize — 
 Forgiving love shone forth in every star I 
 
 "The mighty moon my pensive soul subdued 
 With sorrow, tranquil as her cloudless ray, 
 Mellowing the transport of her loftiest mood 
 With conscious glimmerings of immortal day. 
 
 " I felt with pain that hfe's perturbed wave 
 
 Had dimni'd the blaze to sinless spirits given; 
 But saw with joy, reposing on the grave. 
 
 The seraph Hope that points the way to heaven. 
 
 " The waveless clouds that hung amid the hght, 
 By Mercy's hand with braided glory wove, 
 Seem'd, in their boundless mansions, to my sigh : 
 Like guardian spirits o'er the land they love. 
 
 " My heart lay pillowed on their wings of sno-n , 
 Drinking the calm that slept on every fold, 
 Till memory of the life she led below 
 Seem'd like a tragic tale to pity told. 
 
 When visions from the distant world arose — 
 How fair the gleams from memory's mystic urn; 
 
 How did my soul, 'mid Nature's blest repose, 
 To the suCt bo.soiu of aflec-tiou turn 1
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAY. 87 
 
 " Then siuless grew my hopes, my wishes pure, 
 Breeding a seraph loftiness of soul ; 
 Though free from pride, I felt of heaven secure 
 A step, a moment from the eternal goal I 
 
 " Those fearful doubts that strike the living blood. 
 
 Those dreams that sink the heart, we know not why, 
 Were changed to joy by this mysterious mood. 
 Sprung from the presence of Eternity. 
 
 "I saw, returning to its fount sublime. 
 
 The flood of being that from Nature flowed; 
 And then, displaying at the death of time 
 The essence and the lineaments of God I 
 
 "Thus pass'd the midnight hour, till from the wave 
 The orient sun flamed slowly up the sky; 
 Such a blest spirit found illumined gaze. 
 And seom'd to realize my vision high." 
 
 Another extract from the same book contains a touching record 
 of the associations connected with a summer day's ramble with 
 Wordsworth upon the slopes of Helvellyn. It appears to be an 
 outline in prose of what was meant to form the subject of a poem, 
 to be entitled Red Tarn, and is as follows: — 
 
 " Address to the reader about the reports he may have heard 
 about the beauty and sublimity of the lakes. 
 
 " He probably has resolved to go up to Helvellyn to admire the 
 sublimity of that mountain : this is right. Now beneath that 
 mountain there is a little tarn which you will see. I will tell you 
 something about that tarn. Two persons were sitting silent and 
 alone beside that tarn, looking steadfastly on the water, and lost in 
 thought. These were two brothers who dearly loved each other, 
 and had done so from earliest youth to manhood.* Tlie one Avas a 
 man of genius and a poet, who lived among these mount.iins enjoy- 
 ing his own thoughts. The other younger by a few years, and had 
 gone to sea, but had lately returned to see his brother, and resolved 
 to live with him. His brother accom])anipd him across the hills on 
 his way to join his ship for the last time, and here they sat, about 
 to part. They had talked over their future plans of happiness when 
 they were again to meet, and of their simple sports. As their last 
 
 * Wonlsworlh and a bi other who w;is afterwards drowned.
 
 88 MEMOIR OF JOHN ^VILSON. 
 
 act, tliey agreed to lay the foundation-stone of a little fisliing-but, 
 and tliis they did with tears. 
 
 '• Tlicy parted there, in that dim and solemn place, and recom- 
 mended each other to God's eternal care. 
 
 '* The one brother was drowned at sea. After the first agony 
 was over, the recollection of that parting flashed upon the mind of 
 the survivor; he at last found courage to go there, and in a state 
 of blindness and desolation sat down upon the very stone. At last 
 he opened his eyes, the tarn smiling with light ; the raven croaking 
 as before when they parted ; all the crags seem the same ; the sheep 
 are in the same figures browsing before them ; he almost expects 
 to find his brother at his side; he then thinks of shipwreck and 
 agony of all kinds. 
 
 " Next time he sits calmly and thinks upon it all ; he even now 
 loves the spot, and can talk of it. 
 
 " I one SAveet summer day went along with him and heard the 
 melancholy tale. 
 
 " Then, whoever goes to that sublime solitude, muse with holy 
 feelings, and with the wildness of nature join human sympathies." 
 
 But there were other pursuits besides poetry that formed a part 
 of my father's life at Elleray too prominent and characteristic to be 
 passed unnoticed. Of these his various commonplace-books contain 
 not a few memoranda, strangely intermixed with matters of a 
 graver or more sentimental kind. Among the other amusements 
 with which he diversified life in the country, boating was one of the 
 principal. As may be supposed, this was a favorite diversion in the 
 lake country, and Wilson's taste for it was cultivated with a zeal 
 that, in fact, became a passion. The result was a degree of skill 
 and hardihood beyond that of most amateurs. He had a small fleet 
 on Windermere, the expense of maintaining which was undoubtedly 
 very considerable.* Of the iu;merous boatmen required to man 
 these vessels there was one whose name became at Elleray familiar 
 as a household word — the faithful Billy Balmer. Billy Avas the 
 neatest and best rower on Windermere, and knew that beauteous 
 water from head to foot, in all her humors, from sunrise to night- 
 
 * Among the miscellaneous jottings, from which I have been extracting above, I find such 
 Items as the following: — " Endeavor, and mnsts and sails, £100; ballast, £I5-€175;" " Eliza, £30;" 
 "'Endeavor, £150;" " Palafox, £iO;"' "Jam-. £H0;" "additional Endeavor, £25;" " Cjyde, Billy, 
 Snail, £10." The names of his sailing ves.seis wero— The Endeavor, The Eliza, The Tjlafox, Tiio 
 lioscoe, The Clyde, The Jane, The Billy, besidns a flno ten-oared Oxford barge, called Nil Tinioo.
 
 LIFE AT ELLKRAY. 89 
 
 fall, and even later. There was not a more skilful boatman, or a 
 steadier steersman on the lake, and he was about the best juiltre of 
 a pretty craft and good sailing to be found. lie could sing :i sailor's 
 song, had an undeniable love of fun, imderstood humor, and felt the 
 dift'erence of Avit. No one knew how to tell a story better, and 
 with a due unction of excusable exaggeration combined with reality; 
 and in every tale of Billy his master Avas invariably the hero. He 
 was a little man, weather-beaten in complexion, and much marked 
 from smallpox. His hair was of a light sandy color ; his eyes blue 
 and kindly in expression, as was also his smile ; his gait, rather 
 doglike, not quite straight ahead, but, like that honest animal, he 
 was sure-footed, and quick in getting over the ground. That plea 
 sant broad Westmoreland dialect of his, too, gave peculiar charac- 
 ter to his voice ; and there is a grateful remembrance of the hearty 
 grasp of his little, hard, horny hand when it greeted welcome, or 
 bade adieu, while the whole picture of the man, in his blue dress, 
 sailor fashion, stands distinctly before me, either as he steered the 
 " Endeavor" or mowed the grass on the lawn at Elleray.* 
 
 One or two anecdotes still linger about the country, showing how 
 recklessly Wilson could expose himself at all hours to the chances 
 of the M^eather. Cold, snow, wind, and rain were no obstacles ; 
 nothing could repress the impulse that drove him forth to seek na- 
 ture in all her moods. During a stormy December night, when 
 the snow was falling fast, with little or no light in the heavens, he 
 took a ftmcy to tempt the waters of Windermere, and setting off 
 with the never-failing Billy, they took boat from INIiller-ground and 
 steered for Bowness. In a short time all knowledge of the point 
 to which they Avere bound was lost. The darkness became more 
 dismal every moment ; the cold was intolerable. Several hours 
 were spent in this dreary position, poor Billy in despair, expecting 
 every instant would find them at the bottom of the lake, when sud- 
 denly the skiff went aground. The oars were not long in being 
 made use of to discover the nature of their disaster, what and 
 where they had struck, when, to their great satisfaction, a landing- 
 
 ♦ "Seldom rose we" S5iid my father in after years, "from our delightful donnitory till, about 
 twelve o'clock, we heard thj; south breeze come pushini; up from the sea. Theu Billy used to tap 
 nt our door, with his t.arry paw, and wtiisper, 'Master. I'etrgs is ready. I have brailed up the fore- 
 Rail; uer ji^rger sits as straight as the Knave of Clubs, and we have ballasted with sand-bags. 
 VVe'se beat the Liverpooleaii to-iLiy, Master.' Then I rose." See also Wihons tt'orks.
 
 90 MKMUIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 place was foiuul. Tliey had been beating about Miller-ground all 
 the time, scarcely a stone's-throw from their starting place. Billy's 
 account of the stury was, "that Master was weli-nigh frozen to 
 death, and had icicles a finger-length hanging from his hair and 
 beard." This adventure ended in the toll-keeper on the Ambleside 
 road being knocked up from his slumbers, and their spending the 
 rest of the night with him, seated by a blazing fire, telling stories 
 and drinking ale, a temptation to which Billy had no difficulty in 
 yielding. 
 
 These lake escapades were not confined to boating. ^ Riding one 
 day with his friend, Mr. Richard "Watson, by the margin of Rydal 
 Lake, my f\\ther's horse became restive. Finding that no ordinary 
 process would soothe the animal, he turned his head to the lake, 
 with the intention of walking gently among the oozy reeds that 
 grew on its banks, when, quite forgetful or heedless that they sud- 
 denly sloped to the water, the horse and his rider were in a mo- 
 ment plunged beyond their depth. Having got into deep water«, 
 there was nothing for it but to swim through them ; and presently 
 lie became aware that his friend's horse, true to the lead, was fol- 
 lowing close behind. Fortunately the lake was not very broad, 
 and their passage across was soon made, though not without some 
 little feeling of apprehension ; for his friend Watson could not swim 
 a stroke. 
 
 This equestrian performance suggests a story of another kind of 
 diversion in which, according to Mr. De Quincey's account, my 
 father occasionally indulged at Eileray. It is best given in the 
 Opium Eater's own words: — "Represent to yourself the earliest 
 dawn of a fine summer's morning, time about half-past two o'clock. 
 A yountr man, anxious for an introduction to ]Mr. "Wilson, and as 
 yet i)reity nearly a stranger to the country, has taken up his abode 
 in Grasmere, and has strolled out at this early hour to that rocky 
 and moorish common (called the "White Moss) which overhangs 
 the Vale of Rydal, dividing it from Grasmere. Lookincr south- 
 wards in the direction of Rydal, suddenly he becomes aware of a 
 huge beast advancing at a long trot, with the heavy and thundering 
 tread of a hippopotamus, along the public road. The creature is 
 soon arrived within half a mile of his station ; and by the gray light 
 of morning is at length made out to be a bull apparently flying from 
 some unseen enemy in his rear. As yet, huwever, all is mystery;
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAY. 91 
 
 but suddenly tliree horsemen double a turn in the road, and come 
 flying into sight with the speed of a hurricane, manitestly in pursuit 
 of the fugitive bull: the bull labors to navigate his huge bulk to 
 the moor, which he reaches, and then pauses, panting, and blowing 
 out clouds of smoke from his nostrils, to look back from his station 
 amongst rocks and slippery crags upon his hunters. If he had con- 
 ceited that the rockiness of the ground had secured his repose, the 
 foolish bull is soon undeceived ; the horsemen, scarcely relaxing 
 their speed, chai'ge up the hill, and speedily gaining the rear of tho 
 bull, drive him at a gallop over the worst part of that ijn})racticable 
 ground down into the level ground below. xVt this ])oint of time 
 the stranger perceives, by the increasing light of the morning, that 
 the hunters are armed with immense spears fourteen feet long. 
 With these the bull is soon dislodged, and scouring down to the 
 plain below, he and the hunters at his tail take to the common at 
 the head of the lake, and all, in the madness of the chase, are soon 
 half ingulfed in the swamps of the morass. After plunging together 
 for ten or fifteen minutes, all su<ldenly regain the terra Jirma, and 
 the bull again makes for the rocks. Up to this moment there had 
 been the silence of ghosts ; and the stranger had doubted whether 
 the spectacle were not a pageant of aerial spectres, ghostly hunts- 
 men, ghostly lances, and a ghostly bull. But just at this crisis, a 
 voice (it was the voice of Mr. "Wilson) shouted aloud, 'Turn the 
 villain ; turn that villain ; or he will take to Cumberland.' The 
 young stranger did the service required of him ; the villain was 
 turned and fled southwards; the hunters, lance in rest, rushed after 
 him ; all bowed their thanks as they fled past ; the fleet cavalcade 
 again took the high road; they doidded the caj)e which shut them 
 out of sight ; and in a moment all had disappeared, and left the 
 quiet valley to its original silence, whilst the young stranger and 
 two grave Westmoreland ' statesmen' (who by this time had come 
 
 ^ uito sight upon some accident or other) stood wondering in silence, 
 
 ' and saying to themselves, perhaps, 
 
 ' Tho earth hath bubbles as tlio water hath ; 
 And these are of them 1' 
 
 " But they were no bubbles : the bull was a subst.-mtial bull ; and 
 took no harm at all from being turned out oecasio)ially at midnight 
 for a chase of fifteen or eighteen miles. The bull, wo doubt, used to
 
 92 MEMom OF JOHN wilson. 
 
 wondor at this nightly visitation ; and tlie owner of the hull must 
 sonietinies have pondered a little on tlie draggled state in which 
 the swamps Avould now and then leave his beast; but no other 
 harm cauie of it." * 
 
 His love of animals has already been noticed. f Next to his 
 boats, if not claiming an equal share of attention, came his gam 
 cocks ; these aftbrded a favorite pastime while he was at Oxford. 
 As other men keep their studs, and are careful of the pedigree and 
 training of their racers, so did Wilson watch with studious solici- 
 tude over the development and reputation of his game-birds. The 
 setting down of hens to hatch was registered as duly and gravely 
 as an astronomer notes the transit of the planets; the number of 
 eggs, tlie day of the month, and sometimes even the hour of the 
 day being carefully specified. | 
 
 In one of the MS. books contoining the principal portion of The 
 Isle of Palms^ I find many of these quaint entries in most eccen- 
 tric juxtaposition to notes of a very ditferent kuid.§ Along with 
 
 * Letter in Eilitthurgh Literary Giizette. 
 
 t Of this there are numberless indieations in his works. Birds were h 8 special favorites, but 
 he was a jjeneral lover of animals, beasts, birds, and insects. Even that, to uiosl people, un- 
 pleasant creature the spider, was interesting to him ; and the Koctes contain sundry references to 
 his observations on their habits "I love spiders," he says; "look at the lineal descendant of 
 Arachne; how beautifully she descends from the chair of Christopher North to the lower regions 
 of our earth." See Works, vol. i., 120 ; vol. ii., 148, 178, 280, 252, 2C2. Regarding his qualifications 
 es a naturalist, De Quincey writes: — " Perhaps you already know from your countryman Audubon, 
 that the Professor is himself a naturalist, and of original merit; in fact, worth a score of such 
 meagre bookish naturalists as are formed in museums and by seconil-hand actsof memorj-; having 
 (like Audubon) built much of his knowledge upon personal observation. Hence he has two 
 great advantages ; one, that his knowledge is accurate in a very unusu.al degree; and another, 
 that this knowledge, having grown up under the inspiration of a real interest and an unatl'ected 
 love for its objects — commencing, indeed, at an age when no aflfect;ition in matters of that nature 
 could exist — has settled upon those facts and circumstances which have a tr\ie philosophical 
 value: habits, predominant affections, the direction of instincts, and the compensatory jiroeesses 
 ■where these happen to be thwarted — on all such topics he is learned and full; whilst, on the 
 science of measurements and proportions, applied to dorsal fins and tail-feathers, and on the exact 
 arrangement of colors. &c. — that petty upholstery of nature, on which books are so tedious and 
 elaborate — not unconimonlj' he is negligent or forgetful." 
 
 X The following are some specimens from his meuioranda: 
 
 "Small Paisley hen set herself with no fewer th;ui nine eggs on Mond.iy, the 6th of .July. 
 Black Kdinburgh hen was set on Tuesday, the 23d of June, with twelve eggs — middle of the 
 day. Lar^'e Paisley hen w.-is set on Wednesday, the 24th of June, with twelve eggs — mi<lillo 
 of the day ; one egg laid the day after she was set Red pullet in Josie's barn was set with 
 nine eggs on Thursday, the 2d of July. Sister to the above, was set with five eggs same day. 
 but they had been sat upon a d.iy or two before. Small black muffled hen set herself with 
 about eight eggs on Monday night, or Tuesday morning, 7th July." 
 
 § Side by side with those beautiful lines beginning — 
 
 "Oh, Fairy Child ! what can I wish for thee? 
 Like a perennial flow'ret in.aj''st thou be, 
 That spends its life in beauty and in blisa;
 
 LIFE AT EI.LEKAY. 93 
 
 calculations of tlie number of lines to bo allotted to various pro- 
 posed poems, such as "St. Hubert," "The Mauso," "The Oceau 
 Queen," there are elaborate memoranda of the " broods proposed 
 for next spring." " The spangled cock," and " Lord Derby," the 
 black brass-winged cock, bred from Caradice with the Keswick 
 Gray," the " Red Liverpool hen," the " Paisley ben," large and 
 small, and many other distinguished fowls, take a prominent posi- 
 tion in these curious lists. The name of "Lord Derby," in partic- 
 ular, from its frequent occurrence, implies that that high-bred 
 animal, doubtless of the Knowsley stock, was one of the prime 
 favorites of the establishment. The phraseology and figures in 
 these memoranda are sonietimes altogether unintelligible to the 
 uninitiated. 
 
 Of the many fields of fame on which " Lord Derby," " Caradice," 
 and their fellows must have distinguished themselves, there is but 
 one brief record. It is given by one of a party present (James 
 Newby), who recollects "a main of cocks being fought in the 
 drawing-room at Elleray, before the flooring was laid down, and 
 its being covered with sods for this occasion. The rival competi- 
 tors were Mr. Wilson and Mr. Richard Watson. All the neigh- 
 boring farmers were invite<l, and, after the sport, entertained at a 
 genteel supper served from Mrs. UUock's. Wilson was the victor, 
 and Avon a handsome silver drinking-cui^, bearing an inscription, 
 with date, etc." 
 
 The solemnity of these proceedings illustrates the enthusiasm 
 with which this sport was cultivated in those days by such amateurs 
 as Wilson, who really believed that they were keeping up one of 
 the characteristic and time-honored institutions of the country.* 
 
 Soft on thoo fall the breath of time. 
 
 And still retain in heavenly clime 
 The bloom that charms in this" — 
 is ranged the following "List of Cocks for a main with W. and T." of which a specimen may 
 suffice : — 
 
 1. A heavy cock from Dobinson £5 8 
 
 2. " " from Keene 5 8 
 
 3. " " " 5 8 
 
 4. Piled cock, Oldflold 5 2 
 
 "Lord Derby" comes in as No. 13, £4 10s., and the total makes up 22 birds. Of these '-13 are 
 to be chosen for the main, and perhaps two byes. j. w." 
 
 ♦ Before passing from the subject, I may mention an amusing illustration of it showing that, at 
 a date considerably more recent than that of the above event, the rearing of game-cocks was zeal- 
 ously practised in Scotl;in(l by some worthy gciitlonu'n of the old school. One Sunday, in St. 
 Johirs Chapel, Edinburgh, an old gentleman, a friend of my father's, was sitting gravely iu his
 
 94 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Wrestling has always been the principal athletic exercise in the 
 north of England, particularly in Cumberland, where it is still prac- 
 tised perhaps more generally than in any other part of the kingdom. 
 "It is impossible," says the Professor, "to conceive the intense and 
 passionate interest taken by the whole northern population in this 
 most rural and muscular amusement. For weeks before the great 
 Carlisle annual contest nothing else is talked of on road, field, flood, 
 foot, or horseback ; we fear it is thought of even in church, which 
 we regret and condemn; and in every little comfortable 'public' 
 "within a circle of thirty miles' diameter, the home-brewed quivers 
 in the glasses on the oaken tables to knuckles smiting the board, in 
 corroboration of the claims to the championship of a Grahame, a 
 Cass, a Laugklen, Solid Yaik, a Wilson, or a Wightman. A polii i- 
 cal frienl of ours, a stanch fellow, in passing through the Lakes 
 last autumn, heard of nothing but the contest for the county, which 
 he had understood Avould lie between Lord Lowther (the sitting 
 member) and Mr. Brougham. But, to his sore perplexity, he heard 
 the names of new candidates, to him hitherto unknown ; and on 
 meeting us at that best of inns, ' White Lion,' Bowness, he told 
 us with a downcast and serious countenance that Lord Lowther 
 would be ousted, for that the struggle, as tar as he could learn, 
 would ultimately be between Thomas Ford of Egremont, and 
 Wil iani liii-hardson of Caldbeck, men of no landed property, and 
 probably radicals !"* 
 
 During my father's residence at Elleray, and long after he be- 
 came Professor, he steadily patronized this manly amusement, and 
 though, as the historian of the subject, Litt,f remarks, " he never 
 sported h.s tigure in the ring," he was not without skill and prac- 
 tice in the art, being, as an old wrestler declared, " a varra bad un 
 to lick," which one can readily believe. He gave prizes and belts 
 for the Ambleside competitions, such as had never been offered 
 before, and the historian above mentioned desciibes in glowing 
 terms how much the success of the ainiual sports in the neighbor- 
 hood was owing to his liberal encouragement. In some of his let- 
 scat, when n lady in the same pew moved np, wishing to speak to him. lie kept edging cautiunsly 
 
 away from lier. till at last, as she ciiue nearer, he h;istily muttered out: "Sic yuut, Misi , sit 
 
 yont ! Dinna yi- k.-n ma pouch is fu' o' gemm eggs !" 
 
 * Blaci-icood, December, 1823. 
 
 t Wrestliana ; or, an /Historical Aecount of Ancient and Modem Wrestling. By Williaa 
 Litt. 12iui). .\ l.ic. ii.ivrn.
 
 LIVK AT LLLEltAY. 95 
 
 ters iu after years, we shall meet witli allusions to this subject, 
 which he consideied not unworthy of a special article in Ulackicood. 
 Speaking of the beauty of the spectacle presented by the ring at 
 Carlisle, he thus amusingly parodied Wordsworth's lines on a 
 hedge-sparrow's nest, which, he says, by a slight alteration, " eggs 
 to men, and so forth, become a sensible enough exclamation in such 
 a case:" — 
 
 " See, two strong men are struggling there,* 
 Few visions have I seen more fair. 
 Or many prospects of delight 
 More pleasing than that simple sight." 
 
 These imperfect reminiscences of my father's out-door life at 
 Elleray may be apj^ropriately closed by an extract from a clever 
 little work recently published. f The author, Mr. Waugh, in his 
 wanderings in Westmoreland, encountered at Wastdale Head, in 
 the person of the innkeeper there, one of the most characteristic 
 specimens that could well be found of a genuine old Laker, William 
 Ritson. " I was most interested," says the writer, " in Ritson's anec- 
 dotes of famous men who visited Wastdale. He had wandered many 
 a day with Professor Wilson, Wordsworth, De Quincey, and others. 
 Ritson had been a famous wrestler in his youth, and had won many 
 a country belt in Cumberland. He once wrestled with Wilson, and 
 threw him twice out of three foils. But he owned the Professor 
 Avas ' a varra bad un to lick.' Wilson beat him at jumping. He 
 could jump twelve yards in three jumps, with a great stone in each 
 hand. Ritson could only manage eleven and three quaiters. ' T' 
 first time 'at Professor Wilson cam to Wastd'le Head,' said Ritson, 
 ' he hed a tent set up in a field, an' he gat it weel stock't wi' bread 
 an' beef, an' cheese, an' rum, an' ale, an' sic like. Then he gedder't 
 up my granfadder, an' Thomas Tyson, an' Isaac Fletcher, an' 
 Joseph Stable, an' aad Robert Grave, an' some mair, an' there Avas 
 gay deed amang em. Then, nowt would sarrn, bud he mun hev a 
 boat, an' they mun all hev a sail. Well, when they gat into t' 
 boat, he tell't un to be particklar careful, for he was liable to git 
 giddy in t' head, an' if yan ov his giddy fits sud chance to cum on, 
 he mud happen tummle into t' watter. Well that pleased 'em all 
 
 * In the original — 
 
 " See, five blue eggs are shining there." 
 t Ramhles in the Lake Cowniry. By Kdwin Waugh. 12uio. Lon(!(iM. Whittaker
 
 96 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 gaily Aveel, an' they said they'd tak varra girt care on him. Then 
 he leaned back an' called cot that they mun pull quicker. So they 
 did, and what does Wilson do then but topples ower eb'iu ov his 
 back i' t' watter with a splash. Then thei-e was a girt cry — " 'Eh, 
 Mr. Wilson's i' t' watter !" an yan click't, an' auudder click't, but 
 nean o' them could get hod on him, an' there was sic a scrowe as 
 nivver. At last, yan o' them gat him round t' neck as he popped 
 up at teal o' t' boat, an' Wilson taad him to kep a good hod, for 
 he mud happen slip liim agean. But what, it was nowt but yan 
 ov his bit o' pranks, he was snurkin' an' lauglun' all t' time. Wil- 
 son was a fine, gay, girt-hearted fellow, as Strang as a lion, an' as 
 lish as a trout, an' he hed sic antics as nivver man hed. What- 
 ivver ye sed tull him ye'd get yowr change back for it gaily soon. 
 . . . Aa remember, there was a " Murry Neet" at Wastd'le Head 
 that varra time, an' Wilson an' t' aad parson was there amang t' 
 rest. When they'd gotten a bit on, Wilson med a sang aboot t' 
 parson. He med it reight off o' t' stick end. He began wi' t' 
 parson first, then he gat to t' Pope, an' then he turned it to t' 
 devil, an' sic like, till he hed 'em fillin' off their cheers wi' fun 1' 
 parson was quite astonished, an' rayder vex't an' all, but at last he 
 burst oot laughin' wi' t' rest. He w'as like. Naabody could stand 
 it. . . . T' seam neet there was yan o' their wives cum to fetch 
 her husband beam, an' she was rayder ower Strang i' t' tung wi' 
 him afore t' heal comp'ny. Well, he took it all i' good pairt, but 
 as he went away he shouted oot t' aad minister, 'Od dang ye, par- 
 son, it wor ye at teed us two tegidder ! ... It Avas a' life an' mnrth 
 amang us, as lang as Professor Wilson was at Wastd'le Head.' " 
 
 In the same year that Wilson settled at Elleray, an agreeable 
 addition was made to the society of the neighborhood by tiie ar- 
 rival of a family of the name of Penny, who took up their abode 
 at G.ale House, Ambleside. The Misses Penny were the daughters 
 of a Liverpool merchant, and removed to Windermere for the sake 
 of its proximity to the residence of their eldest sister, who had 
 been married for some years to Mr. James Penny Machell, of Hol- 
 low Oak and Penny Bridge. Wilson soon became acquainted with 
 these ladies, and an intimacy gradually sprung up with the fair 
 inhabitants of Gale House, which by and by led to fretpient men- 
 tion of his name in the correspondence of Miss Jane Penny. 
 Writing in girlish confidence to a friend who has sent her a piece
 
 LIFE Al El.LEKAY, 07 
 
 of dress, slie informs her that " the jacket lias been much admired; 
 I wore it at a ball at Kendal, and there was only one like it in 
 the. room — that was worn by Lady Lonsdale; it will always remind 
 me of one of the pleasantest evenings I ever spent. I danced with 
 Mr. Wilson ; he is the only one of my partners worth mentioning." 
 
 It is not very difficult to perceive why it was one of the " plea- 
 santest evenings" ever spent. 
 
 A ball or party seldom took ))lace at Ambleside or elsewhere in 
 the neighborhood, at which Mr. Wilson and Miss Jane Penny were 
 not present. De Quincey, speaking of the gayeties at Low Brathay, 
 the residence of his friend Cliarles Lloyd, says that at one of the 
 social gatherings there he " saw Wilson in circumstances of ani- 
 mation, and buoyant with youthful spirits. . . . He, by the way, 
 was the best male dancer (not professional) I have ever seen. . . . 
 Here also danced the future wife of Professor Wilson, Miss Jane 
 P[enny], at that time the leading belle of the Lake country." 
 They were, undoubtedly, a couple of very imcommon personal at- 
 tractions. A spectator at a ball given in Liverpool in those days, 
 relates that when Mr. Wilson entered the room with Miss Penny 
 on his arm, the dancers stopped and cheered them, in mere ad- 
 miration of their appearance. 
 
 Another extract from a letter of Miss Penny gives some furtlier 
 mformation about Mr. Wilson. There had been a regatta at Win- 
 dermere : — 
 
 " It proved universally pleasant. I think I never enjoyed any 
 tiling more than I did that week. The day of the regatta we spent 
 the morning at Mr. Bolton's, Storr's Hall, and sailed upon the lake 
 the greater part of the day. We had the honor of being steered 
 by a real midshipman, a strikingly fine young man of the name of 
 Fairer. Mr. Wilson gave us a ball at the Inn in the evening. I 
 had the honor of opening it with him, and of course I spent a 
 chariiungly delightful evening. We are likely to have a most de- 
 lightful acquisition to our society this winter in Mrs. and ]\Iiss Wil- 
 son, mother and sister to our favorite. They are very nice people 
 indeed. I think Mrs. Wilson one of the finest and most ladylike 
 women I have seen for a long time. They mean to be at EUeray 
 all winter, which will make it very jileasant to us. I hope we shall 
 see a great deal of them. Mr. Wilson is fhrting with a pietty little 
 widow who lives in Kendal. She is generally admired by tht; male
 
 98 MEMOm OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 part of creation, Lut not by our sex. I think her appeannce is 
 very pretty, particularly her figure, but I think her deficient in 
 femiuine pi-opriety and modesty. Her husband has been dead some 
 years ; she was married at fourteen, and is still qiite a girl in ap- 
 pearance. I don't know whether ]Mr. Wilson's attentions to her 
 will end in a marriage, but I hope not, for his sake. I think he is 
 deserving a very superior woman." 
 
 There is a pretty touch of female character about this relation ; 
 the evident penchant for Mr. Wilson, the reserved manner of speak- 
 ing of him, the slight grudge, if so it may be called, against the 
 "little widow," the constant recurrence to his name, the interest 
 taken in those belonging to him, all declare very plainly how much 
 tendresse there lay in the wish, "he desei'ves a very superior 
 woman." And most truly did he obtain one. 
 
 The flirting with the " little widow" was but the amusement of 
 idle hours, and Wilson had now begun seriously to feel the want, 
 as he called it himself, of "an anchor," without which, he said, he 
 should " keep beating about the great sea of life to very little pur- 
 pose." A closer intimacy with Miss Jane Penny revealed qualities 
 more precious than those Avhich shine most in the light of ball- 
 rooms, and he found that " the belle of the lake district" was also 
 such a woman as was Avorthy of his whole heart's love, and wanted 
 no quality to fit her for giving happiness and dignity to his life. It 
 took some time, however, before his mind settled down to this con- 
 clusion. The image of Margaret still rose before him tenderly in 
 his solitary hours : he had as yet found no w^oman's heart in which 
 he could confide so utterly as he had done in hers. Among other 
 projects to divert his thoughts, he meditated an expediiion into 
 Spain along with Blair and De Quincey ; and in the course of the 
 year 1809, he and the former occupied themselves for some time 
 assiduously in the study of Spanish, in order to qualify themselves 
 for enjoying the journey. The intelligence of Bonaparte's fresh 
 descent upon that country caused the breaking oflE" alike of their 
 plan and their studies. 
 
 The following letter, addressed about this time to his friend Mr. 
 Harden, who was about to proceed to Edinburgh to edit the Calc- 
 donian Mercury^ gives some idea of the state of his mind an<l 
 prospects : — 
 
 * Mr. Allan .tlie proprietor, was Mr. Hiir<len"s f:ither-in-Iaw.
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAY. 99 
 
 "My dear Harden: — I received your interesting letter this 
 morning about an hour ago, and cannot delay answering it for a 
 single day, deeply concerned as I feel myself in e\ery thing that re- 
 gards your happiness. That you Jire to leave the clouds and moun- 
 tains of this our delightful land, gives me, as far as my selfish emo- 
 tions go, much real pain. I need not say how many happy days I 
 have passed at Brathay, aiul how affectionately I regard the family 
 living within its walls. Our friendship, which I fear not, in spite 
 of absence or distance, will continue with unabated sincerity, was 
 voluntary on both sides; and, during the few years we have known 
 each other, neither of us has found cause to repent of the affection 
 bestowed. That the determination you have formed is in all re- 
 spects right, I firmly believe, and the consciousness of having in 
 part sacrificed enjoyments so dear to you, for the sake of those you 
 tenderly love, will no doubt forever secure your happiness. 
 
 " After all, you will appear to me in the light of a distant neigh- 
 bor, and when you have leisure to come to your beloved and beau- 
 teous lakes, if the smoke of Elleray is on the air, you know Avhere 
 you and yours will experience an affectionate welcome. 
 
 "That you will find the paper a good concern there is no doubt; 
 and, at the same time, I cannot see that there will be any thing very 
 irksome in it. Living at this distance, and being no very vehement 
 admirer of daily politics, I fear it will not be often in my power to 
 give you effectual assistance. Any thing I can do Avill at all times 
 be cheerfully communicated. And, in the first place, a copy of the 
 paper will not be amiss. Please mark what are your lucubrations. 
 Of Oxford })olitics I neither know much nor care a great deal. Ox- 
 ford has long been sunk beneath the love or admiration of thought- 
 ful men, in spite of all her magnificence and all her learning. The 
 contest has ere now been decided, though I have not heard the re- 
 sult. If I find that any thing interesting can be said on the election 
 of the Chancellor,* I shall transmit it to you in a frank, and you 
 can either burn it or print it, as you think proper. 
 
 "On this subject, therefore, let me conclude with every warm 
 wish for your success ; and may your residence in Edinburgh afford 
 every enjoyment you can desire. 
 
 "As for myself, all my plans of delight and instruction, at least 
 on one great subject, are for the present abandoned. It would be 
 
 * Lord Oivu villi'.
 
 100 MEMOIR OF JunN WILSON. 
 
 tedious to enter into a detail of all unlucky causes which have occa- 
 sioned tliis. Such as they are, they could not in the present junc- 
 ture be avoided; and I have at least the satisfaction to know, lh:u 
 my plans failed not from any want of zeal or determination on my 
 part. 
 
 " I have not, however, by any means relinquished my scheme of 
 going to Spain, and whether we shall meet this summer or not 
 seems very doubtful. I agree with you that travelling will make 
 me, for some years at least, happier than any thing else. The 
 knowledge it bestows can be acquired by no other means, and, un- 
 less a man be married, it seems vei-y absurd to remain, during the 
 prime of his youth, in one little corner of the world, beautiful and 
 glorious as that corner may be. I do not, I hope, want either bal- 
 last or cargo or sail, but I do want an anchor most confoundedly, 
 and, without it, shall keep beating about the great sea of life to 
 very little purpose. Since I left Edinburgh, I have had a very dear 
 old friend staying with me, and we have studied to the wonder of 
 the three counties. AVe hnve made some progress in Spanish, 
 though not much, the perplexity attending our change of scheme 
 having occasioned some little interruption. I have written m:my 
 poems, some of considerable length, which I may some night or 
 other repeat to you over a social glass, or a twinkling fire. 
 
 "A little elegy I wrote on poor little Margaret Harden* last 
 spring, and which I promised to send to your mother, has been 
 lost. I shall, however, endeavor to recollect it the first time I can 
 vividly recall the melancholy event that gave rise to it. Let jt be 
 considered as the afiectionate sympathy of a friend. I am, you 
 know, the worst correspondent breathing ; yet to hear from you 
 often and minutely, as to your pleasures and occupations, will 
 always aiford me genuine satisfaction. 
 
 " While I write this, your paintings of Stavely and the Brathay 
 smile sweetly upon me, though all without doors is wihi and stormy, 
 it being the most comj)lele hurricane I ever saw at Elleray. The 
 windows of the i)arior have, during the night, been almost entirely 
 destroyed, and the floor is literally swimming. I cannot conclude 
 Avithout again observing what pleasure I shall have in hearing from 
 you, especially while you are just entering on such a new scheme 
 of life." 
 
 * A dnnshter of his frieud.
 
 LIFK AT IXLEKAY. KU 
 
 About the same time he took an excursion into Scotland. Be- 
 fore starting, he addressed De Quincey as follows : — 
 
 "My dear De Quincey: — I am obliged to leave this to-morrow 
 for Glasgow. I therefore trouble you with this note in case you 
 should think of coming over during my absence. I expect to re- 
 turn to Elleray in a few days, yet there is an uncertainty attending 
 every motion of mine, and possibly of yours also. If you are ready 
 for a start, I will go Avith you to-morrow on foot through Kentmere 
 and Ilawesdale to Penrith, and on Monday you can easily return by 
 Ulleswater to Grasmere. The fine weather may induce you.* If 
 you feel a wish to look at Glasgow and Edinburgh, would you take 
 a trip with me on the top of the coach ? I will pledge myself to 
 return with you within eight days. If so, or if you agree to the 
 first plan only, my pony or horse is with my servant who carries 
 this, and you can come here upon it. I hope you will do so. 
 There is no occasion for wardrobe. I take nothing with me, and 
 we can get a change of linen. The expense will be small to us. 
 
 " Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 "JouN Wilson. 
 
 " Elleray, Saturday, 1809." 
 
 Of this pedestrian excursion we have a glimpse in the biographi- 
 cal notice of his friend John Fiulay, with whom they spent a few 
 hours at Moffat.f 
 
 I now come to s})eak of his poetry, and I am fortunately enabled, 
 from the preservation of his letters to his frit'nd Mr. John Sinitli, 
 the Glasgow publisher, to give some account of his first publication, 
 for which the materials should otherwise have been wanting. The 
 first trace I find in MS. of poems afterwards published is in the year 
 1807. A small note-book contains a considerable nuiaber of son- 
 nets, composed in the autunni of that year, a selection from which 
 a])peared among the miscellaneous pieces appended to T/ie Isle of 
 JPcdms. His commonplace-books contain the whole of the latter 
 
 * The proposal to walk over so much ground proclaims De Quincey to have been no weak pe- 
 destrian. Altlioush he was a man considerably under hei-rht and slender of form, he was capable 
 of underiroing great fatigue, and look constant exercise. The very fact of his being a walking 
 companion of Wilson's speaks well for his strength, which was not unfrequently tA.^ed when 
 each a tryst was kept Perhaps, in later years, of the two men he preserved his activity oiore 
 entire. 
 
 t Blacbicood, vol. ii., p. ISS.
 
 102 MEMOIR OF JOHN AVILSON. 
 
 poem, parts of it apparently written down for ilie first time, and 
 other parts being final copies of the work as sent for revision to his 
 friend JJl.iir. The alterations in tlie first draught are more of entire 
 passages than of phrases. It is evident that he never composed 
 without first forming a clear conception of what he iutended to 
 embody in each particular poem. The prose otitlines of some pieces 
 in these books are sometimes so full as to require only their transla- 
 tion into verse to entitle them to the name of poems. Of this the 
 sketch entitled " Red Tarn," already given, may be taken as a 
 specimen. The contents of these books show, in fact, that ])oetry 
 was not a mere amusement with him, but a serious study, and that 
 he had in those days very extensive plans of composition, on which 
 he entered with an earnest desire to use well the gifts with which 
 he had been endowed.* 
 
 His first communication on the subject to Mr. Smith is from 
 Edinburgh, and is as follows : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, 53 Queen Street, 
 Wednesday Evening, December 13, 1810. 
 " Dear Sir : — I have, during the last three years, written a num- 
 ber of poems on various subjects, from which I intend to form a 
 selection for the press. The principal poem, entitled lite Isle of 
 JPalms^ which will give its name to the volume, is descriptive of sea 
 and island scenery, and contains a love-story. It is nearly 2,000 
 lines. The second is entitled "The Anglers' Tent." It contains 
 nearly f )rty stanzas of seventeen lines each, in the same measure as 
 Collins' Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlands. The third is a 
 blank-verse poem upon Oxford. The rest it is needless to paiticu- 
 larize. I can furnish as many poems as will make a volume of .350 
 or 400 pages. As you lun'e an opportunity of knowing the prob- 
 able merit of any works of mine from Finlay, Blair, and others, I 
 offer my poems in the first place to you. In a publication of such 
 
 * Dr. Blitir, in a letter, has expressed to me the following opinion: — "I have been always at 
 a loss to know why your father did not follow further his youthful impulsion towards verse. 
 I thought him endowed beyond all the youthful poets of his day, and in some powers beyond 
 any of his contemporaries. I believe he had more of absolute deep and glowinjr enthusiasm 
 than any of them. He might require a severe intellectual <liscipline and learned study to balance 
 that natural tire and energy for the composition of a great work. J5ut he had both will and 
 ability for severe thought, and he had the c^'ii)acity for searching and e.om[irehensive inquiry, 
 and such a wonderful iiower of storing materials and of managing them to his use, that I never 
 could, nor can I now, understand why, loving poetry as he did, he left it. He had a flood of 
 eloquence which not one of the other poets who have lived in his day had or has." This is thu 
 opiuion of the man most familiar with my father's miud.
 
 LIFE AT ELLEKAY. 103 
 
 magnitude, I feel my own charactei' deeply concerned, and will 
 therefore insert nothing that does not please myself. The volume 
 might in size resemble the octavo edition of the Lady of the Lake, 
 and sell for the same price. 
 
 "If you are willing to purchase from me the coi)yright of 4U0 
 pages, such as I have described, I am ready to listen to your terms. 
 I may, without presumption, say that at Oxford my name would 
 sell many copies, nor am I unknown either in Cambridge or London. 
 But you will judge for yourself I am not a man who would 
 thoughtlessly risk his reputation by a trivial or careless publication. 
 
 "I would prefer disposing entirely of the copyright to any other 
 plan, as I w'ish to be free from all trouble or anxiety about it. In 
 the case of a first publication I know that booksellers ought to be 
 cautious. But I am now past the days of boyhood, and I feel that 
 I shall come before the world, if not in the fulness of my strength, 
 at least with few youthful weaknesses. 
 
 "As I am uncertain of being soon in Glasgow, I shall expect an 
 answer to this as quickly as convenient to yourself Should we 
 agree about this volume, I have other works in contemplation that 
 I know will attract pubUc notice. I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 " John \yiLSON." 
 
 A few days subsequently he replied to Mr. Smith's proposals; part 
 of which was that the work should be printed by Ballantyne : — 
 
 " My dear Sir : — Your proposals seem perfectly reasonable and 
 honorable, and I have no objection to agree to them. I have to 
 mention, however, that it will be impossible for me to have my 
 poems ready for publication as soon as you wish. I was indeed 
 ignorant of the season of publication, and also imagined that the 
 printing would take much more time than I understand it will do. 
 
 " For a few months to come my time will not, I fear, be at my own 
 ' disposal ; for besides several important engagements, I have been 
 very unwell lately, and may perhaps be obliged to take a short voy- 
 age somewhere. Considering all these circumstances, it would 
 Keem that the publication of my poems must be deferred for a 
 considerable time. Perhaps, on tlie whole, this may be of ad\au- 
 tage. 
 
 "I cannot believe that a volume of that size could be printed in 
 less than four months from tlie commencement of [)rinting it. You
 
 lOi MEMOIR OF JOHN ^^^LSON. 
 
 will consider, therefore, of this hasty note, and arrange matters with 
 Ballantyne, etc., ete. I am, youi's truly, 
 
 " JoHx Wilson." 
 
 In April, 1811, he writes from EUeray. He is on the eve of being 
 married, and wants all the ready money he can get. He proposes, 
 therefore, to dispense with some of those standard works " which 
 no gentleman's lil>rary should be without," — Annual Registers, Par- 
 liamentary Histories, Statistical Accounts, best editions of various 
 Clansics in Russia, etc., etc. 
 
 "Elleray, Tuesday morning [April, 1811). 
 
 *' My dear Sir : — Since my arrival here I have been tolerably 
 busy, and have written several small poems that please me, and it is 
 to be hoped will produce the same etfect on several thousand of the 
 judicious part of the reading world. 
 
 " My second longest poem I have also given the last polish to, 
 and it now looks very imposingly. In a week or two, when the 
 spring has a little advanced, I shall emigrate to the 'Isle of Palms,' 
 and buUd myself a cottage there, both elegant and commodious, and 
 subject to no taxation. I have this day written to Blair about Fin- 
 lay, and expect to hear idl particulars from him. If any thing further 
 hao occurred about his afiairs in Glasgow, I should like to hear from 
 you. 
 
 " The principal object of my present letter is to speak to you about 
 some books I Avish to part Mith, being either tired of them or hav- 
 ing duplicates. 
 
 "The following is a list of some of the best. If they suit you, 
 jou will take them, or any part of them, at your own price, most 
 of them being books that you could sell easily. . . . 
 
 "Out of these, I think, you might find some that might suit you 
 well. I go to Liverpool to-morrow, to James Penny, Esq., Seel 
 street, where I should like to hear from you on receipt of this. You 
 might make something upon them, and I be enabled to take a little 
 longer mari-iage jaunt, in these hard times money being scarce. 
 
 "On my return, I shall send you some portion of my manuscript, 
 of which, if you make any use beyond yourself, I don't fear it wiil 
 be judicious. Remember that few are entitled to pass judgment on 
 poetry. I am, dear sir, yours very truly, Joiix Wilson. 
 
 " P. S. — Should you ever publish any edition of any poet, an*l 
 wish for preface, etc., you know where to apply."
 
 »L\JiKIAGE. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 vlARRIAGE. "the ISLE OF PALM S." 
 
 1811-1815. 
 
 On t) e 11 til of May, 1811, the following letter was written by 
 Wilson • o his friend Mr. Findlay : — 
 
 "Ambleside, May 11, ISII. 
 " Dearest Robert : — I was this morning married to Jane Penny, 
 and douDt not of receiving your blessing, which, from your broth- 
 erly heart, will delight me, and doubtless not be unheard by the 
 Almighty. She is in gentleness, innocence, sense, and feeling, sur- 
 passed by no woman, and has remained j)ure, as from her M.iker's 
 hands. Surely if I know myself I am not deficient in kindness and 
 gentleness of nature, and will to my dying hour love, honor, and 
 worship her. It is a mild and peaceful day, and my spirit feels 
 calm and blest. You know what it is to possess a beloved woman's 
 affections, and such possession now makes me return grateful thanks 
 to my God, and remember former afflictions with resignation and 
 gratitude. On this tranquil day of nature and delight, to think of 
 my earliest, best, oh! best-beloved friend, I may s:iy, adds a solemn 
 feeling to my dreams, and your most aifectionate heart will, I am 
 sure, be made glad to hear such words from my lips. In my heart 
 you will ever live among images of overpowering tenderness, and 
 to hear from you when convenient will ever gladden him who never 
 felt, thought, or uttered word to you but those of affection and 
 gratitude. God bless you, my dearest Robert, your wife, and all 
 that you love ! " I am your kindest brother, 
 
 " John "Wilson." 
 
 I don't know if any man ever conveyed the intimation of iiis 
 marriage in terms more unaffectedly beautiful than these. In their 
 quiet depth of natural affection that inner spirit is truly reveided, 
 which, amid all varieties of enei'gy and enjoyment, ever found its 
 most congenial Hie among the tender s;mctities of home, and con- 
 nected its highest delights with a genuine sense of religion. Thence-
 
 106 MEMO IK OF JOHN "VN'ILSOX. 
 
 fortb his life had a deeper purpose, and his home was a place of 
 pure sunshine, whatever clouds darkened the sky without. Of her 
 who made it so, it may be said, she was 
 
 "A blooming lady — a conspicuous flower ; 
 Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised ; 
 Whom he had sensibility to love, 
 Ambition to attempt, and skill to win;" 
 
 one in whose gentleness and goodness he found long years of 
 happiness. 
 
 His energies were not called forth by the mere humor of the 
 hour to 2)rove Avhat they were, but by the solemn realization of 
 the liigh purpose for which they were given. 
 
 He did not make the usual wedding tour, but took his biide 
 directly to his cottage home. The fascination of his new liie <lid 
 not, however, engross him to the exclusion of work, nuicli 
 temptation as there was to a blissful idleness in his lot. The vari- 
 ous expensive tastes he indulged, as well as his generous habits, 
 could not have been so constantly exercised, had he not been in the 
 enjoyment of a large fortune. Xo doubt he lived both at Oxford 
 and Elleray with the free munificence of one who luidersiocd the 
 charms of hospitality, and the satisfaction of bestowhig pleasure 
 upon others, but at neither period was he wastefid or careless of 
 money. At the time of his marriage, therefore, he was in easy 
 circumstances, and his wife's fortune, added to his own, made him 
 a rich man. There was no care fur the future ; worldly matters 
 Avere in a smiling condition ; every thing around the young couple 
 Avas coideitr de rose. Days passed away quickly ; nothing disturbed 
 the life of love and peace spent in that beautifid cottage home. 
 Time brought with it only increase of happiness. Children were 
 born ; and to live at Elleray forever was the design of the poet, 
 who loved to look upon 
 
 " The glorious sun 
 Tliat made "Winander one wide wave of gold, 
 When first in transport from the mountain-top 
 He hailed the heavenly vision." 
 
 Tliese halcyon days were ere long interrupted by misfortune. 
 But though that stern schooling was necessary to the full develop- 
 ment of Wilson's character and powers, he had already, as we have
 
 '"THE ISLE OB PALMS." 107 
 
 seen, determined to give the world some fruit of his meditative 
 liours during these apparently idle years at Elleray. 
 
 Three months after his marriage he again addressed Mr. Smith 
 on the subject of his poems : — 
 
 "Elleray, August 11, 1811. 
 
 " It is now so long since you have heard from me, that I dare say 
 you begin to entertain rational doubts of my existence. I am, how- 
 ever, alive and well ; better both in mind and body than when I 
 last saw you, and unless the damnation of my poems affect my 
 health and spirits, likely for a considerable time to be off the sick- 
 list. 
 
 " So many things have occurred, if not to occupy, at least to 
 interrupt my time since my marriage, Avhich took place on the 11th 
 of May, that I thought it best not to write you till I found myself 
 in some measure settled, and in a hopeful way of doing some good. 
 I have written a considerable number of poems of a smaller size 
 since ray marriage, so that were the first poems of the collection 
 finished, I thiidc I have MS. enough for a volume of 400 pages, 
 wliich I am desirous it should be. I know not how it is, but I 
 have felt a strange disinclination to work at the longest poem ; but 
 on receiving your answer, all minor occupations shall be laid aside, 
 and the work be proceeded with in good earnest. Indeed, such is 
 my waywardness of fancy, that I feel constantly impelled to write 
 each day on a dift'erent subject, which I shoidd be prevented from 
 doing were a day fixed for the commencement of the printing. 
 Suppose we say that on the 1st of October every thing shall be 
 ready for going to press ; and if so, you may depend upon it that 
 the press shall never be allowed to remain idle one day for want of 
 matter. It would be most satisfactory for me to retain the MS. of 
 my poems in my own hands, except such quantity as need be in the 
 printer's hands. Thus, I will send the longest poem by cantos, 
 there being four, and so on. I cannot in a letter sufticiently explain 
 my reasons for wishing this ; but unless you agree to it, it will be 
 very painful to me, and I am confident it will be for the interest of 
 the woi-k. With respect to preface, I am doubtful if I shall have 
 one ; if so, it will consist of a very few pages, two or three at the 
 most. I suppose the prefixce will be numbered separately from the 
 poems, and therefore may be printed after them, should I like it, 
 and in like manner the title-page, etc.
 
 lOS MEMOIR OF JOU^' WILSON. 
 
 " With respect to the size of the vohime, I am still partial to that 
 of 3Ian/i(on ; or, if you choose, a Httle smaller, only as many or 
 more lines 11. each page. A thinly printed book of that size looks 
 very badly. There will be verses of many ditfereut measures, 
 though none exceeding twelve syllables. I think that a rather 
 smaller type would look better, since the poems are miscellaneous. 
 But all these particulars I leave to yourself I shall expect to hear 
 from you as soon as you can decidedly tix matters with me, and I 
 hope that you will find me a tractable and reasonable author. The 
 sooner every thing is fixed the better, as otherwise I shail never set 
 to with invincible fury. If the printing can commence by the be- 
 ginning of October, the first book of the Icle of Palms will be sent 
 to you by the tenth of September. You should also advertise the 
 work in the literary notices of the Reviews, and immediately ; but 
 all this I will leave to yourself" 
 
 "Ellerat, Kexdal, September IT, 1811. 
 
 " Deak Smith : — I send you at last the first canto of the Isle of 
 Palms, ready for the press. 
 
 " I had expected Mr. Blair here to revise the poem, but he did 
 not come, so I had to send it to him, and he returned it only yes- 
 terday, without any alteration (though with many compliments), 
 and I had to fill up the blanks myself. The manuscript is in Mr. 
 Blair's handwriting, and is, I trust, legible. As to punctuation, 1 
 suppose the printer uses his discretion. 
 
 " I am going on correcting and writing, and certamly never will 
 keep the press waiting for me. The proofs will, of course, be sent 
 to me ; but I conceive that double proofs are altogether unnecessary. 
 
 •'Let it go to press immediately, and write me when you think 
 it right to inform me of your proceedings. 
 
 "This first canto will, I believe, occupy 32 pages at all events, as 
 there are nearly 600 lines. 
 
 "You will give strict injunctions to Ballantyne to let no one see 
 the ]jr()of-sheets. For the Isle of Palms is a wild tale, and must 
 not be judged of piecemeal. But there are many reasons for this. 
 
 "J. WiLSOX.-' 
 
 "Ellerat, Sept. 27 and 28, 1811. 
 "I am glad that you are pleased with the manuscript on the 
 whole. The introductory stanzas are perhaps not, at first reading.
 
 "the isle of I'ALMS." 109 
 
 and in manuscript, very perspicuous ; but tliey were written upon 
 principle, and will, I doubt not, give pleasure when the canto is 
 thought of togethei', and distinctly embraced in one whole. Blair 
 and Wordsworth were both delighted with them, and, as I shall 
 have a very short preface, I am not afraid of their seeming obscure. 
 At the same time, I shall be obliged to you for any remarks of the 
 kind, as, though I have written nothing without due thought, all 
 hints should be, and will be attended to, and gratefully received. 
 
 " I am in daily expectation of receiving the second canto from 
 lUair, written over in the same maimer, and think you may be ex- 
 pecting it on Thursday. Indeed, fear not of having regular and 
 sufficient supplies. 
 
 "The whole Isle of Palms is of a wild character, though, I trust, 
 sufficiently interspersed and vivitied with human feelings to interest 
 generally and deeply. Its wildness and romantic character, being 
 qualities that suffer greatly by piecemeal quotation, render me de- 
 sirous of its being seen entire or not at all ; but still this is not a 
 matter of much importance, as I fear nothhig when the poem comes 
 before the public. I know the public taste, and neither will violate 
 nor cringe to it, and, with its own merits, and the respectable way 
 in which it will be given to the world, I am fearless of its success. 
 I find that the Isle of Palms will be nearer 3,000 than 2,000 lines. 
 Of the other poems, I know there are many that will be more popu- 
 lar, and therefore I expect that, as the printing proceeds, you will 
 see reason to confide in those hopes of my success, which you have 
 already been good enough to entertain. 
 
 "On the whole, I tlunk Ballantyne ought to print the work, if 
 you can make good terms with him. ]^\\.K■ stockings are dir^y 
 things, but not very deleterious. 
 
 " Next letter, I expect to hear from you positively when you 
 begin printing, that I may never be from home, ar,d keep the devils 
 from getting cool. In ten days I shall have seut you the first three 
 cantos, containing above 2,000 lines, and then I am not afraid of my 
 heels being pressed upon, as correction will be my only task. 
 
 "All the booksellers in Oxford know me well. Indeed, I once 
 t:ilked to Parker about ])ublisir!i)g some poems there, but, though 
 he was most willing to undertake it, I after wai'ds changed my mind, 
 for the University is but a dullish spot, though undoubtedly many 
 copies will be sold there.
 
 110 MEMOIR OF JOHN ^VTLSON. 
 
 " The whole copy shall be sent in Bhiir's writing, or in a hand 
 still better ; and it" there are any directions necessary about correct- 
 ing the press, of which you think it probable I may be ignorant, 
 you will instruct me. I am still in hopes of Blair corning here 
 soon. 
 
 "Poor Grahame, I hear, is gone; let me hear some particulars; 
 ho was a truly estimable being." 
 
 The reference here is to the Rev. James Grahame, author of 
 "The Sabbath," and other poems. My father greatly esteemed 
 him and his poetry, and at this time composed an Elegy to his 
 memory,* which was published anonymously while the Isle of Palms 
 was going through the press. 
 
 Another letter is sent by and by along with the third canto of the 
 Isle of Palms, which had been kept some time by Mr. Blair. He 
 says : — " I expect you wUl like it fully more than any of the preced- 
 ing ; and Blair thinks it equal to any poetry of modern times. The 
 fourth canto I Mill send to him this day ; so Ballantyne will have it 
 in time, although I fear he has been stopped for want of this one, 
 which will never again be owing to me. 
 
 " I have had a long letter from John Ballantyne, most anxiously 
 requesting a share in the work, or any concern in it that I would 
 grant, so that his name should appear in the imprint. He wishes 
 to have 500 copies to [sell], but on what terms I do not very clearly 
 understand. 
 
 " I think that if he could be allowed some kind of share or con- 
 nection with it, it might be well, as he has, I suppose, good connec- 
 tions. I wish to hear from you immediately upon this subject, and 
 I cannot answer his letter till I know your wishes and views on it. 
 It augurs well, his anxiety. Should you wish to see his letter? 
 He says that Longman is now preparing his winter catalogue ; and 
 that insertion of the title there would double the Jirst demand. 
 This seems fudge, although same time it should be sent for inser- 
 tion in that catalogue, of which you probably know more than I 
 do. I have advertised the work in the Kendal paper, and shall in 
 one or two of the Liverpool. 
 
 " Let me hear from you if the paper has been sent to Ballantyne, 
 and if you think the work may be out by Christmas. Stir Ballan- 
 
 * "Lines sacrcil to the Memory of the Eev. James Grahame, author of 'The Sabb-ith,' Ac ' A 
 (uan .w was to all the country dear.' 4t«. Glasgow: Smith £ Son."
 
 "the isle of palms." Ill 
 
 tyne up with a long pole, and henceforth depend upon my being 
 punctual." 
 
 P^oni these and other letters, it will be seen that the poet was 
 by no means a careless man of business ; and that if he was pretty 
 confident of success, he did not neglect any means to secure it. 
 
 In his next letter he complains bitterly of the delay in the print- 
 ing, not having heard from Ballantyne for a month, and theu pro- 
 ceeds to give some practical suggestions regarding the lines on 
 Grahame : — 
 
 " The copies of the ' Lines, etc.,' came safely to hand. They are 
 exceedingly well printed and accurate in all respects. One copy I 
 gave to Lloyd ; the other to my wife's sister, both of whom were 
 greatly pleased. I find that it Avill be in my power to distribute a 
 few copies without suspicion ; and there is a bookseller in Kendal 
 Avho would, I think, dispose of half a dozen very easily. Send me, 
 therefore, per coach, a dozen copies ; six to my own account, and 
 six for the trade, which I will send to the bookseller in Kendal ; 
 and if he sells them, he will account to me for them. Let me hear 
 how they take ; now that Edinburgh is filling, perhaps some copies 
 will be going off". I would wish a copy to be sent to Mr. Alison, 
 and one to Mr. Morehead, the Episcopal clergyman in Edinburgh, 
 with ' from the author' on the title-page. Grahame was known 
 about Carlisle, and I should think some of the trade there would 
 take copies ; Durham also. Are there any inquiries made after the 
 author ? Is it attributed to any one ? You should tell a paragraph 
 to be extracted from it in each of the Edinburgh papers ; perhaps 
 the same two as in the Glasgow papers. Some copies would sell 
 in Oxford if seen there ; I should also think in Liverpool. A pas- 
 sage ought also to appear in the London Courier and in the Scots 
 Magazine ; and also very early in other magazines. It is perhaps 
 not worth all this trouble." 
 
 The elegy attracted considerable attention, and a second edition 
 was soon called for. His next letter is written in December : — 
 
 "I have had many letters from Edinburgh highly connnendino- 
 the ' Lines,' which I understand are considerable favorites there, 
 though I find I am strongly suspected in that cpiartei-. With respect 
 to giving my name, you may now use your own discretion." 
 
 At Christmas he Avas in Edinburgh at his mother's with his 
 vouug wife and her sisters. IIl- writes to Mr. Smith : —
 
 (12 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "The volume gets on tolerably. Page 250 has gone to press 
 this day. All the manuscript is in Ballantyne's hands. He thinks 
 the volume would not be the worse of being 450 pages. In that-i 
 case, would you wisli the lines on Grahame lo be included? Fev- 
 gusson, Cranstoun, and Glasstbrd think them better than any thing 
 Gi'ahame himself has written. The ^Eclectic is favorable enough, 
 but stupid enough too ! Who, in writing an elegy, would give a 
 critical dissertation on a poem ? The motto is a good one, and the 
 punctuation excellent, except in two cases, which do not destroy the 
 sense. 
 
 " Walter Scott talks to me in great terms of what he has seen of 
 the ' Isle.'* The elder Ballantyne is in raptures, and prophesies 
 great popularity. Considei*able expectations are formed here among 
 the blues of both sexes, and I am whirled into the vortex of fash- 
 'on liere in consequence. 
 
 " I shall say notliing to nny one of the dedication. Send Mr- 
 M'Latchie a copy of the 'Lines,' 'with the author's aifectionate re- 
 gard,' and one to Mr. Gill with my ' respectful compliments.' 
 
 " You ought certainly to come here before the publication, and 
 soon, to arrange every thing. I think we shall attract some attention." 
 
 A little glimpse of the life at 53 Queen street, and the pleasant 
 footing subsisting between the relatives gathered there, is afforded 
 in a note of young Mrs. Wilson's about this time to her sister. She 
 thanks " Peg" for her note, which, she says, " was sacred to myself. 
 It is not my custom, you may tell her, to show my letters to John." 
 She goes on to speak of Edinburgh society, dinners and evening 
 parties, and whom she most likes. The Kev. Mr. Morchead is 
 "a great favorite;" Mr. Jeffrey is a "horrid little man," but 
 " held in as liigh estimation here as the Bible." Mrs. Wilson, se- 
 nior, gives a ball, and 150 people are invited. "The girls are look- 
 ing forward to it with great delight. Mrs. Wilson is very nice 
 with them, and lets them ask anybody they like. There is not the 
 least restraint put upon them. John's poems will be sent from here 
 next week. The large size is a guinea, and the small one twelve 
 shillings," 
 
 * Sir Walter, writing to Mifs Jo.inna Baillio about this time, says: — "The author of the elegy 
 upon poor Grahame is John Wilson, a roung man of very considerable poetical powers. He is 
 now eneaged u[>on a poem called the ' Isle of Palms." something in the style of Southey. He is 
 an eccentric genius, and has fixed hims<?lf on the banks of Windermere, but occasionally resides 
 In Edinburgh, where he now is. He seems an excellent, warmhearted, and enthusiastic young 
 uiin' something tco much, p' ih:ips, of the latter quality, places him among the list of originals."
 
 "the isle of palms." 113 
 
 After sundry delays from want of paper or otlier causes, the vol- 
 ume duly appeared on the 20th of February, 1812, eniitled, The 
 Isle of Palms, and other Poems, by John Wilson. The potent 
 name of Longman, whose catalogue could work such wonders, 
 came first, followed by those of Ballantyne and Co., Edinburgh, 
 and John Smith and Son, Glasgow. It was affectionately dedi- 
 cated to the author's old teachers, Professors Jardine and Young. 
 IIow the work Avas received may be gathered from his own letters. 
 Poets are seldom entirely satisfied with the reception of their 
 works. The author of the Isle of Palms had no gi-eat reason to 
 complain, and he did not do so. At any rate, any dissatisfaction 
 he felt, as will be seen, took the very practical form of urging all 
 legitimate means for promoting the sale of the work. 
 
 TO MR. SMITH. 
 
 "53 Queen Street, 1st April, 1812. 
 A day consecrated to Poets. 
 
 " My long-delayed visit to Glasgow has been entirely put a stop 
 to by the miserable weather and other causes, till I find that it will 
 not be in my power to make it out at all for nearly two months to 
 come. Mrs. Wilson is in that ^tate now that I could not comfort- 
 ably leave her, and therefore it will not be in my power to see you 
 till the time I mention. 
 
 " From your last letter it would appear that the Isle of Palms 
 has hitherto been tolerably successful. In Edinburgh it is much 
 read, praised, etc., but I question if the sale of it has been very 
 great. A less enterprising set of men than Edinburgh booksellers 
 I never had the misfortune to meet with. 
 
 " From what you told me, I doubt not that Longman will adver- 
 tise it properly. I have certainly seen it occasionally in several 
 y»ai)ers, but not so often as many other volumes of far less moment 
 (poetical) ; und almost all the booksellers I have spoken to here 
 agree in stating, that the London advertising is very dull and insuf- 
 ficient. I mention this as I hear it, without supposing for an instant 
 that any thing Avill be wanting on your j)art to forward the sale of 
 the volume. It seems evident to mc that some steps should be 
 taken to make the volume known better than it is, and first of all 
 by inserting occasional extracts in newspapers. I shall take care 
 to do something in the Edinburgh and London papers. But what
 
 114 MKMUIK OF JOHN WILSOJSf. 
 
 is of more importance is the jivovincial sale in England. Consitl- 
 ci-al)lo inquiry was made after them in Liverjiool ; and had there 
 been copies there, many would have sold. And I think you should 
 still establish some correspondence with the booksellers there. 
 Two hundred of Crabbe's poems were sold in Liverpool. In Man- 
 chest tn-, many, many books are sold ; one shop of considerable 
 magnitude is kept by a Mr. Ford. But it seems certain to my mind 
 that you must bestir yourself through the towns of England, for 
 the people are so stupid as not to know where to send for them, 
 unless they come to the town Avhere they live. This I had proof 
 of from Liverpool in abundance. 
 
 "I havef sent Southey a copy. He will, I know, review it in the 
 Quarterly^ if he likes it, which I think probable; otherwise he will 
 not. Jeflrey likes it much ; but will very likely abuse it for all 
 that. I see it will be reviewed in the next Edinburgh Quarterly 
 Jieview, but I suppose it is a despicable effort ; its praise or blame 
 will be alike indifferent. 
 
 "I find that people distrust their OAvn judgment more than I had 
 ever believed possible, and durst not admire any thing till they can 
 quote authorities. I shall be happy to hear from you when at leisure. 
 Glasgow criticism is not worth regarding ; but I wish to hear from 
 you an exact account of the number of copies sold by you in Glas- 
 gow, etc., to the public, and also of the number which you have 
 altogether disposed of to the Edinburgh booksellers ; London and 
 Oxford, too, if you have heard any thing from those quarters. I 
 have as yet had no correspondence with England about it ; here I 
 am not a little caressed by the great, but I would excuse their 
 caresses, if the public would buy my volume. If the volume do 
 ultimately succeed, and nothing has yet occurred to make me sup- 
 pose that it will not, then I shall in a year or two come before it 
 again in strength ; but if not, I shall court the Muse no more. 
 
 "• Have any of my poems gone to Paisley or to the Sister lale ? 
 Give me the names of as many of the purchasers as you can. Have 
 you ever sent Watson his copies ? for they had not been seen at 
 Calgarth so late as last week, and I suppose the Kendal bookseller 
 sent his there. Have any been sent to Cambridge or Birmingham ? 
 two places, by the by, well joined together. The longer your let- 
 ter is the better, and by making a parcel of it, you may send the 
 letters of the Oxford booksellers, and anything else 3'ou desire, but
 
 THE ISIJ:: OF rAI-Mo. 
 
 115 
 
 taking care not to write till you have time to send me a full ami 
 long letter."* 
 
 In the next number of the J^dinhxirgh Ilevieio ajipeaved a criti- 
 cism of the Isle of Pulins, what publisliers would call a "favorable 
 notice," but, it would appear, not quite to the taste of the author. 
 He would probably have preferred a good "cutting up" to the 
 measured and somewhat patronizing ai)proval of the reviewer. On 
 the 3d of May, he writes to Mr. Smith: — 
 
 " I write this in great haste, it being near two o'clock on Sunday 
 morninGT, and at eight I leave Edinburgh on a fishin2: excursion to 
 Kelso for a week. 
 
 " Jeffrey's review is beggarly. I don't much like the extract ; it 
 is too much of an excerpt, too quackish ; but jilease yourself. The 
 other review is a niaster})iece of nonsense and folly." 
 
 Soon after he writes again from Elleray : — 
 
 " I am meditating many other poems, and probably shall begin to 
 write soon. I know that I can in a year write another volume that 
 Avill make the Isle liide its head. But unless the Isle travels the 
 Continent a little more before that time, I shall not throw pearls 
 before swine in a hurry." 
 
 " Elleray, Monday morning, 
 ''Nov. 2:5, 1812. 
 " Mt dear Smith : — The day after I received yovir last, I left 
 Elleray for Ireland, on a visit to my sister, who lives near Killarney. 
 I stayed there a month, and on my return have received the melan- 
 choly intelligence of my dear brother's death. f Since then I have 
 not had the power of thinking of my literary concerns. We often 
 know not how dearly we love our near relations, till called on to 
 
 * The anxiety and (lisa[ipointinent of the author as to the early sale of the volume does not 
 Bcem altogi'thi-r unreasonable, when we find that in Edinburfrh, where the chief demand was to 
 be looked for, " the trade" received the work so cautiously, as the followinf; "subscription list" 
 indicates : — " The Me of Palms, and other Poems. By John Wilson. Demy Svo, rctjiil at 128. ; 
 under 10, .Ss. 6d. ; above, Ss. A few copies Iloyal Svo at sub. John Ballantyne & Co., two liundred 
 copies, demy; Manners & Miller, twenty-flve; Archd. Constable «fc Co., twenty-five copies; Jno. 
 Anderson, twenty-flve eo|)ies; Wm. Blackwood, six copies." 
 
 The last item in the list looks specially curious now ; but at that time Mr. Blackwood's busi- 
 niss was in its infancy, and the future Christopher North was unknown te him. 
 
 About the same time Loniiman &. ('o. wrote to Mr. Smith, to report the London " subscrip- 
 tion:"' — "We received a copy of Wilson's Poems from Ballantynes, iiiid our clerk, who subscribes 
 oar books, took it round the trade yesterday and this mornins:; but as the author is not known 
 amongst the London booksellers, we are sorry to say we have been enabled to subscribe only be- 
 tween forty-five and fifty, thougli, from what you say of the merit of the work, and what w« 
 bear of it from other quai-ters, we have no doubt of its selling very well here when it is l.nown.* 
 
 t His brother Andrew.
 
 116 MEMOIR OF JOnX "WILSOX. 
 
 mourn over their graves. I know that I tenderly loved my dear 
 brother, but his death has aiieeted me more than I could have 
 imagined, and I yet feel as if I could never again be ha]>py or 
 cheeifiil enough to resume my former occupations. 
 
 " I leave every thing relating to my poems to your own judg- 
 ment. Kthey do not sell, my poetry never will; for though I m 
 write better, they are good enough for popularity — far better than 
 many that circulate widely — and they deserve to sell. 
 
 "Southey would have gladly reviewed them in the Quarterly^ 
 but found it impossible, without speaking at length of himself and 
 Wordsworth ; so he from conscience declined it. Blair I have heard 
 nothing of since I saw you, nor am I likely to hear. A book must 
 ulfciniately owe its circulation to itself, and not to the grace of 
 reviewers. Take such steps about a second edition as you choose. 
 I would advise, if there be one, no more than 750 copies. I will 
 add no new poems, nor preface, nor note. 
 
 " I would fain write you at greater length, but feel unable. Let 
 the beginning of my letter be my excuse." 
 
 The extent of his plans of composition at this time is indicated 
 by a "List of subjects for meditation," in one of his books, contain- 
 ing no less than 131 titles of proposed poems. In what spirit he 
 entered on his work, the following note, written in his commonplace- 
 book, may illustrate : — 
 
 '•'•June 12, 1812. — Expected that a volume will be completed 
 by June 12, 1814. May the Almighty enlighten my mind, so that I 
 may benefit my fellow-creatures, and discharge the duties of my 
 life.— J. W."* 
 
 The list of subjects begins on the opposite page, and the proposed 
 character of the strain in each case is indicated by such notes as 
 these : — 
 
 " Red Tarn — melancholy and mournful. 
 
 " The widow — beautiful and fanciful. 
 
 " A poet — characteristic and copious. 
 
 • It will not, I hope, diminish in any roailcrs eves the respect due to this solemn and surely 
 Dost heartfelt aspiration, that it is copied from a page, never meant for other eyes to see. be- 
 ginning with so diltVrent a kind of memorandunj as this — "Small black mufOed hen set herself 
 with about eight eggs on Monday night or Tuesday morning, Tth July." So far am I from being 
 offended by this curious contrast, that I specially note the fact as a characteristic illustration of 
 the wholeness and sincerity of the man, who, whether it were high poetic meditation or the 
 breeding of game-cocks that occupied him, did it with all his heart and strength, each in its 8ejis<ic
 
 THE ISLE OF PALMS. 
 
 117 
 
 "On tne death of Gougli among the hills — different view of it 
 from W. and Scott. 
 
 " City after a plague — awful and wild, solemn, 
 
 "Town and country — vigorous and bold. 
 
 " On the Gi-cL'k sculpture — in strong heroics. 
 
 " The murderer and the babe — a contrast ; the moral to be — to 
 watch well our own hearts against vice." 
 
 A calculation is then given for a volume of 500 pages out of a 
 selection of this large list, in which 170 are allotted to "St. Hu- 
 bert," and 50 each to "The Manse" and "The Ocean Queen," and 
 to the " City after a Plague" only 5. The proposed volume did 
 not appear till January, 1816, not from any lack of materials, but 
 in consequence of a change of plan, the " City after a Plague" hav- 
 ing developed into a drama, instead of St. Hubert, while of the 
 other subjects very few were ever wrought out, and some that 
 Avere have been withheld from posterity. Of subjects completed 
 and published, the titles of some will be recognized from the above 
 extract. It is perhaps to be regretted that so rich a promise did 
 not come to perfection ; but it Avas no sudden or fortuitous impulse 
 that made the poet choose to develop his poetical powers in another 
 form than that of verse. 
 
 So much meantime of poetry. Of the four happy years that were 
 passed in the cottage at Elleray, from 1811 to 1815, there is little 
 to be recorded. It would appear that in the former year he had 
 come to the resolution of joining the Scottish Bar, and, in that view, 
 became a member of the Speculative Society, then in a highly flour- 
 ishing condition. lie must of course have spent some part of the 
 succeeding winters in Edinburgh, but the only trace of the matter 
 I find is the following allusion in a letter from his friend Blair, dated 
 December, 1813 : — 
 
 " My dear John : — I desire very much to hear further from 
 you, and to know how your great soul accommodates itself to the 
 Law Class, and other judicial sufferings and degradations, and more 
 about your Greek and polite literature." 
 
 I find also, that he opened, on the 4th of January, 1814, the de- 
 bate in the Speculative Society — topic, "Has the War on the Con- 
 tinent been glorious to the Spanish nation ?" — iu the affirmative, 
 when the majority of tlie Society voted with hiui. He oidy wrote, 
 it appears, one Essay for that Society on "some political institutions
 
 118 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of military origin," of wliich tlierc are some traces in one of his MS. 
 books. 
 
 This hajipy life at Elleray was soon to come to a close. In the 
 fourth year from the date of his marriage, there came a calamity s<> 
 heavy and nnlooked for that tlie highest fortitude was required to 
 meet it, as it was met, bravely and cheerfully. 
 
 Tlie circrimstances which occun-ed to make it absolutely neces- 
 sary to leave Elleray wer-e of a most painful nature, inasmuch as 
 they not only deprived Wilson of his entire fortune, but in that 
 blow revealed the dishonesty of one closely allied to him by rela- 
 tionship, and in whom years of unshaken trust had been reposed. 
 An uncle had acted the ])art of "unjust steward," and, by his 
 treachery, overwhelmed his nephew in irretrievable loss. A sud- 
 den fall from affluence to poverty is not a trial easily borne, espe- 
 cially when it comes through the fault of others ; but Wilson's na- 
 ture was too strong and noble to bow beneath the blow. On the 
 contrary, with a virtue rarely exemplified, he silently submitted to 
 the calamity, and generously assisted in contributing to the support 
 of his relative, who, in the ruin of others, had also ruined himself. 
 Here was a practical illustration of moral philosophy, more elo- 
 quent, I think, than even the Professor's own lectures, when he 
 came to teach what he had practised. In such a noble spirit, and 
 with a conscience void of offence, he prepared to quit the beautiful 
 home where he had hoped to pass his days, and set his face firmly 
 to meet the new conditions of life which his lot imposed. The fol- 
 lowing letter to De Quincey describes his journey from Elleray 
 with his Avife and infant family : — 
 
 " Pexritu, Crown Inx, 
 " Friday Evening, half-past Six, 1815. 
 
 " jMy dear Friend : — I found that it was impossible to see you 
 again at your cottage before taking leave of Elleray. The tem- 
 pestuous weather prevented me from going to Kendal on the day I 
 had fixed, so I was forced to go on Thursday, a cold, rainy, and 
 stormy day. Had I returned in the afternoon, I certainly would 
 have cantered over to Grasmere for a parting grasp of cordiality 
 and kindness ; but I did not return to Elleray till near eleven 
 o'clock. We rose this morning at six, and got under weigh at 
 eight. We arrived here about five, and the children being fatigued, 
 we propose to lie to durhig the night. The post-boy being about
 
 LIFE IN EULNIJUKGII. 119 
 
 to return to Ambleside, I gave Keir this note, which lias no other 
 object than to kindly wish you all peace, and such happiness as you 
 deserve till we meet again. If I cannot pay you a visit at Christ- 
 mas, we shall surely meet early in summer. I will write you from 
 Edinburgh soon. 
 
 " Blair left EUeray on an opposite tack this morning ; weather 
 hazy with heavy squalls from the northwest. Mrs, Wilson begs to 
 be kindly remembered to you, and so would doubtless the progeny 
 were they of maturer age and awake. Yours with true affection, 
 
 "John Wilson. 
 
 " My books had not been sent to Elleray from the 'stamp mas- 
 ter's' * when I took my departure. If they still linger with fond, 
 reluctant, amorous affection near Green's rotundities, perhaps you 
 might wish to see those about Spain. If so, order them all to your 
 cottage. The dinner in honor of Blucher and the Crown Prince at 
 Ambleside, was, I understood, attended only by the Parson, the 
 Apothecary, the Limner ; — the King, Lord North, and Mr. Fury, 
 signifying nothing. 
 
 " Vale ! iterumque, vale !" 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 LIFE IN EDINBURGH. TUE BAR. THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 ELLERAY. 
 
 1815-1817. 
 
 John Wilson's new home was now in Edinburgh. His mother 
 received him and his ftimily into her house, where he resided 
 until the year 1819. Mrs. Wilson, senior, was a lady whose skill in 
 domestic management was the admiration and wonder of all zealous 
 housekeepers. Under one roof she accommodated three distinct 
 families ; and, besides the generosity exercised towards her own, 
 she was hospitable to all, while her charities and goodness to the 
 poor were unceasing. This lady was so well known and so much 
 esteemed in Edinburgh, that Avhen she died, it was, as it were, the 
 
 * Wordsworth.
 
 120 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 extinction of a "bright particular star;" nor can any one who ever 
 so \v her, altogether forget the cflect of her presence. She belonged to 
 that old school of Scottish ladies whose refinement and intellect never 
 interfered with duties the most humble. In a large household, where 
 the fashion of the day neither sought nor suggested a retinue of 
 attendants, many little domestic offices were performed by the lady 
 of the house herself. The tea china, for example, Avas washed, both 
 after breakjf^ist and tea, and carefully put away by her own delicate 
 hands. INLirkets were made early in the morning. Many a time 
 has the stately figure of Mrs. Wilson, in her elegantly fitting black 
 satin dress, been seen to pass to and from the old market-place, Ed- 
 inburgh, followed by some favorite " caddie,"* bearing the Avell- 
 chosen meats and vegetables, that no skill but her own was ever 
 permitted to select. Shrewd sense, wise economy, and well-ordered 
 benevolence marked all her actions. Beautiful and dignified in 
 presence, she at once inspired a feeling of respect. Pious and good, 
 she at the same time knew and understood the Avorld ; and false 
 sentiment, or affectation of any sort, was not permitted to live near 
 her ; wit and humor she did not lack ; but it is doubtful whether 
 poetry was a material of her nature in any shape. Proud as she was 
 of her son John, and great as his devotion was to her, he used always 
 to say that his mother did not understand him. Sometimes, it is no 
 great wonder if his eccentricity might have been a little too much 
 for her order and regularity. Ii is very doubtful if any lady of the 
 present regime could so wisely and peacefully rule the afl:airs of a 
 household as did this lady,t when, for several years, she had under 
 her roof two married sons, with their wives, children, and servants, 
 along with her own immediate household, a son and two daughters, 
 yet unmarried, making in all a fomily of fourteen persons. Yet 
 peace and harmony reigned supreme; and there are now not a few 
 of her grandchildren who remember this fine old lady, either as she 
 moved through the active duties of her house, or, seated at the fire- 
 side on a chair, the back of which she never touched, dignified in 
 bearing as a queen, took a short nap, awaking with a kindly smile 
 
 • street porter. 
 
 + Mrs. Wilson, senior, was a keen Tory; and it is told of her that on hearing of her son con 
 tributing to the Edinburgh lierieic. she sjiid to him significantly, "John, if yoii turn Whig, this 
 house is no longer big enough for us both." She must have been well pleased with the principles 
 of her daughter-in-law, who, writing after the Kefonn Bill passed, " thanked God she was born in 
 the reign of the Georges.''
 
 LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 121 
 
 at the sound of some young voice demanding a story, m the tolling 
 of which, like all good grandams, she excelled. 
 
 So, to the pleai?ant house of his mother, Xo. 53 Queen street, 
 Wilson changed his abode from dear sycamore-sheltered Ellcray. 
 
 In 1815 he was called to the bar, along with his friend Patrick 
 Robertson.* John Gibson Lockhart joined them in the year follow- 
 ing. For a short time, but only for a short time, Wilson followed 
 the usual routine of a professional promenading in the "//a^^ o/" 
 Lost Stejys.^'' He did sometimes get cases, but wlien he found them 
 lying on his table, he said jocularly, when speaking of this after- 
 wards, "I did not know what the devil to do Avith them!" The 
 Parliament-House life was plainly not the thing which nature meant 
 for him. The restrictions of that arena would not suit his Pegasus, 
 so he freed his wings and took another course. 
 
 There are some pleasant fragments of his letters to his wife, writ- 
 ten in holiday time, when he would now and then run away for a 
 day or two to saunter, fishing-rod in hand, by the streams of pretty 
 pastoral Peebles, and into Yarrow to visit the Ettrick Shepherd. 
 
 He writes from the " Head of the Yarrow," on " Wednesday morn- 
 ing, seven o'clock," in June, 1815 : — 
 
 " My dearest Jane: — I take time by the forelock merely to inform 
 you that I am still a sentient being. On Sunday, I did not leave 
 Sym's till near twelve o'clock. I called, on my way to Peebles, at 
 Finlay's, at Glencorse, where I sandwiched for an hour, and arrived 
 at Peebles about seven o'clock, a perfect lamete)\ my shoes having 
 peeled my timbers. The walk was rather dreary. At Peebles I 
 had to stop, and remained there all night. On Monday morning, at 
 six o'clock (miraculous!) I uprose from the couch of slumber, and 
 walked along the Tweed to Traquair Kuowe (Mr. Laidlaw's). There 
 I fished, and stayed all Monday, the place being very beautiful. 
 Grieve joined the party that night, and several other people. Mr. 
 Laidlaw is married, an insectologist and poet, and farmer and agri- 
 culturist. On Tuesday morning I walked to Hogg's, a distance of 
 about eight miles, fishing as I went, and surprised him in his cottage 
 bottling whiskey. He is well, and dressed pastorally. His house is 
 not habitable, but the situation is good, and may become very pretty. 
 
 * Among theyounn: men, afterward? distinguishp<l, who passed about the same time, were John 
 Cay, Andrew UutherfunL P. F. Ty tier, Sir VViiliain Ilainiltou, Thomas Maitlaud, Alexander Pringlc, 
 Arehibald Alison, Duncan M'Neill, ,I;inies Ivory, &c.
 
 122 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 There being no beds in his domicile, we last niuht came here, a 
 f:irmer's house about a quarter of a mile from him, where I have 
 been treated most kindly and hospitably. The house and entertain- 
 ment something d la Wastdale, but much superior. I have risen at 
 seven o'clock, and am preparing to take a complete day's fishing 
 among the streams near St. Mary's Loch. 
 
 " To-morrow night I fish down to Selkirk, to catch the coach to 
 Hawick in the evening ; thence on Friday morning to Richmond's, 
 whom I will leave on Sunday evening. So if I can get a seat in the 
 coach on Sunday night at Hawick, you will see me in Edinburgh on 
 Monday morning before breakfast. Mrs. Scott informs me breakfast 
 is ready, so hoping that you will be grateful for this letter, b;dd as 
 it is, I have the honor to subsci"ibe myself your obedient and dutiful 
 husband, " John Wilson." 
 
 On one of these fishing excursions he had proceeded from St. 
 Mary's Loch to Peebles, where he could not at first get admittance 
 to the inn, as it was fully occupied by a party of country gentlemen, 
 met together on some county business ; on sending in his name, 
 however, he was immediately asked to join them at dinner. It is 
 needless to say that under his spell the fun grew fast and furious. 
 No one thought of moving. Supper was proposed, and as nothing 
 eatable was to be had in the house, Wilson asked the company if 
 they liked trouts, and forthwith produced the result of his day's 
 amusement from basket, bag, and pocket, in such numbers that the 
 table Avas soon literally covered. As the Shepherd afterwai-ds saici, 
 " Your creel was fu' — your shooting-bag fu' — your jacket-pouches 
 fu' — the pouches o' your verra breeks fu' — half-a-dozen wee ancs in 
 your waistcoat, no to forget them in the crown o' your hat, and last 
 o' a', when there was nae place to stow awa' ony mair, a willow-wand 
 drawn through the gills o' some great big anes." 
 
 The fresh fragrance of summer, as enjoyed by the running sti-oams 
 and " dowie dens o' Yarrow," combined with the desire to show 
 his English wife something of the beauty of Scotland, suggested 
 about this time an excursion, which was regarded by many as an act 
 of insanity. 
 
 About the beginning of July my father and mother set out iVoni 
 Edinburgh on a pedestrian tour through the Western Highlands. 
 That such a feat sb'^uM be performed by a delicate young English-
 
 THE JIIGIILANDS. 123 
 
 woman was sufficiently astonishing. A little of the smgularity, no 
 (■oubt, arose from the fict, that she was the wife of an eccentric 
 joiiiig poet, the strangeness of whose actions would be duly exag- 
 gerated. Sucli a pioposal, therefore, could not be made without 
 exciting wonder and t dk in the demure circles of Edinburgh society. 
 Mrs. Grant of Laggan thus writes upon the subject to a friend : — 
 
 "The oddest thing that I have known for some time is John Wil- 
 son's intended tuur to the Highlands with his wife. This gentle 
 and elegant Englisliwoman is to walk with her mate, who carries 
 her wardrobe and his own, 
 
 ' Thorough flood and tliorough mire, 
 Over bush, over brier;' 
 
 that is, through all the bypaths in the Central Highlands, whei e 
 they propose to sleep in such cottages as English eyes never saw 
 before. I shall be charmed to see them come back alive ; and in the 
 mean time it has cost me not a little pains to explain, in my epistles 
 to my less romantic friends in their track, that they are genuine gen- 
 tle folks in masquerade. How cruel any authority would be thought, 
 that should assign such penance to the wearers of purple and tine 
 linen, as these have volunteered." 
 
 A few facts relative to this romantic walk are not, after a la])so 
 of so many years, lost sight of by those who remember meeting 
 the travellers, and entertaining them kindly. Scotland was dear to 
 Wilson's heart, as was the fair sisterland he was so loath to leave. 
 Who has ever written such words about Highland scenery as he 
 has done? Well he knew all those mist-laden glens in the far west ; 
 and the glorious shadows of the great mountains, beneath whose 
 shelter he and his wife would rest after a long day's walk. In this 
 tour they visited the Trosachs, Loch Katrine, and the smaller lochs 
 in that neighborhood, taking such divisions of the Western High- 
 lands as suited their fancy. They did not " chalk out a route," or 
 act as if " they had sworn a soleum oath to follow it." P^'rom Loch 
 Lomond westward to Liverary, and thence northward by Loch 
 Awe and Glen Etive, they wandered on — halting when we-iried, 
 either for a niglit, or a day or two, and always well received, 
 strangers though they were ; making friends too, in far-off j)laces. 
 Through the wild rampant cliffs and mountains, Avhich lend so awful 
 a grandeur to Glencoe, they proceeded to Ballachulish, billeting 
 th(!mselves upon the hospitable household of Mr. Stewart, where
 
 124- MEMOIR OF JOHN AnLSON. 
 
 they received such kindness as made the remembrance of that family 
 a bright spot in the wanderings of memoiy many years after, and 
 meetings wiili its different members always agreeable. The dis- 
 trict of country, however, which seemed to have the greatest 
 charm, and where they lingered longest, was that between luverary 
 and Dalmally. Loch Awe with its wooded shores, noble bays, 
 beautiful islands, and unsurpassed mountain range, topped by the 
 magniJieent crest of Ben Cruachan, whose mighty base, wood- 
 skirted, sends its verdure-clad bounds gently to the margin of the 
 deep waters — was an object too attractive for such lovers of nature 
 soon to part from. Again and again they retraced their steps to 
 this enchanting scene. 
 
 In this neighborhood they found a resting-place for a time in 
 Glenorchy, at the schoolmaster's house. Dr. Smith, the present 
 clergyman of Inverary, remembers, when a youth, seeing this de- 
 voted pair travelling on foot in these parts ; Wilson l.ulen with 
 their travelling gear, and his gentle wife carrying in her hand the 
 lighter portion of it. lie says : " I remember well the feelings of 
 wonder and admiration with which I regarded his manliness and 
 her meekness ; and whether it be that the thoughts of youth are 
 apt to become indelible impressions, or that what awakened them 
 was a reality in this case, as I am inclined to believe ; the thoughts 
 and feelings of youth still remain, so that over and high above all 
 he wrote, I see the man, the earnest, genei'ous man, who th©ugh 
 singularly tolerant to others, cared not to measure any odds against 
 his own consciousness of power. It was on this first visit in 181r^ 
 that some of those incidents occurred which are not easily forgot- 
 ten, in a country Avhere the acts of a stranger are narrowly noticed, 
 though kindly interpreted. He and Mrs. Wilson, on their way to 
 Glenorchy, passed a little thatched cottage close by the falls of the 
 Aray. The s])Ot was beautiful ; the weather had bo^n wet, and the 
 river rushed along its rocky bed with a fulness that was promising 
 to the angler. It was too attractive to be passed, so they lingered, 
 stopped, and waited for ten days or a fortnight, taking up their 
 quarters at the cottage, and living on the easiest terms with its 
 inmates. 
 
 " It is yet told, how on a Sabbath morning the daughter who 
 served came into the room — the only one — where Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wilson slept ; and after adjusting her dress at the little mirror
 
 THE TIIGIILANDS, 125 
 
 hanging by a niiil on the unmoitared wall, she was unable to hook 
 her gown behind, but went at once to the side of the bed, from 
 which they had not yet risen, saying, ' Do help me to hook my 
 gown.' Mr. Wilson sat up in bud, and served iier with the utmost 
 good-nature. In Glenorchy, his time was much occupied by fish- 
 ing, and distance was not considered an obstacle. lie started one 
 morning at an early hour to' fish in a loch which at that time 
 abounded in trout, in the Braes of Glenorchy, called Loch Toila. 
 Its nearest point was thirteen miles distant from his lodgings at 
 the schoolhouse. On reaching it, and unscrewing the butt end of 
 his fishing-rod to get the top, he foimd he had it not. Nothing 
 daunted, he walked back, breakfasted, got his fishing-rod, made all 
 complete, and oft' again to Loch Toila. lie could not resist fishing 
 on the river when a pool looked invitingly, but he went always on- 
 wards, reached the loch a second time, fished round it, and found 
 that the long summer day had come to an end. He set oft' lor his 
 home again with his fishing-basket full, and confessing somewhat 
 to Weariness. Passing near a farm house whose inmates he knew 
 (for he had formed acquaintance with all), he went to get some 
 Ibod. They Avere in bed, for it was eleven o'clock at night, and 
 after rousing them, the hostess hastened to suj)ply him ; but he re- 
 quested her to get him some whiskey and milk. She came with a 
 bottle-full, and a can of milk with a tumbler. Instead of a tum- 
 bler, he requested a bowl, and poured the half of tiie whiskey in, 
 along with half the milk. He drank the mixture at a draught, and 
 while his kind hostess was looking on with amazement, he pourc<l 
 the remainder of the whiskey and milk into the bowl, and drank 
 that also. He then proceeded homeward, purforniing a journey of 
 not less than seventy miles.* 
 
 " On leaving the Glenorchy schoolhouse, they Avent to Glen 
 Etive. On their way along the banks of Loch Etive, and near the 
 mouth of the river Conglas, they came to a shepherd's house, where 
 they intended to wait for a few days to fish. The shepherd Avas 
 servant to Mr. Campbell of Achlian. Wilson had a note to him 
 from his master. The morning had been fine, but, as often happens 
 in this climate, it had become very Avet toAvards evening. ^:s the 
 pedestrians reached the cottage drenched, on knocking at the door, 
 
 * Tbis adventure Is tuld, with a slight varLitiun, by the Professor himself in his " Angliiuanio. 
 — Wilnon'-'i WorKs.
 
 126 MEMOIR OF JOUN WILSOX. 
 
 the shepherd's wife thought not well of them, perhaps startled by 
 the height and breadth of the shoulders of him who stood at the 
 door, for her husband was a little man. She said at once, ' Go on 
 to the farm-house, we cannot take in gangrels here.' The note put 
 all right, and the shepherd with his wife, both dead now, often told 
 the circumstance to enforce hospitality to strangers, as by so doing 
 one might entertain angels unawares." 
 
 This kind of reception was at last no novelty to them. A gentle- 
 man now residing near Inverness remembers their arriving at Foy- 
 ers, with a letter of introduction to the late proj)rietor of that pic- 
 turesque estate, from their friend Mrs. Grant. Wilson was dressed 
 in sailor fashion, and his wife's attire was such as suited a pedes- 
 trian in the mountains. The Highland lassie who received them 
 at the door had not been in the habit of seeing gentlefolks so ar- 
 rayed, and naturally taking them for "gangrel bodies" from the 
 South, ushered them into the kitchen. 
 
 On their returning route they passed through a village where 
 Wilson, on a subsequent expedition, met with adventures to be 
 afterwards recorded. Their appearance is described by the writer 
 of a collection of Highland Sketches,* from whose narrative I bor- 
 row the substance of the following account: — 
 
 On a fine summer evening, the eyes of a primitive northern vil- 
 lagef were attracted by the appearance of two travellers, appa- 
 rently man and wife, coming into the village, dressed like cairtls or 
 gipsies. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and of stalwart pro- 
 portions; his fair hair floated redundant over neck and shoulders, 
 and his red beard and whiskers were of portentous size. He bore 
 himself with the assured and careless air of a strong man rejoicing 
 in his strength. On his back was a capacious knapsack, and his 
 slouched hat, garnished with fishing-hooks and tackle, showed he 
 was as much addicted to fishing as to making spoons : — 
 
 " A stalwart tinkler wight seemed he, 
 That weel could mend a pot or pan ; 
 And deftly he could thraw the flee, 
 Or neatly weave the willow wan'." 
 
 Tlie appearance of his companion contrasted strikingly with thai 
 
 * Mr. Willinm Stewart 
 
 t Mr. Stewart calls it TomintouL bnt tliat miust be a mistake, as at a subsequent date myfothei 
 speaks ••{ it a.* a place visited for the first time.
 
 THE HIGH LAN US. 
 
 127 
 
 of her mate. She was of slim and fragile form, and more like a 
 lady in her walk and bearing than any wife of a caird that had ever 
 been seen in those parts. The natives were somewhat snrprised to 
 see this great caird making for the head inn, the " Gordon Arms," 
 where the singular pair actually took up their quarters for several 
 days. Thence tliey wei-e in the habit of sallying forth, each armed 
 with a fishing-rod, to the river banks, a circumstance the novelty 
 of which, as regarded the tinker's wife, excited no small curiosity, 
 and many conjectures were hazarded as to the real character of the 
 mysterious couple. 
 
 A local hero named the King of the Drovers, moved by admira- 
 tion of the peculiar proportions of this king of the cairds, felt a 
 great desire to come into closer relations with the stranger. lie 
 was soon gratified, A meeting was arranged, in order to try 
 whether the son of the mountain or the son of the plain were the 
 better man in wrestling, leaping, running, and drinking ; and in all 
 of these manly exercises the great drover, probably for the first 
 time, found himself more than matched. 
 
 After nearly two months' tour, the travellers came down by the 
 low-lying lands of Dunkeld, where Mr, Wilson was somewhat sus- 
 piciously regarded, being by some good folks looked upon as a 
 lunatic, Mrs, Izett, a lady of accomplishments and taste, and a 
 great admirer of genius, gives a descn])tion of Mr, and Mrs, Wil- 
 son's arrival at her house at midnight. She writes to Mr. John 
 Grieve, a friend of my father's, who lived many years in Edinburgh, 
 a man of good judgment, and refined and elegant pursuits: — 
 
 " Had you a glimpse of Byron, Southey, etc. ? By the way, 
 Southey brings your friend Wilson to my recollection. We had 
 the pleasure of seeing him and his agreeable partner here. Though 
 they were here for several nights, I i-eally could not form an opinion 
 of him. They arrived here late at night. The following day, and 
 greatest part of the tdght^ he passed rambling among our glens 
 alone, and the day after, the Avhole of which he passed within 
 doors, I happened unfortunately to be confined to my room with 
 the headache — at least during the greatest part of it — and thus lost 
 the opportunity you kindly ailbrded me, of enjoying Avhat I slioild 
 have considered a great treat. There is something very 'Striking in 
 the countenance of Mr, Wilson, particularly his eye. His head I 
 think quite a model for a minstrel ; there is so much of fire, and at
 
 128 MEMOIR OF ,TOIIX WILSON. 
 
 the same time so much simpUfity. His wanderhigs, etc., etc, made 
 some people in this quartev — no matter wlio — think liim quite mad, 
 and they will not be persuaded to the contrary. Tlie eecentriiities 
 of a poet certainly do bear some resemblance to this at times, and 
 to say truth, Mr. Wilson has liis good sliare of these. I was (juite 
 tantalized the day he passed in the house that I was not able to 
 appear, and avail myself of so good an oppoi-tunity to become ac- 
 quainted with him. I saw more of Mrs. "Wilson, and was much 
 pleased with her. She made out her icalks you see, and after this 
 you must allow woman to possess resolution and perseverance. 1 
 greatly admired the patience and good-humor with which she bore 
 all the privations and fatigues of her journey. She might make 
 some of your southern hecmx blush for their efteminacy." 
 
 My mother during this tour walked one day twenty-five miles. 
 The travellers had been overtaken by a mist falling suddenly over 
 them when in Rannoch. They missed the beaten track of road, 
 and getting among dreary moors, were long before they discovered 
 footing that could lead them to a habitation. My f ither made his 
 wife sit down among the moss, and taking ofl" his coat, wrapped 
 lier in it, saying he would try and find the road, assuring her, at 
 the same time, that he would not go beyond the reach of her voice. 
 They could not see a foot before them, so dense and heavy was the 
 dreary mist that lay all around. Kissing his wife, and telling her 
 not to fear, he sprang up from where she sat, and bounded ofi". 
 Not many seconds of time elapsed, ere he called her to come to 
 him — the sound guiding her to where he stood. He was upon the 
 road ; his foot had suddenly gained the right path, for light there 
 M'as none. He told her he had never felt so grateful for any thing 
 in his life, as for that unexpected discovery of the beaten track. 
 He knew well the dangers of those wild Avastes when mists fall, 
 and the disasters they not unfrequently cause. A weary walk it 
 was that brought them to " King's House," the only inn at that 
 time for travellers among these Highland fiistnesses. 
 
 On their return from this wonderful tour, they were quite the 
 lions of Edinburgh. It was fully expected by the anxious commu- 
 nity of the fairer sex, that Mrs. Wilson would return weather- 
 beaten and robbed of her beautiful complexion, sunburnt and 
 freckled. But such expectations were agreeably disappointed. 
 One lady who called upon her directly after her return, old Mrs. 
 
 I
 
 THE IIIGirLANDS. 
 
 129 
 
 Mure of Caldwell, exclaimed, " Weel, I declare, she's come Lack 
 bonnier than ever :" 
 
 My father's own account of their adventures is contained in tlio 
 following letter to the Ettrick Shepherd, soon afier his return, writ- 
 ten evidently in the full enjoyment of the highest health and spirits, 
 — to use his own phrase, "strong as an eagle:" — 
 
 " Edin'DCUGIi, September. 
 
 "My dear Hogg: — I am in Edinburgh, and wish to be out of it. 
 Mrs. Wilson and I walked 350 miles in the Highlands, between the 
 5th of .July and the 2Gth of August, sojourning in divers glen-^ from 
 Sabbath unto Sabbath, iishing, eating, and staring. I purpose ap- 
 pearing in Glasgow on Thursday, where I shall stay till the circuit 
 is over. I then go to Elleray, in the character of a Benedictine 
 monk, till the begiiming of November. Now pause and attend. If 
 you will meet me at Moflat, on October Gth, I will walk or mail it 
 with you to Elleray, and treat you there with fowls and Irish 
 whiskey. Immediately on the receipt of this, write a letter to me, 
 at Mr. Smith's bookshop, Hutcheson street, Glasgow, saying pos 
 itively if you will, or will not do so. If you don't, I will lick i/ou^ 
 and fish up Douglas Burn before you, next time I come to Ettrick. 
 
 I saAV a letter from you to M the other day, by which you seem 
 
 to be alive and well. You are right in not making verses when 
 you can catch trout. Francis JeiFrey leaves Edinburgh this day for 
 Holland and France. I presume, after destroying the king of the 
 Netherlands, he intends to annex that khigdom to France, and 
 assume the supreme power of the United Countries, under the title 
 of Geoffrey the First. You, he will make Poet Laureate and Fish- 
 monger, and me admiral of the Mosquito Fleet. 
 
 "If you have occasion soon to write to Murr.iy, ])rny introduce 
 something about ' The City of the Plague,' as I shall j)robably off.'r 
 him ti)at poem in about a fortnight or sooner. Of course I do not 
 wish you to say that the poem is utterly worthless. I think that a 
 bold eulogy from you (if administered immediately) would be of 
 service to me ; but if you do write about it, do not tell him that I 
 have any intention of offering it to him, but you may say, you hear 
 I am going to offer it to a London bookseller. 
 
 " We stayed seven days at Mrs. Izett's, at Kinnaird, and were 
 most kindly received. Mrs. Izett is a great ally of yours, and is a
 
 130 MEMOIR OF JOHN ^VILSON. 
 
 fme eroature. I killed in the Highlands 170 dozen of trouts One 
 day nineteen dozen and a half, another seven dozen. I, one morr.- 
 ing, killed ten trouts that weighed nine pounds. In Loch Awe, in 
 three days, I killed seventy-six pounds' weight of fish, all with the 
 fly. The Gaels were astonished. I shot two roebucks, and had 
 nearly caught a red-deer by the tail — / teas wit/tin half a mile of 
 it at farthest. The good folks in the Highlands are not dirty. 
 They are clean, decent, hospitable, ugly people. We domiciliated 
 with many, and found no remains of the great plague of fleas, etc., 
 that devastated the country from the time of Ossian to tlie acces- 
 sion of George the Third. We were at Loch Katrine, Loch Lomond, 
 Inverary, Dalmally, Loch Etive, Glen Etive, Dalness, Appin, Balla- 
 chulish, P^ort William, Moy. Dahvhiimy, Loch Ericht (you dog). 
 Loch Rannoch, Glen Lyon, Taymouth, Blair-Athole, Bruar, Perth, 
 Edinburgh. Is not Mrs. Wilson immortalized ? 
 
 " I know of 'Cona.'* It is very creditable to our excellent friend, 
 but will not sell any more than the 'Isle of Palms,' or 'The White 
 Doe.'f The ' White Doe' is not in season ; venison is not hked in 
 Eduiburgh. It wants flavor; a good Ettrick wether is preferable. 
 Wordsworth has more of the poetical character than any living 
 writer, but he is not a man of first-rate intellect ; his genius oversets 
 him. Southey's 'Roderic' is not a first-rate work; the remorse of 
 Roderic is that of a Chiistian devotee, rather than that of a de- 
 throned monarch. His battles are ill fought. There is no proces- 
 sional march of events in the poem, no tendency to one great end, 
 like a river increasing in majesty till it reaches the sea. Xeither is 
 there national character, Spanish or Moorish. Xo sublime imagery ; 
 no profound passion. Southey Avrote it, and Southey is a man of 
 talent ; but it is his worst poem. 
 
 " Scott's ' Field of Waterloo' I have seen. What a poem ! — such 
 bald and nerveless language, mean imagery, commonplace senti- 
 ments, and clumsy versification ! It is beneath criticism. L^nless 
 the latter part of the battle be very fine indeed, this poem will in- 
 jure him. 
 
 " Wordsworth is dished. Southey is in purgatory ; Scott is 
 
 * dma or the Vale of Clicyd, and other Poems. Edinburgh. 12ino. The author of this little 
 volume was Mr. James Gray, one of the teacliers in the High School, an accomplished man, a 
 fiiend i>f mr father's. He afterwards took orders in the Church of England, and was appointed 
 to a ch.iplsincy in Indix He died in September, 1S30. 
 
 + Wordiworth's " White Doe of Evlstone."
 
 THE IIIGnLANDS. 131 
 
 dying ; and Byron is married. Herbert* is frozen to death in Scan- 
 dinaria. Moore has lost his nianhness. Coleridge is nlways in a 
 fog. Joanna Baillie is writing a system of cookery. ^Montgomery 
 is in a madhouse, or ouglit to be. Campbell is sick of a consti[)a- 
 tion ill the bowels. Hogg is herding sheep in Ettrick forest; and 
 Wilson has taken the phigue. O wretched writers ! Unfortunate 
 bards! What is Bobby Miller'sf back sliop to do this winter! 
 Alas! alas! alas! a wild doe is a noble animal; write an address to 
 one, and it shall be inferior to one I have written — for half a barrel 
 of red herrings II 
 
 "The Highlanders are not a poetical people. They are too 
 national ; too proud of their history. They imagine that a colley- 
 shangy between the Macgregors and Campbells is a sublime event ; 
 and they overlook mountains four thousand feet high. If Ossian 
 did write the poems attributed to him, or any poems like them, he 
 Avas a dull dog, and deserved never to taste whiskey as long as he 
 lived. A man who lives forever among mist and mountains, 
 knows better than to be alwa^'S prosing about thein. Methinks I 
 feel about objects familiar to infancy and manhood, but when we 
 speak of ihem, it is only upon great occasions, and in situations of 
 deep passion. Ossian was probably born in a Hat country !§ 
 
 " Scctt has written good lines in the 'Lord of the Isles,' but he 
 has not done justice to the Sound of Mull, which is a glorious 
 strait. 
 
 " The Northern Highlanders do not admire Waverlei/, so I 
 presume the South Highlanders despise Guy Matineriny. The 
 Westmoreland peasants think Wordsworth a fool. In Borrow- 
 dale, Southey is not known to exist. I met ten men at Hawick 
 who did not think Hogg a poet, and the whole City of Glasgow 
 think me a madman. So much for the voice of the people being 
 the voice of God. I left ray snuff-box in your cottage. Take cai'e 
 of it. The Anstruther bards liave advertised their anniversary ; I 
 forget the day. 
 
 * The Honorable William Herbert, Dean of Manchester, died in 1S47, in his TOth year, lid 
 nas author of several volumes or translations from the Icelandic and other northern languaiti-s. 
 The poem here referred to is evidently " Helsa," which was published in 1S15. 
 
 + One of the principal Edinburgh booksellers. 
 
 } An excusable challenge. The "Address to a Wild Deer" is one of hi.s happiest coinpositiouj, 
 
 § I"or a very dill'orcnt and njore serious criticism of Ossian's Poems by him, see BhicktoooiT* 
 iViir/iiziiic for NovktiiImi-, 1S1!).
 
 132 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "I wish Lieutenant Gray of the Marines* liad been devoured by 
 the lion he once carried on board his sliip to the Dey of Algiers, or 
 that he was kept a perpetual prisoner by the Moors in Barbary. 
 Did you hear that Tennantf had been taken before the Session for 
 an olfence against good morals? If you did not, neither did 1. 1 
 Indeed it is, on many accounts, exceedingly improbable. \ 
 
 " Yours, truly, JouN Wilson." 
 
 Apparently the Isle of Palms had by this time made way with 
 Bonie success, if it did not quite realize the hopes of the author. 
 Previously to the writing of the above letter, he had put himself in 
 communication with Mr. Smith, in reference to the publication of 
 his new volume: — 
 
 " Edinburgh, 53 Queen Street, 
 September 5, 1815. 
 "I have as many poems as would make such another volume as 
 the Isle of Palm s^ which I wish to ])ul)lish this winter. The long- 
 est is nearly 4,000 lines, I have as yet spoken of it to no one, friend 
 or bookseller. I have made up my mind not to publish it unless I 
 sell the copyright for a specific sum. I shall not correspond with 
 any other person on the subject till I hear from you, and what your 
 intentions may be concerning it. 
 
 " I hope that you are quite well. I have been in the Highlands 
 for two months, Avith Mrs. Wilson, and am strong as an eagle." 
 Having received no reply, he wrote a few days later : — 
 " I felt myself bound by frieiulshi}) and other ties to acquaint you 
 with my hitention before I comniuiiic-ated it to any other person of 
 the trade. As the winter is fast approaching, I wish to have this 
 business settled, ere long, either in one way or another, and will 
 therefore be glad to hear from you as soon as convenient. It ia 
 probable that I may appear in Glasgow during the Circuit, to smell 
 the air of the new court, but my motions are uncertain. If I do 
 make it out, I trust the oysters will be in season." 
 Early in October he writes again, from Glasgow : — 
 " The volume which I have now ready for the press will contain 
 ajiy number of pages the publisher may think fit, from three to four 
 
 • Charles Gray, author of several Scotoli ballads, f)oems, and sonjrs. lie died in 1S5L 
 t W'lliani Teunaut, Professor of Orieutal Langiuit-'' » in St. Andrews; Author of " Anstcr Fair;" 
 died in 184:3.
 
 ELLKR^VY. 133 
 
 aundred, so as to be sold for twelve sliillings, and to l)e a counter- 
 part of tlie Isle of Palms. 
 
 " The first and loni^est poem is entitled ' The City of the Plague, 
 IS dramatic, and consists of nearly four thousand lines, or between 
 three and four thousand. The scene is laid in London, during the 
 great plague of 1G65, and the poem is intended to give a general 
 picture of the situation of a plaLTue-struek city, along with the history 
 of a few individuals who constitute the persons of the drama. 
 
 "The second poem, 'The Convict,' is likewise dramatic and in 
 blank verse, and its object is to delineate the passions of a man 
 innocently condemned to death, and the feelings of his dearest 
 relations. It is between two and three thousand lines. 
 
 " The third poem is a dramatic fragment, entitled 'The ^Mariner's 
 Return,' about six hundred lines, and principally consisting of 
 descriptions of sea scenery. 
 
 " The remainder of the volume will be made up to the length 
 deemed necessary for poems of a miscellaneous character, in rhyme 
 and blank verse. 
 
 " It is not my intention to publish tliis volume unless I dispose 
 of the copyright; and the sum I have set on it is £200. 
 
 "If you feel any inclination to purchase it of yourself., one word 
 can do it ; if not, one word between friends is sufficient. 
 
 "If you determine against purchasing it of yourself then you 
 can inform me whether or not you would be willing, along with 
 Murray, or Miller in Edinburgh, or any other bookseller, to give 
 me that sum for the copyright. 
 
 " If you determine against having any thing to do with it, as a 
 principal, on these terms, then, for the present, the subject drops." 
 
 Mr. Smith appears to have declined tlie sole responsibility of the 
 publication, which was ultimately undertaken by Constable, along 
 with whose name those of Smith a!id of Longman appeared on the 
 title-page. Shortly after this communication my fother paid a visit 
 to Elleray, probably for the purpose of inspecting the state of the 
 place, and making arrangements for letting it. On the Slst of Oc 
 tober he reports his progress to his wife : — 
 
 "Elleray, Friday night. Oct. 31, 1815. 
 " Deakest Jane : — I am not to blame for not having written 
 before this night, owing first to a mistake about the post-night ;
 
 1.34 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and secoiully, to the want of sealing-wax or wafer ; so, if angry, 
 pray become appeased. On Monday I reached Penrith, the weather 
 b.-ing cohlish to Hawick ; then I took inside to Carlisle, thence out- 
 side to Penrith. At Penrith I dined with an old Oxonian, and 
 walked on to Pooley Bridge ; there I found Jeany* waiting for 
 me, and proceeded to Patterdale, which I reached about ten 
 o'clock ; dark and stormy night. On Tuesday morning I walked 
 to Ambleside, sending Billy (whom I found there) with pony to 
 Elleray. From Ambleside I walked to De Quincey's, with Avhom 
 I dined ; we returned per coach to Ambleside, and drank punch 
 with Dr. Scandler, who is considerably better. The night being 
 indifferent, I stayed all night at Chapman's ; on Wednesday I sent 
 for pony and rode to Elleray. I found Mrs. Ritson alive and well. 
 Rode down and called at the parsonage ; all glad to see me. Called 
 at the Island ; saw Mrs. Curwen and children, well and looking 
 well ; W. Curwen in Cumberland ; dined therefore at Ullock's ; 
 went in the evening to parsonage and drank tea. Thursday, 
 walked about Elleray ; dined at Pringle's ; met the Baxters and 
 Greaves ; pleasant party, Greave falling asleep immediately after 
 dinner. Mr. Pringle is looking tolerably, though I fear he will feel 
 the effects of the accident all his days. Blind of one eye, and con- 
 fused at times in his head. Mrs. Pringle handsome and kind, and 
 Miss SomerA-ille with her. Friday, have spent all this day along 
 with myself and Mr, Ritson, and Billy at Elleray. The place which 
 had been a wilderness is again trim and neat, and looks as well as 
 possible. The trees are greatly grown, and every thing seems 
 thriving and prosperous. There are eight chickens with whom I 
 am forming a friendship ; and I feel as idle as ever. 
 
 " I dare say no more about a place so dear to us both ; would to 
 God you were here ! 
 
 "But next time I come, whenever that is, you shall be with me. 
 I have not seen the ' stamp-master.' Saturday and Sunday I intend 
 keeping alone, and at Elleray. Monday I shall probably go to Hol- 
 low Oak or Ulverston. The Misses Taylor have gone to Bath. Of 
 the Hardens I know nothing. Mr. Lloyd is worse than ever, and 
 gone to Birmingham; I believe never to return. Kitty Dawes 
 (mother to Dawes) is dead. So is the old miller of Restock, and 
 - "...^ Bingham of Kendal, two well-known oockers. 
 
 * A tiivurito i>ouy. 
 
 I
 
 ELLERAY. 135 
 
 " De Qtiincey will accompany me to Scotland ; but I will write 
 about liis rooms in a day or two. 
 
 " I have not yet been in the new house. Tlie little detestable bit 
 of avenue looks tolerable. Of Robert and Eliza I know nothing. 
 Kiss everybody you meet for me up-stairs. Write to me, care of 
 Mrs. Ullock, immediately. Thine with eternal aftection, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 Of what happened in the interval between this date and January 
 following there is no record. No doubt he was busy with the 
 proof-sheets of the City of the Plagiie. In January, 1816, he was 
 again at EUeray, and thus relates his adventures to Mrs. AVilson : — 
 
 " BowNESS, Sunday, January, 1816. 
 
 " Dearest Czarina : — I hope that you received my scroll from 
 Carlisle, which I committed to the custody of Richard, and there- 
 fore doubt not that he would fulfil his trust. 
 
 " I supped at the Pearsons', and was very kindly received there; 
 Miss Alms being in love witli me, which I think I told you before. 
 Going down to their house I fell ujyon a slide, and was most severely 
 bruised, so much so that I had to be carried into a shop, and drink 
 wine which the people very kindly gave me. This was an infernal 
 fill, my rump and head suffering a dire concussion against one of 
 the most fashionable streets. I however made out my visit, though 
 still rather sick and headachy all night. Indeed my journey seemed 
 to consist wholly of disasters. In the morning (no coach going 
 sooner) I pursued my journey to Penrith — day cold and snowy — 
 outside for cheapness. I then got tired of the coach, and, after 
 drinking a glass of wine and water, started on foot for Coleridge's 
 at Pooley Bridge ; there I dined, and, at half-past seven in the even- 
 ing, feeling myself bold and chivalrous, I started again for Patter- 
 dale, against the ineffectual remonstrances of the whole family who 
 all prophesied immediate death. The night was not dark, and iu 
 two hours I was seated in the kitchen of iSIr. Dobscm at a good fire. 
 I then proposed crossing Kirkstone, when shrieks .arose from every 
 quarter, and I then found a young man had just been brought iu 
 dead, having been lost on Sunday evening coming from Ambleside, 
 and only found that day. Of course, the melancholy accident made 
 me give up all thouglits of pursuing my journey till daylight, so
 
 136 IME.MOIli OF JOHN "WILSON. 
 
 I supped and went to bed. Next forenoon at eleven o'elock, a partyj 
 of men aiTived from Ambleside with the Coroner, and I Ibund from 
 them tliat the road though difficult was passable, so I faced the hill 
 and arrived safe at Chai)man's in two hours and ten minutes, hav- 
 ing slid along with great rapidity. The thaw was beginning, and 
 had I Avaited another day, the snow Avould have been soft and im- 
 passable, as it lay in many places ten feet deep, and I walked over 
 two gates. I dined with William Curwen, and walked to De Quin- 
 cey's, which I reached at half-past one o'clock in the morning ; he 
 was at the iVaJ, and when he returned about three o'clock, found 
 me asleep in his bed. I reached Elleray only last night, having 
 spent the whole of Saturday with the lesser man ; he walked to 
 Elleray with me, where we drank tea ; he then returned to Gras- 
 mere ; and no sheets being on the bed, I walked to Bowness, and 
 stayed all night. I am still here, :ind it rains severely. As yet. El 
 leray is all in the dark. I shall dine there to-morrow alone, but not 
 stay all night, for the lonesoineness is insupportable. I will write 
 a longer letter, and give you news. Nobody, I fear, has died here 
 since I saw you. Billy is well, and his two nephews are at present 
 residing with him at Elleray. His father and mother are expected 
 daily, and a few distant relations. 
 
 " Lloyd is in a mad-house ; Wordsworth and family from home. 
 Write me on receipt of this (if not before) ; direct to me at Mrs. 
 Ullock's, Bowness. Eternally thine with all affection, 
 
 "J. Wilson." 
 
 During the next month he was constantly occupied with the 
 printers, and on the 13th of March he writes to Mr. Smith: — 
 
 "I ought long ago to have acknowledged the receipt of your dif- 
 ferent letters ; but I have been busier than any man ever was before. 
 
 "My volume went round the trade to-day; with what success I 
 know^ not. My expectations are but moderate. The volume is too 
 thin and so is the paper, but I believe there is more printing and 
 pages than 10s. Gd. books in general. I put your name into the 
 title page, which I shall ever be happy to do on similar occasions. 
 
 "These foilures in Glasgow Avill not be favorable to me as an 
 author." 
 
 The reception of the voluiiu' \vas altogc'ther favorable; and it was 
 recognized as indicating a marke<l increase of power and discijjline
 
 LIFE IK EDINBL'KGU. 137 
 
 in the mind of tlie author. With the excepti^.n of tliat first sugges- 
 tion of the subject ah'eady referred to, I lind no aUusion to t!ie prin- 
 cipal poem nor any trace of it in note-books. Of the other poems, 
 there are but four which correspond in title with any in the " List 
 of Subjects" of 1812. These are "The Children's Dance," "Th 
 Convict," "Solitude," and "The Farewell and Return." 
 
 In the next number of the Ediiihur(jh llevieic^ tlie volume received 
 a friendly criticism from the hand of Jeflrey, who, in reply to a 
 letter from the author, unfortunately not extant, addressed the fol- 
 lowing interesting letter to him : — 
 
 " ]\[y dear Sir : — I am extremely gratified by your letter, and 
 thank you very sincerely, both for the kindness it expresses, and 
 the confidence it seems to place in me. It is impossible, I think, to 
 read your writings without feeling affection for the writer ; and 
 under the influence of such a feeling, I doubt whether it is possUde 
 to deal with them with the same severe impai'tiality with wliich 
 works of equiil literary merit, but without that attraction, might 
 probably be treated. Nor do I think that this is desirable or would 
 even be fiiir ; for part, and not the least part of the merit of poetry, 
 consists in its moral eiFects, and the power of exciting kind and 
 generous affections seems entitled to as much admiration as that of 
 presenting pleasing images to the fancy. 
 
 "You wish, however, to be treated as a stranger^ and, I think, I 
 have actually treated you as one, for the partiality Avhich I have 
 already mentioned as irresistibly produced by your writings, cer- 
 tainly has not been lessened by the little personal intercourse we 
 have had. I am not aware that it has been materially increased by 
 that cause, and was inclined to believe that I should have felt the 
 same kindliness towards the author of the work I am reviewing, 
 although I had never seen his face. As to showing you no favor 
 for the future on the score of the past, I am afraid if I do not exactly 
 co:ni)ly with your request, it will be more owing to my own selfish 
 unwillingness to retract my former opinions and abandon my pre- 
 dictions, than from any excess of good-nature towards their objects. 
 However, your request is very natural and manly, and I shall do 
 Avhat I can to let you have nothing more than justice, and save you 
 from ha\ ing any other obligations to your critic than for his dili- 
 gence and integrity.
 
 13S MKMc.ilK VF JOll^■ WILSON. 
 
 " As to Wordsworth, I shall only say, that while I cannot at all 
 agree, nor is it necessary, in your estimate of his poetical talents, 1 
 love and lionor the feeliiiEcs by which I think your judgment has 
 been misled, and by which I most readily admit that your conduct 
 shouM be sjoverned. I assure you I ara not the least hurt or of- 
 fended at hearing his poetry extolled, or my remarks upon it 
 arraigned as unjust or erroneous ; only I hope you will not set them 
 <iown as sure proof of moral depravity, and utter want of all good 
 aftections. I should be sorry that any good man should think this 
 of me as an individual; as to the opinion that maybe formed of my 
 critical qualifications, it is impossible for any one to be more indif- 
 ferent than myself 1 am conscious of being quite sincere in all the 
 opinions I express, but I am the furthest in the world from thinking 
 them iniallible, or even having any considerable assurance of their 
 appearing right to persons of good judgment. 
 
 " I wish I had more leisure to talk to you of such matters ; but I 
 cannot at present afford to indulge myself any further. 1 think we 
 now understand each other in a way to prevent all risk of future 
 misunderstanding. Believe me always, dear sir, very faithfully 
 
 yours, "F. Jeffeey. 
 
 "92 George Street, Saturday Eienitig." 
 
 The pleasant relations thus established between these two men 
 led to a still closer intimacy, which, though unhappily interrupted 
 by subsequent events, was renewed in after years, when the bitter- 
 ness of old controversies had yielded to the hallowing influences of 
 time. 
 
 Whether there was any work done during this year in poetry or 
 prose, I cannot say ; but in the way of acquiring materials for future 
 " Recreations of Christopher Xorth" there was undoubtedly a good 
 deal. All the other memorials at least that I have of this year, and 
 a good part of the next, are connected almost entirely with angling, 
 and extensive "raids" into the Highlands. It would almost seem as 
 if there was an unwillingness fairly to cast anchor and remain stead- 
 ily at work. The stimulus to literary exertion had not yet come with 
 imperative force, and in the interval, before he fairly girded himself 
 up to regular work, he sought strength for it in his love of nature 
 and pedestrian wandering. These excursions, it is but fair to ob- 
 serve, however, appear to have been confined to the proper vacation 
 time of his jirofession.
 
 THE IIIGIILAXDS. 139 
 
 Acrain and nirain lie roams over country he had so often trod be- 
 fore, and in the year following that in which he introduced Mrs. 
 Wilson to the beauties of his native land, he returned to the neigh- 
 borhood of Loch Awe, extending his tour into Inverness-shire, as 
 we find from the following letters written in the spring and autumn 
 
 of 1816:— 
 
 " ACHLIAN, 29th Ai>ril, 1816. 
 
 " Dear Jane : — I have risen at six o'clock to write to you. Your 
 letter, I find, will not be here till Tuesday morning, I know not 
 why. Curse all country posts ! 
 
 "To be brief, James Fergusson* and I reached Glasgow on Mon- 
 day; he went to the play; I did not. On Tuesday, I was tempted 
 to stay in Glasgow, and saw Kean as Zanga in ' The Revenge.' It 
 is heavy work, and he acted poorly, and is in every respect inferior 
 to Kem])le. On Wednesday, I went to Greenock by steamboat, 
 of which the machinery went wrong, and blew up part of the deck, 
 on which myself and two fattish gentlemen were sitting. This 
 stopped us, and after a long delay we got into aiiotlier stenmboat, 
 and arrived at Greenock. It was four o'clock. I found that I 
 could only cross the water that night, so I thought it was needless ; 
 dined with Bissland, and went to the play, when I again saw Kean. 
 I was too near him ; he acted with occasional vigor, and his action 
 is often good, but he rants abominably, and on the whole is no actor 
 at all. On Thursday, I hired a boat and got to Ardentinny — dis- 
 tance eight miles ; there fished a few miles, and got six dozen ; 
 then walked to Strachur, but on the way cut my foot severely, and 
 awoke on Friday morning dog-lame. With great difficulty I 
 reached, on Friday, the waterfall above Tnvcrary, and was obliged 
 to stop in a small cottage there. On Saturda}', I fished uj) the 
 stream (as when with you), and killed eighteen dozen. When 
 evening came I was eight miles from Achlian, and so lame that I 
 could not walk a step. I procured, therefore, a cart to drag me 
 there, where I arrived at eleven o'clock, and found a warm Avel- 
 come. Yesterday I rested, and to-day intend going out in the boat 
 for a little fishing. This wound in my heel will render my visit to 
 Megerney impossible, for there is no horse-road, so I will wriie to- 
 day informing I>Icnzies of my mishap. Is not this a severe trial to 
 one's temper ? 
 
 * A member of the Scottish bar, who iiiarriid a sister of my father's fiieiul, William liinilop.
 
 1-10 MEMOIR or JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "The wound is in itself insignificant, but is just on the sole of my 
 heel, and is much festered, about the size of a shilling, so that I 
 cannot walk a single step without the greatest dithculiy and pain. 
 
 " I shall ride from this, back to Greenock if possible. Immedi- 
 ately on getting this (which I expect will be Thursday forenoon), 
 write that moment — directed to me at Achlian, hy Inverary. C 
 "Wednesday the 8th, write to me at Miss Sym's, Glasgow, where i 
 will be on the 10th, and at Edinburgh, on Saturday the 11th, prob- 
 ably aboxit six o'clock. Your other letters, of course, become use- 
 less. I will write again first opportunity. 
 
 " Thine with heart and soul till death, 
 
 "J. Wilson." 
 
 The manner in which he wounded his foot is not a httle charac- 
 teristic. He does not mention the real cause of it to his wife, but 
 curiously enough a story communicated by Dr. Smith, of Inverary, 
 whose reminiscences have been already quoted from, explains this 
 circumstance, the date of the occurrence he relates agreeing \\\\\\ 
 that of the above letter : — 
 
 " At a point on tlie road near to the house which I now occupy, 
 and close by the river-side, as he was on his way to Achlian, a 
 large party of tinkers were pitching their tents. There were men, 
 women, and children — a band — some preparing to go to fish for 
 their supper in the adjoining pool, and some, more full of action, 
 were leaping. They were tall, powerful young men, ready for any 
 frolic, and all the bonhomie of Mr. Wilson's nature was stirr^-d in 
 him. He joined the group ; talked with them and leaped with 
 them. They were rejoicing in their sport, when he, finding him. 
 Belf hard pressed, stripped off coat and shoes ; but the river had had 
 its channel once on the spot ; it had left a sharp stone, which was 
 only concealed by the thin coating of earth over it ; his heel came 
 down on that stone ; it wounded him severely ; and, unable to bear 
 a shoe on, he had to go to Achlian. The tinkers Avould rather that 
 the accident had liappened to one of themselves, and they i)rocured 
 a cart in the neiglil»orhood in which he was conveyed to Achlian. 
 The heel was carefully dealt with there by all but himself. Mrs. 
 Smith,* then a little girl, tells ine that her mother remonstrated 
 often, but in vain ; for he would fish, though scarcely able to limp ; 
 
 * Then Miss Camiibell, daughter of >L-. Campbell, of Achlian.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS. 14-1 
 
 and one clay, as he was fisliing from tlie sliore, a large trout, such 
 as Loch Awe is remarkable for, was hooked by him. His line was 
 weak, and afraid to lose it, he cast himself into the loch, yielding to 
 the motions of the strong creature until it became fatigued rnd 
 oianageable. Then he swam ashore with his victim in subjection, 
 and brought it home; but he was without the bandage, and his 
 heel bleeding copiously." 
 
 This was no unusual mode of fishing with my father. As the 
 Shepherd remarked : " In he used to gang, out, out, out, and ever 
 sae far out, frae the point o' a promontory, sinking aye further and 
 further doon, first to the waist-band o' his breeks, then up to the 
 middle button o' his waistcoat, then to the verra breist, tlien to the 
 oxters, then to the neck, and then to the verra chin o' him, sae that 
 you wunnered how he could fling the flee ; till last o' a' he would 
 jilump richt oot o' sight, till the Highlander on Ben Ci-uachan 
 thocht him drooned. No he, indeed ; sae he takes to the sooming, 
 and strikes awa wi' ae arm, i'or the tither had hand o' the rod ; and 
 could ye believe't, though it's as true as Scripture, fishing a' the 
 Lime, that no a moment o' the cloudy day micht be lost ; ettles* at 
 an island a quarter o' a mile atf, wi' trees, and an auld ruin o' a reli- 
 gious house, wherein beads used to be counted, and wafers eaten, 
 and mass muttered hundreds o' years ago ; and getting footing on 
 the yallow sand or the green sward, he but gies himself a shake, 
 and ere the sun looks out o' the elud, has hyucket a four-pounder, 
 whom in four minutes (for it's a multiplying pirn the cretur uses) 
 he lands, gasping through the giant gills, and glittering wi' a thou- 
 sand spots, streaks, and stars, on the shore."f 
 
 With him the angler's silent trade was a ruling passion. He did 
 not exaggerate to the Shepherd in the JVoctcs when he said that he 
 had taken " a hundred and thirty in one day out of Loch Awe," as 
 we see by his letters that even larger numbers were taken by him. 
 
 After the Ia])se of a week he again writes :^ 
 
 "Deakkst Jane : — Tlie Devil is a letter-sorter at the Ediidnnijh 
 Post-Oftice, so your Glenorcliy letter of Thursday has not been sent 
 to the i)lace of his birth. The Inverary one I got on Saturday, 
 which told me of your welfare, and the brats, which is enougli. 
 Where the other is gone is known only to the old gentleman, who 
 will assuredly be haiigfd one day or other. 
 
 * I>irc'cts hiscoiMsc. t Kocte».
 
 142 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "I promised not to write anymore; but thinking you will not 
 be angry with me, I have ventured to scribble a few lines more. 
 
 "]My heel is in statu quo (two Latin words which Uobert will 
 exjjlain to you). 
 
 "I tried a day's fishing in Loch Awe, and killed a dozen fine 
 ones. Yesterday I rode Achliau's cliarger to Craig. All here are 
 well, and desire their love to you. Miss Campbell has been jioorly, 
 but mends apace. I have received most hospitable welcome. 1 
 slept last night in our old room. To-day I limped up to Molloy 
 with my lishing-rod. Mrs. M'Kay there has just been brought to 
 bed of a son, who is doing well. They inquired most kindly for 
 you, and were delighted to see me. What a fishing! In one pool 
 I killed twenty-one trouts, all of them about two pounds each, and 
 have just arrived in time for dinner at Craig, loaded so that I could 
 hardly walk. I have dispatched presents to all around. JNIiss 
 M'Intyre, with whom we dined, desii i.'S her love. Dr. M'Lityre is 
 from home. I shall stay here all night, being tired. On Wednes- 
 day, I leave Achlian on horseback, so depend on seeing me on Sat- 
 urday. That is our marriage-day. \n you and in my children lies 
 all my bliss on earth. Every field here speaks of thee. Thine for- 
 ever, "J. Wilson." 
 
 The next letter is two months later, the Court of Session having 
 sat in the interval. Very probably, however, he was not particular 
 in waiting till the last day of the summer sittings to start once more 
 for his favorite Achlian and Loch Awe. I suspect the idea of 
 eighteen dozen of trout out of the Aray would have influenced him 
 more in these fine days than the mere chance of another brief before 
 " the Lords" dispersed. 
 
 " Achlian, il/b«c?ay, 22d July, 181 G. 
 
 "Dka REST Jennet: — Your letter of Thursday I received here on 
 Saturday, and as Sir Richard Strahan said when he fell in with the 
 French fleet, 'We were delighted.' 
 
 "The day after I wrote last, namely, JMonday, I walked up to the 
 wooden bridge and fished there, killing fifteen <lozen. Unluckily 
 the finnily from home. On Tuesday I dined with Caj>tain Archi- 
 bald Campbell and his fair daughters at their cottage. We \ isited 
 on Loch Fyne side, and met a pleasantish, smallish parly. On 
 Wednesday I left Inverary at a quarter before four in the morning.
 
 THE HIGHLANDS. 143 
 
 with young James M'Xicol, brother to Miss M'Nicol, and fished 
 some moor farms about eight miles off; sport but moderate ; 
 fatigue great ; slept like a top. Ou Thursday I dined with Mr. 
 M'Gibbon, tlie clergy nian, who lives in thatiiice pliice beyond ihe 
 wooden bridge. Passed a most social evening, and stayed all night. 
 On Fiiday I went to another class of moor farms, about eight miles 
 from the wooden bridge, along Avith young Mr. Bell ; had vei-y bad 
 sport indeed ; separated from him by chance, and after wandering 
 among the hills for hours, got to the wooden bridge about ten at 
 night. Found Miss Giles Bell and her sister returned ; got sujjper, 
 and in several hours their brother arrived in despair, thinking I was 
 drowned. On Saturday morning returned to Inverary and packed 
 up. Found a gig going to Dalmally which carried me snugly to 
 Achlian, where I found all the worthy inhabitants well. On Sun- 
 day, crossed the Loch to Ilayfield, and dined with Mr. M'Neill, of 
 that place.* In the evening a most terrific thunder-storm. 
 
 "To-day fished in Loch Awe; bad day; killed only one dozen, 
 and returned to dinner; hitherto my sport has been but poorish. I 
 feel unaccountably lazy, and doubt if I shall go to Rannoch at all. 
 
 " I am quite well, but more fatigued than you can imagine, so my 
 letter is but shortish. 
 
 " Immediately on getting this, write me to Achlian, by Inverary, 
 and send Barton's letter. Let thine be put into the Post-office be- 
 fore seven o'clock in the evening. You will please me by not going 
 on board the ' Ramillies' till I return. But I do not countermand 
 you, uor will I be the least angry if you do go. Bless the small 
 creatures. Everlastingly yours, J. Wilson." 
 
 "Achlian-, Aujiisi2, 1816. 
 *'My dearest Jane : — Since I last wrote you I have been where 
 there are no posts or post-offices, and till to-day have had no oppor- 
 tunity of sending you a letter. I suppose you are incensed, and so 
 am I. Your letters have reached me safely, but not Barton's, which 
 1 have never seen. Therefore hope you have forgotten to send it 
 to the post; if you have, keep it till I see thee. I have been over 
 the moor of Rannocli, in Glencoe, and other glens near it; at the 
 foot of Loch Ericlit, and the country round Loch Treig ; I have 
 
 * "My poor donr old friend M'NcilL, of lluy field. God rest his soul! It is in bt^ven. At 
 uinety re wus a» lifeful as a boy at iiiiieticu." .Voctoe.
 
 144 mi:moik of john wilson. 
 
 Beeii gieat scenery, undergone hardsliips, and am in good health. 
 I revarued to Achlian a few days ago, but the post was one day 
 missed, and I sent this by a private hand to Dahnally, and thence to 
 Edinburgh. I have had much good fishing, much bad, and much 
 tolerable — picture of human life. Keep all letters till I see thee. 
 But immediately on getting this write to me, care of Robert Find- 
 lay, Esq., Miller Street, Glasgow. I shall be there ere long, day I 
 cannot tix, because conveyances are doubtful, but you will be look- 
 ing upon me with a pleasant countenance somewhere about the 7th 
 or 8th of this month. Recollect I left you on the 11th, so it is not 
 so long siuce I went away as you said in your letter. 
 
 " I suppose Cadell wished, to see me about the Edinburgh He- 
 view. This is conjecture. What he calls agreeable to me may turn 
 out to be supercilious ^Ji'iiise, saying I am not a good boy. Fare- 
 well. " J. Wilson." 
 
 From Achlian he now worked his way across to Blair Athole, 
 whence he writes to tell how he fares. He is "lame in the knee," 
 and has " not been in bed," but he is just starting, at 6.30 a. m., as 
 if under vow or penance, on a journey of thirty-four miles! 
 
 " Dearest Jane : — It is half-past six morning, and I am just set- 
 ting off to Braemar, anxious for your letter. I will write you at 
 length first moment I have an opportunity, which will be in two or 
 three days ; meanwhile I am well, though lame in my knee. 
 
 " Obey all your directions, but, in addition to them, write on 
 Friday (this day week) to me, care of Alexander M'Kenzie, Esq , 
 Millbank, Dingwall. I hav# not been in bed, and am just setting 
 off thirty-four miles. God bless and preserve thee and ours ever- 
 lastingly ! " J. Wilson. 
 
 "Bridge op Tilt, Blair Athole, 
 Friday, August, 1816." 
 
 So northward he goes with his lame knee, as one burdened with 
 some great exploring quest, which must be fulfilled at all hazards, 
 and through all fatigues. Through the loneliest glens, up the high- 
 est mountain-tops, careless of weather, and finding "adventures" 
 in the least likely places, he holds on to the north, and again to the 
 west, till we light on him, after twenty-five miles' walk, sitting 
 down to address his wife from the hospitable abode of his friend 
 Mr. M'KeiJzie : —
 
 TUK IIIGIILAKDS. 145 
 
 " MiLLBAXK, Dingwall, 
 Wednesday, I'ith Awjust. 
 
 * My dearest Jane : — I wrote you last from Abergeldy, and I 
 tt.4» afraid you may Lave been lunging for a letter before this reaches 
 you. Such, I ho|)e, is not my vanity, but mutual kind love ; may 
 it be our only blessing here and hereafter, and I am satisfied. 
 
 "From Abergeldy I started (I think the day after I wrote you) 
 and proceeded to the head of the Don river. My burden was 
 truly insupportable. The same evening I got to Inchrory on the 
 river Aven or Avon, a most lovely place, perhaps the most so in 
 Scotland, where I slept. Next day (Thursday) I got to Tomin- 
 toul,* where I slept, a wild and moorland village. Next day was 
 the annual market, and it rained incessantly. My adventures there 
 I will give you afterwards, and they were not to my discredit. Od 
 Saturday morning (still most rainy) I proceeded to Grantown, four- 
 teen miles, where I arrived at night, and slept comfortably ; the 
 country most wild and desolate. About five miles from this live 
 the Miss Grants, of LifForchy. Thither on Sunday morning I re- 
 paired, and found them all at home and well, with a brother lately 
 arrived from the East Indies. On Monday morning at tliree 
 o'clock, he and I started to the top of Cairngorm, one of the high- 
 est mountains in Scotland, and returned at eight o'clock in the 
 evening ; I tired, and he sick even unto death. On Tuesday morn- 
 ing, I left the house and walked on towards Inverness, to a })lace 
 called Craga, distance twenty-seven miles. It rained incessantly, 
 and I had both toothache and earache. On Wednesday morning I 
 started from Craga, and this same Wednesday reached Millbank, 
 Mr. INFKenzie's house, from which I now write after a walk of 
 twenty-five miles. So much then for a general sketch, which I will 
 fill up when I am once more with you. 
 
 "I find from your letter that our sweet ones are all uai^-oll, and 
 likely to be so. That last letter was dated Friday, Auo»t 8th. 1 
 am miserable about them. To-morrow, that is, Thurs«jy, August 
 14th, and that one day, I must rest here, for the fatigue I liave 
 lately undergone has been beyond any thing I ever expari.Miced. 
 On Friday, the 15th, I shall start again, and hope to be at Achlian, 
 
 * Of thts place he says in the Xoatex : — " Di-inking, dancing, swearing, and quarrtflllng goiuf 
 on nil the time in Toiiiintoiil. James, for a fair there is a wild rendezvous, as wo both know, sum 
 mcr and winter; and i.'iiili.'i- tlnck tl-.:' wildest siiirits of the wildest clans."
 
 146 jiIEM(.)IR OF JOHN WII.SOX. 
 
 Dugald Campbell's, by In ve vary, in a week from that time. So 
 immediately on receiving this, whicii I think will be on Saturday, 
 16th, write to me to that direction. Say you write on the day after 
 you receive mine, whatever that day may be, and I will immediately 
 write you on my arrival there ; I will lose no tiifie in getting there, 
 and I think in about a fortnight I shall see you. I trust in God the 
 accounts will be good when I reach Achlian. But to that point I 
 will go as soon as I can. I have undergone great fiitigue, and 
 much bad weather, and long for your kind bosom, so help me God ! 
 Inverary is nearly 150 miles from this, and no carriages, so I must 
 walk all the way. Once more, I |)ray to God to take care of our 
 beloved children, and to make them well to us. To take a chance 
 of hearing from you, write one line to Post-Office, Fort-William, 
 the moment you receive this, telling me about the children. But 
 write as above mentioned to Achlian, as I may be at Fort-William 
 before your letter reaches. In short, I will go to Achlian as soon 
 as possible, and from your letter there will judge if I ara instantly 
 to return home. Xo delay will take place. I am most anxious 
 about the children. God bless you ! and may the Almighty recover 
 to us all our sweet ones I The chicken-pox is not a bad complaint, 
 so we need not fear; poor Johnny fainting ! But they are all dear. 
 So farewell, yours tenderly, John Wilson." 
 
 The adventures of which he says " they were not to my discred- 
 it," were doubtless made known to Mrs. Wilson, but never came 
 to the ears of the younger generation, being considered either too 
 trivial, or after many years forgotten. They were not forgotten, 
 however, in the Xorth, for in a recent letter from Mr. Alexander 
 M'Kenzie, Dingwall, this very adventure is thus narrated : — 
 
 " I am the person specially honored by that visit. Mr, Wilson 
 came to me (then living at !Millbank near Dingwall) in such peculiar 
 circumstances as leads me to think he would have made s<ime 
 memoranda about it. He had been fishing in the Dee, and by 
 accident came to a fair at Tomintoul, where he saw a poor mnn 
 much oppressed and ill-used by another, who was considered the 
 bully of the country, and whose name, I think, he said was Grant. 
 Circumstances led to Mr. Wilson putthig off his coat and giving 
 this fellow a thrashing, but on picking up the coat he found it rifled 
 of his pocket-book, ontaining all his money but a very few shil
 
 THE niGIILANDs. 147 
 
 lings ! In this state he left for Carrbridge, where he pn^sed the 
 night without more than enough of refreshment. In the morning 
 he left for Inverness, and calling at the Post-Office he found many 
 letters to his address; but not having money to pay the postage, 
 the person in charge declined trusting him! He then crossed Kes- 
 sock Ferry with only a few pence, and arrived at Dingwall about 
 midday, where I happened to be at the time, and was quite over- 
 joyed at seeing him. He was dressed in white duck trousers 
 covered with mud, and his white hat entirely so with fishing gear ! 
 
 " As he proceeded to my house, distant about a mile, he shortly 
 detailed his late adventure, and said he was almost famished. My first 
 work was to send to Inverness for his letters, after which we enjoyed 
 one of the most delightful evenings of my life. He kindly rested 
 himself for several days, and I accompanied him through the most 
 romantic and impassable parts of the country to Kintail, where I 
 parted with him at the house of a worthy mutual friend, George 
 Laidlaw^ 
 
 " In our rambles, which included some curious incidents, and 
 which occupied several days, he fished wherever a loch or stream 
 presented itself. We avoided all roads entirely, and lived with the 
 shepherds." 
 
 Such stories as these might, to a certain extent, justify that 
 excellent old lady, Mrs. Grant of Laggan, in making the f )llowing 
 observations, when, in writing to a friend, she burst forth upon the 
 eccentricities of the young poet: — 
 
 " Did I ever tell you of one of the said poets we have in town 
 here — indeed, one of our intimates — the most provoking creature 
 imaginable ! He is young, handsome, witty ; has great learnino-^ 
 exuberant spirits, a wife and children that he doats on (circum- 
 stances one would think consolidating), and no vice that I know of, 
 but, on the contrary, virtuous principles and feelings. Yet his 
 wonderful eccentricity would put anybody but his wife wild. She, 
 I am convinced, was actually made on purpose for her husband, and 
 has that kind of indescribable controlling influence over him tliat 
 Catherine is said to have had over that wonderful savage the Czar 
 Peter. 
 
 "Pray look at the \ast Bdinburffh Heview, and read the favorable 
 article on John Wilson's ' City of the Plague.' He is the person 
 in question."
 
 lis MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 In the raontli of September he again visited EllePaV, accompanied 
 by tlie eldest of iiis little girls. On his way he wrote to his wife : — 
 
 " Pexhith, Friday, September 20tfi, 
 
 Evenirig, Nine o'clock, 1816. 
 
 "Dearest Jaxe: — TVe got safely to Hawick about ten o'clock; 
 found a comfortable room and fire; supped, and went to bed. 
 Maggy and Mary Tophara* drank tea at the fireside in the same 
 room with us, and were in bed by eleven. Maggy stood her journey 
 well ; made observations on the moon, and frightened me with the 
 beast several times, We left Hawick in a chaise at ten next morn- 
 ing, and proceeded to Knox's, where we dined. We left that by 
 eight o'clock, and reached Longtown by eleven. 
 
 " I supped the ladies and bedded them in half an hour. We left 
 Longtown after breakfast, at ten o'clock; came through Carlisle, 
 and dined at five o'clock. Maggy drank tea at seven, and immo 
 diately after retired to bed with Mary Topham, and I believe they 
 are both sound asleep at this moment. 
 
 " To-morrow morning at six o'clock we leave this for Patterdale, 
 and I think most probably will remain all night at Bowness. On 
 Sunday will reach Hollow Oak to dinner. Xothing can excel 
 Maggy's behavior — she is perfect ; all eyes that looked on her loved 
 her, and Miss Knox, I understand from Mary Topham, cut ofii" a 
 lock of her hair to keep. 3Ierit is sure of being discovered at last. 
 
 " She has sat on my knee almost the whole way, and I feel I love 
 her better than ever I did before. She will be an angelic being 
 like her gentle mother. I will write from Hollow Oak on Monday, 
 so you will hear on Tuesday or Wednesday. Write Ui me on 
 Tuesday, care of Mrs. Ullock, Bowness. 
 
 " Give me all family and other news. Love Johnny for my sake, 
 and teach him some prayers and hymns before I return. 
 " Thy afiectionate husband, 
 
 "John- Wilsox." 
 
 In another letter a few days later, dated from Elleray, he gives 
 rapid notes of his doings ; how he attended a ball which was " most 
 dull, though it gave universal satisfaction;" how next day he "lay in 
 bed all day," and the next " crowed all day like a cock at Elleray, to 
 
 ♦ Nursery- maid.
 
 ELLEIJAV. 149 
 
 Kobortson's* infinite delight ;" " tlie next day Do Quincey and Wil- 
 liam Garnet dined with me here, Billy and Mrs. Balmer officiating." 
 He adds, "Party here very agreeable," which one can well believe. 
 "To-morrow," he goes on, " Garnet, Robertson, and self take coach 
 to Keswick, and thence proceed to Buttermere and Ennerdale. I 
 
 • His friend Patrick, afterwards Lord Robertson, one of the most witty and warin-lii\arted of 
 men. lie was born in 1793; called to the Scotch bar in 1815; elected Dean of Faculty in 18-12; 
 raised to the beuch in 1843; died in 1S55. Lockhart wrote many a rhyming epitaj)!! upon him, 
 one of which is r^uoted elsewhere. On another occasion, he is reported to have written, "Peter 
 Eoberlsoii is 'a man'" to use his own favorite quotation, "cast in Nature's amplest mould. He is 
 Bfi'^itted to be the greatest corporation lawyer at the Scotch bar ; and he is a vast pott as well oh 
 a ^eat lawyer. Silence, gentlemen, for a song by Peter Robertson : — 
 
 " Come listen all good gentlemen of every degree; 
 Come listen all ye lady-birds, come listen unto me; 
 Come listen all you laughinji ones, come listen all ye grave ; 
 Come listen all and every one, while I do sing a stave. 
 
 " One morning, I remember me, as I did lay in bed, 
 I felt a strange sensation come a throbbing tlirough my head; 
 And I thought unto myself, thinks I, Where was it I did dineT 
 With whom ? Oh, I recall the name, — 'twas Baron Brandywine. 
 
 *' Let me see : Oh, after turtle we h.ad punch, the spirits' rain, 
 And, if Pm not mistaken, we had iced hock and champagne. 
 And sundry little sundries, all which go to make one merry, 
 An iutervening toss, or so, of some superb old sherry. 
 
 " Well, then, to be dramatic, wo must needs imbibe a dram 
 (A very sorry sort of [)un — the peri)etrator Sam) ; 
 And then to port and claret with great industry wo fell. 
 Which, sooth to say, appeared to suit our party pretty well. 
 
 '• Then biscuits all bedevilled we designedly did munch. 
 To gain a proper relish for that glorious bowl of punch. 
 But after that I cannot say that I remember much, 
 Except a hiccup-argument 'bout Belgium and the Dutch. 
 
 " Such were my recollections, and such I sing to you. 
 Good gentlemen and lady-birds — upon my soul it's true; 
 And if you wish to bear away the moral of my song, 
 It's this — for all your headaches let the reasons still be strong.^'' 
 
 I think I J&iict Mr. Lockhart's hand in the following good wishes: — 
 
 " Oh, Petrus, Pedro, Peter, which you will, 
 Lonu', long ihy radiant destiny fulfil. 
 Bright be thy wit, and bright the golden ore, 
 Paid down in fees for thy deep legal lore. 
 Bright be thy claret, brisk be thy champagne, 
 Thy whiskey-punch a vast, exhauslless main. 
 With thee disporting on its Joyous slKu-e, 
 or that glad spirit quailing ever more. 
 Keen be thy stomach, potent thy digestion. 
 And long thy lectures on 'the general question,' 
 While young and old swell out the general strain. 
 We ne'er shall look upon his like again."
 
 150 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Avill write tliee on Saturday, fixing my day of return. I go to 
 Ulverstone to see Maggy, etc. Don't hire a servant without seeing 
 and approving her — mind that. Write me on Saturday as before. 
 Put Elleray on the letter, else a surgeon at Bowness will read it. 
 Love to Ung* and others. 
 
 " Eternally yours, 
 
 " J. W." 
 
 From the excursion with Garnet and Robertson he is hurried back 
 to Elleray on business, and writes in haste : — 
 
 "Elleray, Sept. 2Sth, 1816. 
 " My deakest "Wife : — I have not half a minute to spare. 
 Immediately on receiving this, send me the inventory of every thing 
 at Elleray. If it is too large to go by post, copy it over in one 
 long sheet, and send it oiF on Thursday. If it can go by post, 
 write on Tuesday — same day you receive this. On receiving your 
 letter to-morrow, I will write you at length, and tell you when I 
 come home, which will be immediately. It was impossible to leave 
 this hitherto, for reasons I will explain. You will have heard of 
 Maggy since I saw her. I will see her on Wednesday, and tell you 
 all about her. Whatever my anxieties and sorrows are or may be 
 in this life, I have in your affection a happiness paramount to all on 
 earth, and I think that I am happier in the frowns of fortune, with 
 that angelic nature, than perhaps even if we had been living in 
 affluence. God forever bless you, and my sweet family, is the 
 prayer of your loving and affectionate husband, 
 
 "J. Wilson." 
 
 There are no more letters or memorials of that year. The next 
 brings us into a new field, which calls for a chapter to itself. 
 
 * A playful soubriquet for his oldest son.
 
 Patrick llobertson, Esq. — From a sketch by the hilc I'rot'cssor Edward Forbes.
 
 LITER.ATUKE. — BLACKWOOl/s MAGAZINE. 153 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LITEKATUEE. BLACK "WOOd's MAGAZINE. 
 
 1817-1820. 
 
 With the year 1817 we enter on a new epoch in Wilson's life. 
 Hitherto his literary exertions had been confined almost exclu- 
 sively to poetry ; and the reception of his works, however favorable, 
 had not been such as to satisfy him that that was the department in 
 which he was destined to assert his superiority, or to find full scope 
 for his varied powers. Much as has been said as to th^ mode in 
 which these were exercised, and the comparative inadequacy of the 
 results, I cannot but think that there is misconception on the subject. 
 I dismiss the question what he or any other man of great powers 
 ought to have done : I look simply at what he did do, which alone 
 concerns us, now that his work is finished. Whether he might or 
 should have written certain works on certain subjects, for the use or 
 pleasure of his own generation and of posterity, seems to me an idle 
 question. Enough for his vindication, that in a long and laborious 
 literary life he wielded a wholesome and powerful influence in the 
 Avorld of letters; and enough for his fame, that amid the haste and 
 exigencies of incessant periodical composition, he wrote sijch things 
 as no other man but himself could have written, and which will be 
 read and delighted in as long as the hiohest kind of criticism and of 
 prose-poetry are valued among men. Periodical literature, it seems 
 to me, was ])recisely the thing for which he was suited by tempera- 
 ment, versatility, and power ; and unless it be broadly asserted, that 
 the service done to letters and civilizijtion through the medium of a 
 great literary organ is unimportant, and unworthy of the efforts of 
 a man of genius, I do not see how it can be maintained that Profes- 
 sor Wilson neglected or threw away his gifts when he devoted them 
 to the establishment and maintenance of the influence of Blick- 
 xcood's Magazine. 
 
 Before, howevei", entering on the less pe:icefid events which follow, 
 let us have a glimpse of him once more — rod in hand, :uid kna|)sack 
 on back — away in the heart of the Highlands towards the close of 
 July, 1817. This time, however, he was burdened with a now load,
 
 154: ItEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 for he c-irrit-^ btwides his wardrobe and fishing-basket, a parcel of 
 books. He hu^l, in fact, come bound to iiroducu an " article" for the 
 Edinburgh ^lonthly Magazine^ and that inexorable familiar the 
 printer's devil followed on his heels even into the wilds of Rannoch. 
 There he finished for the August number of that magazine a review 
 of "'Lalla Kookh," of which the first part had appeared in June. 
 The following letter is the only memorial of this expedition: — ■ 
 
 " My dearest Jaxe : — On Monday at four o'clock I got to Perth, 
 and during the journey felt much for poor Robert, who must have 
 got dreadfully wet. We dined comfortably there, and walked to 
 Dunkeld in the evening on foot, a very pleasant walk after the rain. 
 On Tuesday, we took the top of the coach to Pitlochry, thirteen 
 miles from Dunkeld, and about six from the bridge, where we got 
 into the coach from Mrs. Izett's. We thence walked by the river 
 Tumniel (a scene somewhat like Borrowdale) to an inn at the head 
 of Loch Tummel, where we stayed all night. On Wednesday, we 
 fished up to Kinloch Rannoch, and I killed forty good trouts. I found 
 our worthy friends here in good health and spirits. They have had 
 two children since we saw them, and they inquired very kindly for 
 you. On Thursday, I fished down to Mount Alexander, but the 
 day was cold and unfavorable. Mr. Stewart, of Inverhadden, dined 
 with us at the inn — a rare original. I fear I did not go to bod sober. 
 (Friday.) — I have breaklasted with him, and fished ; good sport, 
 though, a^s usual, I lost several large ones. Menzies and his friend 
 left me to-day for Loch Ericht, and I expect to see no more of them. 
 To-morrow I ought to leave this, but that confounded Lalla Rookh 
 is still on my hands ; so I shall review it to-morrow, leave it here, 
 and be ofi" to Blair Athole on Sunday. On Monday, I shall be at 
 Captain Harden's, Altnagoich, Braemar, and hope on Wednesday 
 to have good accounts of my sweet girl and the fry. After that my 
 motions are uncertain, but on Sunday evening write to ' Mr. Wilson, 
 Post-Office, Inverness, to lie till called for,' and I hope to be there 
 as soon as the letter. That is the second Sunday after my depar- 
 t\ire. Xo mistakes now. Write long and witty letters. The weather 
 has been tolerable, and I am in good health. Give my love to Ung 
 and the others, and God in his mercy keep them all well and ha]tpy. 
 Heaven bless you forever, and believe me thy loving and gritefi*! 
 husband. 
 
 •■KlNUOCII RAXNOCi! J.lhj 21, 1S17."
 
 LITEKATURE. BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINE. 155 
 
 Here also may come in two pleasant letters fiom Jeffrey, before 
 we arrive at the point when it became impossible for the editor of 
 the Edinburgh Review to exchange confidential and friendly com- 
 munications with an acknowledged contributor to Blackicood : — 
 
 " CuAifiCBOOK, lOi/i October, 1817. 
 
 "My" DEAR Wilson: — Do you think you could be prevailed on to 
 write a review for me now and then ? Perhaps this may appear to 
 you a very audacious request, and I am not sure tliat I should have 
 had the boldness to make it, but I had heard it surmised, and in 
 very intelligent quarters, that you had occasionally condescended to 
 exercise the functions of a critic in works where your exertions must 
 necessarily obtain less celebrity than in our journal. When I apply 
 for assistance to persons in whose talents and judgment I have as 
 ranch confidence as I have in yours, I leave of course the choice of 
 their subjects very much to themselves, being satisfied that it must 
 always be for my interest to receive all they are most desirous of 
 sending. It is therefore rather with a view to tempt than to assist 
 you, that I venture to suggest to you a general review of our dra- 
 matic poetry, a subject which I long meditated for myself, but which 
 I now feel that I shall never have leisure to treat as I should wish 
 to treat it, and upon which indeed I could not now enter, without 
 a pretty laborious resumption of my early and half-forgotten studies. 
 To you, I am quite sure, it is familiar, and while I am by no means 
 certain that our opinions could always coincide, I have no hesitation 
 in saying, that I should very much distrust my own when they were 
 in absolute opposition to yours, and that I am unfeignedly of opinion 
 that in your hands the disquisition will be more edifying and (juite 
 as entertaining as ever it could have been in mine. It is the appear- 
 ance of the weak and dull article in the last Quarterly^ which lias 
 roused mc to the resolution of procuring something more worthy of 
 the subject for the Edinburr/h^ and there really is nobody but your- 
 self to whom I can look with any satisfaction for such a i)apcr. 
 
 "I do not want, as you will easily conjecture, a learned, ostenta- 
 tious, and antiquarian dissertation, but an account written with taste 
 and feeling, and garnished, if you please, with such quotations as 
 maj-- be either very curious or very delightful. I intended some- 
 thing of this sort when I lu'gan my review of Ford's plays, but I ran 
 off the course almost at starting, and could never get back again.
 
 156 MEMOIR OF JOHN "VXTLSON. 
 
 "Xow, pray, do not refuse me rashly. I am not without impa- 
 tience for your answer, but I would rather not have it for a day or 
 two, if your first impression is that it would be unfavorable. If you 
 are in a complying mood, the sooner I hear it the better. 
 
 "Inde])eiident of all this, will you allow me again to say, that I 
 am very sincerely desirous of being better acquainted with you, and 
 regret very much that my many avocations and irregular' way of 
 Ufe have forced me to see so little of you. Could you venture to 
 dine here without a party any day next week that you choose to 
 name, except Saturday ? If you have no engagement, will yon come 
 on Monday or Tuesday ? Any other day that may be more conve- 
 nient. If you take my proposal into kind consideration, we ni:iy 
 talk a little of the drama ; if not, we will foil on something elso. 
 Believe me always very faithfully yours, "F. Jeffrey. 
 
 " Send your answer to George Street." 
 
 The fact that my father agreed to contribute to an organ which 
 soon after became the olyect of determined hostility in the )>eriodical 
 to which he chiefly devoted his services, will not, I imagine, be now 
 regarded in the same light as it was by the Edinburgh Whigs of 
 1817. The practice of writing on diflerent subjects in organs of 
 the most hostile oinnions is one which is now so universal among 
 men of the highest character in the world of letters, that it nee<ls no 
 vindication here. At the time, too, when my father received this 
 friendly overture from Jeffrey, the Magazine had not assumed that 
 position as a representative of high Tory principles which by and by 
 placed it in direct antagonism to the Review. The subjects on 
 which he agreed to contribute were purely literary, and he was, no 
 doubt, very glad to get the opportunity of expressing his views on 
 poetry in an organ where that subject had not been treated in a style 
 which he could consider satisfactory. It would appear that he had 
 oftered to review Coleridge in a friendly manner, which, taken in 
 connection with the fact that a fierce onslaught on that poet appeared 
 in the Xumber of Blackicood at that very time in the ]>ress, may 
 funiish matter for unfavor.able judgment to any sympathizers in the 
 ariLrry feelings of tliat period. I have no fear, however, that this 
 circumstance will lead to uncharitable conclusions in the minds of 
 any whose opinion I value. I am content to risk the reader's esti- 
 mate of mv father's irenerositv and kindliness of nature on the real
 
 LITEKATL'KE. BLACKWOOd's MAGAZIXE. 157 
 
 facts of his life, without keeping any thing in the background that 
 throws Hght ui)on them. The following is Jeffrey's reply to his 
 communication, which I regret has not come into my hands : — 
 
 "Craiocrook, nth October, 1817. 
 " My dear Wilson : — I give you up Byron freely, and thank- 
 fully accept of your conditional promise about the drama; for Cole- 
 ridge, I should like first to have a little talk with you. I had in- 
 tended to review him fairly, and, if i)0ssible, favorably, myself, at 
 all events mercifully ; but, on looking into the volume, I can discern 
 so little new, and so much less good than I had expected, that I 
 hesitate about noticing him at all. I cannot help fearing, too, that 
 the discrepancy of our opinions as to that style of poetry may be 
 too glaring to render it prudent to venture upon it, at least under 
 existing circumstances; and besides, if I must unmask all my weak-' 
 ness to you, I am a little desirous of having the credit, though it 
 should only be an inward one, of doing a handsome or even kind 
 thing to a man who has spoken ill of me, and am unwilling that a 
 favorable review of this author should appear in the Review from 
 any other hand than my own. But we shall talk of this after I have 
 considered the capabilities of the work a little further. 
 
 " I am very much gratified by the kind things you are pleased to 
 say of me, though the flattering ones with which you have mixed 
 them rather disturb me. When you know me a little better, you 
 will find me a very ordinary fellow, and really not half so vain as 
 to takd your testimony in behalf of my qualifications. I have, I 
 suppose, a little more practice and expertness in some things than 
 you can yet have, but I am very much mistaken if you have not 
 more talent of every kind than I have. What I think of your char- 
 acter you may infer from the offer I have made you of my friend- 
 ship, and which I rather think I never made to any other m:m. 
 
 " I think you have a kind heart and a manly spirit, and feel per- 
 fectly assured that you will always act with frankness, gentleness, 
 and firmness. I ask pardon for sending you this certificate, but I 
 do not know how else to express so clearly the grounds of my re- 
 gard and esteem. 
 
 "Believe me always, very faithfully yours, 
 
 "F. Jeffrey. 
 "I hope to see you on your return from Glasgow."
 
 15S MKMOIR OF JOHN WILCON. 
 
 Of the subjects spoken of or coutemplated, the only one which 
 he took up was Byron, the review of whom did not make its ap- 
 pearance till August of the following year. That was my father's 
 first and last contribution to the £Jd/nbur[/h Hevieic. Another frag- 
 ment of a letter from Jeffrey, that must have been written not long 
 after, may also be inserted here for the sake of coherence. It refers 
 to a vindication of Wordsworth by my fiither, in reply to a letter 
 in the Edinburgh Magazine criticising the poet's strictures on the 
 £di)ibiirgh Mevieic^s estimate of the character of Burns : — 
 
 . . . "■ hear that you had any thing to do with it, and was so far 
 from feeling any animosity to the author that I conceived a very 
 favorable opinion of him. I have not had an opportunity of looking 
 into it since I saw your letter, but I can most confidently assure 
 you that nothing that is there said can break any squares between 
 us, and that you may praise Wordsworth as much as you please, 
 and vilipend my criticisms on him in the most sweeping manner 
 without giving me a moment's uneasiness or offence, provided you 
 do not call me a slanderer, and an idiot, and a puppy, and all the 
 other fine names that that worthy and judicious person has thought 
 fit to lavish on me. I fairly tell you that I think your veneration 
 for that gentleman is a sort of infatuation, but in you it is an amia- 
 ble one, and I should think meanly of myself indeed if I were to 
 take exception at a man for admiring the poetry or the speculative 
 opinions of an author who, having had some provocation, has been 
 ridiculously unjust to me. One thing I am struck with as a wilful 
 blindness and partiality in the paper in question, and that was your 
 
 passing over entirely the remarkable fact of the said W saj-iug 
 
 little or nothing of tlie blasphemies against Burns which occur in the 
 Quarterly, and which are far more violent and offensive than mine, 
 and pouring out all the vials of his wrath at the Edinburgh, which 
 had given him much less provocation. Is it possible for you in your 
 conscience to believe after this that the tirade against the Edinburgh 
 critic was dictated by a pure, generous resentment for the injuries 
 done to Biirns, and not by a little vindictive feeling for the severities 
 practised on himself By the way, I think I am nearly right in 
 what I have said of Burns; that is, I tliink the doctrine and moral- 
 ity to which I object is far oftener inculcated in his writings than 
 any other, and is plainly most familiar to his thoughts, though per- 
 haps it was ungenerous to denounce it so strongly,
 
 LITERATUKE. — BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINE. 159 
 
 " I have not written so long a letter these three years. Pray let 
 
 me hear that you are writing a review of Lord B for nie in 
 
 peace and felicity, and that you have resolved to dirty your fingers 
 no more Avith the quarrels of magazines and booksellers. God hless 
 you ! " Very truly yours, F. Jeffrey." 
 
 My father's connection with BlackwoocVs Magazine Avas such as 
 to make it absolutely necessary, in any record of his life, to give 
 some account of the rise of tliis periodical, and of the circumstances 
 which led to his becoming so intimately associated with its history. 
 I shall endeavor to do so as briefly as I can. Fortunately, we are 
 now sufficiently removed by time from the controversies of those 
 exciting days, to look at them with perfect calmness, if not impar- 
 tiality ; with something of wonder, it may be, at the fierceness dis- 
 played in contests about things which, in our own more peaceful 
 times, are treated with at least the affectation of philosophic indiffer- 
 ence ; but also, with some admiration of the vigor manifested in 
 supporting what Avas heartily believed. It is, indeed, impossible 
 for us at this time to realise fully the state of feeling that prevailed 
 in the literature and politics of the years between 1810 and 1830. 
 We can hardly imagine why men, Avho at heart respected and liked 
 each other, should have found it necessary to hold no communion, 
 but, on the contrary, to wage bitter war because the one was an 
 admirer of the Prince Regent and Lord Castlereagh, the other a 
 supporter of Queen Caroline and Mr. Broiighara. We cannot con- 
 ceive why a poet should be stigmatized as a base and detestable 
 character, merely because he Avas a Cockney and a Radical ; nor 
 can we comprehend how gentlemen, aggrieved by articles in news- 
 papers or magazines, should haA'e thought it necessary to the vin- 
 dication of their honor, to horsewhip or shoot the printers or editors 
 of the publications in Avhich such articles appeared. Yet in 1817, 
 and the following years, Ave find such to haA^e been the state of 
 things in the capital of Scotland. Not only Avas society actually less 
 civilized ; but politics, Avhich noAV happily forms no barrier between 
 men of otherwise congenial minds, then constituted the one great 
 line of demarcation. You were either a Tory and a good man, or 
 a Wliig and a rascal, and vice versa. If you were a Tory, and 
 watited a place, it was the duty of all good Tories to stand by you; 
 it' 3'ou were a Whig, your chance A\'as small ; but its feebleness was
 
 IGO MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 all the more reason why you should be proclaimed a martyr, and 
 all your o]>ponents profligate mercenaries. If I exaggerate, I am 
 open to correction ; but such appears to me to have been the pre- 
 vailing tone among the men who ligured most actively in public life 
 about the time to which this chapter relates. In literatm-e, at that 
 time, the Edinburgh lievieic was supreme. Its docti'iiies were re- 
 ceived, among those who believed in them, as oracular; and in the 
 hands of the small retailers of political and literary dogmas who 
 swore by it, those were becoming insufferably tiresome to the Toiy 
 part of mankind, who, singularly enough, had no literary oracle of 
 their own north of the Tweed. I suppose the party being strong in 
 power did not feel the want of such influence. The more ardent and 
 active minds on that side, however, were naturally impatient of the 
 dictatorship exercised by Mr. Jcfi'rey, and wanted only opportunity 
 to establish an opposing force in the interests of their own venerable 
 creed. That opportunity came, and was vigorously used, too vi^i- 
 orously at first, sometimes cruelly and unjustly, but ultimately with 
 results eminently beneficial. 
 
 To begin then at the beginning. In the month of December, 
 1816, Mr. William Blackwood, who had by uncommon tact and 
 energy, established his character in the course of a few years as an 
 enterprising publisher in Edinburgh, was applied to by two literary 
 men to become the publisher of a new monthly magazine, which 
 they had projected.* These gentlemen were James Cleghoru,f 
 who had acquired some literary position as editor of a Farmers^ 
 Magazine^ and Thomas Pringle,^ a pleasant writer and poet, who 
 afterwards emigrated to South Africa. § The idea was good, and 
 the time fitting for the " felt want," which is now pleaded about 
 once a week as the ground for estabhshing some new journal, was 
 then a serious reaUty ; the only periodical in Edinburgh of any 
 mark besides the Review being the Scots Magazine^ published by 
 Constable, once a highly respectable, but at that time a vapid and 
 
 • Mr. Gillies in his Memoirs gives the credit -tf the origin and suggestion to Hogg. — Vol. ', 
 p. 230. 
 
 t Mr. Cleghorn was more fortunate in his financial tnan his literary nndertakinga, having 
 been the founder of the Scottish Provident Institution, by whom a monument to his memory has 
 boon erected in the Eilinburgh Wiirriston Cemetery. He died in May, 1S3S. 
 
 % Author of yiirr.itire of a lUsidence in S<>iUh Africa, EphemerideJi. d-c : bom 1739, died ]SjI 
 
 § By a curious coincidence Ijoth these gentlemen were lame, and went on crutches, an infirmity 
 to which ludicrous but tn-ist iuii«ro|K'r allusion is made in the ChalJoe MS., where the/ are de 
 scribed as comins in ••skipr'iiiS"n staves."
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD^S MAGAZINE. 16l 
 
 almost " doited " puLlication. Messrs. Cleghorn and Pringle had 
 secured the co-operation of several clever writers — among others, 
 Mr. R. P. Gillies and James Hogg — and Mr. Blackwood's saga- 
 cious eye at once discerned the elements of success in the project. 
 The arrangements were accordingly proceeded with, on the footing 
 that the publisher and the editors were to be joint proprietors, and 
 share the profits, if any. The first number appeared in A]jril, 
 1817, under the title of The Edinburgh Monthly Magazine. The 
 contents were varied and agreeable, but no way remarkable ; and a 
 prefatory note to the next number, in which the editors spoke of 
 " Our humble Miscellany," indicates a certain mediocrity of aim 
 which must have been distasteful to the aspiring energy of the pub- 
 lisher, who had very difierent views of what the Magazine ought 
 to be made. There was no definite arrangement for the payment 
 of contribtitors. In fact it seems to have been taken for granted 
 that contributions were to be supplied on the most moderate terms, 
 if not altogether gratuitously. I find Mr. Blackwood stating in 
 his subsequent vindication of himself, in rejily to the charge of hav- 
 ing supi)Iied no money to the editors, that during the six months 
 of their connection, he " had paid them different sums, amounting 
 to i)50." He adds, "They will tell you I never i*efused them any 
 money they applied for. They may perhaps say the money was for 
 contriljutors ; but to this moment I am utterly ignorant of any con- 
 tributors to whom they either have or were called upon to pay 
 money, excepting some very trifling sums to two individuals."* 
 Perhaps this fact may have something to do with the crisis that 
 soon occurred in the management of the Magazine ; at all events, 
 it had not gone beyond two numbers, when editors and publisher 
 found they could not work together. Mr. Pringle was a very 
 amiable man, but his brother editor was a less agreeable person, 
 and with an estimate of his own literary powers considerably 
 higher than that entertained by his sagacious publisher. On the 
 19th of May the co-editors formally wrote to Mr. Blackwood, let- 
 ting him know that his interference with their editorial functions 
 could no longer be endured. Mr. Blackwood was probably nothing 
 loath to receive such an intimation, and in the exercise of his rights 
 
 ♦ Tliis economical stjip of work contrasts curiously with the muniflceaco subsequently prac- 
 tise<! in counectiou with the Ma^'azint A few years after this, I ttnd Wilson infoiuiing a con- 
 tnbiitur, "Our pay is ten tcuiueas a sheet." a rate since that time n.arly doubled.
 
 1('3 MEM(>1R UF Jl)llN AVILSON. 
 
 as partner and puljlisher, advertised iii the June number of the 
 Ma;j:a/hie that its jjublication -would be discontinued at tlie end of 
 three montlis from that date. The editors, tlirowu adrift by this 
 cotipy immediately offered their services to Messrs. Constable anu'i 
 Co., as editors of a new series of the Scots Magazine^ to a]>|)ear 
 under the title of T/ie JFJdlnburgJi JMagazine ,' while Mr. Black- 
 wood, after some contention and correspondence, agreed to pay his 
 quondam partners £125 for their share in the copyright of the JEd- 
 inhurgh Monthly -Magazine.^ In acquiring the copyright of the 
 Magazine, Mr. Blackwood deteimined to abandon its old title, and 
 give it a name combining the double advantage that it would not 
 be confounded with any other, and would at the same time help to 
 spread the reputation of the publisher. 
 
 Accordingly in October, 1817, appeared for the first time J5ZacX;- 
 wood^s Edinburgh Magazine (Xo. VII. from commencement), and 
 it needed no advertising trumpet to let the world know that a new 
 reign (a reign of terror in its way) had begun. In the previous six 
 numbers there had been nothing allowed to creep in that could pos- 
 sibly oftend the most zealous partisan of the Blue and Yellow. On 
 the contrary, the opening article of Xo. I. was a good-natured eulo- 
 gium on Mr. Francis Horner ; the Edinhurgh Review was praised 
 for its ability, moderation, and good taste; politics were rather 
 eschewed than otherwise ; the literary notices were, with one or two 
 exceptions, elaboi'ately commonplace and complaisant, and, in fact, 
 every thing was exemplarily careful, correct, and colorless. Xo.VIL 
 spoke a diiferent language, and proclaimed a new and sterner creed. 
 Among a considerable variety of papers, most of them able and in- 
 teresting, it contained not less than three of a kind well calculated 
 to arouse curiosity and excitement, and to give deep olience to sec- 
 tions more or less extensive of the reading public. The first was a 
 most unwarrantable assault on Coleridge's Biographia Literaria^ 
 which was adjudged to be a "most execrable" performance, and its 
 
 * The sum they had demrmded was £300, bnt according to the pulilisher's accounts, submitted 
 to the law-ai;t'nt of the editors, tlie success of the worli had not been such as to justify that es- 
 timate. The accounts showed that so far from havint; made protit, the i)ublisher was nearly 
 £140 out of pocket, and that, "even if the wliole impression were sold olf, tliere would not be 
 £70 clear profit." Aceordini; to this estimate, whiel) seems to have satisfied the agent (no other 
 than the afterwards celebrated Geor<.'e Combe), the half share of the editors at the most would 
 hare been worth £35. What the nimiber of copies printed was I have no means of knowing; 
 it was, iirobatiiy, not large, iirid the fact thai the whole impression was not disposed of, gives some 
 l^round tor the belief that Ih- publisher had reason to be dissatisfled with the maJiugement.
 
 LITKKATUKE. BL.VCKWOt.)D's MACiAZI^K. 103 
 
 author a miserable compound of " egotism and malignity."* The 
 second was an even more unjustifiable attack on Leigli Hunt, who 
 ■was spoken of as a " [)rofl!gate creature," a person " withoiit rever- 
 ence either for God or man." The third was the famous " Chahlee 
 Manuscript," compared with which the sins of the others were al- 
 most pardonable in the eyes of a great j^ortion of the public. The 
 eftt'ct of this article upon the small society of Edinburgh can now 
 hardly be realized. f 
 
 It was evident, in a word, that a new and very formidable power 
 had come into existence, and that those who wielded it, whoever 
 they were, were not men to stick at trifles. The sensation produced 
 by the first number, was kept up in those that followed. There 
 was hardly a number for many months that did not contain at least 
 one attack upon somebody, and the business was gone about with 
 a systematic determination that showed there was an ample store 
 of the same amnmnitiou in reserve. Most people, however virtuous, 
 have a kind of malicious pleasure in seeing others sacrificed, if the 
 process be artistically gone about, and the Blackwood tomahawk- 
 ers were undeniable adepts in the art. Even those who most con- 
 demned them, accordingly showed their appreciation of their per- 
 formances by reading and talking of them, which was exactly the 
 thing to increase their influence. It must not be imagined, how- 
 ever, that the staple of BlackwoocV s contributions consisted of mere 
 banter and personality. These Avould have excited but slight and 
 temporary notice, had the bulk of the articles not disi»layed a rare 
 combination of much higher (jualities. Whatever subjects Avere 
 discussed, were handled with a masterly vigor and freshness, and 
 developed a fulness of knowledge and variety of talent that could 
 not fail to coiiunand respect even from the least approving critic. 
 The publisher knew too well what suited the public taste, and had 
 too much innate sense and fairness, to allow more than a reasonable 
 
 * It is edifying to find this article criticised thus in "Peter's Letters" two years afterwards :— 
 ••Tliis Is indeed the only one of all the various sins of the Magazine for which I am at a loss 
 to (liseuvor not an apology but a motive. . . . The result is bad, and, in truth, very pitiable " 
 
 t It is unnecessary here to give any account of this singular J<;itdV-«/>7t7, the history of which 
 will be found sulliciently detailed in Professor Ferrier's excellent Preface to it. in vol. iv. of Wil- 
 son's Works. I may add this fact only, that it was composed in 53 Queen street, amid shout? 
 of laiighter, that made the ladies in the room above send to inquire, in wonder, what the gentle- 
 men below were about. I am informed that among those who were met together on that mem- 
 orable occasion was Sir W iUiam llainiltuu, who also exercised his wit in writing a verse, and was 
 so lunuscd by his own [lerforiii.mee that be tumbled oil' his ehair in a lit of laughter.
 
 164 MEMOIR OF Julias WILSON. 
 
 modicum of abuse m the pages of his Magazine. But he had a dif- 
 ficult task in accomuiodatiug the inclinations of his fiery associates 
 to the dictates of prudence and justice; appreciating liighly, as he 
 did, tlieir remarkable talents, and unwilling to lose their services, 
 it required great tact and firmness to restrain their sharp pens, and 
 lie more than once paid dearly, in solid cash, for their wanton and 
 immoderate expressions.* 
 
 The public, whether pleased or angry, inquired with wonder 
 where all this sudden talent had lain hid that now threatened to set 
 the Forth on fire. Suspicions were rife ; but Mr. Blackwood could 
 keep a secret, and knew the power of mystery. Who his contribu- 
 tors were, who his editor, were matters on which neither he nor 
 they chose to give more information than w\as necessary. It might 
 sufiice for the public to know, from the allegorical descriptions of 
 the Chaldee MS., that there Avas a host of mighty creatures in the 
 Service of the " man in plain apparel," conspicuous among which 
 were the '" beautiful Leopard from the valley of the Palm trees," 
 and " the Scorpion which delighteth to sting the faces of men." As 
 for their leader, he was judiciously represented as a veiled person- 
 
 * The early defects of the Magazine are nowhere better analyzed than by the very hands that 
 were chiefly engaged in the work. The authors of "Peter's Letters," after pointing out the 
 faults of the Edinburgh Review, go on to say : "These faults — faults thus at last beginning to bo 
 seen by a considerable number of the old readers and admirers of the Edinburrjh Heriew — seem 
 to have been at the bottom of the aversion which the writers who established Blackwood's Ma- 
 gazine had against it; but their quarrel also included a verj' just disapprobation of the un- 
 patriotic mode of considering the political events of the times adopted all along by the Review, 
 and also of its occasional irreligious mockeries, borrowed from the French philosophy, or soi- 
 d/«</«< philosophy of the last age. Their great object seems to have been to break up the mo- 
 nopoly of influence which had long been possessed by a set of persons guilty of perverting, in 
 60 many ways, talents on all hands acknowledged to be great. And had they gone about the es- 
 eculion of their design with as much aindor and good feeling as would seem to have attended 
 the conception of it, I have little doubt they would very soon have procured a mighty host of 
 readers to go along with them in all their conclusions. But the persons who are supposed to have 
 taken the lead in directing the new forces, wanted many of those, qualities which were most ne- 
 cessary to insure success to their endeavors; and they possessed others which, although in them- 
 selves admirably fitted for enabling them to conduct their project successfully, tended, in the 
 manner in which they made use of them, to throw many unnecessary obstacles in their way. In 
 short, they were very young, or very ine.xperienced men, who, although passionately fond of lit- 
 erature, and even well skilled in many of its finest branches, were by no means accurately ac- 
 quainted with the structure and practice of literature as it exists at this day in Britain. . . . 
 They approached the lists of literary warfare with the spirit at bottom of true knights; but they 
 had come from the woods and the cloisters, and not from the cities and haunts of active men, and 
 they had armed themselves, in addition to their weapons of the right temi)er, with many other 
 wiaponsof cllence, which, although sanctioned in former times by the iiractice of the heroes in 
 w hose repositories they h.id found them rusting, had now become utterly ex|iloded, and were re- 
 garded, .ind justly regarded, as entirely unjustifiable and disgraceful by all who surveyed with 
 luuderu eyes the arena of thei exertions."
 
 Ml-. Wilson, alias '-The Leopard.
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINE. 167 
 
 age, whose name it was in vain to ask, and whose personality was 
 itself a mystery. On that point the public, which cannot rest satis- 
 fied without attributing specific powers to specific persons, refused 
 after a time to acknowledge the mystery, and insisted on recog- 
 nizing in John Wilson the real impersonation of Blackwood's 
 " veiled editor." The error has been often emphatically corrected : 
 let it once again be repeated, on the best authority, that the only 
 real editor Blackwood'' s Magazine ever had was Blackwood him- 
 self. Of tliis fact I have abundant proofs. Suffice it that contribu- 
 tions from Wilson's own pen have beeu altered, cut down, and kept 
 back, in compliance with the strong will of the man whose name on 
 the title-page of tlie Magazine truly indicated with whom lay the 
 sole responsibility of the management. 
 
 At what precise date my father came into personal communica- 
 tion with Mr. Blackwood does not appear. Before that, however, 
 he had been an anonymous contributor to the Magazine. In the 
 very first number is a poem entitled, " The Desolate Village, a Rev- 
 erie," with the initial N., which bears strong marks of his style. 
 Some others, similarly signed, and of similar qualities, occur in sub- 
 sequent numbers. In the Notices to Correspondents in No. II., it is 
 stated that the "Letter on the proposed new translation of the 
 Psalms" was too late for insertion. That letter, which did not ap 
 pear, is referred to in the following note, without date or signature, 
 in my father's handwriting : — 
 
 " Sir : — I enclose a letter for j'our Magazine from the same 
 anonymous writer who sent you a communication relative to a new 
 translation of the I'salms. If these connnunications are inserted, 
 and I feel some confidence that they are fitted for a work like tlie 
 Edinburgh Magazine, I shall take care to send you some little trifle 
 every month. But I prefer remaining anonymous at present, till I 
 see how my communications are appreciated." 
 
 How the monthly trifles were appreciated by Mr. Blackwood's 
 two editors, matters not; that they were appreciated by that gen- 
 tleman himself soon became apparent. Prob.ibly enougli, some of 
 the anonymous correspondent's contributions gave rise to thoscdif- 
 ferences of opinion between the ])ublisher and the editors, which 
 ended in their separation. One cannot l)ut suspect that the writer
 
 168 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of tlie paper referred to in tlie following "Notice to a Correspond- 
 eut" was either the Leopard or the S(;orpiou : — "The paper on Crani- 
 ology by Peter Candid would have api)eared in our present number, 
 if it had not contained some improper personal allusions." In the 
 same number (III.), at all events, is a review of "The Craniad," a 
 Poem, which may be given entire.* I have no doubt the cautio' 
 editors inserted it with great misgivings as to its containing " im- 
 proper personal allusions ;" very possibly the publisher inserted it 
 without consulting them. It is one of the very few lively things in 
 the Edbibw'fjh MontJdy Magazine. 
 
 In the new Magazine, relieved from the editorial incubus, and 
 the embarrassments of a divided responsibility, the genius of Wil- 
 son found free scope. Like a strong athlete who never before had 
 room or occasion to display his powers, he now revelled in their ex- 
 ercise in an arena where the competitors were abundant, and the 
 onlookers eagerly interested. Month after month he poured forth 
 the exuberant current of his ideas on politics, poetry, philosophy, 
 religion, art, books, men, and nature, with a freshness and force 
 that seemed incapable of exhaustion, and regardless of obstacles. 
 It was in fact only a change in the form of his activity. In that 
 new and more exciting field he doubtless dealt many a blow, of 
 which, on calm reflection and in maturer years, he saw reason to 
 repent. But without at all excusing the extravagance of censure 
 and the violence of language which often disfigured these early coiv 
 tributions to the Magazine, I cannot say that I have been able to 
 trace to his hand any instance of unmanly attack, or one shade of 
 real malignity. There did appear in the Magazine wanton and un- 
 justifiable strictures on persons such as Wordsworth and Coleridge, 
 with whom he was on terms of friendship, and for whom, in its own 
 pages and elsewhere, he professed, as he sincerely felt, the highest 
 esteem. But when it is well understood that he was never in any 
 sense tlie editor, and that in these early days of the Magazine the 
 ruling principle seemed to be that every man fought for his own 
 
 * Tlie Craniad, or Spurzheim Illustrated. A Poem in Two Parts. 12nio. Blackwood. 
 Edinb\ir!;h, 1S17. " The Cninia<i is the worst poem wo have now in Scotland. The author has 
 it in his power at once to decide the great craniologrical controversy. Let him submit his skull 
 to general inspection, and if it exhibit a single intellectual organ, Spiirzheim's theory is over- 
 thrown." The original of this characteristic bit of criticism occurs in a MS. book, described by 
 Mr. Gillies as an "enormous ledger," which, he says, was taken possession of Ijy my father, and 
 filled with "skeletons"' of pri)])osed articles. Of these sketches, however, tho much mutilsti.-d 
 volume contains none, Ihe existing contents beiii.' .tl:iiust entirely poetry.
 
 Mr. Lockhiirt, alias '-The Scorpion.'
 
 LITKRATURK. BI.ACKWOOD's MAGAZINE. 171 
 
 hand, mid was surrounded witli a cloud of secrecy even from bis 
 fellows, it will ajjpear that he had simply the alternative of ceasing 
 to contribute further to the Magazine, or of continuing to do so 
 under the disadvantage of seeming to approve what he really con- 
 demned.* That he ailopted the latter course is, I think, no stigma 
 on his character; and iu after days, Avhen his influence in the 
 Magazine had become paramount, he made noble amends for its 
 former sins. 
 
 The staff' of contributors whom Mr. Blackwood had contrive<l to 
 rally round his standard contained many distinguished men. "The 
 Great Unknown," and the venerable " Man of Feeling," were en- 
 listed on his side, and gave some occasional help. Dr. M'Crie, the 
 biographer of Knox, and Dr. Andrew Thomson, were solemnly 
 and at much length reproved by an orthodox pamphleteer, styling 
 himself Calmmts, for their supposed association with the AA'icked 
 authors of the Chaldee Manuscript. Sir David Brewster contri- 
 buted scientific articles, as did also Robert Jameson and James 
 Wilson. Among the other contributors, actual or presumed, were 
 De Quincey, Hogg, Gillies, Fraser Tytler, Kirkpatrick Sliarpe, Sir 
 William Hamilton, and his brother,f the author of Cyril IViorntoii. 
 But though all these and more figured in the hst of Blackwood's 
 supporters, there were but two on whom he placed his main reli- 
 ance, the most prolific and versatile of all the band, who between 
 them were capable at any time of providing the whole contents of a 
 Number. These were John Wilson and John Gibson Lockhart. 
 Those whose only knowledge of that pair of briefless young advo- 
 cates was derived from seeing them pacing the Parliament House, 
 or lounging carelessly into Blackwood's saloon to read the news- 
 papers,J and pass their jokes on everybody, including themselves, 
 
 * Thus it is possible bis desire to review Coleridge favorably in the EMnhurgli may have 
 arisen fioiii a wish to do justice to that great wan, the opportunity lor which he was denied in 
 the pages jf Ulaclcwood. 
 
 t Thoiiiis Hamilton wrote several works besides Cyril Thornton ; among others, Annah of 
 the Peuiiuular Campaign, and Men and Manners in America. He dieil iu 1S4'2, at the age of 
 fifty-three. 
 
 X That lidoon and its proprietor are thus described by Dr. Peter Morris: — "Then you have an 
 elegant oval saloon lighted from the roof, where various groups of loungers and literary cUlittanti 
 are engaged in looking at, or criticising among themselves, the publications just arrived by that 
 day's coach from town. In such critical colloquies, the voice of the bookseller may ever and anon 
 be heard mingling the broad and unadulterated notes of its Auld Ueekie music; f<ir unless occu- 
 pied iu the recesses of the premises with some other business, it is here that he has his usual 
 station. He is a nimble, aelive-lookiug man of middle age, and moves about from one corner to
 
 172 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 could have little idea of their power of work, or of the formidahle 
 manuer in which it was being exercised. That blue-eyed and 
 ruddy-cheeked i>oet, whose time seemed to hang lightly enough 
 upon his hands, did not quite realize one's idea of the redoubtable 
 critic whose '• crutch " was to become so formidable a weapon. 
 Nor did his jaunty-looking companion, whose leisure seemed to be 
 wholly occupied in drawuig caricatures,* appear a likely person, 
 when he sauntered home from Princes street, to sit down to a 
 translation from the German, or to dash off at a sitting "' copy " 
 enough to fill a sheet oi BlxckwoocVs Magazine. The striking con- 
 trast in the outward aspect of the two men corresponded truly to 
 their difference of character and temperament — a difference, how- 
 ever, wliich proved no obstacle to their close intimacy. There was 
 a picturesque contrast between them, which might be simply de- 
 fined by light and shade; but there was a more striking dissimilarity 
 than that which is merely the result of coloring, Mr, Lockhart's 
 pale olive complexion had something of a Spanish character in it, 
 that accorded well with the sombre or rather melancholy expression 
 of his countenance ; his thin lips, compressed beneath a smile of 
 habitual sarcasm, promised no genial response to the warmer emo- 
 tions of the heart. His compact, finely- formed head indicated an 
 acute and refined intellect. Cold, haughty, supercilious in manner, 
 he seldom won love, and not unfrequently caused his friends to dis- 
 trust it in him, for they sometimes found the warmth of their own 
 feelings thrown back upon them in presence of this cold indifference. 
 Circumstances afterwards conferred on him a brilliant position, and 
 he gave way to the weakness Mhich seeks prestige from the re- 
 flected glory found in rank. The gay coteries of London society 
 injured his interest in the old friends who had worked hand in 
 hand with him when in Edinburgh. He was well depicted by his 
 friend through the mouth of the Shepherd, as "the Oxford collegian, 
 wi' a pale face and a black toozy head, but an e'e like an eagle's ; 
 
 kDOthiT with sreat alacrity, and apparently under the influence of high animal spirits. His com- 
 plexion is very sanomlneous, but nothinir can be more intelligent, kvea and sasacioiis than the 
 expression of bis whole physiognomy ; above all, the gray eyes and eyebrows, as full of locomo- 
 tion as tho<e (.f Ciitalani." — Peter ti Letters, vol ii., pp. 1ST, ISS. 
 
 ♦ It is said, with what truth I know not, that clever as Mr. Lockhart was with b<ith pen and 
 pencil, he lacked curiously one gift without which no man can be a successful barrister; he could 
 not, like many other able writers, make a speech. His portfolios show that instead of Uiking 
 notes during a trial, his pen must have been busily employed in photographing .ill the parties 
 engaged, judge, counsel, and prisoner 1 avail myself of this opportunity to insert here two 
 ■[>ej:ijnen8 of his wonderful power, one ^alien fmin the Bench, and another from the I'ultiL
 
 A SCOTCH MINISTEK. 
 
 "When last in Scotland I was advised to look about among the pulpits, to try 
 whether any living specimen could be found repciiiblini: tlie ancient Scottish 
 worthies, t did so, but was not sncci-ssrul." — Dr. Vlrifk Stenmiare mi Vie 
 Natural ChamcUr of the, Scotv. — Blackwood, vol Iv,, p. 829,
 
 litp:rature. — bl.vckwoods magazine. 175 
 
 and a sort o' lauch about the screwed-up mouth o' him that fules 
 ca'ed no canny, for they eoultlna' thole the meaning o't." I am 
 fortunate enough to be able to give the capital likeness on page 185, 
 drawn by his own hand, in which the satirist who spared no one, 
 has most assuredly not been flattering to himself. 
 
 Wilson's appearance in those days is thus described in Peters 
 Letters by Mr. Lockhart : — " In complexion he is the best specimen 
 I have ever seen of the genuine or ideal Goth. His hair is of the 
 true Sicambrian yellow; his eyes are of the brightest, and at the 
 same time of the clearest blue, and the blood glows in his cheek 
 with as firm a fervor as it did, according to the description of 
 Jornandes, in those of the ' Bello gaudentes, pra^lio ridentes Teu- 
 tones' of Attila." The black-haired Spanish-looking Oxonian, with 
 that uncanny laugh of his, was a very dangerous person to encoun- 
 ter in the field of letters. " I've sometimes ihocht, Mr. North," 
 says the Shepherd, "that ye were a wee feared for him yoursel', 
 and used rather, without kennin 't, to draw in your horns." Sys- 
 tematic, cool, and circumspect, when he armed himself for conflict 
 it was with a fell and deadly determination. The other rushed into 
 combat rejoicingly, like the Teutons ; but even in his fiercest mood, 
 he was alive to pity, tenderness, and humor. When he impaled a 
 victim, he did it, as Walton recommends, not vindictively, but as if 
 he loved him. Lockhart, on the other hand, though susceptible of 
 deep emotions, and gifted with a most playful wit, had no scruple 
 in wounding to the very quick, and no thrill of compassion ever 
 held back his hand wheii he had made up his mind to strike. He 
 was certainly no coward, but he liked to fight under cover, and 
 keep himself unseen, while Wilson, even under the shield of an- 
 onymity, was rather prone to exhibit his own ixnmistakable per- 
 sonality. 
 
 Such were the two principal contributors to lilachwood when it 
 broke upon the startled gaze of Edinburgh Whigdom, like a fiery 
 comet "that with fear of change perplexes monarehs." Xot with- 
 out reason did the adherents of the " Blue and Yellow" wish ill to 
 the formidable new-comer, for, apart from its undeniable oflfences 
 ag.iinst good feeling and tnste, there was a power and life about 
 the Magazine that betokened ominously for the hitherto unchal- 
 lenged supremacy of the great Review. In spite of its errors, the 
 substantial merits of the Magazine securely established its popu-
 
 176 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 larity, and in the course of a few years it became recognized 
 throughout Britain as the most able and interesting periodical work 
 tliat had ever been published. 
 
 In noticing the early contributors, it would not do to pass over 
 Mr. Robert Sym, whose pseudonym of " Timothy IHckler" became 
 as familiar to its readers as that of Christopher North himself. 
 That "noble and genuine old Tory," as the Shepherd calls him, was 
 "Wilson's uncle, and in his hospitable house in George Square, alias 
 " Southside," the contributors to the Magazine had many a merry 
 gathering. He was a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, of uncommon 
 height and aristocratic bearing, his white hair contrasting strikingly 
 with the yoiithful freshness of his complexion. " Tickler," says the 
 Shepherd, "is completely an original, as any one may see who has 
 attended to his remarks ; for there is no sophistry there ; they are 
 every one his own. Xay, I don't believe that Xorth has, would, 
 or durst put a single sentence into his mouth that had not proceeded 
 out of it. Xo, no ; although I was a scapegoat, no one, and far less 
 a nephew, might do so with Timothy Tickler.* His reading, both 
 ancient and modern, is boundless ; his taste and perception acute 
 beyond those of other men ; his satire keen and biting; but at tlie 
 same time his good-humor is altogether inexhaustible, save when 
 ignited by coming in collision with Whig or Radical principles. 
 At a certain period of the night our entertainer knew by the long- 
 ing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the dining-room what 
 I was wanting ; then with ' Oh, I beg your pardon, Hogg, I was 
 forgetting,' he would take out a small gold key, that hung by a 
 chain of the same precious metal to a particular button-hole, and 
 stalk away, as tall as life, open two splendid fiddle-cases, and pro 
 duce their contents, first the one and then the other, but always 
 keeping the best to himself. I'll never forget with what elated dig- 
 nity he stood straight up in the middle of that floor and rosined 
 his bow : there was a twist of the lip and an upward beam of the 
 eye that was truly sublime; then down we sat side by side and be- 
 gan At the end of every tune we took a glass, and still our 
 
 enthusiastic admiration of the Scottish tunes increased, our energies 
 of execution were redoubled, till ultimatt-ly it became, not only a 
 complete and Avell-contested race, but a trial of strength to deter- 
 
 * But all tho papers in Blaciicood, signed "Timothy Tickler," were not written by Mr. Sym, 
 Mr. Hogg notwithstanding.
 
 A SCOTCH JUDGE.
 
 LITERATURE. liLACKWOOD S MAGAZINE, 
 
 179 
 
 mine which should drown the other. The only feelings short of 
 ecstasy that came across us in these enraptured moments were 
 caused by hearing the laugh and joke going on with our friends, as 
 if no such thrilling strains had been flowing. But if Syni's eye 
 chanced to fall on them, it instantly retreated upwards again in 
 mild indignation."* 
 
 The Shepherd himself was not the least remarkable among that 
 set of remarkable men. In spite of qualities that made it impossi- 
 ble perfectly to respect him, his original genius and good-natured 
 simplicity made him a favorite with them all, until his vanity had 
 become quite unendurable. He plumed himself immensely on being 
 the real originator of the Magazine, and of the Chaldee MS. He 
 was a very frequent contributor, but, in addition to his own genu- 
 ine compositions, he got the credit of numberless performances, 
 both in prose and verse, which he had never beheld till they ap- 
 peared under his name in the pages of the Magazine. This was a 
 part of that system of mystification practised in the management, 
 which has never been carried so far in any other publication, and 
 undoubtedly contributed very greatly to its success. The illustri- 
 ous example of Sir Walter Scott had given encouragement to this 
 species of deception, and the editor and writers of Slackwood 
 thought themselves quite at liberty, not only to perplex the public 
 by affixing all sorts of fictitious names and addresses to their com- 
 
 ♦ The following epitaph on Tickler, from the Nodes, is worthy of extraction :- 
 
 " Pray for the soul 
 
 Of Timothy Tickler; 
 For the Church and the bowl 
 A determined stickler. 
 
 " Born and bred in the land 
 
 Where Fyne hoirings they munch, 
 And a capital hand 
 At concocting of punch. 
 
 " From that great bumper school 
 To Auld Keekie he came. 
 And drew in a stool 
 To his desk in the same. 
 
 " But, though W. 8., 
 
 And ambitious to thrive. 
 Even his foes must confess 
 Cheated no man alive. 
 
 " Neither harried poor genfrv 
 Of house or of land. 
 Nor bolted the country 
 With cash in his hand. 
 
 " Whore tall as a stccp]«. 
 And thin as a shadow, 
 lie towered o'er the people 
 In the Links or the Meadoi 
 
 {(Jliorus.) — With a pije in his cheek 
 
 And a goblet before him, 
 Every night of the week 
 In ssecula SiEculoium." 
 
 Mr. Byiu was born in nf)0 and died, in 1844.
 
 ISO MEMOIR OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 munications,* but to put forth their je^ix cT esprit occasiona'ly uiuler 
 cover of tlie names of real personages who had never dreamed of so 
 distinguishing themselves. This was certainly carrying the system 
 to a most unwarrantable length ; but it must be allowed that in the 
 case of the two individuals most played upon in this respect, the 
 liberty Avas taken by no means amiss. "■The Shepherd" was one 
 of these, and he rather enjoyed the fame which was thus thrust 
 upon him in addition to his own proper deserts. f He gives a most 
 amusing account of his sufferings at the hands of Lockhart, whom 
 he describes as " a mischievous Oxford puppy, dancing after the 
 young ladies, and drawing caricatures of every one who came in 
 contact with him." " I dreaded his eye terribly," he says, " and it 
 was not without reason, for he was very fond of playing tricks on 
 me, but always in such a way that it was impossible to lose temper 
 with him. I never parted company with him that my judgment 
 was not entirely jumbled with regard to characters, books, and lit- 
 erary articles of every description.''^ Lockhart continued to keep 
 his mind in the utmost perplexity for years in all things that related 
 \o the Magazine. The Shepherd was naturally anxious to know 
 whose the tremendous articles were that made so much sensation 
 fliouthly, and having found by experience that he could extract no 
 fliformation out of Sym or Wilson, he would repair to Lockhart to 
 ask him, awaiting his reply with fixed eye and a beating heart : 
 "Then, A\ith his cigar in his mouth, his one leg flung carelessly over 
 the other, and without the symptom of a smile on his face, or one 
 twinkle of mischief in his dark gray eye, he would father the arti- 
 cles on his brother, Captain Lockhart, or Peter Robertson, or Sheriff 
 
 * In the early numbers of the Masazine one meets a perfect host of these mythical person 
 ages, and the impression conveyed to the credulous reader must have been that contributions 
 were flowing in from remarkab'.e peiso.is in all quarters of the em[iire. There was really so 
 much variety and individuality imp,»rtcd to these imaginary characters that it was very dilficult 
 to perceive that the same wriur was assuming the guises of William Wastlc, Esq., and Dr. 
 Ulrick Sternstarc, and Philip Kempferl.ausen, and the Baron Lauerwinkel. 
 
 t His expressions of opinion on the subject varied according to his mood, but his sober judg. 
 meut of the matter is on record in his own words: — "My friends in general have been of o|>inion 
 that he (Wilson) has amused himself and the public too often at my expense ; but, except in ontj 
 instance, which terminated very ill for mo. a.id in which I had no more concern than the man 
 in the moon, I never discovered any evil dtsigl ou his part, and thought it all excellent sport. 
 At the same time, I must acknowledge that it wus using ti>o much freedmn with any author ta 
 print his name in full to poems, letters, and essuys wiiich ho himself never saw. I do not say be 
 has ilone this, but either he or some one else has A•m^^ it n>anj i tini*" fhis was writtfo in 1S82. 
 Of Wilson's own kind feeling to Hogg, see letter of Ib&i. 
 X Hogg's Memoir».
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINE. 181 
 
 Cay, or James Wilson, or that queer, fat ' body,' Dr. Scott, and 
 sometimes on James and John BaUantyne, and Sam Anderson, and 
 jioor Baxter. Then away I flew with the wonderful news to my 
 other associates, and if any remained incredulous, I swore the facts 
 down through them ; so that before I left Edinburgh I was ac- 
 counted the greatest liar that was in it except one."* The simple 
 Shepherd by and by found out that these conspirators had made u|t 
 their minds to act on O'Doherty's principle, of never denying any 
 thing they had not written, or ever acknowledging any thing they 
 Iiad. He accordingly thought himself safe in thenceforth signing 
 his name to every thing he published. " But as soon," he says, " as 
 the rascals perceived this, they signed my name as fast as I did. 
 They then continued the incomparable JVbctes Ambrosiance for the 
 sole purpose of putting all the sentiments into the Shepherd's mouth 
 which they durst not avowedly say themselves, and these, too, often 
 applying to my best friends." f 
 
 A single instance will show to what lengths this system of decep- 
 tion, for it can be called nothing else, was carried. In the articles 
 on Leigh Hunt, already mentioned, he was accused, among other 
 things, of having pestered his friend Hazlitt to review him in the 
 Edinburgh. Soon after — I tiiid fiom Leigh Hunt's " Con-espond- 
 ence," recently published — he wrote to Lord Jeffrey the letter given 
 below.J Which of the writers in Blachioood perpetrated this very 
 wicked joke I know not, but its point lay in the fact that Sir J. G. 
 Dalyell, Avith whose name so great a liberty had been taken, wa3 
 perhaps of all men then in Edinburgh the one who, as a good Whig, 
 regarded J^lackwood's Magazine with most abhorrence. A cor- 
 
 * Hogg's Memoirs. 
 
 t Tbid. 
 
 % " Deau Sir: — I trouble you with this, to say, that since my last I have been made acquainted 
 with the atrocious nonsense written about nic in BlacktcoocTs Magazine, anil that nothing can 
 be falser than what is said respecting my having asked and pestered Mr. Ilazlitt to write an article 
 ui)on my poem in the Edinhttigh Jierieir. I never breathed a syllable to him on the subject, as 
 anybody who knows me would say lor me at once, for I am reckoned, if any thing, somewhat 
 over fastidious and fantastic on such matters. I received last night a letter, signed John Krchom 
 (Uraham?) Dalyell, advocate, the author of which tells me at last that he is the writer of the 
 arti'-le. and that he did not mean to attack my private character! lie only attacked the bad priu 
 ciples I evinced in my writinvrs. You may conceive by this that this letter is a strange niixturn 
 of affected airs and real paltering. I have written this evening to Edinbur-rh. according to tho 
 signature, to ask whetlier Mr. Dalyell (if there is such a person) avows himself the author of the 
 letter. 15ut I am taking up your lime with these matters. I merely wishril,in the flrst insUince, 
 to state what I have mentioned above. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear sir, most sincerely yours, 
 
 "18 Lisbon Grovp, isn." ' "LkigmHunt. 
 
 8
 
 182 MEMOIR OF JOILN WILSON. 
 
 respondent informs me that lie recollects well Sir John coming to 
 him in a state of violent agitation, to show the letter he had jiret 
 received from Leigh Hunt, enclosing the pretended confession of 
 authorship by himself '* Oh, the villany of these fellows !" ex- 
 claimed the persecuted Baronet.* It was in truth a most unscru2)u- 
 lous trick. 
 
 But the most elaborate and successful of these mystifications, of 
 all which I suspect the invention nmst be attributed to Lockhart, 
 was that about Dr. Scott, of Glasgow, or "the Odontist," as he 
 dubbed him. I am not aware, indeed, of any other instance of this 
 kind of joke being carried out so steadily and with such entire suc- 
 cess. The doctor was a dentist, who practised both in Edinburgh 
 and Glasgow, but resided chiefly in the latter city, — a f\it, bald, 
 queer-looking, and jolly little man, fond of jokes and conviviality, 
 but with no more pretensions to literary or poetic skill than a street 
 porter. To his own and his friends' astonishment he was intro- 
 duced in J^lackwood's Magazine as one of its most valued contrib- 
 utors, and as the author of a variety of clever verses. There was 
 no mistake about it, "Dr. James Scott, 7 Miller street, Glasgov.," 
 was a name and address as well known as that of Mr. Blackwood 
 himself. The ingenious author had contrived to introduce so many 
 of the Doctor's peculiar phrases, and references to his Saltmarket 
 acquaintances, that the Doctor himself gradually began to believe 
 that the verses were really his own, and when called on to sing one 
 of his songs in company, he assumed the airs of authorship with 
 perfect complacency. The " Odontist" became recognized as one 
 of Blackwood's leading characters, and so far was the joke carried, 
 that a volume of his compositions was gravely advertised in a list 
 of new works, prefixed to the Magazine, as "in the press. "f Even 
 
 * He ha'l been held up to ridicule, nnder a most horrible disguise, in the " Chaidee MS,," for 
 which, however, he had the satisfaction of receiviDg damages in an action brought against the 
 publisher, 
 
 t Had the volume ever appeared, it would have proved a very unique collection. One of the 
 songs attributed to him became so populai-, and is really so admirable in its kind, as to be worth 
 reproducing here as a specimen of these curious lyrics. There is no doubt that Mr. Lockhai was 
 the author. 
 
 "CAPTAIX PATON'8 LAM£^•T. 
 
 " Touch once more a sober measure, and let punch and tears be sued. 
 For a prince of good old fellows, that, alack -a-day, is dead I 
 For a prince of worthy fellows, and a pretty man also. 
 That has left the Saltmarket in sorrow, grief, and woe. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall see the like of Cajitain Paton no mo !
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKWOod's MAGAZINE. 183 
 
 the acute publisher, John Balluntyne, Hogg relates, was so coii- 
 vincecl of the Odontist's genius, that he expressed a great desire to 
 be introduced to so remarkable a man, and wished to have the honor 
 of being his publisher. The Doctor's fame went far beyond Edin- 
 burgh. Happening to pay a visit to Liverpool, he was immediately 
 
 " His waistcoat, coat, and breeches were all cut off the same web, 
 Of a beautiful siiuft'-eolor, or a modest geiity drab; 
 The blue stripe in his stockins round his neat slim leg did go, 
 And his ruffles of the cambric fine they were whiter than the snow. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall sec the like of Captain Paton no mo I 
 
 " His hair was curled in order, at the rising of the sun, 
 In comely rows and buckles smart that about his ears did run ; 
 And before there was a toupee that some inches up did grow. 
 And behind there was a long queue that did o'er his shoulders flow. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo ! 
 
 " And whenever we forgathered, he took off his wee three-cockit. 
 And he proffered you his snuft'-box, which he drew from his side-pocket; 
 And on Burdett or Buonaparte he would make a remark or so, 
 And then along the plainstones like a provost he would go. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo ! 
 
 " Now and then upon a Sunday he invited me to dine. 
 On a herring and a mutton-chop, which his maid dressed very fine; 
 There was also a little Malmsey, and a bottle of Bordeaux, 
 Which between me and the Captain passed nimbly to and fro. 
 Oh, I ne'er shall take pot-luck with Captain Paton no mo I 
 
 " Or if a bowl was mentioned, the Captain he would ring. 
 And bid Nelly run to the Westport, and a stoup of water bring; 
 Then would he mix the genuine stuff, as they made it long ago. 
 With limes that on his property in Trinidad did grow. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton's punch no mo I 
 
 '• And then all the time he would discourse so sensible and courteous, 
 Perhaps talking of last sermon he had heard from Dr. Porteous, 
 Or some little bit of scandal about Mrs. So and So, 
 Which he scarce could credit, having heard the con. but not the pro. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall hear the like of Cai)tain Paton no mo ! 
 
 " Or when the candles were brought forth, and the night was fairly setting in. 
 He would tell some fine old stories about Minden-fieUl or Dettingen ; 
 How he fought with a French major, and dispatched him at a blow, 
 While his blood ran out like water on the soft grass below. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall hear the like of Cai)tain Paton no mo I 
 
 " But at last the Captain sickened, and grew worse from day to day. 
 And all missed him in the coffee-room, from which ho now stayed away; 
 On Sabbath, too, the Wee Kirk made a melanchol.v show. 
 All for wanting of the presence of our venerable beau. 
 Oh, we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo! 
 
 " And in spite of all that Cleghorn and Corkindale could do. 
 It was plain, from twenty symptoms, that death was in his view; 
 So the Captain made his testament, and submitted to his foe. 
 And we laid him by the Knm's-horn kirk ; 'tis the way we all must go. 
 • Oh. we Di'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!
 
 184 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON, 
 
 welcomed by the literary society of the town as the " glorious Odon- 
 tist" of BlackwoocVs Magazine, and received a complimentary din- 
 ner, which he accepted in entire good faith, replying to the toa.^t of 
 the evening- with all the formality that became the occasion. 
 
 But the spirit of fim and mischief that prompted these outrageous 
 jokes did not confine itself to practising them on the outer world. 
 The overflowing satire of the mventors was turned by them even 
 upon one another. In a very clever but rather tedious composition 
 of Lockhart's, called the "3Iad Banker of Amsterdam," he pokes 
 his fun at his friends all round. There was a society in Edinburgh 
 called the " Dilettanti" club, of which "Wilson was President. They 
 came in for a sketch, and he begins with his friend the President : — 
 
 " They're pleased to call themselves The Dilettanti, 
 The President's the first I chanced to show 'em ; 
 
 He writes more malagrugrously tlian Dante, 
 The City of the Plague 's a shocking poem; 
 
 But yet he is a spirit light and jaunty, 
 
 And jocular enough to those who know him ; 
 
 To tell the truth, I think John "\\ilson sliines 
 
 More o'er a bowl of punch than in his lines." 
 
 It is said that my fiither chanced to see the jiroof-sheet by acci- 
 dent before it went to press, and instantly dashed in immediately 
 after the above stanza, not a little to the chagrin of the author, the 
 following impromptu lines : — 
 
 " Then touched I off friend Lockhart (Gibson John), 
 So fond of jabbering about Tieck ond Sclilegel, 
 
 Klopstock and "U'ieland, Kant and Mendelssohn, 
 All high Dutch quacks hke Spurzheim or Feinagle ; 
 
 Him the Chaldee yclept the Scorpion ; 
 
 The claws but not the pinions of the eagle 
 
 Are Jack's ; but though I do not mean to flatter, 
 
 Undoubtedly he has strong powers of satire." 
 
 The troubles in which the publisher and su|)porters of the Maga 
 zine became involved commenced, as has been seen, with its very 
 first number under the new regime. The assaults on Coleridge 
 
 " Join all in chorus, .iolly boys, and let punch and tears be shed. 
 For this prince of ^ood old fellows that, aluck-a-day, is dead! 
 Jfvt this prince of worthy fellows, and a pretty man also. 
 That has left the Saltinarket in sorrow, ?rief, and woe I 
 For it ne'er shall see the like of CapUiin Paton no mot" 
 
 For a c<iinplete copy of this lyric see Bhickicood, vol v., p. 785. *
 
 Mr. Gibson Lockbart, alian Huron LaiierwinkLl, alUtg Williaui Wiistlo. aluis Dr. Ulrick 
 Sturnsture, alias Dr. Pctur Morris, ytc, as sketched by liimself.
 
 LITEKATUKE. BLACKWODd's MAGAZTXE, 187 
 
 and Hunt might liave been overlooked by the Edii)biirgh public, 
 but the Chaldee MS., though in reality a joke in comparison, raised 
 a storm of solemn indignation, wliich it required all the courage 
 and energy of the i)ublisher to bear up against. In a second edition 
 of the Magazine, which was very rapidly called for, the obnoxious 
 article was withdiawn,* doubtless much to the disappointment of 
 purchasci's. For in fact the outcry, which at first seemed to 
 threaten the extinction of the Magazine, was the best possible stim- 
 ulant to its success. It throve on opposition, and waxed more 
 bold and . provoking as the enemy showed more sensitive apprecia- 
 tion of its power. But for some time the publisher's position was 
 no enviable one, as may be gathered from the second of two follow- 
 ing letters from Mrs. Wilson to her sister in England : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, December 18, 1817. 
 " I hope you got your last number of the Magazine ; I have been 
 so busy working that I have not had time to look at it. The first 
 thing in it, on the ' Pulpit Eloquence of Scotland,' is written by 
 Mr. Lockhart, a young advocate, a friend of Mr. Wilson's. I be- 
 lieve there is not much of Mr. W.'s in the last number. I think 
 there is something about the Lament of Tasso ; that is his. You 
 were right in your conjecture about Mr. Hogg's production ; his 
 prose compositions are not in the happiest style ; there will be 
 another of his in the next number, — a letter addressed to C. K. 
 Sliarjje, Esq. Another article in it, entitled, ' On the late National 
 Calamity,' is Mr. W.'s ; and the one on Mr. Alison's pulpit elo- 
 quence is written by a son of his. A review of JNIandeville is by 
 Mr. Lockhart. There is something besides of ]\[r. W.'s ; but I 
 don't exactly know what it is. I think it is about Old Masters." 
 
 ''May 20, 1818. 
 
 " The number that comes out to-day is pronounced a very good 
 one, and I suppose you will soon have it. The articles written by 
 JMr. W. are those ' On Truth,' the ' F'udge Family in Paris,' Childe 
 Harold, canto 4th, and Horace Walpole's Letters. The letter to 
 
 * Tlie following note w.'is iirt'lixcd to the NovcinluT niinilpcr: — "Tlie editor liPS le.irneil «itb 
 regret tliat an artielo in the first edition of No. Vll., wlneh was iiiteiideii as a Jeu-</'e-y/i-it, 
 has been constr'ied so as to give offence to individuals justly entitUd to resjieet and regard, 
 he has, on that account, withdrawn it in the second edition, and can only add that, il what haf 
 b«i/oened could have been anticii)aled. the article in question ciilainly never would have aiipcareiL"
 
 1S8 MEMOIR or JOTIX WILSON. 
 
 Dr. Clialmers is by Mr. Lockhart. I am not quite sure if Mr. W. 
 will liave any thing in the next Edinburgh Review, but I hope he 
 will, and I will tell you what it is when I know. 
 
 " You asked it' Ensign O'Doherty was a fictitious character ; he 
 is, and was created by a Mr. Hamilton, a particularly handsome and 
 gentlemanly young man in the army ; he is a brother of Sir Wil- 
 liam Hamilton, a friend of Mr. Wilson's, Avhom you may have heard 
 me mention. The city of late has been in a state of pleasing com- 
 motion owing to a fracas which took place last week between 
 Blackwood and a Mr. Douglas from Glasgow, a disgusting, vulgar, 
 conceited Avriter, whose name was mentioned in one of Nicol Jar- 
 vie's letters* in the Magazine, which gave the gentleman such high 
 offence, that after mature deliberation he determined on coming to 
 Edinburgh, and horsewhipping 3Ir. Blackwood. Accordingly, 
 about a week since he arrived ; and one day as the worthy book- 
 seller was entering his shop, Mr. D. followed him, and laid his whip 
 across his shoulder ; and before Mr. B. had time to recover from 
 his surprise, Mr. D. walked oif without leaving his address. Mr. B. 
 immediately went out and bought a stick ; and, accompanied by 
 Mr. Hogg, went in search of Mr. D., whom at last they detected 
 just about to step into a coach on his return to Glasgow. ]Mr. B. 
 immediately attacked him, and beat him as hard as he could, and 
 then permitted him to take his place in the coach, and proceed 
 home, which he did. I have given you a long story, which I fear 
 you cannot feel the least interest in ; but as you take the Mngazine, 
 you will not be wholly indifferent to the fate of the publisher, whose 
 conduct on the late occasion is thought perfectly correct ; the other 
 man everybody thinks has acted like a fool." 
 
 Nothing was left undone to spread the fame and fear of Black- 
 wood. Formidable announcements of forthcoming criticisms were 
 monthly advertised, to keep expectation on the stretch. The very 
 titles of the serial articles indicated uncommon fertility of inven- 
 tion, and a terrible faculty for calling name. There were artii-les 
 on "The Cockney School of Poetry," on "The Pluckless School of 
 Politics," on " The Gormandizing School of Eloquence." There 
 were letters to literary characters by Timothy Tickler, by Freder- 
 ick Baron von Lauerwinkel, by Dr. OUnthus Petre, T. C. I>., by 
 
 * EUtckW'iod, .January aud March, 1818.
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKAVOOd's MAGAZINE. 189 
 
 Ensign O'Doherty, by MorJecai Mullion, nnd a host of others too 
 numerous to mention. The variety and mystification thus produce^ 
 undoubtedly gave great additional zest to the writing; and this 
 apparently multitudinous host of contributors danced about the 
 victims of their satire with a vivacity and gleefulness which the 
 public could not but relish even when it condemned. xVfter all, 
 and giving their full weight to the censures which were justly hi- 
 curred by many of these compositions, there is much truth in the 
 following remarks, in a vindication of itself prefixed to the ]Maga- 
 zine a few years after : — " For a series of years, the Whigs in Scot- 
 land had all the jokes to themselves ; they laughed and lashed as 
 they liked ; and while all this was the case, did anybody ever hear 
 them say that either laughing or lashing were among the seven 
 deadly sins ? People said at times, no doubt, that Mr. Jeifrey was 
 a more gentlemanly Whig than Mr. Brougham; that Sydney Smith 
 grinned more good humoredly than Sir James Mackintosh, and so 
 forth, l)ut all these were satirists, and, strange to say, they all re- 
 joiced in the name." While I cannot agree with the statement 
 following these remarks, that the only real offence of Blackwood's 
 contributors was their being Tories, there is no doubt, I tliink, 
 that that circumstance greatly aggravated their sins in the eyes of 
 their opponents.* 
 
 The faults in question were, however, in themselves sufficiently 
 grave, and may now be referred to, it is hoped, without risk of re- 
 kindling the old embers. The worst of them undoubtedly, for 
 which even "Dr. Peter Morris" could afterwards see no apology, 
 was the attack on the venerable Playfair, which api)eared in 1S18, 
 in the September number of the Magazine, under the guise of a 
 " Letter to the Rev. Professor Laugner, occasioned by his writing 
 in the Konigsberg Review : by the Baron von Lauerwinkel."f In 
 
 • Insolence and personality have very seldom been altysethcr wantins in the viirorous yonth 
 of journalism, and some of the ablest periodicals that have ever appeared have incunvd the most 
 censure in this respect. The Edinburgh Ileciew cannot by impartial judL'es be i)ronoiineed to 
 have been immaculate. The Quarterly \i oiien to tlie same remark; and Fruser'n JI(i(/<ieiiie, 
 that most philosophic and well-conducted periodical, fur some time seemed bent on out-doiiis; the 
 early style of Blackwood, after its older sister had subsided into propriety and self-restraint. 
 
 + This mischievous composition professed to be a translation from a German periodical (a lit- 
 erary strataj;em, by the way, which probably set the examiile which Mr. Carlyle, nmon^' others, 
 has turned to such iVcipient and etTective pui'iiose). and was thus introduced: — "The Kunii^sljeii; 
 Keview, conilucted by the lute iiifrenious M. Mundwerk, was a few years a^o very much admired 
 in (ii-rmany by numerous rcaclcrs. who took deliirht in seeinj; intidel and uniiatriotic opinions 
 inaiutained by men of ackiiowli-dged w.'t and talent, Su-an^je as the circumstance may appear,
 
 190 MEMOIR OF JOHN 'WILSON. 
 
 a previous letter under the signature of " Idoloclustes," a strong 
 remonstrance had been addressed to Dr. Chalmers on his supjjort 
 of the Edinhurfjh lieview^ in which, with great professions of re- 
 spect and admiration both for Chalmers and Jettrey, there was 
 mingled a most oflensive strain of rebuke on the subject of infidel 
 principles, which were alleged to be characteristic of the Review. 
 In the pretended letter to Professor Laugner, these charges Avere 
 repeated with still greater violence of language, and combined 
 with the same professions of regret and esteem. The excellent 
 Professor of Natural Philosophy was broadly accused of having 
 turned his back on the faith which he once preached,* and allied 
 himself with a band of unprincipled wits and insidious infidels. 
 The author of both these letters was Mr. Lockhart, and they are 
 striking specimens of that unpleasant power which led his own 
 familiar friends to attribute to him, in their allegorical description, 
 the character of the Scorjyion. For calm, concentrated sting it 
 would be haid to find six pages to match the Letter of the Baron 
 Lauerwinkel.f The very natural indignation excited by this artack 
 on one of the most amiable and eminent men of whom Edinburgh 
 could then boast, attained its climax in the publication of a pam- 
 phlet, called JTi/pocrisi/ unveiled and Ccdionni/ detected, in a Re- 
 vieic of Blackwood^s Mayazine. The author wielded a po\\erfu] 
 pen, and fixing on Wilson and Lockhart as the special objects of 
 his criticism, accused them both in very unvarnished terms of con- 
 duct disgraceful to men of letters and gentlemen. His own style, 
 indeed, was not the most choice, his elaborate perio<ls being thickly 
 strewed with all the harshest epithets to be found in the dictionary. 
 
 it Is nevertheless true that this journal numbered among its supporters several clergj'mon of the 
 Lutheran Church. One of these was the late celebrated preacher, Ilammerschlag (Dr. Chalmers 
 was here pointed at), another w.as Professor Laugner of the University of Konigsberg. The in- 
 dignation of the zealous and worthy Baron von Lauerwinkel was excited," <fec. 
 
 * Professor Playfair was parish minister of LifF and Bervie from 1773 to 1TS2. He became 
 assistant to Professor Ferguson in ITSo, and in 1S()5 resigned the chair of Mathematics for that 
 of Natural Philosophy, which he occupied till his death, in 1S19. 
 
 t Much a.-i these letters were to be condemned, however, it is but fair to observe that the ex- 
 ample had been shown on the other side. A voluminous and vehement writer, Cafriiiiix. alre.ady 
 referred to. had inflicted not less than five i)ainphlets on the public, addressed to Dr. M'Crie and 
 Dr. .\n<lre»- Thomson on their sinful alliance with Bhtckwood'H Jf(i(/iiziiie. In thuinU-.-ing sen- 
 tences, garnished with plentiful texts of Scripture, he calls upon them to "remember the fate of 
 that priest who associated himse.'f with the infidel compilers of the Encyctopedie,"' and hopes that 
 no priesi in this country is williu.; to let it be supi)osed that he receives wages from a till that is 
 replenished by the dissemination of blasi<hemy. Similar remonstrances ami insinuations were 
 very frequently levelled airainst Dr. Brewster; and there can be no doubt that such attacks wer» 
 CiUcuUitcd to provoke retali-itiou.
 
 Lrj'EKATURE, BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINIC. 101 
 
 But much of his censure ^Yent home to the mark, and he pledged 
 himself, in conchision, if the subjects of his criticism did not amend 
 their ways, to return to the charge " with less reserve, and more 
 personal effect."* Who the author of this philippic was remained 
 a secret, but there is now no reason to doubt that he was himself 
 a well-known member of the legal body. His allusions to Wilson 
 and Lockhart were too pointed to be passed without notice, and 
 both sought redress in the mode then considered necessary for the 
 vindication of the character of gentlemen. The author of tlie 
 l^amphlet received these communications as might have been ex- 
 ])ected, he declined to reveal his identity, but printed the corres- 
 pondence.! 
 
 * In furtherance of this purpose he annonnced as preparinir for publication "A Letter to the 
 Dean and F.iculty of Advocates on the propriety of expelling the Lw)pard and tho Scorpion from 
 that hitherto respectable body " 
 
 t From the ScoUfinmi, Saturday, October 24, 1818: 
 
 " To the Author of Ifypocrixij Unveiled. 
 
 " StK : — As it is no jiart of a manly disposition to use insulting epithets to an unknown enemy, 
 who may i)crhnps have resolved to remain unknown, I shall not, at present, bestow any upon 
 you. So long as you remain concealed you are a nonentity ; and any insults offered by me to a 
 person in Uiat si'uation might probably not be felt to carrj- with them any degradation to him, 
 anil certainly would not be felt as conferring any triumph upon me. It is probable, however, 
 that yon will come forward from your concealment, when you feel that you <'annot continue iu 
 it without the consciousness of cowardice. I therefore requestyour name and address, that I may 
 send a friend to you to deliver my opinion of your character, and to settle time and place for a 
 meeting, at which 1 may exact satisfaction from you for the public insults you have offered to mo, 
 
 "53 Queen Stueet, Friday.^ Oct. 28, 1818." "John Wils'^n. 
 
 " To the Author of Hypocriiiy I'tweiled. 
 
 "Sib: — I have no wish to apply epithets of insult to you till I know who you are. If yon 
 sup|iose yourself to have any claim to the character of a gentleman, you will take care that I he 
 not long without this knowledge. I remain, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "23 Maitland Stkeet, Thnrsday, Oct. 22, ISIS." "J. Q. Lockhabt. 
 
 " To John Wilson, Esq., Advocate. 
 
 " Fridiii/. 2.3<f Octob»r. 
 
 "Sir: — The note which I understand to have been forwarded to you by my publisher, will 
 have explained why I did not receive yonr comiiiunieatiiin till within these few hours. 
 
 "If you be not a ])iincii)al conductor or supporter of Bldckwood'n Magazine, you have no 
 reason for addressing inc. If you be not the author or furnisher of materials for an attack ou 
 Mr. M'Corniick, which you yourself stated to be highly unjustifinhle, and of which yon denied 
 all knowledge upon your honor ; if you be not the author of a most abusive attack '^n your 
 friend, Mr. Wordsworth; if you did not, by an unfounded story, prevail with Mr Ulatkwood's 
 former editors to insert that attack; if you be not the secret traducer of Mr. Playfair, Mr. Ila/.- 
 litt, and Mr. Coleridge; if you be not the wanton and cruel reviler of those gentlemen nameil 
 in my pamphlet, with whom you h.ad lived in habits of frienilship; if you be not one of the 
 principal vomitories of that calumnious and malignant abuse which has, through the medium of 
 Bldckwood's Magazine, been poun^d out on all that is elevated, worthy, or estimable ; if yon be 
 not the writer of one or other of the letters addressed in the name of Z. to Mr. Leigh Hunt, and 
 if you do not take shelter under a quotation from Junius, and submit to be publicly stigmatized 
 by him as a coward and a scoundrel,— then you have nothing' to say to me, for I speak i>Mly <if thu 
 writer or wiiu-rs who have committed these enormities. But if all or any of these things apply
 
 192 MLMOIK OF JOUX WiLSuX. 
 
 AVhcn 3Ir. Luckliurt found that the autlior woukl not reveal 
 himself, he appears to have concerned liimself no more about the 
 matter, but to have reheved liis feelings by caricaturing all the 
 parties concerned in his friend's literary '•'• Ledger P "Tlie Leop- 
 ard" and "The Scorpion," as drawn in the '•'•Ledger^'' will be found 
 on pages 165, 1G9. 
 
 The following admirable letter, addressed at this time to my 
 fiither, by his friend the Rev. Robert Morehead,* seems, in spite of 
 its length, to be worthy of insertion here. I have no doubt it pro- 
 duced a considerable impression on his mind, though at the time his 
 indignation at the charges of the pamphleteer made him rather im- 
 patient of remonstrance : — 
 
 to yoii, in that case you have lost every claim to the character of a gentleman, and have no ri-^nl 
 irhatjjoever to demaud that satisfaction which is due only to one who has been unjustly ac- 
 cused. 
 
 "The cause, besides, in which I have engaged is a public one; it is that of right feeling against 
 all that is vile, treacherous, and malignant. My vocation is not ended ; I have pledged myself to 
 the public to watch your proceedings, and, if occasion shall require, to give a more ample exposi- 
 tion of your conduct and character — to inflict a more signal chastisement on your crimes. This 
 pledge lihiiU he redeemed. 
 
 "Do not think that I sliall be deterred, by any threat, from discharging the duty I have thus 
 imposed im myselii or that I shall be so weak as, by a premature avowal of my name, to dei)rive 
 myself iif the means. 
 
 •' Prove to the satisfaction of the public that the charges which I have made are imfounded. or 
 that they ilo not apply to you ; or, as you yourself ask of Mj-. Hunt : — ' Confess that ycu have done 
 wrong. — make a clean breast of it, — beg pardon of your God and of your country for the iniquity 
 of your polluted pen, — and the last to add one pang to the secret throbbingj of a contrite spirit,' 
 the first to meet your challenge, if then renewed, shall be, sir, your, etc., 
 
 "Tub Author op 'Hypocetsy Unveiled.' 
 
 " P. S. — As Mr. Lockhart obviously acts in concert with yourself, I have made the same answer 
 to him which I now make to )-ou." 
 
 * This estimable man was for many years an Episcopalian clergyman in Edinburgh. He waa 
 presented to the rectory of Kasington, Yorkshire, in 1S32, and died there in December, 1S42. 
 
 Mr. Jlorehead, as may be gathered from the above letter, was a dear friend of my father's, but 
 shortly after this date he became editor of ConsUMe's Jfur/iieiyie; and it is to be regretted that, 
 "in that lamentable madness of the time which drove high-minded and honorable men from their 
 propriety," my father, by the unscrupulous liberty of his pen in Blackwood's Magazine^ gave 
 offence to .Mr. Morche.ad, who, justly displeased, wrote an indignant letter to him. begging that 
 personal allusions should cease as far as he was concerned, and promising that, on his part, he 
 should abstain from any allusion to the Professor in his Magazine. I am happy to be able to say 
 the terms of i>eace were obsirved. as their friemlship remained unbroken. A notice of .Mr. More- 
 head is made a dozen ye.ars later in a Nocten. which exhibits my father's real estimate of the author 
 oi Dialoyiies oil Natiuul and Revealed lieligion. 
 
 "" Shepherd. — I love that man." 
 
 "■ Xort/i. — So do I, James, and so do all that know him personally — his talents, his genius, and, 
 betu-r than both, his truly Christian character, mild and pure." 
 
 ^^ Sfiep/ierd. — And also bricht.'' 
 
 "A'ortA. — Yes, bright : 
 
 ' In wit a man — simplicity a child.' " 
 —\octe.s. May, 1S30.
 
 LITEKATUKE. BLACKWOOD's MAOAZINP:. 193 
 
 " Sunday Erening. 
 
 "My dear Wilsox : — I trust you will forgive iiie iur iiiLlrcssiiif^ 
 you on a subject which has been running in my head all week, and 
 has incapacitated me, I believe, from reailing or writing, for when- 
 ever I attempted eilhei', your image, or the image of some other 
 person or thing coimected with Blackwood's Magazine^ immedi- 
 ately took its stati(jn in my brain, and prevented any other idea 
 from obtaining an entrance. 
 
 " I have frequently thought of writing to you, yet I have always 
 drawn back, from an aversion to ap])ear to be giving advice or 
 intermeddling in an affair with which I h.ive nothing to do, separate 
 from the interest which every one who knows you must take in 
 you. I hear, however, that you have called on me to-day, and I 
 cannot any longer I'efrain from saying something to you, though 
 perhaps it may be rather incoherent, on the impleasant circumstan- 
 ces of the last week. That blame must attach to you and your 
 friend Lockhart for the delinquencies of JBlacJaoooiV s Magazine I 
 am afraid must be admitted ; but even if the blame should not go 
 the full length of the accusations which are made against you, I 
 have myself too distinct a concei)tion of the hazards accompanying 
 mysterious and secret composition, and the temptations which it 
 throws in the way of men of imagination and genius (much inferior 
 to either of yours), that I can conceive, in the heat of writing, your 
 trespassing very much upon the limits of propriety or a due re- 
 gard for the common courtesies and regulations of social life. As 
 it is impossible, too, for another person to enter into all the feelings 
 which may have actuated you on diflerent occasions, I can imagine 
 that you may have done what you are stated to have done, with- 
 out deserving those imputations which have been thrown upon 
 you. Indeed I cannot, for my own part, think any thing very bad 
 of you. You have always appeared to me a person of high and 
 noble character, and I should be very sorry to view you in any 
 other light. I am not at all, however, surprised that torrents of 
 abuse should be thrown upon you, both in private and public, and 
 1 cannot say that the world is unjust in this retaliation. 
 
 "The person who has written the anonymous letter to you does 
 not act ])erhaps in the most chivalrous manner possible, not to leti 
 himself \n\ known ; but I rather think he is in the right, and us I 
 am one of those people who are ilispused to believe all things, I
 
 194 MEMOIlt OF .lOIIN WILSON. 
 
 imagine he i> really what he gives himself out to be — a person un- 
 connec'led with the matters in dispute, and determined, from a sense 
 of justice, to defend what he thinks the cause of violated public 
 tranquillity. 
 
 " If he had been himself a party, he would have written with 
 more bitterness, and been less disposed to make stupid quotations. 
 All this, however, ray dear Wilson, unpleasant as it is at present, 
 may be attended with a very excellent result, if you will allow it to 
 be so. Both you nnd Lockhart are, I think, designed for much 
 higher things than the game you are playing. I believe that, with 
 the wantonness of youth and conscious power about you, which 
 you do not care much how you exhibit, you are really desirous of 
 doing good ; and tliat you are anxious to root out of the world 
 false sentiments in politics and religion, with a perfect unconcern 
 w'ho may entertain them. This is the best view to take of you ; 
 and in this kind of crusade, you are heedless wdiat shock you may 
 give to individuals, Avhose feelings yet deserve to be consulted, and 
 with whom the public will, in general, take part. I really think 
 nothing less than a Divine commission, such as Joshua received to 
 extirpate the Canaanites, could justify the way in which you are 
 throwing around you poisoned an-ows against those whom you sur- 
 mise to be infidels. When you go beyond a certain mark, you lose 
 your aim. While with all the eloquence that you can mus- 
 ter, you will never persuade the reasonable part of the na- 
 tion that the Edinburgh Review has for its insidious, skulking 
 design to make as many Jacol)ins and infidels as it can, I suppose 
 the character of that jtublication is pretty well understood. No- 
 body takes it up in the notion that they will receive religious in 
 struction from it, or that the writers are very competent to give it ; 
 but nobody of sense supposes, whatever slips it may sometimes 
 have made, that its object and secret view is to pull down Christi. 
 anity ; and particularly, no one who knows Mr. Playfair conceives 
 that this is one of his darling contemplations and schemes, whatever 
 may be his opinions upon the subject of Revelation, which nobody 
 has any business to rake out. I believe the only slip he is su]>posed 
 to have committed in the Review, was something on the subject of 
 miracles; and what he says is, I imagine, defensible enough, and 
 reconcilable to a belief in Christianity. Then as to politics, although 
 here, too, there may be various offences, yet I believe the general
 
 LITKKATUKE. BLACKWOOd's MAGAZINE. 105 
 
 drift of the ])olitics of the Edinburgh Review is felt l)y the nation 
 to ]i:ive on the whole Ji good tendency. If you and your friend per- 
 sist in w riling in Blackwuod' s Magazine^ I exhoi-t you strenuously 
 to make that Magazine what you are capable of making it ; to take 
 the hint which has been given you; to take warning from the awk- 
 ward perplexities in which it has involved you, and from whicli it 
 would be idle to attempt to extricate yourselves entirely, and hence- 
 forth to avoid unhandsome personalities. I do not say, spare the 
 Edinburgh Review ; on the contrary, where you find in it any sen- 
 timent that you think militating either against the Constitution or 
 Christianity, by all means expose it ; but do not impute motives to 
 the writers which you cannot think exist. Your readers will go 
 more thoroughly along with you if you are tpmperate, and give 
 that Review the credit which it deserves, and sjjcak of its authors 
 rather as men who do not see the whole truth, than as men who 
 are wittingly blind. If you cannot get the regulation of that Mag- 
 azine into your own hands, but must have your writings coupled 
 with party politics and personalities, which you yourselves disap- 
 prove of, I really think, for your own credit, you should have 
 nothing to do with it ; for there is not a piece of abomination in 
 the Magazine -which will not be fathered upon one or other of you ; 
 and neither Christianity nor Toryism is at present in so low a state 
 that there is any necessity to suffer martyrdom." 
 
 The following letter from my father about the same time appears 
 to have been addressed to Mr. Morehead, in reference to a suspicion 
 of Mr. Macvey Napier having been the author of the pamphlet. 
 It betrays the keenness of his feelings on the subject : — 
 
 " 53 Queen Street, 
 Half -past Ten, Wedntsilay, 1817. 
 
 "My dear Sir : — Your message to me from Mr. Napier would 
 have been perfectly satisfactory, even had I had any suspicion thrD 
 he was the author of the pamjjhlet. But knowing Mr. Napier to 
 be a geutiemau and a man of education, I could not have suspected 
 him to be a blackguard and a villain. Had public rumor forced me 
 at any time to ask him if he Avas the author of that iianiphlet, the 
 question would have been accompanied with an anijile apology lor 
 putiing it, for, without that, llie question would itself have been
 
 190 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 an insult. Assure Mr. Napier of this, and that I am sorry he should 
 have been put under the necessity by disagreeable and stupid 
 rumor of diso%\niing that of which I know his nature to be inca- 
 pable. Had I suspected Mr. Xapier, and yet "alluded" to him us 
 the object of my suspicion, I should have acted like an idiot and a 
 coward. In a case like this, suspicion is not to be so intimated. 
 Should I ever suspect any man, I will send with privacy a friend to 
 him ; he may be a man of some nerve, and if ever he avows himself 
 he will require them all. My affection and friendship for you never 
 can suffer any abatement. But may I gently say to you, tins villa- 
 nous and lying pamphlet has been read by you with feelings, and 
 has left on your mmd an impression, which I did not imagine such 
 a publication could have created in you towards your very attached 
 friend, 
 
 "J. Wilson." 
 
 Not the least of the ill results of that unhappy letter of the 
 Baron Lauerwinkel was the interruption of the friendly relation 
 between my father and Jeffrey. The latter conveyed his sentiments 
 on the subject in these manly and honorable terms : — 
 
 "Craigceook House, I3th October, 1S18. 
 
 " Mt dear Sir : — I take the liberty of enclosing a draft for a 
 very inconsiderable sum, which is the remuneration our publisher 
 enables me to make for your valuable contribution to the last num- 
 ber of the Edlnbur(fh Ilt^vleic; and though nobody can know better 
 than I do, that nothing was less in your contemplation in writhig 
 that article, it is a consequence to which you must resign yourself, 
 as all our other regular contributors have done before you. 
 
 " And now, having acquitted myself of the awkward part of my 
 office with my usual awkwardness, I should proceed to talk to you 
 of further contributions, and ... to save editorial disquisition on 
 the best style of composition for such a journal, ii' I had not a still 
 more awkward and far more j>ainful subject to discuss in the first 
 place. 
 
 " You are said to be a principal writer in, and a great director 
 and active supporter of Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine. In the 
 last number of that work there is an attack upon my excellent 
 friond Mr. Playfaii-, in my jiidgnu-nt so unhandsome and uncandid.
 
 LIIEKATUKE. BLACKWOOD's MAGAZINE. 197 
 
 t'l'iti f really cannot consent either to ask or accept of favors from 
 any one who is aiding or assisting in such a publication. 
 
 " I have not the least idea that you had any concern in the com- 
 position of that particular paper, and perhaps I have been misin- 
 formed as to the nature and extent of your connection with the 
 work in general. But if it be as I supposed, and if you still profess 
 to take the same interest in that Magazine, I do not see that we can 
 possibly co-operate in any other publication. 
 
 " I have no right, certainly, and I am sure I have no intention to 
 rebuke you for any opinions you may entertain, or any views you 
 may have formed of the proper way of expressing them ; but if 
 you think the scope and strain of the paper to which I allude in any 
 degree justifiable, I can only say that your notions diifer so widely 
 from mine, that it is better that we should have no occasion to dis- 
 cuss them. To me, I confess, it appears that the imputations it 
 contains are as malignant as they are false; and having openly- 
 applied these epithets to them, whenever I have had occasion to 
 speak on the subject, I flatter myself that I do not violate the 
 courtesy which I unfeignedly wish to observe towards you, or act 
 unsuitably with the regard which I hope always to entertain for you, 
 if I plainly repeat them here, as the grounds of a statement with 
 which no light considerations could have induced me to trouble you. 
 
 " I say, then, that it is false that it is one of the principal objects, 
 or any object at all, of the Edinburgh Review to discredit religion, 
 or promote the cause of infidelity. I who have conducted the work 
 for nearly fifteen years should know something of its objects, and 
 I declare to you, upon my honor, that nothing with that tendency 
 lias ever been inserted without its being followed with sincere 
 regret, both on my part and on that of all who have any permanent 
 connection with the work. That expressions of a light and indec- 
 orous nature have sometimes escaped us in the hurry of composi- 
 tion, and that, in exposing the excesses of bigotry and intolerance, 
 a tone of too great levity has been sometimes employed, I am most 
 ready with all humility to acknowledge ; but that any thing was 
 ever bespoken or written by the regular supporters of the work, 
 or admitted, except by inadvertence, with a view to discredit the 
 truth of religion, I most positively deny, and that it is no part of 
 its object to do so, I thiidi must be felt l>y every one of its caudi\l 
 readers.
 
 19S mi:m(-»iu of jous wit.sux. 
 
 "In tlie S'ocond place, I say it is false that ^[r. P. lent his support 
 to the Mcview in order to give credit and currency to its alleged 
 infidel principles. 
 
 "And, finally, it is false that the writings which he has contributed 
 to it have had any tendency to supi)ort those principles, or are in- 
 tended to counteract the lessons which he once taught from the 
 pulpit." 
 
 It is much to be regretted that my fathers reply to this letter is 
 not extant. What it may have been can only be conjectured. I 
 can have no doubt that he would not attempt to justify the malig- 
 nant article. But he was not a man to abandon his associates even 
 when he disagreed with them. He had cast in his lot with JBlack- 
 trood and its principles, and was resolved to stand by them at all 
 hazards. 
 
 CILVPTER IX. 
 
 ANN STREET. ilORAL rniLOSOPUT CHAIR. 
 
 1820. 
 
 Ax eventful life seldom falls to the lot of the man of letters. His 
 vicissitudes and excitements are for the most part confined to an 
 arena in which he figures little before the pubhc gaze. In this 
 sense Wilson's life was uneventful ; but the constitution of his na- 
 ture, both physical and mental, made it impossible that it should 
 ever become uninteresting or monotonous. It may be said that lie 
 threw himself into the very heart of existence, and found in the 
 lowliest things on earth a hidden virtue that made them cease to be 
 \ ulgar in his eyes. For fundamentally, though that I know is not 
 the general oj)inion, he was as much a philosoi)her as a poet, and 
 had that true instinct, that electric rapidity of glance, that enables 
 a man to penetrate through the forms of things to their real mean- 
 ing and essence. xVnd when free from the bias of passion or preju- 
 dice, his judgment was most accurate. Cai)rice or change in regard 
 to p'.inctplcs, ur jiersoiis, or tastes, was no part of his character.
 
 ANN STllEET. 190 
 
 Faults of temper and intolerance sometimes gin red forth, finding 
 utterance, it might be, both violent and unreasonable. Thus his 
 highly-strung nervous organization made him keenly alive to all 
 outward impressions, loud laughter, sudden noises, rudeness, affec- 
 tation, and those offences against minor morals that are generally 
 regarded with indifference or passing disgusi, affected him painfully; 
 and If but for a short time exposed to any such annoyances, no self- 
 control prevented Inin from giving expression to his feelings. But 
 such outbursts, whether manifested in spoken or written words, 
 were as summer storms, that leave the air purer and the sky brighter 
 than before. He was, in fact, too large a man to be unamiable. 
 His natural temper was, in mature life, as it had been in boyhood 
 and youth, sweet and sunny, and, with all his enjoyment of activity 
 and excitement, he never liked any company half so well as that 
 which he found at his own fireside. To that quiet and simple home, 
 in which his happiness was summed up, Ave now turn for a short 
 time. 
 
 Towards the end of the winter of 1819, my father, with his wife 
 and children, now five in number, two boys and tliree girls,* left 
 his mother's house, 53 Queen street, and set up his household god? 
 in a small and somewhat inconvenient house in Ann street (No. 20) 
 This little street, which forms the culminating point of the suburb 
 of Stockbridge, was at that time quite "out of town," and is still 
 a secluded place, overshadowed by the tall houses of Eton terrace 
 and Clarendon Crescent. In the literary " Ledger," already referred 
 to, which contains all sorts of memoranda in my father's handwriting, 
 there is a page taken up with an estimate of the cost of furniture 
 for dining-room, sitting-room, nursery, servants' room, and kitchen, 
 making uj) a total of £195, with the triumjjhant query at the end, 
 in a bold hand, "Could it be less ?" Truly, I think not. This little 
 entry throws an interesting light on the circumstances of this de- 
 , voted pair, who, eight years previously, had started in life so dif- 
 ferently under the prosperous roof-tree of Ellerny. But the limita- 
 tion of tlieir resources had, from the beginning, brought witli it 
 neitlier regret nor despondency, and now that they were for the 
 first time fairly facing the cares of life, they took up the burden 
 with hope and cheerfulness. My father felt strong in his own pow- 
 
 • Tlu'ir names, in the order of their ages, were as follows: — .John, born A|)ril, 1S12; Margaret 
 July,1813; Mary, August, 1S14 ; Blair, Ajiril, ISlC; Jano Euiily, January, Isl 7.
 
 200 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ers of work, and his deep nflection for his wife and children was a 
 mighty stiinuhis to exertion. My mothei*, on the other hand, along 
 with a singidar sweetness of disposition, possessed great jtrndence 
 and force of character ; she entered, as her letters indicate, into all 
 that concerned her hushand with wife-like zeal, and her sympath'" 
 and counsel were appreciated by him above all else that the wc 
 could bestow. 
 
 In withdi awing from the more fashionable part of Edinburgh, 
 they did not, however, by any means exclude themselves from the 
 pleasures of social intercourse with the world. In Ann street tliey 
 found a pleasant little community that made residence there far 
 from distasteful ; the seclusion of the locality made it then, as it 
 seems still to be, rather a favorite quarter with literary men and 
 artists. The old mansion of St. Bernard's, the property and dwel- 
 ling-house of Sir Henry Raeburn (the glory of Scotland's portrait- 
 painters) offered them its hospitality and kindly intercourse. No 
 one can forget how, in the circle of his own fjiinily, that dignified 
 old gentleman stood, himself a very picture, his fine intellectual 
 countenance lightened by eyes most expressive, whose lambent gloAV 
 gave to his face that inward look of soul he knew so well to impart 
 to his own unsurpassed portraits. Genius shed its peculiar beauty 
 over his aspect, yet memory loves more than aught else the recol- 
 lections of the benevolent heart that lent to his manner a grace of 
 kindliness as sincere as it was delightful. The place in Scottish art 
 which he had so long occupied -without a fellow was soon to become 
 vacant. But a worthy successor was at that time following bis 
 footsteps to fame. 
 
 Sir John Watson Gordon lived Avith his fiither (then Captain, 
 afterwards Admiral Watson) and a pleasant group of brothers and 
 sisters, in the house adjoining that of Professor Wilson, in whom 
 this rising artist found a warm and kind patron. Not a few of his 
 early pictures were painted under the encouragement and advice of 
 his genial friend. Almost the first subject that brought liira into 
 prominent comparison with the best English paniters of the day 
 was a portrait of my sister, when seven years of age — a beautifully 
 colored and poetically conceived ])icture. This gentleman has long 
 since reaped the reward of his industry and talent, and now wears 
 the honor of knighthood, along with the important position of 
 President of the Royal Scottish Academy, continuing still, from
 
 ANN STKEET. 201 
 
 time to tirao. to give evidence to the worlil, l)y tlie ad niiraUc vigor 
 and irutiiful ipdividuality of his portraits, that liis eminence is in- 
 creasing with his years. 
 
 Another ilhistrious name is to he numbered in that coterie of 
 artists. William Allan (who also attained the lionor of knighthood 
 and presidentship) was a frequent guest in my father's house. He 
 had not long returned from a residence of some duration in the 
 East. His extended travel and fresh experience of foreign lands, 
 made his society much sought after. He had the advantage of au 
 intimate friendship with Sir Walter Scott, in itself an introduction 
 to intercourse with the best people of the time. Mr. Allan was a 
 man whose intelligence, power of observation, quaint humor, gentle 
 and agreeable manners, made him welcome to all. Many were tlie 
 pleasant reiMiions that took place in those days under Professor 
 Wilson's roof, where might be seen together Lockhart, Hogg, Gait, 
 Sir William Hamilton, his brother, Cai)tain Thomas Hamilton, Sir 
 Adam Ferguson, Sir Henry IJaeburn, Mr. Allan, and Watson Gor- 
 don. In such meetings as these, it may easily be imagined how 
 the hours would pass, the conversation and merriment perhaps con- 
 tinuing till sun-rising. \ 
 
 Wilson had now apparently committed himself to literature as 
 his vocation ; and when he removed to Ann Street there seemed no 
 great probability of his being soon called to any more definite sphere 
 of exertion. His professional prospects were not much to be calcu- 
 lated on, for, though fitted in some respects to achieve distinction 
 at the bar, he appears never to have seriously conte]7iplated that as 
 an object of ambition. His aspirations were in a very diiferent 
 direction. Though his pursuits and acquirements had been of a 
 very general and eclectic sort, he had given early proof of his love 
 and capacity for philosophic studies. He had not, it is true, nuide 
 philosophy his special pursuit, like his illustrious friend Sir William 
 Hamilton, for poetry and literature divided his allegiance. But the 
 science of mind, and more particularly Moral Philosophy, had for 
 him at all times high attraction. Human nature had been in fact 
 his Btiidy ])ar excellefice, and when the prospect opened to him of 
 being able to cultivate that study, not merely as afield of analytic:d 
 skill, but as a means of jjractically infiuenchig the minds of others 
 with all the authority of academic position, he eagerly grasped at 
 it as an object worthy of his highest ambition. That prize was not
 
 202 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to be won without a desperate struggle, to the history of which a 
 few pages must now be devoted. 
 
 In April, 1820, the chair of Moral Philosophy in the University 
 of Edinb\iri:h became vacant by the lamented death of Dr. Tlionias 
 Brown. The contest which ensued has had few parallels even in 
 the liistory of that University, whilst the patronage lay with the 
 Town Council, whose members Iiad to be canvassed personally like 
 the voters in a rotten borough. My father announced himself as a 
 candidate in the course of the month, and so did Sir William 
 Hamilton. Other distinguished men were mentioned as possible 
 competitors, such as Sir James Mackintosh and Mr. Malthus ; but 
 it soon became apparent that between the>e two alone the struggle 
 was to lie. Then came the tug of war. The rivals were intimate 
 personal friends, and between them, happily, no unpleasant word or 
 thought arose during the time that their respective friends were 
 fighting for and against them, like Greek and Trojan. Both had 
 been brilliant Oxonians ; but the one was known to have devoted 
 himself to philosophy, with a singleness of aim and a specialty of 
 power, that seemed to his friends, and certainly not without reason, 
 to throw tlie pretensions of his rival utterly into the shade. Happily 
 for him, too, he had, as became a philosopher, abstained from any 
 interference in public questions; either openly or in secret ; and his 
 retired and studious life aflForded no possible mark for censure or 
 insinuation even to the most malicious enemy. The other, though 
 reckoned by men well fitted to judge, as a person singularly gifted 
 with philosophic as well as poetic faculty, was better known in the 
 outer world as a daring and brilliant litterateur / one of a band of 
 writers who had excited much admiration, but also much righteous 
 censure, and personally as a somewhat eccenti'ic young man ot very 
 athletic and jovial tendencies. How these qualities affected his 
 position as a candidate will speedily appear ; but all other distinc- 
 tions Avere lost sight of in the one great fact of political creed. Sir 
 William was a Whig : Wilson was a Tory. The matter all lay in 
 that. Wilson, too, was not only a Tory, but a Tory of the most 
 unpardonable description ; he was one of the leading hands, if not 
 the editor, of that scandalous publication, BlackioootV s Magazine^ a 
 man therefore who needed no further testimonial of being at least 
 an assassin and a re})robate. He, forsooth, a Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy, a successor of Dugald Stewart ! The thing was mou-
 
 Sir William llumiltuu, at Ust'ord. — Froui a sketch by Mr. Lockbart.
 
 THK MORAL PUILOSOrilY CHAIR. 205 
 
 strous ; an outrage on decency and eoniuion sense. Sucli, without 
 exaggeration, was the view taken by the Whig side in this contest, 
 and strenuously supported publicly in the columns of the Scotsman* 
 and privately in every circle where the name oi Blackwood was a 
 name of abomination and of fear. 
 
 How the proceedings of this election interested my mother may 
 be seen best from her own true womanly feelings expressed without 
 reserve, in a letter to her sister : — 
 
 " My mind has been anxiously occupied on Mr. Wilson's account, 
 by an election in which he has, amongst other literary men, started 
 as a candidate. It is for a Professor's Chair in the University here. 
 The Professorship of Moral Philosophy is the situation, which became 
 vacant about six weeks ago, by the death of Dr. Brown. The gift of 
 the Chair is in the power of the Magistrates and Town Council, and I 
 have no doubt there will be a great struggle between the two polit- 
 ical parties here. The WhUjs hitherto have had every thing their own 
 way; and the late Professor was one, as well as the well-known Du- 
 gald Stewart, who resigned the situation from bad health, and who 
 has it in his power to resume lecturing if he chooses, and w'hich I fear 
 he will do from party spirit, if he thinks there is any chance of Mr. 
 Wilson's success. Mr. Wilson has been assured of all the support 
 that Government can give him, and Sir Walter Scott has been par- 
 ticularly kind in his exertions for his success. The testimoni:Us 
 Avhich he has received from the Professors at Glasgow, as to his 
 powers for such a situation, are most gratifying and flattering ; in- 
 deed, his prospects are at present favorable ; but I will not allow 
 myself to be sauguhie, though I must say that if Mr. Wilson was to 
 
 • A single specimen of the rhetoric used may suffice, being the peroration of a long and angry 
 leading article which appeared immediately before the election. The electors were, in concluaion, 
 thus solemnly adjured: — "Again we call upon those members of Council who are fathers of fam- 
 ilies; who respect the oaths they have taken; who have some regard for religion, morals, and 
 dccfncy, to read the Chuldee MS. ; the pilgrimage to the ' Kirk of Shotts ;' the attacks on Messrs. 
 Wordsworth, Pringle, Dunbar, Coleridge, and others; to weigh and consider the spii-it and cha- 
 racter of many other articles in the Magazine, which are either written by Mr. Wilson, or pub 
 lished under his auspices; and if they can possibly excuse him as a private individual, we still 
 put It to them how they can justify it to their conscience, their country, and their God, to select 
 him as the man to till the chair of Moral Philosophy, and to confide to him the taste, the morajs, 
 and the char.icters of the rising generation.'" 
 
 When the election was over, the public were informed, through the same channel, that the con- 
 duct of the electors had " stamped indelible disgrace on the Town Council," and that though it 
 was a prevalent opinion that they were alreody as low as they coulil be in the estimation of 
 their fellow-citizL^ns. the proceedings of that day had shown this conclusion to be erroneous, iJid 
 demonstrated that there is in the lowest depth a lovviT stiU.
 
 206 MLilOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 get sucb an honorable situalion, it would indeed be truly gratifying 
 to me; and I think he is well calculated to fill, with respectability 
 and credit, such a Chair. All the princijud men here on the Gov- 
 er)inieiit side are most anxious for his success ; and even if he should 
 be disappointed, the handsome manner in Avhich they have come 
 forward, may be as useful to him at some future time as it is satis- 
 factory at the present. The emolument of the situation in itself is 
 nothing, but depends on the number of students who may attend 
 the class. Dr. Brown had about a thousand a year fi'om it. He 
 was brother of the Miss Brown whom you may remember seeing 
 here, and the authoress oi Lays of Afftction. 
 
 "If I have anything to say with regard to Mr. "Wilson's affairs, I 
 will let you know soon, but the matter will not be ultimately decided 
 for some time ; his opponefits at present a.re /eic, and the most formid- 
 able is Sir William Hamilton, who is not a Govemimeut man, but 
 others may start more appalling. Malthus is one talked of, and Sir 
 Jameg Mackintosh. The latter is an elderly man, who ranks very 
 high in the literary world, and a Whig.'''' 
 
 This letter is dated 29th April, 1820. She writes again in July • 
 "I know that you take an interest in all our concerns, or I should 
 not again bore you with the old story of the election, which, when 
 I last wrote to you, I thought was concluded ; indeed, the report 
 that Dugald Stewart meant to resume his lectures, came from such 
 good authority that Mr. Wilson set off iimuediately to Peebles to 
 recover his fatigue. He was no sooner gone than he was sent for 
 back again ; for the very next day Dugald Stewart sent in his resig- 
 nation, and the canvass began instantly in the most determined 
 manner. You can form no idea with what warmth it is still going 
 on, and the Whigs are perfectly mad. The matter is to be decided 
 next Wednesday, and as yet Mr. Wilson has greatly the majority 
 of votes, and I trust will continue to have them, and that his friends 
 will prove stanch. They have been uncommonly active indeed in 
 his behalf, Sir Walter Scott in particular, who says there are greater 
 exertions making by the Whigs now, than they ever made in any 
 political contest in Scotland. The abuse lavished upon Mr. Wilson 
 by them is most intemperate ; his greatest crime is that he is a con- 
 tributor to lUackicooirs J\Ia(/azi)te^ that notoriously Tory journal. 
 But I trust all will end well. I shall not write again till the 19th, 
 when our suspense will be at an end."
 
 TIIK MOKAL PIlILOSOi'IIY CHAIR, 207 
 
 Hostility on grounds purely political would have been, in the 
 singular state of feeling which then prevailed, more or less excusable. 
 But as the contest deepened, and my father's prospects of success 
 grew stronger, the oi)position took a form more malignant. When 
 it was found useless to gainsay his mental (qualifications for the office, 
 or to excite odium on the ground of his Uterary offiinccs, the attack 
 was directed against liis moral character ; and it was broadly insin- 
 uated that this candidate for the Cliair of Etliics was himself a man 
 of more than doubtful morality ; that he was, in fact, not merely a 
 "reveller" and a " blasphemer," but a bad husband, a bad father, a 
 person not fit to be trusted as a teacher of youth. These cruel charges 
 touched him to the quick. It is difficult now to realize that they 
 could have required refutation ; but so far, it a})pears, did the strength 
 of party bitterness carry men in these angry days. My father found 
 it necessary, therefore, to adduce " testimonials" to his moral char- 
 acter, as well as to his intellectual acquirements. How painfully he 
 fe't these malicious attacks maybe judged from the following letter 
 to his friend the Rev. John Fleming, of Rayrig, Windermere : its 
 manly spirit and uoble tone, under circumstances so trying to the 
 temper, are worthy of remark : — 
 
 " 53 Queen Street, Edinburgh, 
 July 2d. 
 " My dear Sir : — I owe you many thanks for your most kind 
 and friendly letter, which I laid before the electors, along with 
 many others from jtersons of whose good opinion I have reason to 
 be proud. The day of election is at last fixed, after many strange 
 delays, all contrived by my o])ponents, who have struggled to ob- 
 tain time, during which they contrived to calumniate me with a 
 virulence never exceeded and seldom equalled. The election will 
 take place uj)on Wednesday, the 19th of July, and the Contest lies 
 between Sir William Hamilton, Bart., a banister here, and myself; 
 other four candidates being supposed to have little or no chance of 
 success. I am, unfortunately, opposed by all the Whig influence in 
 Scotland ; but, on the other hand, I have the most strenuous supj»ort 
 of Government, as far as their iidluence can be legitimately exer- 
 cised, and of many of the most distinguished independent men in 
 Scotland. My friends are all sanguine ; many of them confideiit; 
 and I myself entertain strong, and I think well-grounded hopes of 
 success. My enemies have attacked my piivate character at all
 
 208 MEMOrit OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 points, and Mithin these few 'lays, liave not scrupled to circulate 
 reports that I am a bad husband and a bad fatlier. I confess that 
 this has aflfected rae greatly ; as, whatever my faults or eiroi-s may 
 have been, it is true as holy writ that I do tenderly love n.y wife and 
 children, and would willin<fly hiy down my life for their sakes. I 
 need not say that such base insinuations have roused the indignation 
 of my friends ; but though caliminy is in general ultimately 
 defeated, it often gains its ends for the time being ; and in this case 
 it is likely to operate to my disadvantage with some of the electors 
 whose minds are not yet made up. Xow you, my dear sir, mar- 
 ried me to one of the most sinless and inoffensive of human beings, 
 whom not to love would indeed prove me to be a wretch without a 
 soul, or a heart, or a mind, and to treat whom otherwise than 
 kindly and tenderly would be an outrage against nature. God has 
 blessed me with six innocent children, for whom I pray every night ; 
 and all my earthly happiness is in the bosom of my family. But to 
 you I need say no more on such a subject. As an answer to all 
 such calumnies, I fear not that my future life will be satisfactory ; 
 but, meanwhile, you will be doing me another friendly office bv 
 writiiig to me another letter, containing your sentiments of me as a 
 man, — such a letter as you would wish to address to a friend who 
 has ever loved and respected you, on understanding that he has 
 been basely, falsely, and cruelly calumniated. The electors are 
 satisfied with my talents, and even my enemies have ceased now to 
 depreciate them; but the attack is now made on my moral character, 
 and they are striving to injure me in the public estimation by 
 charges which, at the same time, cannot, in spite of their falsehood, 
 fail to give me indescribable pain. I am, my dear sir, ever jours 
 affectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 Mr. Fleming's rejjly is not extant, but the answer to a similar 
 request addressed to Mrs. Grant of Laggan may be given as a c;;- 
 riosity in literature, being, it is to be hoped, the last specimen Uiat 
 will be seen of such a testimonial to any candidate for a professor- 
 ship. My father wrote to Mrs. Grant as follows : — 
 
 " SumlaT/ Afternoon. 
 "My dear ^Iadam: — Duiing the course of the canvass in which 
 1 have for some time past been engaged, I am sorry to know thai
 
 THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIK. 
 
 209 
 
 many calumnies have been industriously circulated against my ])ii- 
 vate character. Among others, it has lately been insinuated that I 
 am a bad husband, a bad father, and, in jsliort, in all rt-spects a bad 
 family man. I believe that I may with perfect confidence assert, 
 that whatever may be my faults or sins, want of aflection for my 
 wife and children, my mothei-, sisters, and brothers, is not of the 
 number. My whole happiness in life is centred in my family, wliom 
 God in his infinite goodness has hitherto preserved to me in their 
 beauty, their simplicity, and innocence. I am more at home than 
 perhaps any other married man in Edinburgh ; nor is there on earth 
 a human being who feels more profoundly and gratefully the bless- 
 edness and sanctity of domestic life. This, my dear madam, must 
 be your conviction ; and you would now be conferring upon me a 
 singular favor, by expressing to me in such a letter as I could show 
 to my friends in Council, of whom I have many, your sentiments 
 with respect to me and my character. Your own pure and lofty 
 character will be a warrant of the truth of what you write, and a 
 Imndred anonymous slaiulers will fall I)efore the weight of your fa- 
 vorable opinion. I would not write to you thus, if I were conscious 
 of having done any thing which might forfeit your esteem ; but 
 whatever may be thought of my talents or of my poetical genius, 
 neither of which I have ever wished to hear overrated, I have no 
 doubt that I am entitled to the character of a virtuous man in the 
 relations of private life. I am, my dear madam, yours, with true 
 respect, "Johx Wilsox." 
 
 Mrs. Grant thus replied: — 
 
 " I have known your family for several years intimately ; indeed, 
 through intermediate friends, have known much of you from your 
 very childhood ; and in the glow of youth, high spirits, and tm- 
 douded prosperity, always understood you to be a person of amia- 
 ble and generous feelings and upright intentions. Since you mar- 
 ried, I have known more of you, and of the excellent person to 
 whom you owe no common })orlion of coiuiubial fcliL-ity ; and I 
 always believed her to be the tran(juil and hai)])y wife of a fond and 
 faithful husband, domestic in his habits, devoted to his children, 
 and peculiarly beloved by his brotheis and sisters, and his respect- 
 able and venerated jjarcnt. Often have I heard your sisters talk
 
 210 MEMOIR (H<' JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Avitli the warmest affectiou of you, and praise you, in particular, for 
 your fond and uiu'eniitted attention to your wife ; and, moreover, 
 remark how quiet and domestic the tenor of your life has been 
 since you left their family, and what particular delight you took in 
 that very fine family of children with which God has blessed you. 
 If you were, indeed, capable of neglecting or undervaluing such a 
 wife and such children, no censure could be too severe for such 
 conduct. But in making an attack of that nature, your enemies 
 have mistaken their point, as your domestic character may be called 
 your strong ground, where you are certainly invulnerable as far as 
 ever I could understand or hear. People's tastes and opinions may 
 differ in regard to talents and acquirements, but as to domestic 
 duties and kind affections, there can be but one opinion among 
 those whose opinion is of any value." 
 
 A still higher authority came forward in vindication of his charac- 
 ter. The following letter was addressed to the Lord Provost by 
 Sir Walter Scott : — 
 
 "EmNBURGii, 8th July, 1S20. 
 
 "My Lord Provost: — Some unfavorable reports having been 
 circulated with great industry respecting the character of John 
 AVilson, Esq., at present candidate for the Chair of Moral Philoso- 
 phy, now vacant in this University, I use the freedom to addresji 
 your Lordship in a subject interesting to me, aUke from personrd 
 regard to Mr. Wilson, and from the high importance which, in 
 connnon with every friend to this city, I must necessarily att.ach to 
 the present object of his ambition. 
 
 "Mr. Wilson has already produced to your Lordship such testi- 
 monials of his successful studies, and of his good morals, as have 
 seldom been offered on a like occasion. They comprehend a his- 
 tory of his life, public and private, from his early youth down to 
 this day, and subscribed by men whose honor and good faith cannot 
 be called into question ; and who, besides, ai'e too much unconnected 
 with each other to make it possible they would or could unite their 
 false testimonies, for the pur})ose of palming an unworthy candidate 
 upon the electors to this important office. For my own part, whose 
 evidence in behalf of Mr. Wilson is to be found among certificates 
 granted by many persons more capable of estimating his worth and 
 tal(>nts, I can only say that I should hue conceived myself guilty
 
 THE MORAL PHILOSuI'IIY ClIATK. 211 
 
 of a "Very great crime, had I Leon capable of recommending to the 
 Moral Philosophy Chair, a scoffer at religion or a liburliue in mor- 
 als. But Mr. Wilson has still further, and, if possible, more strong 
 evidence in favor of his character, since he may appeal to every 
 line in those works vvliich he has given to the public, and which are 
 at once monuments of his genius, and records of his deep sense of 
 devotion and high tone of morality. lie must have, indeed, been a 
 most accomplished hypocrite (and I have not heard that hypocrisy 
 has ever been imputed to Mr. Wilson) who could plead with such 
 force and enthusiasm the cause of virtue and religion, while he was 
 privately turning the one into ridicule, and transgressing the dic- 
 tates of the other. Permit me to say, my Lord, that with the 
 power of appealing to the labors of his life on the one hand, and to 
 the united testimony of so many friends of respectability on the 
 other, Mr. AVilson seems well entitled to despise the petty scandal 
 Avhich, if not altogether invented, must at least have been strongly 
 exaggerated and distorted, either by those who felt themselves at 
 liberty to violate the confidence of private society by first circula 
 ting such stories, or in their subsequent progress from tongue to 
 tongue. Indeed, if the general tenor of a man's life and of his 
 writings cannot be appealed to as sufficient contradiction of this 
 species of anonymous slander, the character of the best and wisest 
 man must stand at the mercy of every talebearer who chooses to 
 work u|) a serious charge out of what may be incautiously said in 
 the general license of a convivial meeting. I believe, my Lord, 
 there are very few men, and those highly favored both by temper- 
 ament and circumstances, or else entirely sequestered from the 
 world, who have not at some period of their life been surprised 
 both into words and actions, for which in their cooler and wiser 
 moments they have been both sorry and ashamed. The contagion 
 of bad example, the removal of the ordinary restraints of society, 
 must, while men continue fallible, be admitted as some apology for 
 such acts of folly. But I trust, that in judging and weighiug the 
 character of a candidate, otherwise qualified to execute an inipoi^ 
 tant trust, the public will never be deprived of his services by i:u 
 posing upon him the impossible task of showing that he has been, 
 at all tiuies and moments of his life, as wise, cautious, and temper- 
 ate as he is in his geneial habits, and his ordinary walk through 
 the world.
 
 213 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I have only to add, that snpi)osmg it possible that malice 
 might have some slight ground for some of the stories ■which have 
 been circulated, I am positive, from Mr. Wilson's own dechiration, 
 and that of those who best know him, that he is altogether inca- 
 ]»able either of composing parodies upon Scripture, of being a 
 member of any association for forwarding intidclity or profaueness, 
 or affording countenance otherwise to the various attacks which 
 have been made against Christianity. To my own certain knowl- 
 edge he has, on the contrary, been in the habit of actively exerting 
 his strong powers, and that very recently, in the energetic defence 
 of those doctrines which he has been misi-epresented as selecting 
 for the subject of ridicule. 
 
 "I must apologize to your Lordship for intruding on your time 
 such a long letter, which, after all, contains little but what must 
 have occurred to every one of the honorable and worthy members 
 of the elective body. If I am anxious for Mr. Wilson's success on 
 the present occasion, it is because I am desirous to see his high 
 talents and powers of elocution engaged in the important task of 
 teaching tliat philosophy which is allied to and founded upon reli 
 gion and virtue. 
 
 " I have the honor, etc., " Walter Scott." 
 
 The day of success at last arrived ; and Mrs. Wilson thus com 
 municates the joyful news to her sister : — 
 
 "I am sure you will rejoice to hear that Mr. Wilson was yester- 
 day elected Professor of Moral Philosopliy, and that in sj)ite of all 
 the machinations of his enemies, the Whigs. He had twenty-one 
 votes out of thirty, — a majority of twelve, which out of so small a 
 number is pretty considerable. Poor 'Billy Balmer' took such an 
 interest in the thing that he went yesterday morning and stayed 
 near the scene of action till it was all over, and then came puthng 
 down with a face of delight to tell me that ' Master was ahead a 
 good deal.' " 
 
 A few days later she writes in a strain of high triumph. Like 
 a good and brave wife she regards her husband's enemies as hers, 
 and under the summary designation of IVTiif/s they corae in for a 
 proper share of her notice : —
 
 TUE MOKAL PIIILUa(.»l'lI Y CHAIR. 
 
 213 
 
 "Ann Street, July 27, 1820. 
 
 " My dear Mary : — The want of a decent sheet of paper shall 
 not deter me from immediately thanking you for your and James's 
 kind congratulations on our success in the late canvass, which, 
 thank Heaven, is at last at an end, after a most severe struggle, in 
 which I flatter myself Mi-. Wilson has conducted himself -with a 
 forbearance and a magnanimity worthy a saint, and which, had 
 he been a Catholic, he would have been canonized for. The perti- 
 nacity of his enemies was unprecedented, and I suppose they have 
 not done with him yet; but the Tories have been triumphant, and 
 I care not a straw for the impotent attempts of the scum of the 
 defeated Whigs. I must say I chuckle at the downfall of the 
 Whigs, whose meamiess and wickedness I could not give you any 
 idea of were I to Avrite a ream of paper in the cause. In the num- 
 ber of Blackwood's 3Iagazine last published they got a rap on the 
 knuckles, just as hints as to what they may expect in future if tliey 
 persevere in their abuse.* .... 
 
 "Mr. W. is very well, but as thin as a rat, and no wonder ; for 
 the last four months he has had no rest for the sole of his foot. He 
 is now as busy as possible studying. His enemies have given him 
 little time to prepare his lectures — one hundred and twenty in num- 
 ber. The class meets the beginning of November, and he has to 
 lecture an horn- every day till April. But for the detestable Whigs 
 the thing might have been settled four months ago, and he would 
 have had ample time for his preparations." 
 
 The proceedings at the election need not further be dwelt on. 
 An attempt to rescind the vote at a subse<pient meeti'ig of Council 
 was ignominiously defeated. The principal iigure in tliat scene is 
 a certain Deacon Paterson, who appears for once on the stage of 
 history, armed with a " green bag," the contents of wdiich were to 
 annihilate the new Professor's re[)Utation and cpiash the election. 
 But the Deacon and his bag were very speedily disposed of, and 
 
 * Here follow sketches of some of Mr. Wilson's enemies and friends, alluded to in the ^^ai;ft 
 ssiufi, drawn in lively colors, t'roiii which we can only tind room for that of "The Odontist :"— 
 "The reputed author of the ^ '/'fsliuioiiiitiii'' is a j;i>od-natMred dentist, who lives in Glasirow, 
 whnse name is Janus Scott, and who is the only Scolchnian I know, wilh a yry few exceptions, 
 that can understand or relish a joke, and all ihejeiw d'eKjn-it in BUickwtxid'n Mcif/nziiie he enjoyn 
 excecdintrly, though, poor man, he could not write a line if his salvation depended upon it. . . 
 'The Jurist,' who coined the rhymes in praise of Blackwood, 13 ouo of the groat lawyers bui-« 
 ft Mr. Cranstoun."
 
 214 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 fortbwitli disappeared into oblivion, in the midst of a lieart y cliorua 
 of hisses. 
 
 My father lost no time in addressing himself to his important 
 labors, and applied in all quarters, where help was to be relifd on, 
 for advice and assistance in collecting materials to guide him in the 
 preparation of his lectures. Three days after the election he 
 writes to his friend, Mr. Jolm Smith, the Glasgow publisher: — 
 
 " 53 QcEEX Street, July 22. 
 
 "My DEAJi Sir: — Many thanks for your very kind letter. The 
 contest was, you know, of a most savage nature, but I never feared 
 for the result. A protest was given in by the defeated party, but 
 that means nothing, and I will be Professor to my dying day. 
 
 " It is quite impossible for me to visit you at Dunoon, however 
 delightful it would be. My labors are not yet commenced, but 
 they must be incessant and severe; and I do not intend to leave 
 Edinburgh for one single day till after I have finished the course of 
 Lectures. Xothing but perseverance and industry can bring me 
 even respectably through my toils, and they shall not be wanting. 
 
 "What works do you know of on Xatural Theology? Ask 
 Wardlaw. 
 
 " In short, the next month is to be passed by in reading and 
 thinking alone, and all information you can communicate about 
 books and men will be acceptable." 
 
 On the 3d of August he again wrote to ^Nlr. Smith : — 
 
 "My DEAji Sir: — All is now fixed respecting my election, verb- 
 ally as well as virtually. The ^Minute of Election is to be read, so 
 says an old and obsolete law, twice in Council^ and Deacon Pater- 
 son, as you probably know, gave notice on the 19th, that he would 
 move to rescinil the election. Accordingly, on the first reading of 
 the minute (Wednesday following election), he rose and declared 
 his intention of opening a bagful of charges against me, which, he 
 said, would cause my friends to rescind the election. This he tried 
 to do yesterday, but my friends would not suffer his green bag to 
 be opened. On this, he made a long prepared sjieech, full of all 
 manner of cahimjiies against me, during wliich he was repeatedly 
 called to order even by some of my opponents. At last, a vote
 
 THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIK. 215 
 
 of censure ui:)on him Avas proposed and carried by twenty-one to 
 six. On offering to apologize, this censure was withdrawn, and he 
 ,did apologize. The vote was then put, 'rescind or adhere,' and 
 carried ' adhere' by twenty-one to six, so that all is settled. The 
 sole object, apparently, in all these proceedings has been to annoy 
 me, my friends and supporters, and to give vent to the Avrath of 
 party i'eoling. 
 
 " I am anxious to know if you can get me Mylne's* notes. 
 It is with no view, I need hardly say, of using any thing of his, but 
 merely of seeing his course of discussion. 
 
 "I am both able and willing to write my own lectures, every 
 word ; but before I begin to do so, I am anxious to have before me 
 a vista of my hxbors, antl this might be aided by a siglit of his or 
 any other lectures. But all this is confidential, for my enemies are 
 numerous and ready, and will do all they can to injure me in all 
 things. But they may bark and growl, for it will be to no purpose.'' 
 
 The successor of Dugald Stewart was certain to have all eyes 
 upon him, and the circumstances of the election made him feel all 
 the more imperiously the need of acquitting himself well in a place 
 that had been filled by men so famous ; above all merely pei"sonal 
 considerations, too, he felt, with almost oppressive anxiety, the sa- 
 credness of the trust that had been committed to him as a teacher 
 of that science which embraces all the higher truths and precepts 
 "which tlie light of reason can make known. He accordingly set 
 about his preparations with his usual energy, and for the brief pe- 
 riod that intervened before the opening of the session in November, 
 appears to have worked iiuressantly. His poi'trait in his study is 
 thus playfully sketched by my mother: — "Mr. Wilson is as busy 
 studying as possible, indeed he has little time before him for his 
 great task ; he says it will take him one month at least to n)ake out 
 a catalogue of the books he has to read and consult. I am perfectly 
 appalled when I go into the dining-room and see all the folios, 
 quartos, and duodecimos with which it is literally filled, and the 
 poor culprit himself sitting in the midst, with a beard as long and 
 red as an adult carrot, for he lias not shaved for a fortnight." 
 
 Of all the friends to whom he applied for counsel in this time of 
 anxiety, there was none on whom he so implicitly relied, or who 
 
 * rrolVbscM r MdiuI I'hilosoi'liy in Glasgow, under whom he haj studied in ISOl.
 
 210 MEMOIR OF JOIIX WILSOX. 
 
 was so able to assist him, as Alexander Blair. To him he un- 
 bosomed himself in all the confidence of friendsh p, and in several 
 Ioml:; an i elaborate letters —too long to be given entire— entered 
 minutely into his plans for the course, askuig for advice and sugges- 
 tions with the eagerness and humiUty of a pupil to liis master. He 
 gives a list of the books he has got, and asks his friend to tell him 
 what others he should have; what he thinks of this and that theory ; 
 how many lectures there should be on this topic and on that. He 
 sketches his own plan ; how he is to commence with some attractive 
 and eloquent introductory lectures " of a popular though philosoph- 
 ical kind," so as to make a good impression at first on his students, 
 and also on the public. Here he purposes to give eight or ten lec- 
 tures on the moral systems of ancient Greece, which Sir Walter 
 Scott approves of; and which he hopes Blair will also approve of. 
 "The subject is a fine one, and not difficult to write on. These lec- 
 tures, it might be hoped, would give great pleasure."* Tlien will 
 commence his own course in good earnest; six or more lecturt-s on 
 the physical nature of man ; then twelve more, " though for no cau>e 
 known," on the intellectual powers. On this he wishes to have 
 Blair's opinion, for at present he sees nothing for it but to tread in 
 the steps of Reid and Stewart; "which to avoid, would be of great 
 importance." "Surely," he says, "we m ly contrive to write with 
 more spirit and effect than either of them ; with less formality, less 
 caution ; for Stewart seems terrified to place one foot before an 
 other." Then might come some lectures on taste and genius before 
 coming to the moral being. " I believe something is always said 
 of tliem; and perhaps ui six lectures, something eloquent and plejxs- 
 ing might be made out." Let Blair consider the subject. That 
 brings us up to forty lectures. Then comes the moral nature, the 
 afiections, and conscience, or " whatever name that faculty may be 
 called." Here seems fine ground for descriptions of the operations 
 of the passions and afiections, and all concerned with them. That 
 I'cquires twelve lectures at least; "indeed that is too few, thougli, 
 perhaps, all that could Ije afforded." Then comes the Will and all 
 its problems, requiring at least six lectures. " But here I am also in 
 the dark." One more lecture, on man's spiritual nature, gives us 
 
 * That anticipation was correct. No part of the com-se, I am informeil, was more valued by nis 
 Btudents. His lecture on Socrates, in particular, was considered one of his masterpieces in elo- 
 iuecr« aud pathos.
 
 Tin: m>)i;ai. I'iiiLusoriiY ciiAUi. ^ 217 
 
 fifty-eight ill all. The rest of the course will embrace fifty lectures 
 respecting the duties of the human being. " I would fain hope that 
 eoiiiethiiig different from the common metaphysical lectures will 
 produce itself out of this plan." He will read on, and "attend most 
 religiously to the suggestions" of his friend. Let his friend meaji- 
 time consider every thing, and remember how short the time is ; and 
 that unless he does great tilings for him, and work with him, the 
 Professor is lost. " I am never out of the house," he adds, '' and 
 may not be till winter." He is very unwell, and has just got out 
 of bed ; "but the belief that you will certainly be here at the time I 
 fixed, and that you certainly will get me through, has enabled me 
 to rise." So the letter ends that day Avith a " God bless you!" 
 and the next begins with a recommendation to Blair to read Stew- 
 art's argument against the Edinburgh lleviewer's assertion, that 
 the study of Mental Philosophy has produced nothing, and imparted 
 no power. He thinks "that both Jelirey and Stewart are wrong, 
 jirobably, however, Stewart most so;" but Blair must examine it, 
 "for it i.s a subject on which you could at once see the truth." Let 
 him also see what Stewart says on the origin of knowledge, " which 
 seems worth reading;" "indeed," he adds, "these essays, though, 
 1 believe, not generally so highly thought of, seem to me to be the 
 best of all Stewart's writings. But I am a miserable judge."* He 
 then goes on with the sketch of the course. "Man's relations to 
 God — Natural Theology, will require say eight lectures. Then his 
 relations to man, and first, the natural relations, say twelve lectures; 
 then the relations of Adoption and Institution, not less than fifteen ; 
 this dei)aitment to embrace discussions about Government, Punish- 
 ments, and Poor-laws. This gives us thirty-three lectures, leaving 
 seventeen for the discussion of Virtues and Vices, the different 
 Schemes of moral approbation, and other important questions; lit- 
 tle enough space." These make up in all one hundred and eight 
 lectures, which he thinks Avill be about the number required. " I 
 have got notes," he says, " of Stewart's lectures, but they are dull ; 
 they are but feeble shadows of his published M'orks, on which he 
 bestowed incredible pains." He inquires about Mylne's lectures. 
 
 * This is one of many illustrations of the Professor's genuine humility. The egotism and self- 
 complacency of Christopher North were as ideal as that personage himself. He appears in truth 
 to have been, in metaphysics as in literature, a most acute critic ; and some papers by hiin in 
 Blacl.-wouJ, on Berkeley's Philosophy, were, I believe, referred to by Sir William llamiltoi at 
 admirable speciuions of nu-taphvsiuil discussion.
 
 21S MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I believe he tolloNved the French, for be hated Reid. But though 
 an acute man, I cannot think be bad any wisdom ; he was contin- 
 ually nibliiing at the shoe-latchets of the mighty." He again recurs 
 to Stewart's Essays, which Blair is to read and consider, "but only 
 in the conviction that it is necessary for us, which it seems to be. 
 The truth is, that metaphysics must not be discarded entirely, for 
 my enemies will give out that I discard them because I do not un- 
 derstand them. I want, on the contrary, in the midst of my popu- 
 lar views, ;ind in general, to show frequently a metaphysical power, 
 of which, perhaps, Stewart himself does not possess any very extra- 
 ordinaiy share. In the first lecture on the Physical Being of Man 
 this must be kept in view." 
 
 This letter is dated August 7th, so that it would appear that 
 already, in the course of a fortnight, the Professor-elect had gone 
 pretty deep into his subject, and even got the length of having a 
 complete outline of his proposed course nearly matured. His good 
 friend Blair was not found wanting in this crisis, and appears to 
 have faithfully complied with his wishes, sending a regular series of 
 letters, embodying, in the form of answers and suggestions, the re- 
 sults of liis profound and varied study of philosophy, ancient and 
 modern. Of these letters I have no s[»ecimen to give ; but there is 
 another of my father's sufficiently interesting to be quoted entire. 
 He is at this time apparently (for it is without date) far advanced 
 in his preparations, and has reached that part of his course where 
 the inquiry passed from the region of morals into that of religion. 
 
 " My dearest Blair :— I would fain hope that your useful and 
 enabling letters do not interfere too much with your own pursuits, 
 whatever these may be. The morning that brings me a legible 
 sibylline leaf, is generally followed by a more quiet-minded day. 
 
 " I wish you to send me two or three letters, if possible, on that 
 division of the passions regarding religion. It is imperfectly done, 
 and altogether the whole subject of Natural Theology and our du- 
 ties to the Deity is heavy. However, I have remedied that in some 
 measure, and will do so still more this session. What I direct your 
 attention to is the History of Idolatry. Some views of its dreadful, 
 beautiful, reverent, voluptuous character and kind; and some fine 
 things in the mythological system of the Greeks, in as far as feeling, 
 passion, or imaginatiun were concerned. Every thing historical
 
 THE MORAL l'IIIL( )!=OPIlY CUAIR. 
 
 219 
 
 and applied to nations gives .1 lecture instant effect. Wlmtever be 
 the true history of all idolatry (Bryant's or others), still the mind 
 operated strongly, and there was not a passive transmission. The 
 impersonalizing of imagination might be expatiated on here, for it 
 was only alluded to in this respect in the Lectures on Imagination. 
 I wish to see stated an opinion as to the power of religion in the 
 ancient world, i. e., in. Egypt and Greece, among men in general. 
 Something of the same kind, whatever it was, must have existed 
 and still must exist in Christian countries among the ordinary peo- 
 ple, especially in ignorant and bigoted forms of the faith. The 
 image- worsliip of Catholics is, I presume, susceptible of the holiest 
 emotions of an abstract piety ; certainly of the tenderest of a human 
 religion, and in grosser and narrower minds, of almost every 
 thought that formed the faith of an ancient heathen. Many saints, 
 intercessors, priests, etc., I mean no abuse of the Catholic faith, for 
 I regard the doctrines of penitence and absolution and confession 
 as moral doctrines, and I wish you would so consider them in an 
 instructive letter. The burden of guilt is fatal, and relief from it 
 may often restore a human soul to virtue. Confession to a friend, 
 to one's own soul, to an elder brother, to a father, to a holy, old, 
 white-haired man (in short, the best view of it), is surely a moral 
 thing, and, as such, ought to be described. Our religious feelings, 
 when justly accordant Avith the best faith, may be opposite, but 
 true : the simple, austere worship of a Presbyterian, and the richer 
 one of an Episcopalian, and the still more pompous sanctities of 
 Popery. There are deep foundations, and wide ones too, in the 
 soul, on which manifold religions may be all established in truth. 
 We are now speaking not on the question of bestness, but as to 
 fact. Surely the astronomer may Avorship God in the stars and the 
 manifest temple of heaven, as well as a Scotch elder in a worm-eaten 
 pew, in an ugly kirk of an oblong form, sixty by foity feet ; yet the 
 elder is a true man and pure. Sacraments in glorious cathedrals, 
 or upon a little green hillside, which I myself have seen, but cannot 
 describe, as you could do, who have never seen it;* and, above all, 
 iimerals ; the English service, so affecting and sublime, and the 
 Scotch service, silent, wordless, bni*e, and desolate — dust to dust in 
 tiie speechless, formless sorrow of a soul. In that endless emana- 
 
 * \\i: bail, howovpr, if I am not mistaken, described such .1 scene with exquisite fidelity, in 
 Peter's Letters, voL iii., p. T5.
 
 220 MEMOIR OF JOHN AVILSON. 
 
 tion of feelings, how can reason presume to dictate any one para- 
 mount rule to be observed ? No. But when by various causes in 
 any nation one tendency runs the one way, tlien tlio heart of that 
 nation luns in that channel ; all its most holy aspirations join there, 
 and there the sanctity of walls consecrated by the bishops of God, 
 and the sanctity of walls consecrated by no set forms of words, but 
 by the dedication of the place to regular and severe piety, — as in 
 England, the one ; in Scotland, the other * In Scotland, people on 
 "week-days walk hatted into churches. Is that, to your mind, an 
 allowable thing ? I have seen it done by very religious old men, 
 and not harsh or sullen. To take off their hats would, I think, be 
 reckoned by many a wrong action. This, I conceive, is allowing 
 the inferior motive to prevail over the sujterior. For they remem- 
 ber the idolatrous practices of the papists whom John Knox over- 
 threw, and rather than resemble them in any degree, they violate 
 the religio loci., \\hich is, in the case, this over belief in God. This 
 may seem a trifling concern to you, but it hurts me. 
 
 " In the above you will probably see what I want, and perhaps 
 other points may occur to yourself. With respect to metaphysics, 
 do not fear on any subject to write, provided a conclusion is «;•- 
 rived at. No letter of yours, if filled., can be otherwise than most 
 useful to me. That metaphysical point to which you referred in 
 one of your letters lately, namely, the pure and awful idea of sanc- 
 tity and reverence to God, which is pj'obably only an extension of 
 a human feeling, is exactly fit for a letter. There is a book called 
 the Divine Analogy., by a Bishop Brown, that I do not understand, 
 on this subject. I think you have seen it ; and Copleston, I think, 
 touches on it. I intend to put such pieces of the lectures on the 
 Duties to God, as are good, into this part, so that any metaphysical 
 or otherwise im])ortant thoughts on our religious emotions or 
 thoughts will be useful. All human emotion towards human beings 
 is fluctuating, and made up of opposite ingredients, even towards 
 our earthly father : towards God, immingled and one, and this un- 
 mingledness and oneness is in truth a new emotion ; it exists no- 
 where else. Men's conduct seldom shows this ; but it is hi the soul 
 of many, most men. I once saw, in a dream, a most beautiful 
 flower, in a wide bed of flowei-s, all of which were beautiful. But 
 this one flower was especially before my soul for a while, as I ad- 
 
 * This niilijcct is bcaiilirnllv trt-utoil l>\ him in tlic first nunibc-.rot the "Dies Iloreales,"
 
 THIi MORAL rniLOSOPHY CHAIK. 
 
 221 
 
 vaiiced towards the place where they all were growing. Its char- 
 acter became more and more transcendent as I approached, and the 
 one large flower of which it consisted was lifted up considerably 
 above the rest. I then saw that it was Light, a prismatic globe, 
 quite steady, and burning with a purity and sweetness, and almost 
 an affectionate spirit of beauty, as if it were alive. I never thought 
 of touching it, although still I thought it a flower that was grow- 
 ing ; and I heard a kind of sound, faint and dim, as the echo of 
 musical glasses, that seemed to proceed from the flower of light, 
 and pervade the whole bank with low, spiritual music. On trying 
 to remember its appearance and essential beauty more distinctly, 1 
 am una1)le even to reconceive to myself what it Avas, whether alto- 
 gether different froni the other flowers, or of some perfectly glo- 
 rious representation of them all ; not the queen of flowers, l)ut the 
 star of flowers, or flower-star. Now, as I did not, I presume, see 
 this .'shining, silent, prismatic, vegetable creature, I myself created 
 it, and it was 'the same, but, ah, how difierent' of the imagination, 
 mingling light with leaf, stones with roses, decaying with undecay- 
 ing, heaven with earth, and eternity with time. Yet the product, 
 nothing startling, or like a phenomenon that urged to inquiry, 
 What is this ? but beheld in perfect acquiescence in its existence 
 as a thing intensely and delightfully beautiful ; but in whose per- 
 ception and emotion, of whose earthly and heavenly beauty, my 
 beliolding spirit was satisfied, oh ! far more than satisfied, so purer 
 than dew or light of this earth ; yet as certainly and permanently 
 existing as myself existed, or the common flower.-^, themselves most 
 fair, that lay, a usual spring assemblage in a garden where human 
 hands worked, and mortal beings walked, among the umbrage of 
 perisliable trees ! Perhaps we see and feel thus in heaven, and even 
 the Alexander Blair whom I loved well on earth, may be thus pro- 
 portionally loved by rae in another life. Yours forever, 
 
 '^J. W." 
 
 Among other friends to whom he resorted for advice at this time, 
 was his well-beloved teacher. Professor Jardine. The judicious 
 " Hints" of the old man are given with characteristic method and 
 kindhness, but scarcely call for publication here. So far as the 
 order of the course was concerned, my father preferred to follow 
 his t V'. j»lan, as sketched in his first letter to Blair. To that plan,
 
 222 MEMOIK OF JOJIN ■\VILSON. 
 
 T believe, he adhered ever after, though, in important respects, he 
 completely altered, in subsequent years, the substance of his lec- 
 tures. 
 
 The opening of a new session is always an mteresting occasion, 
 and when it is the professor's first appearance the interest is of 
 course intensified. The crowd that assembled to hear my fiilher's 
 introductory lecture proved too numerous for the dimensions of the 
 room, and it was found necessary to adjourn to the more capacious 
 class-room of Dr. Monro, the Professor of Anatomy. Wilson 
 entered, accompanied by Principal Baird, Professors Home, Jame- 
 son, and Hope in their gowns, " a thing Ave believe quite unusual," 
 remarked the Scotsman, in whose eyes this trifling mark of respect 
 seemed a kind of insult to the audience, composed as it was, to a 
 large extent, of persons prepared to give the new Professor any 
 thing but a cordial greeting. An eye-witness* thus describes tlie 
 scene: — "There was a furious bitterness of feeling against him 
 among the classes of which probably most of his pupils would con- 
 sist, and although I had no prospect of being among them, I went 
 to his first lecture, prepared to join in a cabal, which I understood 
 was formed to put him down. The lecture-room was crowded to 
 the ceiling. Such a collection of hard-browed, scowling Scotsmen, 
 muttering over their knobsticks, I never saw. The Professor 
 entered Avith a bold, step, amid profound silence. Every one ex- 
 pected some deprecatory or propitiatory introduction of himself 
 and his subject, upon which the mass was to decide against him, 
 reason or no reason ; but he began in a voice of thunder right into 
 the matter of his lecture, kept up unflinchingly and unhesitatingly, 
 without a pause, a flow of rhetoric such as Dugald Stewart or 
 Thomas Brown, his predecessors, never delivered in the same place. 
 Not a word, not a murmur escaped his captivated, I ought to say 
 his conquered audience, and at the end they gave him a right-down 
 uiinnimnns burst of ajiplause. Those Avho came to scofi" remained 
 to praise." 
 
 Another spectator of the scene tells me that towards the conclu- 
 sion of the lecture, the commencement of which had been delayed 
 by the circumstance already mentioned, the Professor was ititer- 
 rupted in the midst of an eh)quent peroration by the sudden entrance 
 of Dr. Monro's tall figure — enveloped as usual in his long Avhite 
 
 * The author of TIte Tvco Cosmos : MS. letter.
 
 Tllli MtillAL riirLOSOl'IIY CIIAlli. 223 
 
 greatcoat — to announce tliat bis hour Lad come. Pulling out liis 
 watch, the unsyuipathizing anatomist addressed him : "Sir, it's past 
 one o'dock, and my students are at the door; you nmst conclude." 
 Tlie orator, thus rudely cut short, had some difficulty in preserving 
 his S('lt-])Ossessioii, and, after a few sentences more, sat down. 
 
 The lirst lecture and those which followed amply justified the 
 expectations of friends, and completely silenced enemies. Even 
 the unfriendly critic above referred to, while attempting to dispar- 
 age this first display of his powers, patronizingly assured the new 
 Proic'ssor that if he made the exertions he had promised, and de- 
 meaned hhnselfas became the successor of Ferguson, Brown, and 
 Stewai't, his past errors might be forgotten, and he might obtain 
 that public confidence which Avas essential to his success as a 
 teacher. No such exhortations were needed to make Wilson feel 
 the gravity of his position, and stimulate him to maintain the glory 
 of the University, on which for the next thirty-one years he reflected 
 so much lustre. When he uttered the confident prediction, "1 
 shall be professor to my dying day," it was in no boastful spirit. 
 lie had made up his mind to devote his full strength to the duties 
 of the office, and with all his distrust of his own metaphysical 
 capacity, he had a reasonable confidence in his ability to make the 
 Moral Philosophy class-room, as it had been before him, a place of 
 high and ennobling influence. To himself personally the change of 
 position brought with it a consolidation of character and aims 
 which imparted new dignity to his life and at the same time in- 
 creased his happiness. In assuming the Professor's gown he did 
 not indeed think it necessary, had that been possible, to divest him- 
 self of his proper characteristics, to be less fond of sport, less lively 
 with his pen. His literary activity and influence increased in the 
 years that followed this, for " Christopher North" was as yet but 
 a dimly-figured personage. But from this time "The Professor" is 
 his j)eculiar, his most prized title ; the Chair is the place where he 
 fet'ls his highest work to be. I believe the prejudices and hostility 
 which obstructed his way to it, however triumphantly overcome, 
 threw tlieir shadows fo'ward more than is generally supposed. 
 For, while no one could gainsay the fidelity with which he dis- 
 charged his duty, and the altogether unrivalled eloquence of his lec- 
 tures, I believe there were always some people who believed that 
 he was nothing more than a splendid declaimer, and that his course
 
 224: MiaioiK OF JOHN ^YILsoN. 
 
 of lectures contuincd more poetry than pliilosopliy. lie was him- 
 self aware of this, and refers to it in a letter to De Quineey, in 
 Avliich he naively asks his friend to describe him as "• thoroughly 
 logical and argumentative," which, he says, "is true ; not a rhetori- 
 cian, as fools aver." The truth is, liis poetical and literaiy fame in- 
 jured him in this respect as a lecturer; commonplace people think- 
 ing it impossible that a man could be both logical and eloquent, an 
 acute metaj)hysician as well as a brilliant humorist. But among 
 Lis own students generally there was but one opinion of " The Pro- 
 fessor ;" to them he was truly Der Einzige. Other professors 
 enjoyed their respect and esteem ; Wilson took their hearts as well 
 as their imaginations by storm. They may have before this read 
 and argued about philosophy ; they were now made to feel it as a 
 ])Ower. "The mental faculties" were no mere names; the passions 
 and aifections, and the dread mysteries of conscience, ceased to be 
 abstract matters of speculation, and were exhibited before them as 
 living and solemn realities mirrored in their own kindling breasts ; 
 and when they found that that formidable personage, of whom they 
 had heard so much, and whose aspect, as he stood before them (he 
 never sat), did not belie his fame, was in private the most accessible, 
 frank, and kindly of men, their admiration was turned into enthusi- 
 astic love. There are few who listened to him, whether in the 
 palmy days of his prime, or in the evening of life, when he came to 
 be sp(jken of as " the old man eloquent," that do not speak of him 
 with glowing cheek and sparkling eye, as they recall the cherished 
 recollections of his moving eloquence, his irresistible humor, his 
 eager interest in their studies and their welfare, his manly freedom 
 of criticism, and his large-hearted generosity. The readiness Avith 
 which he grasfted at any question put to him gave his manner a 
 quickness and animation of expression that at first was somewhat 
 startling. While he had a terrible faculty for snubbing any display 
 of conceit or forwardness, diffident talent was set at ease in his 
 presence by the winning sympathy of his look and manner, which at 
 once infused confidence and hope. But I am anticipating what will 
 form the subject of a special chapter, and shall now close this witii 
 a brief letter, addressed to his friend Mr. Smith, on Christmas day, 
 )820:— 
 
 "Mr DEAK Siu:— If you can send me instantlg^ i. e., by the re-
 
 THK PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 225 
 
 turn of mail or coach, Vince's ' Refutation of Atheism,' you will 
 greatly oblige me. It is not in Edinburgh. Unless, however, you 
 can send it immediately, it will be useless to me. 
 
 " I have no time to write. We liave ten days of vacation, and 
 I resume my lectures on January 2d. I have delivered thirty lec- 
 tures, and am now advancing to the moral division of my course. 
 As far as I can leai-n, ray friends highly applaud, and my worst 
 foes are dumb or sulky. The public, I believe, are satisfied. I 
 need not say that my labor is intense. Direct to me at No. 53 
 Queen street, where I send for my letters every day ; and if you 
 have time, tell me how you are, and what doing. Yours very truly, 
 
 " Joiix WiLSOX." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 
 
 It was no temporary enthusiasm that glorified the name of " the 
 Professor" among his Students, and still keeps his memory green 
 in hearts that have long ago outlived the romantic ideals of youth. 
 One of the most pleasing results of my labor has been to come 
 upon traces everywhere of the love and admiration with which my 
 father is remembered by those who attended his class. That re- 
 membrance is associated in some instances with sentiments of the 
 most unbounded gratitude for help and counsel given in the most 
 critical times of a young man's life. How much service of this sort 
 was rendered during an academical connection of thirty years, may 
 be estimated as something more to be thought of than the proudest 
 literary fame. So, I doubt not, my father felt, though on that sub- 
 ject, or on any claims he had earned for individual gratitude, he 
 was never heard to speak. Of his merits as a te;icher of moral 
 pliilosopliy I am not speaking, and cannot pretend to give any 
 critical estimate. I leave that to more competent hiuids. What I 
 speak of is his relation to his students beyond the formal business 
 of the class ; for it is that, I think, that constitutes, as much as the 
 quality of the lectures delivered, the diiference between one teacher
 
 220 MEMOIR or JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and another. Here M-as a poot, an orator, a pliiiosopher, fitted in 
 any one of these characters to excite the interest and respect of 
 Youthful liearers. But it was not those (]ualities alone or chiefly 
 th;it called forth the affectionate hom.-ige of so many hearts ; what 
 knit them to the Professor was the heart they found in him, the 
 large and generous soul of a man that could be resorted to and 
 relied on, as well as I'espected and admired. No man ever had a 
 deeper and kindlier sympathy with the feelings of youth ; none 
 could be prompter and siucerer to give advice and assistance when 
 required. Himself endowed with that best gift, a heart th:it never 
 grew old, he could still, when things were no longer with him " as 
 they had been of yore," enter into the thoughts and aspirations of 
 those starting fresh in life, and give them encouragement, and ex- 
 change ideas with them, in no strained or formal fashion. No 
 wonder that such a man was popular, that his name is still dear, 
 and awakens a thrill of filial affection and pride in the hearts of men 
 who once knew him as their preceptor and friend. 
 
 I should have liked much, had I been able, to give some account 
 of the Professor's lectures,* and his appearance in his class. But I 
 
 * The following is the Syllabus of his course, drawn up by the Professor for the Edinburgh 
 Univerxiiy Almanac^ a.!, i\e\\\L'r'it(\ in the session 1S33-4, apparently the same in arrangement as 
 orisrinally determined on in his consultations with his friend lilair. In what year he remodelled 
 his course, having previously remodelled his views on the great question of the nature of the 
 Moral Faculty, 1 have not ascertained. It was at least subsequent to the year 1S3T, to which Mr. 
 Smith's sketch refers. In later years he began in his first lecture with the subject of the Moral 
 Faculty, the discussion of which extended, Mr. Nicolson informs me, over thirty-seven lectures, 
 occupying the time from the commencement of the session in November to the Christmas recess : 
 
 "moral PIULOSOI'IIY. 
 
 " This ClitsH meets at Twelve o'clock. 
 
 "Moral Philosophy attempts to ascertain, as far as human reason can do so, the law which 
 must regulate the conduct of Man as a moral being. Inasmuch as it does not derive this l.iw 
 from any authority, but endeavors to deduce it from i)rinciples founded in the nature of things, it 
 takes the name of a science. It may be called the Science of Duty. 
 
 " The first object, therefore, will be to find those principles on which this law of duty must be 
 grounded. For this purpose we have to consider — 1st. The nature of the human being who is the 
 subject of siu-h a law; and "id. The relations in which he is placed; his nature and his relations 
 concuning to <leteruiine the character of his moral obligations. 
 
 " When the nature of man has been consi<lered, and also the various relations of which he is 
 capable, we shall have fully before us the ground of all his moral obligations; and it will remain 
 to show what they are. to deduce the law which the princi|)les we shall have obtained will assign 
 But when we shall have gone over the examination of his nature, the mere st:itenient of his re- 
 hitions will so unavoidably include the idea of the duties that spring from them, that it would 
 be doing a sort of violence to the understanding to sei)arate them ; and therefore the consideration 
 of his Duties will be included in the Second Division of the Course. 
 
 " But the performance of duty does not necess.arily tidvc place ui)on its being known. There are 
 diUJcuHies and impediments which arise in the weaknesses, the p;issions, the whole character of 
 him who is to perform it. lleuce there arises a separate incjuiry into the means to which man is to
 
 THE I'KOFEoSOR AND HIS CLASS. 227 
 
 am saved the risk of attempting to describe what I have not seen, 
 and cannot be expected to be skilled in, by the sketches with which 
 I have been favored from men well able to do justice to the sub- 
 ject, so far as any sketch can be supposed to do justice to an 
 eloquence that required to be heard in order to be appreciated. Of 
 
 resort, to enable him to discharge his known obliu'ations. There must be a resolved and deliberate 
 dubjection of himself to the known Moral Law ; and an imiiiiry, therefore, into the necessity, 
 nature, and means of Moral Self-government, will furnish the Third and last Division of the 
 Course. 
 
 " In the Firni Division of the Course, then, we consider the constitution of the Iliinian Being, 
 lie has a Physical Natuue, the most perfect of any that is given to the kinds of living creatures, 
 of which he is one, infinitely removed as he is from all the rest. He has an Intelligence by which 
 he is connected with higher orders of beings; he has a Moual Natueb by which he communi- 
 cates with God; he has a Si'iiutval Essente by which he is immortal. 
 
 "All these natures and [lowers, wonderful in them.selvcs, are mysteriously combined. The 
 highest created substance S|)irit, and Matter the lowest, are joined and even blended together in 
 perfect and beautiful Union. 
 
 " We begin by treating generally of his Physical Constitction and Powers, and showing 
 that much of his happiness — it may be of his virtue — is intimately connected with their health- 
 I'ul condition, as there is a mutual reaction between them and his highest faculties. The Api'E- 
 TITE8 are e.vplained, and the phenomena of the Senses; and pains taken to [)ut In a ch'ar light 
 the nature of Simple Sensation, before proceeding to illustrate the Theory of Pekcei-tion. 
 
 "The impressions received through the senses would be of no use; they could not become 
 materials of Thought, if the mind were not endowed with a power of reproducing them to it.«elf 
 in its internal activity ; and this power we consider under the name of Conception, and very 
 fully the laws by which its action is regulated, the Laws of Association. 
 
 "We are then led to iiKjuire what is the Faci-lty of Thought itself; and if the different 
 operations of Judgment, Austraction, and Reasoning may all be explained as Acts of this one 
 Faculty of Intellection. 
 
 "Imagination itself seems to admit of being resolved into the union of this Faculty, with cer- 
 tain Feelings, under the Law of Association ; and here an inquiry is instituted inio the sources 
 of the Sublime and Beautifiti., an atteinpt made to define Genius and its province, .and illus- 
 trations .ire given of the Philosophy op Taste. 
 
 "Looking on Man's Moral Nature, we seem to see one Principle presiding over and deter- 
 mining the character of all the rest; distinguished by different names, but which no other, per- 
 haps, so well describes as that which expresses it to the common understandings of men — Cox- 
 eoiENCE. Is it simple or composite? n.^tural or acquired? In endeavoring to answer these 
 questions, we must take a review of all the most celebrated Moral Systems in which it has been 
 attempted to explain its origin, its composition, its growth, and its power. 
 
 "From the consideration of this Moral Pri.nciple, to which our whole mind is subjected, we 
 pass on to those various Powers of Passion and Affection which are placed under its juris- 
 diction, and which, in their endless complexity and infinitely diversified modifications, constitute 
 the strength of the human mind for action, anil are the sources of the happiness, the sorrows, and 
 the unfortunate errors of human life. These numerous principles, wiiUli have been classed in dif- 
 ferent manners by Kthical writers, but of which no classification is adiquate to reiireseiit the va- 
 riety, are very fully treated of under such great and simple divisions as serve to mark them out 
 for separate discussion ; an arrangement and onler, which, whether meUiphysically just or not, ap- 
 pear to att'o'-d facilitiis for analyzing the processes of nature. 
 
 " In treating of Man as a Spiritual Being, we consider the doctrines of the Immaterialitv and 
 Immortality of the Soul — doctrines so important .and interesting that no argument can be lost 
 that serves to impress them more deeply, and so elevated, that merely to contemplate them, does 
 of itself tend to spiritualize the affection and imagination. 
 
 "'I'lie Sefouii Division of the Course comprehends an inquiry into Man's Relatioxs and Du- 
 ties. Ilis first RELATION is as a creature to the Maker and Governor of the World, and
 
 228 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 these various reminiscences I sliuU give three, in the order of the 
 dates to wliich tliey respectively relfito, viz., 1880, 1837, and 1850, 
 interposing first two characteristic records of earlier relations 
 between the Professor and his students. 
 
 therefore it becomes necessary to consider, in the first (ilace, what we are able to know of the 
 Attributes of that Great Being to whom he owes his Fikst Duty, — a duty which ig the foiindatinn 
 of all otliers. 
 
 " The utmost powers of the human mind have always been directed upon this great object. Its 
 Intelligence desires to know the Origin of all things. Its Moral Cnderstandinj? impels it to seek 
 the Author of all order and law. Its Love and Happiness carry it towards the Giver of all good. 
 
 "The chief doctriues which are held concerning the Being and Attributes of Deity, men have 
 conceived might be established by two methods; the first is that which deduces theui from the 
 absolute necessity of things, prior to all consideration of the eft'ects in which they are manifested, 
 — the Argument or Demonstkation d pi'iori. The other method is that to which nature con- 
 tiuually constrains us, which m.ay be going on in our minds at every moment, an evidence aM<l 
 conviction collecting upon us throughout life. It deduces the Existence and Attributes of God 
 from their efi'ects in his works, which our Reason can ascribe to no other origin. It reasons from 
 effects to the cause, and is therefore termed the Ai:(;i;.ment d posteriori. 
 
 "The great points established by both these moiles of argument are, in the first place, the Ex- 
 istence of God. his Power, and his Wisdom. These may he called the Attributes which our Intel- 
 ligence compels us to understand, and for which that faculty is sufficient. But there are other 
 perfections which as nearly concern us, and to the contemplation of which we are called by other 
 faculties of our being — His Love, Justice, and liighteousuess. 
 
 "And here it appears necessary to vindicate the argument of the Evidence of Design from the 
 misre|jresentalions and sophistries of certain writers by whom it has been impugned, and to ex- 
 pose the uuphilosophical and impious spirit of their ski'ijtieism. 
 
 "When we h.ave considered the grounds on which our natural reason is convinced of these attri- 
 butes, the reliitions of Man to God are manifest, and his Duties rise up in all their awful niagni- 
 tu<ie to our minds. 
 
 "From this part of the Second Division of our Course, which belongs to Natural Theology, we 
 go on to consider the kelations and duties of man to his feluav-creatukes. 
 
 "The division of these relations, with their duties, is determined upon two grounds, being op- 
 posed to each other, in one respect, as they are Prune or Private, and, in another, as they are 
 simply NATi'KAi., or of human adoption and institution. 
 
 " By the private relations, we understand those by which a man is united to the members of his 
 own family, houseliold, and kindred, .'is a son, a father, a brother, a kinsman, a m.oster. a servant, a 
 friend. Undrr each of these relations, the particular circumstances attending it, which constitute 
 the grounds of obligation, are considereil, and the duties arising from them explicitly and fully 
 stated, under the head of Household Laws. 
 
 "By the PunLic Kelations, we are led to consider him as a Member of a Political Body. 
 There is here a twofold relation — that of Ruleks and Suiukcts. We shall have to treat of tho 
 Dutif.s belonging to both; as of Rulers, their first and especial duty to maint.iin the Indki'end- 
 ence of the Community among other States, and Good Government within their own ; as of 
 subjects, the duties of Allegiance and Obedience; and here will have to be stated the grounds 
 of obligation on rulers and subjects, namely, Mutual Benefits; and their duty to their Common 
 Country. 
 
 "In the course of these inquiries, questions of vast importance .arise as to the Oiiigin and 
 GitouNDS OF (Iovernment; the Principles of Legislation; the Principal Forms which Po- 
 litical Government has assumed among different nations; and their various adaptation to tho 
 essential ends for which they were con.stituted. 
 
 "In this Division of the Course, all those various Theories .are strictly exiimined, which have 
 been offered at ditlerent time*, of the Nature of Virtue, and the Grounds of Moral Obligation — 
 from Plato and Aristotle, to Stewart and Brown ; and especial attention is paid to the Moral Phi 
 lusophy of Greece.
 
 THE PK0FE3S0U AND 1II3 CLASS. 229 
 
 About a year after he had entered upon his new duties, the Pro 
 fessor was rambling during vacation-time in the south of Scotland, 
 having for awhile exchanged the gown for the old "Sporting 
 Jacket." On his return to Edinburgh, he was obliged to pass through 
 Hawick, where, on his arrival, finding it to be fair-day, he readily 
 availed himself of the opportunity to witness the amusements going 
 on. These happened to include a " little mill" between two mem- 
 bers of the local " fancy." His interest in pugilism attracted liim 
 to the spot, where lie soon discovered something very wrong, and 
 a degree of injustice being perpetrats'd which he could not stand. 
 It was the work of a moment to espouse the weaker side, a proceed- 
 ing which naturally drew down upon him the hostility of the oppo- 
 site party. This result was to him, however, of little consequence. 
 There was nothing for it but to beat or be beaten. He was soon 
 "in position;" and, before his imknown adversary well knew what 
 was coming, the skilled fist of the Professor had planted such a 
 "facer" as did not require repetition. Another " round" was not 
 called for; and leaving the discomfited champion to recover at his 
 leisure, the Professor walked coolly away to take his seat in the 
 stage-coach, about to start for Edinburgh. He just reached it in 
 time to secure a place inside, where he found two young men already 
 seated. As a matter of course he entered into conversation Avith 
 them, and before the journey was half over, they had become the 
 best friends in the world. He asked all sorts of questions about 
 their plans and prospects, and was informed they were going to 
 attend College during the winter session. Among the classes men- 
 tioned were Leslie's, Jameson's, Wilson's, and some others. " Oh! 
 Wilson ; he is a queer fellow, I am told ; rather touched here" 
 (pointing significantly to his head) ; " odd, decidedly odd." The 
 lads, sotnewhat cautiously, after the manner of their country, said 
 tlicy had heard strange stories reported of Professor Wilson, but it 
 
 '•In the Third Division of the Course, which runs into the Second, it is attempted to explain 
 Bonie of the chief Means by which Individual and National Virtue and Happiness may be strenirth- 
 ened and guarded : and to point out some of the most fatal causes of the Decline and Fall of 
 Nations. 
 
 " At the commencement of each Session several Lectures are delivered, containing a Prospectus 
 of the whole Course, which contiiins a hundred Lectures. 
 
 " Kach alternate year the Professor delivers a Course of Fifty Lectures on Political Eeeroiry. 
 lie follows, in a great measure, the order observed in the Wenltfi of Kations; and, in e.xplamuig 
 ■.; tli»' doctrines of S.MiTii, compares them with those of lIiCAiioo." 
 
 L
 
 230 MKMOTn OF .lOHX WILSOX 
 
 was not right to believe every thing ; and tliat they would judge for 
 themselves when they saw him. "Quite right, lads; quite right ; 
 but I assure you I know something of the fellow myself, and I think 
 he is a queer devil ; only this very forenoon at Hawick he got into a 
 row with a great lubberly fellow for some unknown cause of oftence, 
 and gave him such a taste of his fist as won't sooubefoigotten ; the 
 whole place was ringing with the story ; I wonder you did not hear 
 of it." " Well," rejoined the lads, " we did hear something of the 
 sort, but it seemed so incredible that a Professor of Moral Philoso- 
 phy should mix himself up with disreputable quarrels at a fair, we 
 did not believe it." Wilson looked very grave, agreed that it was 
 certainly a most unbecoming position for a Professor ; yet he was 
 sorry to say that having heard the whole story from an eye-witness, 
 it was but too true. Dexterously turning the subject, he very soon 
 banished all further discussion about the " Professor," and held the 
 deUghted lads enchained in the interest of his conversation until they 
 reached the end of the journey. On getting out of the coach, they 
 politely asked him, as he seemed to know Edinburgh well, if he 
 would direct them to a hotel. " With pleasure, my young friends ; 
 we shall all go to a hotel together ; no doubt you are hungry and 
 ready for dinner, and you shall dine with me." A coach Avas c;dled ; 
 Wilson ordered the luggage to be placed outside, and gave direc- 
 tions to the driver, who in a short time pulled up at a very nice- 
 looking house, with a small garden in front. The situation was 
 rural, and there was so little of the aspect of a hotel about the place, 
 that on alighting, the lads asked once or twice, if they had come to 
 the right place ? " All right, gentlemen ; walk in ; leave your trunks 
 in the lobby. I have settled with the driver, and now I shall order 
 dinner." No time was lost, and very soon the two youths were 
 conversing freely with their unknown friend, and enjoying them- 
 selves extremely in the satisfictory position of having thus acciden- 
 tally fallen into such good company and good quarters. The de- 
 ception, however, could not be kept up much longer; and, in the 
 course of the evening, Wilson let them know where they were, tell- 
 ing them that they could now judge for themselves what sort of a 
 fellow "■ the Professor" was. 
 
 Another anecdote of holiilay-time relates to a later period, when 
 maturer years had invested the Professor with a more patriarchal 
 dignity and sedatetiess. True to his love for spring, he had selected
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 2o 1 
 
 that season for an excursion to the pastoral vales of Yarrow aud 
 Ettrick, where glittering rivers, 
 
 "Winding through the pomp of cultivated nature," 
 
 attracted more than one poet's admiration ; for if Wordsworth sang 
 m verse, Wilson uttered in prose, how " in spirit all streams are 
 one that flow through the forest. Ettrick and Yarrow come rush- 
 ing into each other's arms, aboon the haughs o' Selkirk, and then 
 flow Tweed-blent to the sea." In the month of May, he sent an 
 invitation to his students resident in the south of Scotland, to meet 
 him at "Tibby Shiels's," where they were to Avander a day with 
 hira " to enjoy the first gentle embrace of spring in some solitary 
 spot." Where could it have been better selected than at St. Mary's 
 Loch ? It was said that the meeting was one of unspeakable delight ; 
 the hills were adorned with the freshest green, and the calm, quiet 
 lake reflected the surrounding verdure in its deep waters, and they 
 beheld 
 
 " The swan on still St. Mary's lake, 
 Float double swan and shadow." 
 
 The Professor spoke of the love of nature, and his words impressed 
 them all, and of the poet of Altrive, " our own shepherd, dear to all 
 the rills that issue, in thousands, from their own recesses among the 
 braes ; for when a poet walks through regions his genius has sung, 
 all nature does him homage, from cloud to clod — from the sky to 
 green earth — all living creatures therein included, from eagle to the 
 mole. James knows this, and is happy among the hills." And was 
 that little company then assembled by the " dowie holms," not happy 
 too? Wilson was in his brightest mood ; no one was oveilooked ; 
 joyously and pleasantly passeil the day; and before evening laid its 
 westering shadows into gloaming, he called his students around 
 him, and, rising up, "he shook his wild locks among them, blessed 
 them, called them his children," and bade them adieu Surely a 
 kindly recognition of these young men in manner such as tliis would 
 bring benefit with it not less lasting, than when, in graver st.ite, he 
 prelected, ex cathedra, to his assembled class. 
 
 We get an idea of what that class was from the following recol- 
 lections, which 3Ir. John Hill Burton has kindly sent to me. He 
 says : — 
 
 " I first saw and made the acpiaintauce of Professor Wilson
 
 232 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 when I joined his class iii 1830. Tlie occasion -was of much nio:e 
 interest to me than the usual first sight of an instructor by a itiipil. 
 I do not know if theie be any thing of the same kind now, but in 
 that day there was a peculiar devotion to BlackwootV s Magazine 
 among young readers in the north. All who were ambitious of 
 looking beyond their class exercises, considered this the fountain- 
 head of originality and spirit in literature. The articles of the last 
 number were discussed critically in the debating societies, and 
 knowingly in the supper parties, and the writmg of the master- 
 hand was always anxiously traced. To see that master, then, for 
 the first time, was an epoch in one's life. 
 
 " The long-looked for first sight of a great man often proves a 
 disappointment to the votary. It was far otherwise in this in- 
 stance. Much as I had heard of his appearance, it exceeded ex- 
 pectation, and I said to myself that, in the tokens of i)hysical health 
 and strength, intellect, high spirit, and all the elements of mascu- 
 line beauty, I had not seen his equal. There was a curious contrast 
 to all this in the adjuncts of his presence — the limp Geneva gown, 
 and the square, box-shaped desk, over which he seemed like some 
 great bust set on a square plinth — but I question if any robes or 
 chair of state would have added dignity to his a))pearance. 
 
 " On a very early day in the session — I forget whether it was 
 quite the first — we suddenly came to an acquaintance, on my hav- 
 ing occasion to speak with him at the end of the lecture. Wlien 
 he found that I was an Aberdonian, he asked me if I knew Tar- 
 land, 'a place celebrated for its markets.' To be sure I did; and 
 Tarl.and was in those days not a place to be easily forgotten. On 
 the border of the Highlands, it had been a great mart ibr smuggled 
 whiskey; and thougli the reduction of the excise duties had spoiled 
 that trade, custom continued it for a while in a modified shajie, and 
 the wild rufiianly habits it had nourished were still in their prime, 
 and not likely to disappear until the generation trained to them 
 had passed away. The Professor had seen and experienced the 
 ways of the place. He hinted, with a sort of half-sarcastic solem- 
 nity, that he was there in the course of the ethical inquiries to 
 which he had devoted himself; just as the professor of natural his- 
 tory or any other persevering geologist might be found where any 
 uiuisual geological phenomenon is develojied, or the professor of 
 anatomy might conduct his inquiries into some abnormal structure
 
 THE PKOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 233 
 
 of the human body. His researches might lead him into trials and 
 perils, as those of zealous investigators are often apt to do. In fact, 
 he had to draw upon his early acquired knowledge of the art of 
 self-defence on the occasion, and he believed he did so not unsuc- 
 cessfully. Here tliere was a sparkle of the eye, a curl of the lip, 
 and a general look of fire and determination, which reminded one of 
 ' The stern joy which warriors feel 
 In foemen worthy of their steel.' 
 
 " He described the market-day as a sort of continued surge of 
 rioting, drinking, and fighting; and when darkness was coming on, 
 ne had to find his way to some distance among unknown roads. A 
 lame man, very unsuited for that wild crowd, had in the mean time 
 scraped a sort of acquaintance with him, and interested him by the 
 scholarship interspersed in his conversation. He was the school- 
 master of a neighboring parish ; and as their ways lay together, 
 he was to be the guide, and, in return, to get the assistance of the 
 stalwart stranger. The poor schoolmaster had, however, so ex- 
 tensively moistened his clay, that assistance was not sufficient, and 
 the Professor had to throw him over his shoulder, and carry hiuj. 
 With the remainder of the dominie's physical strength, too, oozed 
 away that capacity for threading the intricacies of the path, which 
 was his contribution to the joint adventure. Assistance had to be 
 got from some of the miscellaneons Highlanders dispersing home- 
 wards ; and as all were anxious to bear a hand, the small grouj) 
 increased into a sort of procession, and the Professor reached his 
 abode, wherever that might be, at the head of a sort ol' army of 
 these lawless men. 
 
 " A history of this kind was calculated to put a young person at 
 ease, in the presence of the great man and the Professor of jNIoral 
 Philosophy. We now sailed easily into conversation, and went oiF 
 into metaphysics. That he should seriously and earnestly talk on 
 such matters with the raw youth was, of course, very gratifying; 
 but there was a sort of misgiving, that he took for granted my 
 knowing more than I did. This was a way of his, however, to 
 which 1 became accustomed; he was always ready to give people 
 credit for ext nsivc learning. There was no mere hollow courtesy 
 or giving the go-by in his talk on this occasion. He helped me at 
 once to the root of many important things connected with the 
 studies I was pursuing. A point arose, on which he would speak 
 10
 
 23-i MIOIOIU OF JOHN "WILSON. 
 
 to Sir Willirtin Hamilton, wlio knew all about it; he did afterwards 
 speak to him accordingly, souiewhat to my surprise, as I thouirht 
 he would be unlikely to remember either me or my talk — and I 
 thus made an acquaintance which afterwards strengthened into an 
 admirino- friendship for that great man. Then another point came 
 up, on wliich De Qiiincey might be consulted, and would give very 
 curious information, if he could be caught. He was then dwelling 
 with the Professor — as much as he could be eaid to dwell any- 
 where. Suppose then I should come and dine with them ? That 
 would be my best chance of seeing De Quincey. Tliat it was 
 quite light to take advantage of this frank invitation, and, an ob- 
 scure stranger, to catch at an opportunity of thrusting myself on 
 the hosjiitalities and the family circle of a distinguished man, may 
 be questioned. But most people will admit that the temptation 
 was great. It was too much for me, and I accepted, witli immense 
 satistaction. 
 
 " I went to Gloucester Place accordingly. The poet's residence 
 did not represent the traditional garret, nor his guests the eccentric 
 troop familiar to Smollett and Fielding, although I had gone there 
 to meet one who had the reputation of bringing into the nineteenth 
 century the habits of that age in their most grotesque shape, llim, 
 however, I did not see. The Opium-Eater was supposed to be 
 somewhere about the premises, but he chose neither to ap|)ear in 
 the drawing-room nor the dining-room, and years passed before I 
 became acquainted with the most peculiar man of genius, in Britairi 
 at least, of the age. Otherwise, there was good company, hand- 
 somely housed, and enteitained with hospitality thoroughly kind , 
 easy, and hearty, but all in perfect taste and condition. 
 
 " It was a sort of epoch to myself, and therefore I remember 
 pretty well who were present. We had Professor Jameson, then at 
 the zenith of his fame as a mineralogist, Lawrence M'Donald, the 
 sculptor, and John Malcolm, then a })opular poet and writer of mis- 
 cellanies, whose fame, though considerable then, has probably been 
 worn out ere this day ; he was, as I knew him afterwards, a pleas- 
 ant, gentle, meditatively-inclined man, though I think he had seen 
 military service, and knew the mess-room of the old war, — a differ- 
 ent thing from that of the present day. Youngest, as well as I 
 remember, of these seniors, was a Captain Alexander, whom I take 
 to be the traveller. Sir J. E. Alexander.
 
 THE PUOFESSOK AM) HIS CLASS, 235 
 
 "Among my own contemporaries wore some representntives of 
 young Edinburgh, of whom a woi-d or two presently, and a Pol<>, 
 wlu) h:i])i)ened to be the only guest with whom I 'had any previous 
 acquaintance. His formal designation was Leon Count Lubienski. 
 Seeing a good deal of him afterwards during the five months ses- 
 sion, i formed a great idea of his abilities. He had nothing of the 
 imaginative, or of the esthetic — a term then coming into use from 
 Germany ; but for an eye to the practical, and a capacity for mas- 
 tering all knowledge leading in that direction, it did not happen to 
 me to find his equal among ray contemporaries. With all the diffi- 
 culties of language against him, he carried off from young Edinburgh 
 the first i)rize in the civil law class. After having astonished us 
 throughout the session, he left us at the end, and I never could 
 discover any thing of a distinct kind about his career, though I 
 have turned up the initials of his name in the many biographical 
 diclionaries of contemporaries which seem to be a specialty of the 
 present day. I heard, many years since, a vague rumor that he 
 had risen in the Russian service. He was just the man, according 
 to the notions of this country, to be useful to such a government, 
 if he would consent to serve it. I feel certain, however, that he 
 was a man who could not have escaped being heard of by the 
 world, had his career in practical life lain elsewhere than in a close 
 despotism. 
 
 " Such was the outer circle of guests ; within was the Professor's 
 own family. And so hither I found myself transferred, as by a 
 wave of an enchanter's wand, a raw, unknown youth, with claim of 
 no kind in the shape of introduction, with no credentials or tes'i-- 
 mony to my bare respectability; no name, even of a common 
 friend, to bring our conversation to an anchor with. This success 
 seems for more surprising when looked back upon than it was felt 
 at the time. Young people read in novels of such things, .a^d there- 
 fore are not astonished by them ; but in .after life they become 
 aware of tlieir extreme uncommonness. Nor was it a mere casual 
 act of formal hospitality; I received afterwards many a cordial 
 welcome within those hospitable doors. 
 
 "It is possibly its personal bearing that makes me now r(.'mend)er 
 pretty distinctly a good-humored and kindly pleasantry of the Pro- 
 fessor's at that first dinner. I have mentioned th.at there were 
 some representative-; of young Edinburgh present. I do not know
 
 236 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 what precise position towards the rest of the human race the youth 
 of Edinburgh may now claim, but it appeared to me, when I came 
 among tlit-m at the time I speak of, that they considered it beyond 
 any kind of question that they were superior to all the rest of the 
 world. To one coming from the common hard drudgery of our 
 classes in the Xorth, where we did our work zealously enough, with 
 plenty of internal rivalry, but thought no more of claiming fame 
 outside the walls than any body of zealous mechanics, it was a great 
 novelty to get among a community, where the High School dux of 
 
 18 — , or the gainer of the gold medal in the class, was pointed 
 
 out to you ; nay, further, to meet with lads of your own standing, 
 who were the authors of published poems, had delivered great and 
 telling speeches at the Speculative, or had written capital articles 
 in the Edinburgh Litcrarrj Journcd^ or the Uiiiverslty Album. 
 Whether it were the inlieritance of the long hierarchy of literary 
 glory which Edinburgh had enjoyed, or arose from any other cause, 
 this phenomenon was marvellous to a stranger, and rather disa- 
 greeably marvellous, because a youth coining into all this brilliant 
 light, out of the Boeotian darkness of Aberdeen, was conscious of 
 being contemplated with compassionate condescension. We had, 
 however, at the University of Edinburgh at that time, a consider- 
 able body of Aberdonians, pretty compactly united. At our head 
 was William Spalding, the tirst among us in learning and accom- 
 plishments, as well as in the means of using them. He well justitied 
 our expectations by his subsequent career, sadly impeded as it was 
 by bodily ailments, which brought it to an iintimely close. I have 
 got into an episode in mentioning him here, but it is not entirely 
 inappropriate, for the Professor was, as I believe he has been in 
 many other instances, the first who, from a high place, took notice 
 of Spalding's capacity. 
 
 "Well, emboldened and elated, I suppose, by being brought 
 into social equality Avith them, it came to pass that, in our after- 
 dinner talk, 1 threw down the gauntlet to the representatives of 
 young Edinburgh then present, and stood for the equality, at least, 
 if not the superiority of Aberdeen in all the elements of human 
 eminence. In such a contest, a good deal depends on the number 
 of names, in any way known to fame, that the champion remembers ; 
 and Aberdeen possessed, especially if one drew on the far past, a 
 rery fair stock of celebrities. As I was giving them forth, amidst
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS, 237 
 
 a good deal of derisive laughter and ironical cheering, tlie Professor, 
 tickled by the absurdity of the thing, threw himself into the contest, 
 on my side, and tumbled over some of my antagonists in an ex- 
 tremely delectable manner. This was a first revelation to me of a 
 power which I afterwards often observed with astonishment, — a 
 kind of intellectual gladiatorship, which enabled him, in a sort of 
 rollicking, playful manner, to overthrow his adversary with little 
 injury to him, but much humiliation. I can compare it to nothing 
 it so much resembles as a powciful, playful, good-natured mastiff 
 taking his sport with a snarUng cur. As I shall have to mention more 
 especially, tliis was a powerful instrument of discipline in his class. 
 He never had to stand on his dignity. When it was worth his 
 while, he tumbled any transgressor about in a way that made him, 
 though unhurt, thoroughly ashamed of himself, and an example to 
 deter others from doing the like. On the occasion referred to, it 
 was possibly Visible to the bystanders, and had I possessed more 
 ex])erience, might have been known to myself, that I also had been 
 gently laid sprawling in the attacks that seemed directed entirely 
 against my adversaries ; but I happily saw only their discomfiture, 
 and rejoiced accordingly. All that was done for me was, however, 
 entirely neutralized by a random shnft from the Pole, finding mark 
 he never meant, and jjiercing more effectually than all the artillery 
 of my opponents. Looking with an air of intense gravity on the 
 whole discussion, he broke in with the inquiry, whether he was right 
 or not in his supposition, that ' Apperdcen was verray illoustrious 
 for the making of stockingks?' Alter this, there was no use of 
 saying more on either side. 
 
 " I wish I had tried to Boswellize, or could now remember the 
 talk of that, as of many other evenings. One little inci«lent I 
 remember distinctly, but I am sure I shall be unable to tell it to 
 any effect. Some priggish rem;irks having been made by some one 
 on the power of exliaustive analysis, the Professor fell to illustrate 
 it by an attempt, through that process, to send a hired assistant, 
 name unknown, for a fresh bottle of claret. lie began calling to 
 hin) by the ordinary names, John, .James, William, Thomas, ami so 
 on, but none hit the mark — the man standing by the sideboard, in 
 demure contemplation, as if inwardly solving some metaphysical 
 difficulty. The Professor then passed on in a wild discursive flight 
 through stranger names. At last he seemed to have hit the right
 
 238 MEMOIR OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 one, for the attendant darted forward. It was, in fact, in obedio.ice 
 to a sign by a guest that he was wanted, but it came in inline. liale 
 response to a thoi'onglily unconventional designation, — Beelzebub, 
 ]\[ephistophiles, or h.onietlnng of that sort ; and the fun was en- 
 hanced by the man's solemn unconsciousness that he had been the 
 object of a logical experiment. 
 
 " Bat to come back to the class. It was one that must have 
 been somewhat memorable to the Professor himself, when he looked 
 back upon it in after years. Not only was his son John in it, but 
 it included John Thompson Gordon and William Edmondstoune 
 Aytoun, so that unconsciously the Professor was instructing the 
 future husbands of his daughters. There were others to give it 
 interest ai?.d repute — as Archibald Swinton, noAV Professor of Civil 
 hxw ; the clever Pole I have already referred to ; John Walker Ord, 
 who shcwpd poetic powers which promised a considerable harvest ; 
 and Thrr/'.as Todd Stoddart, who had won laurels, and thoroughly 
 enjoyed *.hem, too, in his published poem of ' The Death Wake.' 
 
 "The powers of Wilson, as an instructor and a public speaker, 
 will, of course, be described by others. I may simply say that 
 attendance at his class, at the same time that it was an act of duty, 
 rev^urded the student with what duty seldom brings, the enjoyment 
 of an oration alive with brilliant and powerful eloquence. 
 
 "Saturday was a greatday of enjoyment of a more egotistic kind. 
 Then he spoke on the essays he had leceived. He gave us a breadth 
 of topics, and allowed us Avonderful latitude in the handling of them 
 — but he certainly read them all — and what a mass of trash he must, 
 have thus perused! In criticising them, he was charitable and 
 cordial to the utmost stretch of magnanimous charity. I can hardly 
 say what an exciting thrill it im])arted to the youth to hear his own 
 composition readout from that high place, and commented on with 
 earnestness, and not without commendation. The recollection of 
 these days sometimes also recalls BoswelTs garrulous account of his 
 first symposium with Johnson. ' The Orthodox and High Church 
 sound of The Mitre; the figure and maimer of the celebrated 
 Samuel Joimson ; the extraordinary power ami precision of his 
 conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted 
 as his com})anion, produced a variety of sensations, and a pleasing- 
 elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced.' 
 But our ek'vation iroceeded from entirely intellectuiJ sources,
 
 •CUE PROFESSOR AND III3 CLASS. 239 
 
 WCl tout the aid of the other stimulants which contributed to Bos- 
 weli's gloiy. Altogether, that class was a scene of eijoynient 
 which remains in my mind entirely distinct from oven the plea- 
 Banter portion of other work-day college life. 
 
 " The class was a very large one. I have referred to the I'rofessor's 
 peculiar power of presei-ving discipline, or rather of keeping up good- 
 humor, gentlemanly fellowship, ami order, without the necessity of 
 discipline. An instance occurred during the session, when he exer- 
 cised this power in a matter not peculiar to his own class, not indeed 
 showing itself within the class, but general to the students at large, 
 as a portion of the inhabitants of Edinburgh having a common tie. 
 There was a great snow-ball riot in that session. This is a thing pecu- 
 liar to Edinburgh, and not easily made intelligible to those who have 
 oot witnessed it. As a stranger it surprised me much. In the north 
 we had our old feuds and animosities, often breaking out in serious 
 violence and mischief But that a set of people — most of them full- 
 grown — should, without any settled feud, utterly change the whole 
 tenor of their conduct, and break into something like insurrectiorj, 
 merely because snow was on the ground, appeared to be a silliness 
 utterly incomprehensible. This snow-ball aifair became so formid- 
 able-looking that a mounted foreign refugee, with his head full of 
 revolutions, galloped through the streets (I forget if he was in any 
 way armed) calling out ' Barricade — shoot !' 
 
 "After it was pretty well over, the Professor made a si)eech to 
 us on the conclusion of his daily lecture. He did not condenm or 
 even disparage snow-balling; on the contrary, he expressed glow- 
 ingly his sense of its sometimes irresistible attractions. These he 
 illustrated by what had once occurred to himself and a venerable 
 and 'Uustrious friend; we thought at the time that he meant Dr. 
 Chalmers. In a spring walk among the hills, and in the middle of 
 a semi-metaphysical discussion, they came upon a snow-wreath. By 
 a sort of simultaneous impulse, borne on the recollection of early 
 days, the discussion stopped, and they fell too to a regular hard 
 bicker. After Avorking away till they were covered with snow, 
 panting with fitigue and glowing red with the exertion, they both 
 stopped, and laughed loud in each other's face; just such a hnigh 
 as he must have then expressetl, did the Professor force upon his 
 class. Then came his contrast between such a scene and a fracas 
 inthediity streets, where low-bred luffians took the opi)oriunity
 
 2-iO MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to get out some bit of petty revenge or of mere wanton crueltV; or 
 of insolence to those whose character and position entitled them to 
 deference; and so he went on, until there could not be a question 
 that every one in the class who had been concerned in the aft'air felt 
 ashamed of himself. His practical conclusion was that they should 
 have their bicker, certainly, but — adjourn it from the college quad- 
 rangle and the street to the Pentland hills. 
 
 "We naturally, among ourselves, talked over any little instances 
 illustrative of the remarkable power of making any one whom 
 he had to rebuke or correct feel foolish. For instance, there used 
 to be a set of dusky personages who then stood at the corner of 
 certain streets, and annoyed the passenger by stepping up right 
 in front of him, like an established acquaintance, and snying, 'Any 
 old clothes?' It was said that the vvay in which the I'rufessor on 
 such an occasion turne(l round on the intruder, and said, 'Yes ; have 
 you any?' had such an eftect, that the word was passed through 
 the tribe, and he never was again addressed by any of its membei's. 
 
 "I remember a very strong negative testimony to this peculiar 
 power, in the circumstance of his entire freedom from the ])ersecu- 
 tions of two licensed tormentors, who were the terror of all tlie rest 
 of the professors. They were men of venerable years and weak in- 
 tellect, who had established a sort of prescriptive right to attend 
 such classes as they might honor with their presence. It was not 
 of course their mere presence, but the use to which it Avas put by 
 tricky students, that made the standing gi-ief of the professors. 
 One of them was called Sir Peter Nimuu), a dirty, ill-looking lout, 
 who had neitluu- wit himself, nor any quality with a sutlicient 
 amount of pleasant grotesqxieness in it to create wit in others. T 
 believe he was merely an idly-inclined and stupidish man of low 
 condition, who, having once got into practice as a sort of public 
 laughing-stock, saw that the occupation paid better than honest in- 
 dustry, and had cunning enough to keep it up. lie must have had 
 a rather hard time of it, however, in some respects, for it was an 
 established practice to get hold of the cards of important person- 
 ages — especially if they were as testy as they were important — and 
 to present them to Sir Peter Avith a request that he would favor the 
 person indicated with his company at dinner. He always went, 
 pretending simplicity, and using a little caution, if he saw symjjtoms 
 of strong measures. I suppose he sometimes got a meal that way,
 
 TIIK rUOFKSSOll AND HIS CLASS. 241 
 
 following an old Scottish saying about taking ' the bite Avith the 
 buffet.' He always called himself Sir Peter. It was said that a 
 man of liigh title had professed to knight him in a drunken frolic, 
 lie wandered about sometimes endeavoring to establish himself as 
 a sponge in country houses. Strangely enough, he thus got the ear 
 of Wordsworth, who showed him attention. lie used the Profes- 
 sor's name, and Wordsworth, as I heard, talked of him as a Scotch 
 baronet, eccentric in appearance, but fundamentally one of the most 
 sensible men he ever met with. The Professor remarked that this 
 compliment was no doubt owing to Sir Peter having judiciously 
 preserved silence, and allowed Wordsworth to pour into his ear 
 unceasingly the even tenor of his loquacity. 
 
 "The other of this strange pair was a rather more interesting 
 creature. He was called Dr. Syntax. He had of course another 
 name, but of that the public knew nothing. The Tour of Dr. Syntax 
 in search of the picturesque, with its doggerel rhymes and extrava- 
 gant illustrations, had not then quite lost the great popularity it 
 enjoyed. The representations of the hero were intended to be 
 gross caricatures, but the structure of his namesake was so super- 
 naturally protracted and spidery as closely to approach the propor- 
 tions of the caricature. His costume, probably by no design of his 
 own, completed the likeness. This being, if seen in the street, was 
 always marching along with extreme rapidity, with his porttblio 
 under his arm, as if full of important business, unless, indeed, he 
 had just got a present of a turban, a yeoman's helmet, or some other 
 I)rei)Osterous decoration, when he would stand exhibiting himself 
 wherever a crowd ha})pened to pass. He honored the various pro- 
 fessors and clergy of Edinburgh with his attendance at their lectures 
 and sermons. He always chose the most conspicuous place he could 
 fuid. There, with his long, demure, cadaverous face, on which a 
 stray smile would have been at once frozen, he proceeded to busi- 
 ness and spread out his portfolio. He sometimes took notes of what 
 was said, at others took the portrait of the speaker ; it may be ])rt>- 
 sumed ttiat in church he limited hiniself to the former function, h' 
 it grew dark, he would solemnly draw from his pocket a small tajxT 
 and strike a light, determined not to be interrupted in his duties, 
 and in the centre of the general gloom a small disk of light would 
 distinguish his countenance, which was as solemn as the grave, yet 
 bhed aroimd a degree of restless mirth which spoiled many a lecture, 
 10^
 
 242 MlOlOlli OF JulIX AVILSOX. 
 
 ami uni-t liavo sa lly jumblcJ tlie devotions of tlie church-goers. I 
 believe cYoiy professor received a full share of this man's attentions 
 except Wilson. His literary ally, the Professor of Civil law, a inau 
 endowed with a o-reat fund of humor, which, however, he could not 
 convert like him into defensive armor, suiTered dreadfully from Syn- 
 tax, and when the pale face was visible in the highest desk, we 
 knew that a day was lost, the poor lecturer having enough to do in 
 keeping down internal convulsions of laughter, which seemed as if 
 they would explode and shatter his frame to pieces. 
 
 '' Both these tormentors, of whom I have, perhaps, said too much, 
 stood in wholesome dread of Wilson. It was, I have no doubt, by 
 effectually treating them according to their folly, that he earned this 
 exemjttion, in which his brethren must ha\e greatly envied him. 
 
 " Before that session came to an end, an event occurred momen- 
 tous to all of us — the Reform Bill was brought in. We youths had 
 previously indulged in no politics, or if in any, they were of a mild 
 Aristides and Brutus kind, tinged perhaps by De Lolme and the 
 Letters of Junius. Now, however, we were at once separated into 
 two hostile forces. To the liberals, JjlackicoocVs Magazine^ ceasing 
 to be the guiding-star of literature, had become the watchfire of 
 the enemy. The bitterness of the hostility felt at that time by the 
 young men of the two opposite political creeds cannot easily be un- 
 derstood by those in the same stage of life at the present day. The 
 friendship must have been fast indeed that remained after one friend 
 had become a reformer and the other an anti-reformer. We used to 
 make faces at each otlier as M-e passed ; and if a few woi'ds were ex- 
 changed, they were hostile and threatening. I suppose our hostility 
 was a type of a stage of transition between the ferocity of times of 
 civil war and the milil political partisanship of the pi'esent day. 
 
 " The Professor was known to take his stand against the Bill 
 with great vehemence, but I never knew more than one instance 
 of an approach to an ebullition of it upon any of his friends on our 
 side. There had been many Reform meetings of all kinds, some- 
 times assembling vast multitmles, when it occurred to attempt a 
 Tory meeting — the word Conservative had not then been invented. 
 A question arose among us whether tliey should be allowed to have 
 it their own way, and, since they called the meeting public, whether 
 our party should not go and out-vote them. The tactic of public 
 meetings, as simply one-sideil demonstrations of the strength of a
 
 THE PRUFES.^OK AND HIS CLASS. 243 
 
 party, was not then understood, and they were coiitbunded with 
 meetings of rej)resentative bodies, where strength is tried by dis- 
 cussing and voting. A friend of the Professor's, older than the 
 youngsters of his chiss, but a good deal younger than himself, was 
 known stronuly to favor an invasion of the meeting from our side. 
 He called on the Prol'essor presently before the meeting; it was a 
 friendly visit, but partially, I presume, for the purpose of sounding 
 the Professor on the exciting question. Just before leaving, he ex- 
 pressed a hope that there would be no disturbance. The Professor, 
 drawing himself up, answered, as well as I can remember having 
 heard, in this wise : ' What any set of blackguards may be pre- 
 pared to attempt in these days I cannot predict ; but I can say, 
 that if I see any man who is on terms of acquaintance with me 
 go to that meeting to meddle with it, I hope I may be the first — • 
 (a pause) — to kick him out into the street.' And the visitor said 
 the Professor looked as if he were so close on the point of rehears- 
 ing this performance on the spot, that he involuntarily started a 
 good pace back, 
 
 " Though politics entered deeply into our social and literary in- 
 tercourse at that time, yet the Professor was strong enough in his 
 other elements of distinction to keep himself aloof, and remain un- 
 touched in his other relations by the inliuence of party, without in 
 the least degree putting in question the sincerity of his attachment 
 to his own side. lie made in the class just one allusion to politics, 
 and it was emphatic. An ambitious student, in one of his essays, 
 finding his way to the characteristics of democracy, made some 
 allusions to passing events in a tone which he no doubt thought 
 likely to secure the favor of the Piofessor. We never would have 
 known of this effort had it not been read out in full to us in the 
 class, and followed by a severe rebuke on the introduction of poli- 
 tics to a place where party strife should be unknown." 
 
 Another student,* who attended the class seven years later, for- 
 tunately preserved his notes, and sends me the following vivid 
 recollections of the winter session of 1837 : — 
 
 " Of Professor Wilson as a lecturer on Moral Philosophy, it is 
 not easy to convey any adequate idea to stranixers, — to those who 
 never saw his grand and nnlih; form excited into bold and passion- 
 ate action behind that stran^■e, old-fashioned desk, nor heard hig 
 
 * Tho liov. William Smitli, of North Liith Church.
 
 244 Mi:>:()iR of .lonx wilson. 
 
 manly and eloquent voice sounding forth its stirring utterances 
 with all the strange and fitful cadence of a music quite peculiar to it. 
 self. The many-sidedness of the man, and the unconventional charac- 
 ter of his prelections, combine to make it exceedingly difficult to give 
 any full analysis of his course, or to define the nature and grounds 
 of his wonderful power as a lecturer. I am certain that if every 
 student who ever attended his class were to place on record his im. 
 pressions of these, the impressions of each student Avould be widely 
 difterent, and yet they would not, taken all together, exhaust the 
 subject, or supply a complete rejiresentation either of his matter or 
 his manner. There was so much in the look and tone, in every as- 
 pect and in every movement of the man, which touched and sw.ayed 
 the student at the time, but which cannot now be recalled, described, 
 or even realized, that any reminiscence by any one can be interest- 
 ing only to those whose memories of the same scenes enable them 
 to follow out the train of recollection, or complete the picture which 
 it may suggest. 
 
 "I attended his class in session 1S37-8. It was the session im- 
 mediately succeeding the loss of his wife, the thought of which, as 
 it was ever again and again re-awakened in his mind by allusions in 
 his lectures, however remote, to such topics as death, bereavement, 
 widowhood, youthful love, domestic scenes, and, above all, to con- 
 jugal happiness, again and again shook his great soul with an agony 
 of uncontrollable grief, the sight of which was sufficient to subdue 
 us all into deep and respectful sympathy with him. On such occa- 
 sions he would pause for a moment or two in his lecture, fling him- 
 self forward on the desk, bury his face in his hands, and while his 
 whole frame heaved with visible emotion, he would weep and sob 
 like a very child. 
 
 "The roll of papers on which each lecture was written, which he 
 carried into the class-room firmly grasped in his hand, and suddenly 
 unrolled and spread out on the desk before him, commencing to 
 read the same moment, could not fail to attract the notice of any 
 stranger in his class-room. It was composed in large measure of 
 portions of old letters — the addresses and postage-marks on which 
 could be easily seen as he turned the leaf, yet it was equally evi- 
 dent that the writing was neat, careful, and distinct ; and, except 
 in a more than usually dark and murk day, it was read with perfect 
 ease and fluencv.
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 245 
 
 " In the course of lectures which I attended, he began by treat- 
 ing of the desire of knowledge ; the feeling of admiration ; sympa- 
 thy ; desire of society ; emulation; envy; anger; revenge; self; 
 self-esteem ; the love of fame or glory, and the love of powei-. 
 
 " The most memorable points in these lectures were : (1.) a highly 
 wrought description of Envy, founded on Spenser's picture of 
 Lucifera riding in the gorgeous chariot of Pride, and preceded by 
 six Passions (the fifth of which is Envy) riling each on an appro- 
 priate animal ; (2.) a very minute and purely metaphysical analysis 
 of the idea of Self; and, (3.) a highly poetical illustration of the 
 Avorkings of the Love of Power. This last display I can never 
 forget ; and sure am I that no one present can ever forget it either. 
 It appeared to have been a lecture whose place in the course and 
 powerful eloquence were previously not unknown to fame. For 
 when I went to the class-room at the usual hour on the last day of 
 November, I found it already overcrowded with an audience, com- 
 prising many strangers of note and several professors, all in a high 
 state of expectation. Conspicuous in the centre of the front bench 
 was the new Professor of Logic, Sir William Hamilton, eager with 
 anticipation as the others. At length the door of the retiring-room 
 was thrown open, and with even firmer step and longer stride, and 
 more heroic gait than usual, the Professor, with his flowing gown 
 and streaming locks, advanced to the desk and began the lecture. 
 After a hasty recapitulation of the subjects discussed in previous 
 lectures, he proceeded somewhat thus ; I can give but the feeblest 
 sketch of the lecture : — 
 
 "'Towards the close of yesterday's lecture we came to the con- 
 sideration of another active principle, " The Love of Power," and 
 we remarked on the frequent corruption and melancholy degrada- 
 tion of genius through an inordinate love of power. The origin 
 of this love of power is found in the feeling of pleasure which uni- 
 formly, and in a proportionably greater or less degree, attends the 
 consciousness of possessing power. Even in lower creation we see 
 this feehng of pleasure shown. The eagle evidently enjoys a deep 
 sensation of pleasure as he cuts his unmarked ])ath through the 
 storm-tossed clouds. The horse also, when in the fulness of his 
 strength he hastens o'er the course, outstripping all his rivals, is a 
 supremely happy as well as an exquisitely beautiful animal. Tlie 
 child too attains a never-failing soiu'ce of pleasure on his first con-
 
 246 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 sciousness of possessing powers, and he is overwhelmed with grief 
 and vexation wlien he meets with any obstacle which presents an 
 insurmountable obstruction to his free and nnfettereJ exercise of 
 these powers. 
 
 " 'AH the principles which the human being possesses have been 
 given to him for the jiurpose of enabling him to light his way 
 through scenes of trouble, and difficulty, and danger, and it has 
 been also wisely decreed that the exercise of these principles or 
 powers, when crowned with success, should afibrd him pleasure. 
 The woodsman who is engaged in felling pines in the awful depths 
 of the American forest, derives pleasure from the consciousness of 
 powA", as he sees giant after giant laid low at his feet by the 
 prowess of his own unaided arm, at the same time that he is use- 
 fully employed in clearing out a domain for the support, it may bo, 
 of his wife and family. The lonely hunter feels a pleasure in his 
 powers as he brings down the towering bird of Jove by his un- 
 erring ball, or as he meets a boar in deadly conflict, and drains tlie 
 heart's blood of the brute with his spear. The savage fisherman 
 of the far north, as he goes in his frail canoe to pursue the most peril- 
 ous of all enterprises, feels a pleasure in his powers, as he triumphs 
 by the skill of his rude harpoon over even the mightiest denizens 
 of the deep. The peasant from his conscious feeling of manly 
 power in every muscle of his stalwart frame derives pleasure, and, 
 at the same time, the ability to sustain all the trials and conquer all 
 the difficulties which cross him on his toil-worn path. The life of 
 the scholar is as much a life of difficulty as the life of the traveller 
 who plods on his way through unknown countries, and requires in 
 a high degree the sense of power to cheer and sustain him on his 
 course ; for we all know that conquests in the kingdom of intelli- 
 gence are not to be won by one day's battle. . . . 
 
 " ' If the mind needs support in its search after virtue, it must 
 much more need it in the ordinary business and pursuits of 
 life. 
 
 " ' To be weak is miserable, doing or suffering. . . . 
 
 " ' It has often occurred to us that the most debased and humilia- 
 ting state in which human nature could be found, is that where 
 men have calmly bowed themselves under the disadvantages in 
 which nature has seen fit originally to place them, without a single 
 stoiit-heartfd effort to relieve themselves from them ; as, for instance,
 
 THS PKOFESSOB AND IIIS CLASS. 247 
 
 m the case of the inhabitants of New Holland, as they were be- 
 scribed by those who first visited the island. And what a contrast 
 is visible between their character and that of the North American 
 Indians, vanquishing the feeling of pain in their breasts by the 
 strengtli of their unconquerable wills ; " The Stoics of the wood, 
 the men without a tear." 
 
 "'Let us picture to our mind's eye a pampered Sybarite, nursed 
 in all the wantonness of high-fed luxury, dallying on a downy sofa, 
 amid all the gorgeousness of ornamental tapestry, listening to the 
 soft sounds of sweetest music playing in his ears ; his eyes satiated 
 with pleasure in contemplating the enchanting pictures that decorate 
 the walls, and the beautiful statues which in pleasing variety fill up 
 the distant vistas of his palace; whose rest would be broken, whose 
 happiness would be spoiled, by the doubUng of the highly scented 
 rose-leaf that lies beneath him on his silken couch. Let us by the 
 magic power of imagination transport this man to the gloomy depths 
 of an American forest, Avhere the dazzling glare of a bright fire in- 
 stantly meets his eye. If he does not forthwith ignominiously expire 
 at the first view, suppose him to survey the characters who comj^ose 
 or fill up the busy scene around it. The barbarous savages of »)ne 
 tribe have taken captive the chief of another engaged in deadly hos- 
 tilities with them. They have not impaled him alive. That Avould 
 be to consign liim too speedily to unhearing death. But they have 
 tied him fast with bands made of the long and lithe forest grass, 
 which yields not quickly to the fire. They have placed him beside 
 the pile which they kindle with fiendish satisfaction, and feed with 
 cautious hand, well knowing the point or pitch to raise it to, which 
 tortures but not speedily consumes. They have exhausted all their 
 onergjj' in uttering a most diabolical yell, on witnessing their victim 
 fii-st feel the horrid proofs of their resentment, and noAV, seated on 
 the grass around, they look on in silence. The chief stands firm with 
 unflinching nerve ; his long eye-lashes are scorched off, but his proud 
 eye disdains to wink ; his dark raven locks have all perished, but 
 there is not a wrinkle seen on his forehead. From the crown of his 
 head to the sole of his foot his skin is one continued blister, but the 
 courage of his soul remains unshaken, and quails not before the tor- 
 nieniing pain. The Sybarite has expired at the mere sight ; his 
 craven heart has ceased to beat. The Indian hero stands firm. 
 There is even a smile on his sadly marred cheek, and it is not the
 
 248 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Bmile wliicli is extorted by excruciating pain, and forms the fit ac- 
 companiiiK'iit of a groan, but he smiles with joy as he chants his 
 dcath-soiig. He thinks with pride and joy on the heroic deeds he 
 has performed ; liow he has roamed from sunset to sunrise tlirougli 
 the forest depths, and changed the sleep of his foemen into doatii. 
 Ho beholds on all sides dancing around him the noble spirits of his 
 heroic ancestors; and nearest to him, and almost, he imagines, 
 W'.tliin reiu'h of his embrace, he sees the ghost of his father, wlio first 
 put into his hand and taught him the use of the scali)ing-knife and 
 tomahawk ; Avho has come from the heavens lar beyond the place 
 of mountains and of clouds to quaif the death-song, and to welcome 
 to the land of the great hereafter tlie spirit of his undegenerate son. 
 The chief is inflamed with a glorious ra])ture that exalts him beyond 
 the sensation of pain, and conquers agony. " He holds no parley 
 with unmanly fears." 
 
 " The son of Alcnomon has ceased to endure ; 
 He consented to die, but he scorned to complain." 
 
 " ' It seems a duty incumbent on us all to think well of ourselves 
 and of our powers. But then comes the question. Where falls the 
 limit to be fixed at which this feeling must cease ? We answer, 
 Nature and the real necessities of life discover to a man the actual 
 extent of his powers. Nature, reality, and truth, are the only 
 tests. . . . 
 
 " ' To show that the innate consciousness of power often sustains 
 a person amidst severely trying difficulties, we may relate a well- 
 authenticated anecdote of Nelson. When a very young man in the 
 rank of midshipman, he was returning from India on sick leave, with 
 his health broken by the climate, and his spirits depressed by the 
 feeling that he was cast ofi' from his profession, and that he could 
 never rise further in it. Sitting one day solitarily, meditating on all 
 this, his thoughts reverted to the great naval heroes who had fought 
 and won his country's battles, and gained for England the empire 
 of the deep ; when a bright ray of hope seemed to shine before him, 
 that filled his soul with intense pleasure, and made him exclaim : " I 
 will be a hero ; England will not cast me oif ; p]ngland's king will 
 be my patron and my friend." He often afier spoke of this ray 
 which did indeed blaze forth, and lighted his path to renown, till 
 the noble watch-word of Trafilgar insured his last and crowninir
 
 THE PKOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 249 
 
 triumph, and the name of Nelson was known as widely as the name 
 of Kngland.' 
 
 " Tliis taint sketch taken at the time may serve, with all its im- 
 perfections, to give some idea of the substance of this noble lecture, 
 but it cannot convey to any not present tlie slightest conception of 
 the transcendent power and overwhelming eloquence with which 
 it was deUvered, or of its electrifying effects upon the audience. 
 The whole soul of the man seemed infused into his subject, and to 
 be rushing forth Avith resistless tbrce in the torrent of his rapidly- 
 rolling words. As he spoke, his whole frame quivered with emotion. 
 He evidently saw the scene he described, and such was the sympa- 
 thetic force of his strong poetic imagination, that he made us, 
 whether we would or not, see it too. Now dead silence held the 
 class captive. In the interval of his words you would have heard a 
 jjin fall. Again, at some point, the applause could not be restrained, 
 and was vociferous. Especially when the dying scene in his descrip- 
 tion of the North American Indian's virtues reached its glorious 
 consummation, the cheers were again and again re])eated by every 
 voice, till the roof rang again, and Sir William Hamilton, not less 
 enthusiastic in his aj)[)lause than the very youngest of the students 
 behind him, actually stood up and clapped his hands with evident 
 delight and approbation. 
 
 " 1 have heard some of the greatest orators of the day, — Lords 
 Derby, Brougham, Lyndhurst; Feel, O'Connell, Shell, FoUett, Chal- 
 mers, Caird, Guthrie, M'Neile ; 1 have heard some of these in their 
 very best styles make some of tlieir most celebrated appearances ; 
 but lor popular eloquence, lor resistless force, for the seeming inspi- 
 ration that swayed the soul, and the glowing sympathy that en- 
 tranced tlie hearts of his entire audience, that lecture by Professor 
 Wilson far excelled the loftiest etibrts of the best of these I ever 
 listened to; and 1 have long come to the decided conclusion that if 
 he had chosen the sacred profession, and given his whole heart and 
 ' soul to his work, he would have raised the fame of pulpit oratory 
 to a pitch far beyond what it ever has reached, and gained a celeb- 
 rity and success as a preacher second to none in the annals of the 
 Church. 
 
 "The course was continued in k-ctures on, (1.) Jealousy, which 
 was illustrated by a very splendid ami elaborate analysis of the 
 character of Othello, in which the erroneousness of the couunou idea
 
 250 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of the Moor as a mere victim of the greon-eved monster Avas very 
 clearly and convincingly exhibited ; (2.) The Love of Pleasure ; (3.) 
 Hope ; (4.) Fear ; (5.) Happiness or Misery in this Lii'e arising from 
 the lower principles of humanity ; (6.) Association, discussed at 
 great length and with very great metaphysical acumen, as well as 
 copious illustration : (7.) Imagination, treated in nine most interest- 
 ing lectures ; and, (8.) Conscience ; which, with a full and particular 
 consideration of the various moral systems propounded by ancient 
 and modern philosophy, occupied thirty lectures. 
 
 "In the next division of the course the Afiections were explained 
 and illustrated in a series of sixteen lectures, in which all the wealth 
 of poetry and pathos that were at his command had ample scope 
 and glorious display in picturing scenes of domestic and social life, 
 and in drawing from the whole field of literature examples of family 
 affection and heroic patiiotism. Thus we had the picture of a family 
 — with all its interpenetrating relations, of the elder members 
 towards the younger, and of the elder towards each other ; the 
 strong hold which any absent member retains over the affections of 
 aU at home, and the jdeep reverence and affectionate love with which 
 they all regard the head of the family — set before us in a manner 
 to rivet attention, by connecting with it a very fine disquisition on 
 Burns's ' Cottar's Saturday Xight.' We had the beautiful pic- 
 tures of filial aflection drawn by Sophocles and Shakspere respec- 
 tively in Antigone and Cordelia, extemporaneously, but most eftec- 
 tively and splendidly described. This extempore lecture was imme- 
 diately followed up by another, delivered also without the aid of any 
 notes, and of a very strange and discursive character, as the heads 
 of it will show : — ' Antigone — Electra — Clytenmestra — Agr.mem- 
 non — ^gisthus — Orestes — Good old Homer who never i.ods — 
 Ulysses — Acliilles — Peleus — The Meeting of Laertes and Achilles — 
 The Lake Poets — Southey and ^Yordsworth — Ajtples and Pears — 
 Apple-pie ;' but in which the Professor succeeded in demonstrating 
 the vast superiority of the great poets of antiquity, in delineating 
 those simple touches of nature that go to prove the whole world 
 kin. We bad then parental affection copiously illustrated in a 
 series of lectures containing iiighly-wroaglit pictures of an outcast 
 mother sitting begging by the wayside, of emigrant mothers about 
 to be devoured in a l>urning ship, and of Virgil's sketches of Evan- 
 der and Pallas, and Mezentius and Lausus, as contrasted with Words-
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS, 251 
 
 worth's sketch of the ' statesman' Michael and his son Luke. One 
 whole lecture was devoted to Shakspere's character of C^mstance, 
 as exhibiting the workings of maternal affection, and another to 
 Priam's going to ransom the body of Hector from Achilles. The 
 paternal affections and friendship were next dealt with in the same 
 interesting manner, with illustrative references to the writings of Jer- 
 emy Taylor, Lord Bacon, Cicero, Shakspere, Dugald Stewart, Thom- 
 son, and Colei'idge. This part of the course was wound up by th'-p<^ 
 very able lectures on Patriotism, durhig the delivery of the last o.. 
 which one of the few memorable ' scenes' during the session occurred 
 in the class. The Pi'ofessor had begun the lecture by a very earnest 
 and powerful defence of nationality or patriotism against the attacks 
 of those who prefer a spirit of cosmopolitanism. In the course of 
 this, he had occasion to refer to the views of Coleridge and Cheiievix 
 on the character of fallen nations, and particularly to the very pecu- 
 liar relation in which Scotland had long stood to England ; and in 
 dealing with this latter point he was proceeding with the remark, 
 that 'the great Demosthenes of Ireland, the ruler of seven millioni- 
 of the iinest i)easantry in the world, had presumed to say at a pub- 
 lic meeting that the reason Scotland had never been conquered wa(> 
 that S'--otland had never been worth conquering.' I do not know 
 how the lecture as written would have dealt with this charge, for 
 the remark led to an interruption of its delivery. Some Irish stu- 
 dents, resenting the contemptuous tone in which their great hero 
 was mentioned, and especially taking offence, perhaps justly, at the 
 comical way in which the word '' pizzantry' was pronounced, raised 
 first a hiss, and then a howl, which provoked counter-cheering from 
 the more numerous Conservatives present, till the class-room becnme 
 for a i\i,\\ mimites something like Babel or a bear-garden. For a 
 little the Professor looked calmly on ; but at last, fiirly roused l)y 
 the unusual uproar, he threw his notes aside, and drowning all noise 
 by the stentorian pitch of voice in which he repeated the sentence 
 that had provoked it all, he on the sj)ur of the moment burst forth 
 in a most eloquent and effective denunciation of all demagogues, and 
 of all Irish demagogues in particular, showing in return for O'Con- 
 nell's contemptuous remark about Scotland, the exact number of 
 English pikemen and archers that had sufficed for the total subju- 
 gation of Irelajid ; and in castigation of those of his students that 
 hid hissed him, launching all the shafts of his raillery, and these
 
 252 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON". 
 
 were both numerous and sharp, at modern Radicalism, and its cant 
 phrase, ' March of Intellect.' The scene was one not to be forgot- 
 ten. It was the only occasion any expression of i)olilical feeling 
 or bias escaped from him ; and yet, though he spoke under great 
 excitement and with merciless severity, he said nothing that made 
 him less respected and admired even by those who differed from him 
 in his political views.* 
 
 " The course was concluded by a series of about twenty lectures 
 on Natural Theology, m which that subject was treated m a manner 
 altogether worthy of its vast importance. The great writers, both 
 ancient and modern, were reviewed in a highly philosophical and 
 finely appreciatory spirit. The ability of Hume was fully admitted, 
 and his arguments met as fairly and successfully as they have ever 
 been ; but the pretensions of Lord Brougham to authority in the 
 matter were called in question, and some of his views severely 
 criticised. The moral attributes of God ; the duties of man to his 
 Maker ; religion in the abstract ; the immortality and immateriality 
 of the soul; the moral philosophy of the Greeks, and especially the 
 doctrines of Socrates and Plato, were all handled in a way befitting 
 the grandeur and sacredness of these topics, and so as to impress 
 every student with the depth and earnestness of the Professor's 
 religious views and feelings, as well as with the high-toned morality 
 of his whole mind and temperament. 
 
 " And now, reviewing generally one's old impressions of the 
 character of the whole course, and qualifying these by the help of 
 subsequent experience and knowledge, there remains a very decided 
 conviction that while the overflowing wealth of poetical reference 
 and illustration, and the somewhat excessive ornamentation of lan- 
 guage, were calculated so far to choke and conceal the systematic 
 philosophy of the lectures ; to amuse rather than instruct the stu- 
 dents ; to deprave rather than chasten and purify their style of com- 
 position ; the high merits and distinguished qualities of the lectures 
 are indisputable, and their tendency to engender free thought, and 
 to encourage large and liberal-uiiuded study of the works of all the 
 
 * The obnoxious referonce to the " Liberator" appears to have been subsequently otiiittcd from 
 thft lecture; but the topic in reference to which it occurred seems to have been one in which the 
 Professor found some difficulty in restraining his contempt for some of the cants of thi» day 
 about Progress, March of Intellect, Ac. Mr. Nicolson gives me the following extract from his 
 notes of the lectures (IS49-9). immediately preceding a quotation from M. Chenevix on ihe ben^fltj 
 of public instruction as the surest basis of stable government : — " These sentiments are not tha 
 growth of Late vears, as some contemptible persons would seem to insinuate."
 
 THE rROFKSSOK AND HIS CLASS. 253 
 
 greatest authors, were of the most decided and purely heneficial 
 nature. It has been the fashion in certain quarters to decry his 
 lectures as loose and declamatory ; but only with those whose judg- 
 ment is based on superficial appearances alone, and who are so 
 destitute of every thing like sympathy, as to be unable to appreciate 
 excellence that squares not in every point with their preconceived 
 idea of it. One indubitable advantage was possessed by all Pro- 
 fessor Wilson's students, who had ' eyes to see and eai's to hear,' 
 viz., the advantage of beholding closely the workings of a great and 
 generous mind, swayed by the noblest and sincerest impulses ; and 
 of listening to the eloquent utterances of a voice which, reprobating 
 every form of meanness and duplicity, was ever raised to its loftiest 
 pitch in recommendation of high-souled honor, truth, virtue, dis- 
 interested love, and melting charity. It was something, moreover, 
 not without value or good effect, to be enabled to contemplate, from 
 day to day, throughout a session, the mere outward aspect of one 
 so evidently every inch a man, nay, a king of men, in whom manly 
 vigor and manly beauty of person were in such close keeping with 
 all the great qualities of his soul; the sight at once carried back the 
 youthful student's imagination to the age of ancient heroes and 
 demigods, when higher spirits walked with men on earth, and made 
 an impression on the opening mind of the most genial and ennobling 
 tendency. 
 
 " The Professor was not generally supposed to devote much time 
 in private to the business details and work of his class. But all 
 who really worked for him soon discovered the utter erroneousness 
 of this supposition. Every essay given in to him, however juvenile 
 in thought and expression, was read by him with the most patient 
 and judiciously critical care. If any essay afforded proof of pains- 
 taking research or of nascent power, its author was at once invited 
 to the Professor's house, to enjoy the benefit of private conversa- 
 tion, and to be encouraged and directed in his studies. I can never 
 forget an evening which I spent alone with him in such circum- 
 stances, when, after discussing the subject and views of some essay 
 that had taken his fancy, and favoring me with some invaluable 
 hints on these, he launched out into a long and most interest- 
 ing discourse on most of the great men of his time ; and sent me 
 away at a late hour, not only gratified with his noble fr;ud<ness of 
 nature and manner, but more than ever convinced of his vast and
 
 254 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 varied powers in almost every field of knowledge. Though my 
 intercourse with him was limited entirely to student life, I retain 
 for him the deepest reverence and love. 
 
 " ' I cannot deem thee dead ; like the perfumes 
 
 Arising from Judea's vanish'd shrines, 
 Thy voice still floats around me ; nor can tombs 
 
 A thousand from my memory hide the lines 
 Of beauty, on thine aspect wliich abode, 
 Like streaks of sunshine pictured there by God.' " 
 
 The following account of his last year's professional work (the 
 session 1850-1851) is furnished by the medallist of the year:* — 
 
 " The first thing that every one remarked on entering his class, 
 was how thoroughly he did his proper work as a Professor of 
 Moral Philosophy. This is not generally known now, and was not 
 even at that time. There was a notion that he was there Christo- 
 pher North, and nothing else ; that you could get scraps of poetry, 
 bits of sentiment, flights of fancy, flashes of genius, and any thing 
 but Moral Philosophy. Nothing was further from the truth in that 
 year 1850. In the very first lecture he cut into the core of the 
 subject, raised the question which has always in this country been 
 held to be the hardest and deepest in the science (the origin of the 
 Moral Faculty), and hammered at it through the great part of the 
 session. Even those who were fresh from Sir William Hamilton's 
 class, and had a morbid appetite for swallowing hard and angular 
 masses of logic, found that the work here was quite stiff" enough for 
 any of us. It was not till the latter part of the session, in his lectures 
 on the Aftections and the Imagination, that he adopted a looser style 
 of treatment, and wandered freely over a more invituig field. But 
 it is not enough to say that he was thorottghly conscientious in 
 presenting to his students the main questions for their consideration ; 
 I am bound to add that he was also thoroughly successful. It is 
 well known that his own doctrine (though it was never quite fixed, 
 and he stated publicly to his class at the close of his last session that 
 he had all along been conscious that there was some gap in it) was 
 opposed to the general Scotch system of Moral Philosophy. His 
 
 * Mr. Alex.indor Taylor Iiines, who says in reference to that distinction: — "He was specially 
 kind to me, as the youn<;cst who had ever attained that honor, much coveted at that time as 
 coming from himnelf; for when the University offered to give a prize to his class, he declined 
 to discontinue his own, and still year by year awarded ' Profess<ir Wilson's Gold MedaV giving 
 the other eeparately or cuniulalvvely.''
 
 THE PliOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. ^00 
 
 Eudaimonism was in fact a sublimed Utilitarianism ; so refined and 
 sublimed that it might have appeared quite a Mr course to have 
 avoided discussing those metaphysical and psychological questions 
 which lie at the roots of the general controversy. He did not follow 
 this course. On the contrary, he laid bare the whole question : 
 Whether conscience be a product of experience, or an original and 
 intuitive faculty, with a frankness and fairness which are exceedingly 
 rare, and wliich impressed most those who most differed from him ; 
 and at the same time with a perception of the status qucestio7iis, 
 how it bore on all that followed, and how the teaching of each 
 philosopher bore upon it, which makes me regard his lectures as 
 the most comprehensive, and indeed the most valuable thing in our 
 language on this particular question, with the single exception of 
 Sir James Mackintosh's Dissertation. 
 
 "His ajipearance in his class-room it is far easier to remember 
 than to forget. He strode into it with the professor's gown hang- 
 ing loosely on his arms, took a comprehensive look over the mob 
 of young laces, laid down his watch so as to be out of the reach of 
 his sledge-hammer fist, glanced at the notes of his lecture (generally 
 written on the most wonderful scraps of paper), and then, to the 
 bewilderment of those who had never heard him before, looked 
 long and earnestly out of the north window, towards the spire of 
 the old Tron Kirk ; until, having at last got his idea, he faced round 
 and uttered it Avith eye and hand, and voice and soul and spirit, 
 and bore the class along with him. As he spoke, the bright blue 
 eye looked with a strange gaze into vacancy, sometimes sparkling 
 with a coming joke, sometimes darkening before a rush of indignant 
 eloquence; the tremulous upi)er lip curving with every wave of 
 thought or hint of passion, and the golden-giay hair floating on the 
 old man's mighty shoulders — if indeed that could be called age, 
 which seemed but the immortality of a more majestic youth.* And 
 occasionally, in the finer frenzy of his more imaginative passages — 
 
 * Of the "discipline in his class" in 1880, alluded to by Mr. Burton, Mr Nicholson B.iy8, twenty 
 years later: — "I shall never forget the foolish appearance presented one day in the class by an 
 unmannerly fellow, who rose from his seat abo\it ten minutes from the close of the hour, and 
 l>r<)eeeded to the door. lie found some dilliculty in opening it, and was retnrnin,!: to his place, 
 when the Professor beckoned him to his desk, and stooping down, asked, in that deep tone of his, 
 kindly, but with a touch of irony in the question,' Are you unwell, sir?' 'No, sir.' was the an- 
 swer. 'Then you will have the kindness to wait till the close of the lecture.' The experiment 
 of leaving the class before the termination of the hour was not likely to be again attempted, alter 
 •uch an exhibition.'^
 
 256 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 as when he spoke of Alexander, clay-cold at Babylon, with tho 
 world lying conquered around his tomb, oi of the Highland liills, 
 that pour the rage of cataracts adown their riven cliils, or even 
 of the human mind, with its ' primeval granitic truths,' the grand 
 old fiice flushed with the proud thought, and the eyes grew dim 
 with tears, and tho magnidcent frame quivered with a universal 
 emotion. 
 
 " It was something to have seen Professor Wilson — this all con- 
 fessed ; but it was something also, and more than is generally un- 
 derstood, to have studied under him." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LITEEAET AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 1820-'26. 
 
 In Julv, 1819, the following announcement appeared in the Book- 
 lists : " In the press, ' Lays from Fairy Land,' by John Wilson, au- 
 thor of ' The Isle of Palms,' " etc. 
 
 " Doth grief e'er sleep in a Fairy's breast? 
 Are Dirges sung in the land of Rest ? 
 Tell us, when a Fairy dies, 
 Hath she funeral obsequies? 
 Are all dreams there, of woe and mirth, 
 That trouble and delight on earth ?" 
 
 In the Magazine for January, 1820, one of these lays was pub- 
 lished, and it seemed as if the formula, " in the press," really meant 
 something was then preparing for publication, which I believe is all 
 that it generally conveys to the initiated. Beyond that, howevei-, 
 the Lays, if ever in the press, did not show themselves out of it.* 
 From dreams of Fairy Land the author had been roused to the uii- 
 
 * Unless I except a previous poem, "The Fairies, a Dreamlike Remembrance of a Dream," in 
 the Mairazlne for April, 1S18, with tho sisrnatiire of N., evidently his. The subject was a favoritd 
 one with him. In oue of his Essays there is a very beautiful and fanciful description of a fairies' 
 burial.
 
 LITEKAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 257 
 
 romantic realities of Deacon Paterson and his green bag. The 
 sober certainty of a course of Moral Philosophy lectures took the 
 place of poetic visions, and the "folk of peace" seem thenceforth to 
 have vanished from his view, so far at least as singing about them 
 was concerned. The explanation is cleverly given in the lines of 
 P^nsign O'Doherty, in the Magazine for 1821, when the Professor 
 was doubtless still hard at work on the Passions and the Moral 
 Factdty. After " touching oiF" various other poets, he says : — 
 
 " Let Wilson roam to Fairy -land, but that's 
 An oldish story : I'll lay half-a-crown 
 The tiny elves are smothered in his gown." 
 
 But though the heavy duties of his first session put an end for 
 the time to all other occupations, his literary activity was rather 
 stimulated than otherwise by his elevation to the chair. With 
 trifling exceptions his literary labors were confined exclusively to 
 lilackwood'' s Magazine^ and their extent may be guessed from the 
 fact, that for many years his contributions were never fewer on an 
 average than two to each number. I believe that, on more than 
 one occasion, the great bulk of the entire contents of a number was 
 produced by him during the currency of a month. No periodical 
 probably was ever more indebted to the efibrts of one individual 
 than " Maga" was to Wilson. His devotion to it was unswerving, 
 and whether his health were good or bad, his spirits cheerful or de- 
 pressed, his pen never slackened in its service. He became identi- 
 fied with its character, its aims, and its interests ; and wearing, as 
 it did, such strong marks of a controlling individuality, it Avas natu- 
 rally believed to be under the editorial sway of the hand that first 
 subscribed the foraxidable initials of " Christopher North." The 
 first conception of that remarkable personage was, however, as 
 purely mythical as the " Shepherd" of the Noctes^ and " C. N." 
 notes and criticisms were freely supplied by other hands, under the 
 direction of the really responsible editor, Mr. Blackwood. As my 
 father gradually invested his imaginary ancient with more and more 
 of his personal attributes and experiences, the identification became 
 more complete, till at length John Wilson and Christopher North 
 were recognized as names synonymous. Any repudiation of the 
 editorial character essentially associated with the latter was thence- 
 forth regarded as but a part of the system of mystification wliicn 
 had distinguished the Magazine from the beginning. But it was 
 11
 
 2ob MEMOIR OF JOUX WILSON. 
 
 true, nevertheless, that the reins of practical government were 
 throughout in the hands of the strong-minded and sagacious pul)- 
 lisher. It lay with him to insert or reject, to alter or keep back ; 
 and though of course at all times open to the advice and intiueiice 
 of his chief contributors, his was no merely nominal management, 
 as even they were sometimes made to experience. 
 
 The relation between him and my flither, considering the charac- 
 ter of the two men, was not a little remarkable, and it did equal 
 credit to both. Wilson's allegiance to the Magazine was steady and 
 undivided. He could not have labored for it more faithfully had it 
 been his own property.* This itself would suffice to prove high 
 qualities in the man who owned it. Mere self-interest does not 
 bind men in such perfect mutual consideration and confidence as 
 subsisted between them throughout their lives. It required on 
 both sides true manliness and generosity, combined with tact and 
 forbearance, and every kind feeling that man can show to man. 
 Blackwood's belief in Wilson was unbounded, not simply from ad- 
 miration of his great powers, but because he knew that he could 
 rely on him to the utmost, both as a contributor and a friend. 
 Wilson's respect and affection for Mr. Blackwood were equally sin- 
 cere and well founded ; and when he followed him to the grave, he 
 felt that no truer friend remained behind. It is pleasant to be able 
 to say that these relations of mutual esteem and confidence were 
 continued uninterrupted after the Magazine came into the hands 
 of Mr. Blackwood's sons, who were able to appreciate the genius 
 and the labor that had done so much to make their own and theii 
 father's name famous throughout the world. 
 
 In the miscellaneous correspondence that follows, extending over 
 many years, the reader will gather an idea of my father's varied 
 relations, and of the general tenor of his life ; but before passing 
 from the subject at present, mention may here be made of the pub- 
 lication in 1822 of a volume of his prose compositions, under the 
 title of "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, a selection from the 
 palters of the late Arthur Austin." Some of these had appeared in 
 Blacktcood under the signature " Eremus," which will also be found 
 affixed to several poems in the very early numbers of the Magazine. 
 
 * '-Of .ill Uie -writers in it(the M-iirazine), I have done most for the Least remuneration, though 
 Mr. B. and I have never once had one word of dis.ajjreeineut on that subject." — MS. letter of W 0- 
 soli, dated 1S33.
 
 LITKKARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 259 
 
 Th«>,se beautiful tales have acquired a popularity of tlie most endur- 
 ing kind. They are, indeed, poems in prose, in which, amid fanci- 
 ful scenes and characters, the struggles of humanity are depicted 
 with pathetic fideUty, and the noblest lessons of virtue and religion 
 are interwoven, in no imaginary harmony, with the homely realities 
 of Scottish peasant life. 
 
 The emoluments of his new position, combined with his literary 
 earnings, enabled him, after a few years, to remove from Ids house 
 in Ann Street to a more commodious residence at no great distance. 
 He was also in a position once more to take up his summer quarters 
 in his beautiful villa at Elleray, the place which he loA'ed above all 
 others on earth; and in the summer of 1823 we find him there, 
 with his wife and children, again under the old roof-tree. After 
 the labors of the College session, and so long a separation from a 
 spot so dear to him, it was not unnatural that he should crave some 
 relaxation from work ; and in spite of his publisher's desire to liear 
 from him, the study for a time was deserted for the fiekls. He was 
 in the habit of sauntering the whole day long among the woods and 
 walks of Elleray. This delightful time, however, had its interrup- 
 tions. The indefatigable publisher writes letter after letter, re- 
 minding him that the Magazine and its readers must be fed. Mr. 
 Blackwood's letters discover the shrewd and practical man of busi- 
 ness, temperate in judgment, and reasonable, though a little too 
 much inclined sometimes to the use of strong epithets — a habit too 
 common with literary men of that day, but now fortunately out of 
 foshion. From these letters m;iy be gathered the true relation oi 
 Wilson to Blackwood'' s 3Iar/a:d>ie. On the IStli of May he says : — 
 
 " My dear Sir : — For nearly a week I have either been myself, 
 or had one of my sons waiting the arrival of the Carlisle mail, as I 
 never doubted but that you would give me your best help this 
 month. It never was of so much consequence to me, and I still 
 hope that a parcel is on the way. 
 
 " That I may be able to wait till^he last moment for any thin*^' 
 of yours, I am keejung the Magazine back, and have resolvetl to let 
 it take its chance of arrival by not sending it off till the 28th, when 
 it will go by the steamboat ; this will just allow it time to be deliv- 
 fcred on the 31st, and if no accident occur, it will be in time. 
 
 " I wrote you on the 3d with Waugh's Review, and a few other
 
 260 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 things. I wrote you again with the periodicals on the 6th. Both 
 parcels were directed according to your letter, to be forwarded by 
 
 Ambleside coach by Mr. or Mr. Jackson. I liope you have 
 
 received them and the former parcel. 
 
 " Qxenthi Dimcanl is to be out on Tuesday, when I will send it 
 to you. Reginald* is not quite finished, but will be aii at press in 
 a day or two. Mr. Lockhart has done Barry Cornwallf and Tim'st 
 Viscount Soligny in good style. My not hearing from you, how- 
 ever, discourages him, and I fear much this number will not be at 
 all what I so confidently expected it would have been. 
 
 " I shall be happy to hear that you are all well again. 
 " I am, my dear sir, yours truly, 
 
 " W. Blackwood.'' 
 
 About this time, Mr, Leigh Hunt was advised to threaten lega' 
 proceedings against the London publisher of the Magazine, Mi. 
 Cadell, who appears to have been greatly alarmed by this prospect, 
 not having been quite so accustomed to that species of intimation 
 as Mr. Blackwood. He accordingly Avrote to Edinburgh, giving a 
 very grave and circumstantial account of the visit he h.rd received 
 from Mr. Hunt's solicitor. Mr. Blackwood and his contributors 
 took the matter much more coolly, as may be seen from the follow- 
 ing letter from Mr. Lockhart, whose oonchnling advice is eminently 
 characteristic. Indeed, all Mr. Lockhart's letters to my father, as 
 will be seen, are marked by the satirical power of the man — piquant, 
 racy, gossiping, clever, and often affectionate and sincere :- 
 
 "Edixburch, Friday, June, 182^. 
 
 " My deak Professor : — Blackwood sends you by this post a 
 copy of the second letter from Cadell, so that you know, ere you 
 read this, as much of the matter as I do. 
 
 " I own that it appears to me impossible toe should at thistime of day 
 suffer it to be said that any man who wishes in a gentlemanly way 
 to have our names should not' have them. I own that I would 
 rather suffer any thing than have a Cockney crow in that sort. 
 
 ♦ lieginiihi DnJton. By ^fr. Lockhart. 
 
 t The Flood of TheHKiily, Tin' Girl of Provence, and other Poems. By Barry Cornwall Svo- 
 X A Houbriquet for Mr. Patinore, the rL-putedautlior of LetUrx on iSngUind. By Victor Count 
 U- Solisruy. 2 vol.s. l'<2i\ ami My Friends tiiul Ac<pi(iintanee^. 3 vols. 1854.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 2G1 
 
 But Still there is no occasion for rashness, and I do not believe Hunt 
 had that sort of view ; at all events, he has not acted as if he had. 
 
 " My feeling is that in the next number of the Magazine there 
 should be a note to this effect : — ' A certain London publi.slier has 
 been making some vague and unintelligible inquiries at the shop of 
 our London publisher. If he really wishes to communicate with 
 the author of the article which has offended him, let him not come 
 double-distilled through the medium of booksellers, but write at 
 once to the author of the article in question (he may call him N. B, 
 for the present), under cover to Mr. Blackwood, \1 Princes Street, 
 Edinburgh. He will then have his answer.' 
 
 " Whether such a notification as this should or not be sent pre- 
 viously I doubt — but incline to the negative; at all events, the 
 granting of it Avill save our credit ; and as for Hunt, how stands 
 the matter ? First, Suppose he wishes to bring an action against 
 the author ; against you he has no action, and that he knows ; but 
 you would probably give him no opportunity of bringing one ; at 
 least, i)oor as I am, I know I would rather pay any thing than be 
 placarded as the defendant in such an action. 2c7/y, Suppose he 
 wishes to challenge the author. He cannot send a message to yoxi^ 
 having printed the last number of the Liberal* Therefore, either 
 way, the affair must come to naught ; I mean as to any thing 
 serious. 
 
 " Blackwood is going to London next week, and will probably 
 visit you on the way, when you and he can talk over this fully ; 
 but ere then, I confess, I should like to have your consent to print 
 such a note as I have mentioned. I caimot endure the notion of 
 these poltroons crowing over us ; and being satisfied that no serious 
 consequences can result, I do think the thing ought to be done. 
 Read Cadell's letter, and think of it, and write me. 
 
 " Above all, for God's sake, be you well and hearty ! Who the 
 devil cares for Cockneydom? Write a good article, and take a 
 couple of tumblers. Yours, affly, 
 
 "J. G. L. 
 
 "P. S. — Reginald Daltonf is doing very well. The London 
 subscription was 831, which Ebony thought great lor a three- 
 
 • The number of the Liberal, I presume, containinsr nn article on the Scottish character, In 
 which the Blackwood wTitcrs arc coiiipan-d to "a troop of Yahoos, or a tribe of satyr-;." 
 t Reginald Daltoii aiul Adam liUiir wore aiioiiyiuous novels written by Mr. LncklurU
 
 262 mp:moir of jonx wilson, 
 
 volume affair. In a new magazine (Kniglit's) set up by tlie 
 'Etonians,' there is an article on Lifjhts and Shadows, Adcm 
 JBlair, etc., in which you are larded tolerably, and but toleralily, 
 and the ])Oor Scorpion still more scurvily treated. It is their open- 
 ing article and their best. The choice exhibits weakness, and con- 
 scious weakness. No other news. Mich and Poor* is a clever 
 book, but very methodistical. I have read about half of it. I wiU 
 write you a long lettei', if you will write me any thing at all." 
 
 A fragment of a letter from Mr. Lockhart, written about the 
 same time, contains, like all his effusions, something racy and 
 characteristic. His expressions of interest with regard to Mrs. 
 Wilson's health are more than friendly. The first few lines of this 
 fragment refer to a paper in Jjlackicood'' s Mafjazine for July, 1823, 
 "On the Gormandizing School of Eloquence," "No. I. Mr. D. 
 Abercromby." In such scraps as this we find the salt which fla- 
 vored his letters, and Avithout which he could not have written : — 
 
 " WTio is Mr. D. Abercromby ? You have little sympathy for 
 a brother glutton. What would you think of the Gormandizing 
 School, Xo. II. ' Professor John Wilson ?' I could easily toss off 
 such an article if you are anxious for it, taking one of the dilettante 
 dinners, perhaps, and a speech about Michael Angelo by David 
 Bridges,! for the materials. No. HI. ' Peter Robertson ;' No. IV. 
 ' Wull.' Miss Edge worth is at Abbotsford, and has been for some 
 time;J a little, dark, bearded, sharp, withered, active, laughing, 
 talking, impudent, fearless, outspoken, honest, Whiggish, unchris- 
 tian, good-tempered, kindly, ultra-Irish body. I like her one day, 
 and damn her to perdition the next. She is a very queer character ; 
 particulars some other time. She, Sir Adam,§ and the Great 
 
 ♦ Rich and Poor, and Common ErenU, a continuation of the former, anonymous novels, wbicli 
 were ascril)e<l to Miss Annie Walker. 
 
 t Mr. David Bridges, d»bb<-d by the Blackwood wits, " Director-General of the Fine Arts." 
 For a description of his shop, which was much resorted to by artists, see Peter's Letteris, vol 
 iL, p. 23(>. 
 
 i Miss Edeeworth's visit was in Ani^ust, 1S23. "Never did I see a brighter day at Abbotsforo 
 than that on whii-h Miss Edjreworth first arrived there ; never can I forget her look and accent 
 when she was received by him at his archway, and exclaimed. 'Every thins about you is ex- 
 a<lly what one oueht to have had wit enough to dream."" — Scott'g Life. 
 
 % Sir Adam Fergusson, the schoolfellow of Scott, died on Christmas day, lSo4. Mr. Chamber* 
 rem.irks, in a biographical sketch of the good old knight, published shortly after his death, th^t 
 •iii.any interesting and ple^iscinl memories hovered around the name of this fine old man, an.^
 
 LITERARY AlsD DOMESTIC LIFE. 2G3 
 
 Unknown, are ' too much for any company,' Tom Purdie is well, 
 and sends his conipts. ;* so does Laidlaw.f I have invited Hogg to 
 dine here to-morrow, to meet Miss Edgeworth. Slie has a great 
 anxiety to see the Bore. 
 
 "If you answer this letter, I shall write you a whole budget of 
 news next week; if not, I hope to see you and IMrs. Wilson in good 
 health next 12tli of November, till when I shall remain your silent 
 and iifii'ctionate brother-glutton, J. G. Lockhart. 
 
 " N". B. — Hodge-podge is in glory ; also Fish. Potatoes damp and 
 small. Mushrooms begin to look up. Limes abundant. Weather 
 just enough to make cold punch agreeable. JMiss Edgeworth says 
 Peter Robertson is a man of genius, and if on the stage, would be a 
 second Liston. How are the Misses Watson ? Give my love to 
 Miss Charlotte when you see her ; and do let me know what passed 
 between you and the Stamp-Master,| the Opium-Eater, etc., etc. 
 LL. D. Southey is, I suppose, out of your beat." 
 
 The remaining portion of this season spent at Elleray contributed 
 (as appears by allusions in the following letters) not a small share 
 of its occupations to the satisfaction and gratitude of Mr. Black- 
 wood : — 
 
 In his removal from the world one Important link between the Old and the New is severed. 
 It will be almost startling to our readers to hear that there lived so lately one who could sjiy 
 he had sat on the kneo of David Hume." He was about a year older than Sir Walter. 
 
 * Scott's I'aithful servant, and art'ectionately devoted, humble friend, from the time that Tom 
 was brought bct'ore Sir Walter in his capacity as Sherill". on a charge of poaching, and .promoted 
 Into his service, till his death, which took place in 182!). A full acc<juut of his peculiarities will 
 be found in Lockhart's Life of Scott. 
 
 t William, or, as he was always called, Willie Laidlaw, was the factor and friend of Sir Walter 
 Scott at Abbotsford, and latterly his ainaiuunsis; and in this case "the manly kindness and 
 consideration of one noble nature was parall kil by the affectionate devotion and admiration of 
 another." His family still retiiins as sacred the pens with which he wrote Iinnhoe to his mas- 
 ter's dictation; and he used to tell that at the most intense parts of the story, when Scott ha|>- 
 poned to pause, which he very seldom did, running off, as he said, "like lintseed oot o" a poek," 
 Laidlaw e.agerly asked, " What next?" "Ay, Willie num, what next! that's the deevil o't !" so 
 possessed with the reality of the talc was the busy pennum. It is a curious subject how much 
 ond how little an author such as Scott can control his own creatures. If tln-y live and move. 
 they possess him often as much as he them. That "shaping spirit" within him is by turno 
 master and slave. Some one asked the consummate author of £VOTf>W(/, " Why did you .et l-^- 
 mond marry his mother in-law?" "I! it was'nt I; they did it themselves." 
 
 Of his Lucy's Flitting, my father said, "'Tis one of the sweetest things in the world: not a 
 few staves of his have I sung in the old days when we used to wash our faces in the Douglas 
 Burn, and yoiu .lames, were the herd in the hill. Oh me! those sweet, sweet days o' langsyiii, 
 Jamie. Here's Willie Laidlaw's health, gentlemen !" — Noctes. 
 
 Mr. Laidlaw died in 1840. 
 
 % Wordsworth.
 
 264 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "Edinburgh, September G, 1823. 
 
 " My dear Sir : — I hope you would receive the coach parcel yes- 
 terday or to day, and I expect I shall have the pleasure of receiving 
 a packet from you by Monday or Tuesday. Being so anxious to 
 make tiiis a very strong number, I have put nothing up yet till I see 
 Avhat you and Mr. Lockhart send me. lie is to send me some- 
 thing on Monday, and if I receive Hayley* in time, I intend to 
 begin the number with it. I have time enough yet, as this is only 
 the 0th, but in the beginning of the week I must be getting on. 1 
 rely so confidently upon you doing all that you can, that I ieel quite 
 at ease, at least as much as ever I can be till I see the last form 
 fairly made up. I have not received the continuation of your 
 brother's aiticle ; Mr. Robert promised to write him as he is still 
 in the West. Dr. Mylne told me to-day that he had met him a 
 few days ago at Lord John Campbell's, and that he was j^retiy 
 well. 
 
 " Your friend, Mr. Lowndes from Paisley, was inquiring for you 
 here to-day. I had a letter this morning from Mr. Blair, in wliich 
 he apologizes for not having fulfilled his engagement, and says, ' It 
 has not been neglect of your claims, to which I have devoted both 
 time and labor, but a complete want of success in every thing I 
 have attempted. I should have written you some apology, but that 
 I had always hopes of completing something before another month, 
 and the only reason I had for sending nothing, seemed almost too 
 absurd to write. I know nothing else I can say till I have some- 
 thing else than excuses to send. I am at this moment engaged on 
 an essay on a question of language, which I shall be glad if I can 
 send for your number now going on, and I have been making re- 
 marks on " Hunter's Captivity among the Indians," with the inten 
 tion of reviewing it, which I shall go on with if I hear nothing from 
 you to the contrary.' 
 
 " He gives me no address, but merely dates his letter Dudley 
 Perhaps you will write him, and tell him not to be over-fixstidious. 
 and point out to him something he should do. I have sent Mr 
 L[o(khart] to-day Alaric'sf paj)er, in which there is a grand i)uff 
 of 'Maga;' he will fijrward it to you. 
 
 " Maginn writes me in high glee about this number, and says he 
 
 * A review of Ilayley's Memoirti, Art. X., Septcmbor, 1S2S. 
 t Alaric A. Wiitts, then cilitor of the Leeds Intelllgeiicer.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 205 
 
 will send something. I hope I shall have the pleasure of hearing 
 from you very soon, and I am, my dear sir, yours very truly, 
 
 " W. Blackwood." 
 
 "Saturday Morning, September 20, 1823. 
 " My dear Sir : — Before coming home last night I got all to 
 press, so that I will be able to send you a complete copy of tlie 
 Number with this, by the mail to-day. You will, I hope, tiud it a 
 very good one, and though not equal in some respects to No. 79, 
 it is superior in some others. On Wednesday morning I did not 
 expect to have got this length, nor to have had it such a number. 
 By some mistake I did not get back from Mr. L[ockhart] till Wed- 
 nesday afternoon the slips of O'Doherty on Don Juan and Timothy 
 Tickler. Not hearing from you or him on Tuesday morning, I 
 made up Doubleday's 'Picturesque'* with Crewe's 'Blunt,'t and 
 • Bartlemy Fair,' by a new correspondent, whom I shall tell you 
 al)out before I have done; and not knowing how I might be able 
 to make up the Number, I put in Mr. St. Barbe's ' Gallery,' J and 
 'The Poor Man-of- War's Man,' both of which had been in types 
 for three or four months. There being no time to lose, I got these 
 lour forms to press ; I wish now T had waited another day, and kept 
 ' The jMan-of- War's Man,' but still I hope it will pass muster, and I 
 hope you will read it without prejudice. You will naturally be say- 
 ing. Why did I not, when run in such difficulty, make up and put 
 
 to press your articles on , and the Murderers ? Here I am 
 
 iitVnid you will blame me, but first hear me. When I first read 
 your terrible scraping of I enjoyed it excessively, but on see- 
 ing it in types, I began to feel a little for the poor monster, and 
 above all, Avhen I considered that it might perhaps so irritate the 
 creature as to drive him to some beastly i)ersonal attack upon you, 
 1 thought it better to pause. I felt quite sure that if published in 
 its present state, he Avould be in such a state of rage, he would at 
 all events denounce you everywhere as the author. This would be 
 most unpleasant to your feelings, for now that one can look at the 
 article coolly, there are such coarseness and personal things in it ::s 
 one would not like to hear it said that you were the author of 
 
 ♦ Art. I. in the Niimbor. 
 
 + Art II. a review of Ulunt's Vextiges of Ancient Manners, tfea 
 
 X Art. IV. '•Time'.'! WiiisptMing Gallery." 
 
 u*
 
 266 MEMOIK OF JOHN "SMI. SUN. 
 
 There was no time for me to write you with a sUp, and I sent it to 
 
 Mr. , begging him to consider it, and write me if he thought 
 
 he could venture to Tnake any alterations. I did not get his packet 
 till "Wednesday, and he then wrote that he could not be art or part 
 in the murder of his own dedicator. In these circumstances, I 
 thi ught it safest to let the article be for next number, that you 
 might correct it yourself. I hope you will think I have done right, 
 and I would anxiously entreat of you to read the article as if it were 
 ■written by some other person. Few of the readers of 'Maga' know 
 
 • and weak minds would be startled by some of your strong 
 
 expressions.* It was chiefly on account of the length of the ex- 
 tracts that I delayed the ' Murderers,' as the extracts from Don 
 Juan and Cohhett are so very long. The extracts in your article 
 will make eight or nine pages. They are not set up, but I have got 
 them all correctly copied out, and I return you the l)ook. I am 
 not very sure, however, if these horrid details are the kind of read- 
 ing that the general readers of 'Maga' would like to have. Curious 
 and singular they certainly are ; but then the number lies on the 
 drawing-room table, and goes into the hands of females and young 
 people, who might be shocked by such terrible atrocities, but you 
 will judge of this yourself f Before I received Mr. L.'s MS,, I had 
 also made up a very singular story of a suicide, which I received 
 from London, from a person who merely signs himself 'Titus.' 
 O'Doherty's note is by Mr. L. I also wished him to try to make 
 some little alterations in the article, and pei'haps add a C. N. note. 
 He had not time, however, to do either the one or the other. Write 
 me what you think of the article, as I fear it will be apt to startle 
 weak minds. However, there is so much talent in it, that I think 
 it Avill be liked, but not having more I delayed it. ' London Oddi- 
 ties' is by Mr. Croly. ' Timothy, No. IX.' by Dr. Maginn. ' No. X.' 
 by Mr. L. 'Andrew Ardent,' by Stark, and the Answer by Mr. 
 C. Never was any thing better than your ' General Question,' 
 though there are some strong things in it, which you had written 
 in a real savage humor, and which will make certain good folks 
 stare. The 'Director-General' and the 'Prize Dissertation' are 
 capital bits. ' Heaven and Hell' no one could have done but your- 
 self. After getting all these made up, I found I had got ten pages 
 
 * These good ailviros were not lost on the writer, 
 t The "MuniiTiTs"" (ii<i not appi-iu-.
 
 LITEKABY AND DOMESTIC LIFK. 267 
 
 beyond my quantity; and as I could not leave out the small letter 
 this month, I had no room for your articles on 'Tennant' and 'Mar- 
 tin.' I enclose the slips of 'Tennant,' but I have not got 'Martin' 
 set up yet. When you noticed Gait's ' Ringan Gilhaize,' you would 
 recollect, I dare nay, Doubleday's 'Tragedy.' I wish much you 
 could give half an hour to it, which would suffice. He has not said 
 much ; but in two or three of his letters he has inquired, in his 
 quiet way, if we were not going to have some notice of his Tragedy 
 in 'Maga.' As you probably have not a copy with you, I enclose 
 one, in case you should be tempted to take it up. By the by, the 
 Old Driveller is actually doing an article on ' Ringan Gilhaize.' I 
 have seen him several times lately, and a few days ago, when he 
 stopped half an hour in his carriage at the door, he told me he 
 would give me his remarks on it very soon. I am truly thankful 
 he has not thought of laying his i)luckless paws on 'Reginald Dal- 
 ton.' There really ought to be a splendid article on Reginald. I 
 shall be very anxious till I hear from you, how you like tliis number. 
 
 « W. Blackwood." 
 
 "Edinburgh, October 18, 1823. 
 
 "My dear Sik : — This has been a busy and a happy week with 
 me. Every night almost have I been receiving packets from you, 
 and yesterday's post brought me the Manifesto, which, you will see, 
 closes so gloriously this glorious number. 
 
 " It is indeed a number worthy of the ever-memorable month of 
 October. Though I have given twelve pages extra, besides keeping 
 out the lists, I am obliged to keep ' Wrestliana' for next month. 
 
 "I have been terribly hurried to get all to press, but I hope you 
 will find your articles pretty correct. I took every pains I could. 
 
 " I hope you will write me so soon as you have run through the 
 number, and tell me how you like it. There is so much of your own 
 that your task will be the easier. 'Tennant' is a delightful article, 
 and will make the little man a foot higher. Hogg is beyond all 
 praise, and he will be a most unreasonable porker if he attempt to 
 raise his bristles in any manner of way. I prefixed 'See I^octes 
 Ainhrosiancp^^ and wrote Mr. L. to insert a few words more in the 
 jVo'.-tes with regard to it. He did not, however, think this neces- 
 sary. Every one will be in raptures with ' Isaac Walton ;' and the 
 JVocf^'s is buoyant, brilliant, and capital from beginning to end.
 
 268 ilEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Well might }o\.\ say that the 'Manifesto'* was very good. I shall 
 weary till I have a letter from you telling me all about the number, 
 and when you think you will be here. 
 
 " I enclose you a copy of a letter I had from Mr. Blair a few days 
 ago, with two articles. The one on Language seems very curious, 
 but it is so interlined and corrected, that I must send him a proof 
 of it, and desire him to send me the conclusion, as it would be a 
 pity to di\ide it. The other article is an account of Raymond LuUi. 
 It is in his sister's handwriting, and is very amusing, but there was 
 not room for it, and it will answer equally well next month. 
 
 " I do not know what on the face of the earth to do with the Old 
 Driveller's critique on ' Ringan GUhaize.' Whenever I hear a car 
 riage stop, I am in perfect horrors, for I do not know what to say 
 to him. I sent the MS. to Mr. L., but he returned it to me, and 
 told me I ought to print it as it is, as it would please both author 
 and critic. 
 
 " I send it to you in perfect despair, and I would most anxiously 
 entreat of you to read it, and ad^'ise me what I should do. It is as 
 wretched a piece of drivelling as ever I read, and I am sure it would 
 neither gratify Gait nor any one else, while it would most certainly 
 injure the Magazine. If you cannot be plagued with doing any thing 
 to it, you will at all events return it carefully to me by coach as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 " I have at last settled with Hookf for Percy Mallory. I hope 
 it will do, though it contains not a little Balaam. There are many 
 inquiries about the ' Foresters.' I hope you are going on. It as- 
 tonishes even me, what you have done for ' Maga' this last week, 
 and if you are fairly begun to the ' Foresters,' Stark will soon be 
 driving on with it. 
 
 " I enclose slips of Mr. St. Barbe's article, and an amusing one 
 by Titus. With these and Stark's article, besides several others, I 
 have a great deal already for next number. I am, my dear sir, 
 yours very truly, W. Blackwood." 
 
 We come now to the spring of 1824. In the merry month of 
 
 ♦ A short article, chiefly addressed to Charles Lamb, on his exaggerated displeasure at a criti 
 cal observation by Southoy. 
 
 t Percy Mallory. 3 vols.. ]2mo., published in December, 1S23. It was written by Dr. James 
 Hook. Dean of Wi>rce.-.ter, brother of Theodore Hook. He was also author of P&n Ou>en,<tc 
 Born 1T78, died l523.
 
 LITERAET AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 269 
 
 May the usual happy party filling "His Majesty's Royal Mail" set 
 out for the Lakes. Travelling in those days was a matter of more 
 serious consideration than now. The journey to Westmoreland 
 was taken as ftir as Carlisle per coach ; the remaining distance was 
 posted. The arrival at Elleray generally took place between eight 
 and nine o'clock in the evening, long after sunlight had left the 
 skies. A number of trivial associations are remembered in connec- 
 tion with the approach to this beloved place. The opening of the 
 avenue-gate was a sound never to be forgotten. The sudden swing 
 of the carriage at a particular part of the drive, when it came in 
 contact with the low-lying branches of trees (seldom pruned), drip- 
 ping with a new fallen shower of rain, would send a whole torrent 
 of drops upon the expectant faces that were peeping out to catch 
 a first glimpse of the house, which, lighted up, stood on its eleva- 
 tion like a beacon to guide travellers in the dark. 
 
 This new Elleray was as much indebted to natural position as 
 was the old. Trellised all over, there was no more than the space 
 for windows uncovered by honeysuckle and roses. In a very short 
 time it became as great a favoiite as the old cottage ; which, had 
 it been lost siglit of altogether, might have been more regretted. 
 A letter from Mr. Blackwood will show what the Professor had in 
 contemplation for this summer's work. 
 
 " Edinburgh, Gth May, 1824. 
 
 " My dear Sir : — I had so much to do yesterday that I had uot 
 time to write you ; I hope you got all safe to Elleray, and as the 
 weather is so delightful, I expect to hear in a day or two from you 
 that you have faii'ly begun to the ' Foresters,'* and are driving on 
 it and every thing else to your heart's content. That you may see 
 what I am doing, I send you what I have made up, and the slips of 
 a long article by Dr. M'Neill,f which I received a few days ago. I 
 am not sure if there will be room for it in this numbe'-, bat we shall 
 see. It is curious and valuable. 
 
 " I wish very much you would write a humorous article upon 
 that thin-skinned person Tommy Moore's ' Captain Kock.' This is 
 the way the book shouhl be treated. Wo have plenty of the seri- 
 ous materiel in Mr. R.'s article, and if you would only take up the 
 
 * I )ni) of Wilson's tnles. It was not [niblished until the following June, 1S25. 
 
 t I'li'- Crofi'ssofs brother-in-law, no . Mr .lobn M'Neiil, G. C. IJ. ; at that time in Persia.
 
 270 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOUX AVILSOX. 
 
 Captain in your own glorious way, poor Tommy would be fairly 
 dished. As you probably have not the two last numbers of ' Maga' 
 with you, I enclose them with ' Captain Rock.' 
 
 " I have not heard from Dr. Maginn yet, which I am quite an- 
 noyed at. He proposed himself that he would send me off regu- 
 larly every Monday a packet under Croker's cover. 
 
 " W. Blackwood." 
 
 The next letter is from Lockhart, and is of varied interest : — 
 
 " 161 Regext Street, Monday, 1824. 
 "Dear Professor : — Many thanks for your welcome epistle, 
 which, on returning from Bristol yesterday, I found here with 
 ' Maga,' and a note of Blackwood's. By the way, you will be glad 
 to hear I found poor Christie doing well, both in health and busi- 
 ness. I spent three very pleasant days with him. I have seen a 
 host of lions, among others, Hook, Canning, Rogers, Croly, Ma- 
 ginn, Captain 2»Iorris* (not the Dr.), Botherby, Lady Davy, Lady 
 C. Lamb — **** (I copy these stars from a page in Adam Blair)^ 
 Miss Baillie, old Giftord, Matthews, Irving, Allan Cunmngham, 
 Wilkie, Colburn, and Coleridge. The last well worth all the rest, 
 and 500 more such into the bargain. Ebony should merely keep 
 him in his house for a summer, with Johnny Dowf in a cupboard, 
 and he would drive the windmills before him. I am to dine at Mr. 
 
 * Charles Morris, once the idol of clubmen in L<indon, was born in 1745. and died on .July 11, 
 ISSS, ninety-three years of age ! Mr. Lockhart" :; parenthetical reference to the Doctor is, of course, 
 to his own nom de plume as Dr. Peter Morris, of Pensharpe Hall, Aberyswith. The following 
 allasion to the •* Captain" is taken from M. Esquiros" English at Home : — 
 
 "Anion^ the last names connected with the Beef-steak Clnb figures that of Captain Morris. 
 He was bom in 1745, bat survived most of the merry guests whom he amused by his gayety. his 
 rich imagination, and his poetical follies. He was the snn of the table, and composed s<jme of the 
 most p<-)pular English ballads. The Xestor of song, he himself compared his muse to the flying- 
 flsh. At the present day his Bacchic strains require the clinking of glass, and the joyous echoes 
 of the Clnb, of which Captain Morris was poet-laureate. Type of the true Londoner, he pre- 
 ferred town to country, and the shady side of Pall Mall to the most brilliant sunshine illumi- 
 nating nature. Toward the end of his life, however, he let himself be gained over by the ch.arms 
 of the rural life he had ridiculed, and retired to a villa at Brockham given him by the Duke of 
 Norfolk. Before starting, he bade farewell to the Club in verse. He reappeared there .i* a visitor 
 in 1S.35, and the members presented hin\ with a large silver b"wl bciring an ai>pnjpriate inscrip- 
 tion. Although at that time eighty-nino years of age, he had lost none of his gayety of heart. 
 He died a short time after, and with liim expired the glory of the Club of which he had been 
 one of the last ornaments. Only the name has sun"ived of this celebrated gathering where so 
 much wit was expended, but it was of the sort which evaporates with the steam of dishes and 
 bowls of punch." 
 
 t An Edinburgh short-li;in..l writer.
 
 LITERAKY AKD DOMESTIC I.lFi;. 271 
 
 Gillinan's one of these days. Irving,* you may depeml upon it, is a 
 pure humbug. He has about three good attitudes, and the lower 
 notes of his voice are superb, with a fine manly tremulation that 
 sets Avomen mad, as the roar of a noble bull does a held of kine ; 
 but beyond tliis he is nothing, really nothuig. He has no sort of 
 real earnestness, feeble, pumped up, boisterous, overlaid stuif is his 
 
 staple ; he is no more a Chalmers than f is a Jeffrey. I shall do 
 
 an article that will finish him by and by. * * * Neither Maginn nor 
 any one else lias spoken to me about the concerns and prosi)ects of 
 our friend. My belief is, that he has come over by Croker's advice to 
 assist Theodore in jBull,l and to do all sorts of by jobs. I also be- 
 lieve that Croker thinks he himself will have a place in the cabinet 
 in case of the Duke of York's being King, and of course M. looks 
 forward to being snugly set somewhere in that event. It is obvi- 
 ous that Hook, Maginn, and all tliis set hate Canning ; and indeed 
 a powerful party of high ton (Duke of York at head thereof) 
 is forming itself against his over-conciliation system. I am not 
 able to judge well, but I still believe that Canning is the man no 
 Tory Ministry can do without; moreover, that the Marquis of 
 Hertford (the great man with Croker's party, and the destined 
 Premier of Frederick I.) has not a character to satisfy the country 
 gentlemen of England. I met Canning at dinner one day at Mr. 
 Charles Ellis's ; the Secretary asked very kmdly after you, and 
 mentioned that 'he had had the pleasure of making acquaintance 
 with Mr. Blackwood, a very inteUigent man indeed.' I am to dine 
 with him on Saturday, when I shall see more of him. He was ob- 
 viously in a state of exhausted spirits (and strength indeed) when 
 I met him. Rogers told me he knew that Jeffrey was mortally an- 
 noyed with Ilazlitt's article on the periodicals being in the iJdtn- 
 hurgh JRevieto, and that it was put there by Thomas Thomson and 
 John A. Murray,§ who were co-editors, while 'the king of men' 
 
 * Kihvard Irvin<r, the celebrated preacher, was at this time sailing onwards on the full tide of 
 popularity. Mrs. Oliphant, in her recent biography, writes thus regardinsj his famous sermon 
 preached di ring this year to the London Missionary Society : "There am be littU- doubt tliat it 
 Was foolishness to nio.sl of his hearers, and that after the fascination of his eloquence was over, 
 riuetenths of them would recollect, with utter wonder, or even with possible contempt, that 
 wildest visionary conception." 
 
 t A wtilj-liuown Whig lawyer. 
 
 t The John Bull iiews|)afier, edited by Theodore Hook. 
 
 § Al'terwtti-da Lord Murniy.
 
 2T2 MKMOIK OF JOHN' WILSON. 
 
 was ill Switzerland.* Wordsworth is in town at present, but con- 
 fined witli liis eyes. I thought it might aj>pear obtrusive if I called, 
 and have stayed away. John Murray seems the old man ; the 
 Quart' rly alone sustains him. Maginn says he makes £4,000 per 
 annum of it, after all expenses, and as they really sell 14,000, I can 
 easily credit it. Colburn is making a great fortune by his Library 
 and altogether, I meet no one who ever mentions his magazine but 
 to laugh at it. The Xo. of Ebony is fair, but not first-rate. Your 
 talk of Murders is exquisite, but otherwise the Nodes too local by 
 far. Mnginu on Ritter Bann not so good as might be. The article 
 on Matthews (I don't know whose) is just, and excellent criticism. 
 This wedding of James's came on me rather suddenly. Perhaps 
 you will be delayed in Auld Reekie for the sake of witnessing that 
 day's celebration. My own motions are still unfixed, but I suspect 
 I shall linger here too long to think of a land journey or the lakes. 
 More likely to make a run in September, and see you in your glory. 
 De Qiiincey is not here, but expected. Yotars, 
 
 "J. G. L. 
 " I don't hear any thing of Mattheio Wald here, but I would fain 
 hope it may be doing in spite of that. Ask Blackwood to let me 
 hear any thing. Can I do any thing for him here ? I am picking 
 up materials for the Baron Lauerwinkel's or some other body's let- 
 ters to his kinsfolk, 3 vols, post 8vo. Pray write a first-rate 
 but brief puff of Matthew for next nund^er Blackxcood., or if not, 
 say so, that I may do it myself, or make the Doctor.f I shall write 
 
 B one of these days if any thing occurs, and at any rate he 
 
 shall have a letter to C. N. speedily, from Timothy, on the Quar- 
 terly or Westminster Reviews. A Nodes from me positively." 
 
 Passing over the various other topics touched on in this letter, 
 how strangely do these words about "•Frederick I." now sound 
 upon the ear! How little did the sagacious foresight of politicians 
 c.ilcu-ate that every day an invisible hand was preparing the crown 
 for a little child of five years of age, and that in the short space of 
 eighteen yi.ars, no fewer than five heirs of the royal line should 
 
 * From Mr. Innes's Memoir of TTiomas ThomHon.l see that the editorsliip of the JStftnturj/A 
 Reriiv) was Uft in his hauds more than once. "Tliis foremost of llecord scholars, the learned 
 li-sral antiq'iarian. and constitutional lawyer," died in 1S52, aged cifrhty-fonr. 
 
 t Tlie Tlifiory </ Mutthew Wal ', a novel by Mr. LockharL It was reviewed in the Maynum- 
 bci- of lilai l^wuod.
 
 LITKUARY AXD DUME&TIC LIFE. 273 
 
 pass away, leaving a clear and uninterrupted passage for the Prm- 
 cess Victoria to the throne of these realms ! 
 The next letter is equally characteristic : — 
 
 "Abbotsford, Sunday, 2d January, 1825. 
 
 " My dear Wilson : — I left London on Wednesday evening, and 
 arrived here in safety within forty-six hours of the 'Bull and 
 Mouth.' 
 
 " Our friend the Bailie* might probably show you a letter of Dr. 
 Stoddartf aljout getting some literary articles for the New Times. 
 I saw Old Sloj), and introduced Maginn to him. What the Doctor 
 and he might afterwards agree about I can't say, but I do hope 
 there may be a permanent connection between them, as among 
 newspeople there is no doul)t Stoddart is by far the most resj)ecta- 
 ble man, and there is every reason to fear M.'s propensities tending 
 more frequently to the inferior orders of the Plume. 
 
 "For myself, I accepted Dr. Stoddart's offer of his newspa])er, 
 to be repaid by a few occasional paragraphs throughout the year; 
 and upon his earnest entreaty for some introduction to you, I ven- 
 tured to say that I thought you Avould have no objection to receive 
 the Weio Times on the same terms. 
 
 " Whether he has at once acted on this hint I know not, but 
 thought it best to write you in case. 
 
 "After all, it is a pleasant thing to have a daily paper at one's 
 breakfast-table all the year through. 
 
 "It can cost us little trouble to re])ay him by a dozen half columns 
 — half of these maybe pulf-; of ourselves, by the way — and Southey 
 and others have agreed to do the same thing on the same terms. So 
 if the New Times comes, and you don't wish it upon these terms, 
 pray let me know this, that I may advise Slop. 
 
 " LoTidon is deserted by the gentlefolks in the Christmas holidays, 
 so that I have little news. T placed my brother, quite to my satis- 
 faction and his, at Blackheath. As for the matter personal to my- 
 self, of which I spoke to you, I can only say that I left it in Croker's 
 
 ♦ Mr, Blackwood. 
 
 + Sir John Stoddart (at this time editor of TVie New Timet, a inornins paper, which was . 
 started about 1817, and continued until IS'iS) was born in IVTS. ami died in 1S56. Besides hi» 
 political writings, he was the author of liemarks on Local Scenery and if<innef!i in Kot/iind 
 iu IT'.tO and 1800. 2 vols. ISOl; An Ennaii on the Philosophy of Lan/jmiije ; and some trans- 
 lations. In the political caricatures and satires of that day, he waa continually introduced as 
 '•Dr. Slop."
 
 274 MEMOIR OF JOnX WILSOX. 
 
 hands ; he promising to exert himself to tlie utmost whenever the 
 high and mighty with whom the decision rests sliould come back 
 to London. I think, upon the wliole, that tliere is nothing to be 
 gained or denied except Lord Melville's personal voice ; and it will 
 certainly be very odd if, every thing else being got over, he in this 
 personal and direct manner shows himself not indifferent, but pos- 
 itively adverse. I entertain, therefore, considerable hope, and if I 
 fail shall not be disappointed certainly, but d — d angry. 
 
 ''I shall be in Edinburgh, I think, on Thursday evening, when I 
 hope to find you and yours as well ha health, and better in other 
 respects, than when I left you. May this year be happier than the 
 last ! Yours always, J. G. Lockhart." 
 
 A letter from Mr. De Quincey, after a long silence, again brings 
 him before us, as graceful and interesting as ever, though also, alas ! 
 as heavily beset with his inevitable load of troubles. His letter is 
 simply dated "Loudon;'' for obvious reasons, that great world was 
 a safer seclusion than even the Vale of Grasmere : — 
 
 "LoxDOX, Thursday, Ftbruary 24, 1825. 
 " My dear Wilsox : — I write to you on the following occasion : — 
 Some time ago, perhaps nearly two years ago, Mr. Hill, a lawyer, 
 published a book on Education,* detailing a plan on which his 
 brothers h.ad estabUshed a school at Hazelwood, in Warwickshire. 
 This book I reviewed in the London Magazine, and in consequence 
 received a letter of thanks from the author, who, on my coming to 
 London about midsummer last year, called on me. I have since 
 become intimate with him, and excepting that he is a sad Jacobin 
 (as I am obliged to tell him once or twice a month), I have no one 
 fault to find with him, for he is a very clever, amiable, good creature 
 as ever existed ; and in particular directions his abilities strike me 
 as really very great indeed. Well, Ms book has just been reviewed 
 in the last Edinhurgh Review (of which some copies have been in 
 town about a Meek). This service has been done him, I suppose, 
 through some of his political friends (for he is connected with 
 Brougham, Lord Lansdowne, old Bentham, etc.), but I understand 
 hy Mr. Jeffrey. Now Hill, in common with multitudes in this 
 
 • The work referred to here is, '• Plans for the GovernmeDt and Liberal In^tmctioD of Boy» in 
 large numbers, drawn from Experience.'" Svo. London. 1633.
 
 LITERARY AND UOMKSTIC LIFE. ^iO 
 
 Babylon — who will not put their trust in BhickwooJ as in God 
 (which, you know, lie oucjht to do) — yet privately adores him as the 
 devil ; and indeed publicly, too, is a great proneur of Blackwood. 
 For, in spite of his Jacobinism, he is liberal and inevitably just to 
 real wit. His fear is, that Biaekwood may come as Nemesis, and 
 compel him to regorge any 2)uffing and cramming which Titl" has 
 put into his pocket, and is earnest to have a letter addressed in an 
 influential quarter to prevent this. I alleged to him that I am not 
 quite sure but it is an afiront to a Professor, to presume that he has 
 any connection as contributor or any thing else, to any work which 
 he does not publicly avow as his organ for communicating with the 
 "world of letters. He answers that it would be so in him — but that 
 an old friend may write sub rosd. I rejoin that I know not but 
 you may have cut Blackwood — even as a subscriber — a whole lus- 
 trum ago. He rebuts — by urging a just compliment paid to you as 
 a supposed contributor, in the JVeios of Literature and Fashion^ 
 but a moon or two ago. Seriously, I have told him that I know 
 not what was the extent of your connection with Blackwood at any 
 time; and that I conceive the labors of your Chair in the Univer- 
 sity must now leave you little leisure for any but occasional contri- 
 butions, and therefore for no regular cognizance of the Avork as 
 director, etc. However, as all that he wishes — is simply an inter- 
 ference to save him from any very severe article, and not an article 
 in his favor, I have ventured to ask of you if you hear of any such 
 thing, to use such influence as must naturally belong to you in your 
 general character (whether maintaining any connection with Black- 
 wood or not), lo get it softened. On the whole, I suppose no such 
 article is likely to appear. But to oblige Hill I make the ajiplica- 
 tion. He lias no direct interest in the prosperity of Hazelwood : he 
 is himself a barrister in considerable practice, and of some standing, 
 I believe: but he takes a strong paternal interest in it, all his 
 brothers (who are accomplished young men, I believe) being en- 
 gaged in it. They have already had one shock to stand : a certain 3Ir. 
 Place, a Jacobin friend of the school till just now, having taken pet 
 with it — and removed his sons. Now this Place, who was formerly 
 a tailor — leather-breeches maker — and habit-maker — having m ide a 
 fortune and finished his studies — is become an immense authority 
 as a ]iolitical and rcforniing head with Bentham, etc., as also with 
 the Westminster Mevie'C, in which quarter he is supposed to have
 
 276 MEMOIR OF JOHN WU.SON. 
 
 the weight of nine times nine men ; whence, by the "vvay, in the 
 'circles' of the booksellers, the Review has got the name of the 
 Breeches Jieview. 
 
 " Thus much concerning the occasion of my letter. As to myself 
 — though I have written not as one who labors under much depres' 
 sion of mind — the fact is, I do so. At this time calamity presses 
 upon me with a heavy hand : — I am quite free of opium :* but it 
 has left the liver, which is the Achilles' heel of almost every human 
 fabric, subject to aflections which are tremendous for the weight of 
 wretchedness attached to them. To fence with these with the one 
 hand, and with the other to maintain tlie war with the wretched 
 business of hack autlior, with all its horrible degradations — is more 
 than I am able to bear. At this moment I have not a place to hide 
 my head in. Something I meditate — I know not what — 'Itaque 
 e conspectu omnium abiit.' With a good publisher and leisure to 
 premeditate what I write, I might yet liberate myself: after which, 
 having paid everybody, I would slink into some dark corner — 
 educate my children — and show my face in the world no more. 
 
 " If you should ever have occasion to write to me, it will be best 
 to address your letter either ' to the care of Mrs. De Quincey, Ry- 
 dal Xab, Westmoreland' (Fox Ghyll is sold, and will be given up 
 in a few days), or 'to the care of M. D. Hill, Esq., 11 King's Bench 
 Walk, Temple :' — but for the present, I think rather to the latter : 
 for else suspicions will arise that I am in Westmoreland, which, if I 
 were not, might be serviceable to me ; but if, as I am in hopes of 
 accomplishing sooner or later, I should be — might defeat my pur- 
 pose. 
 
 " I beg my kind regards to Mrs. Wilson and my yoimg friends, 
 whom I remember witli so much interest as I last saw them at El 
 leray, — and am, my dear Wilson, veiy aflectionately yours, 
 
 ''Thomas De Quincey." 
 
 In the following letter from my father to his friend, ]\Ir. Findlay, 
 of Easter Hill, he refers to the death of his venerable mother, whicL 
 took place in December, 1824. The accident to my mother, to 
 which allusion is made, occurred in the previous summer ; he wai' 
 driving with her and the children one day in the neighborhood ot 
 Ambleside, when the axletree gave way, and the carriage was ovw 
 
 • To the very last he asserted this, but the habit, although modified, was never abandoned.
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 277 
 
 turned while ascending a steep hill. No very bad consequences to 
 any of the party ensued at the time. Mrs. Wilson, however, felt 
 the shock to her nervous system, which affected her health so as to 
 cause her husband much anxiety. 
 
 "29 Ann Street, March 2, 1825. 
 
 " My dearest Rouekt : — Much did I regret not being at home 
 when you called upon us lately. Both Mrs. Wilson and myself felt 
 sincerely for your wife and yourself on your late affliction. I had 
 heard from Miss Sym that there were few hopes, but also that the 
 poor soul was comfortable and happy, and now no doubt she is in 
 heaven. 
 
 " I am sure that you too would feel for all of us when you heard 
 of my mother's death ; she was, you know, one of the best of 
 women, and although old, seventy-two, yet in all things so young 
 that we never feared to lose her till within a few days of her de- 
 parture ; she led a haj)py and a useful life, and now must be enjoy- 
 ing her reward. I have suffered great anxiety about Mrs. Wilson ; 
 that accident* was a bad one, and during summer she was most 
 alarmingly ill. She is still very weak, and her constitution has got 
 a shake, but I trust in God it is not such as may not be got over, 
 and that the summer will restore her to her former health. She 
 
 * The following letter from Principal Baird alludes to the same accident: — 
 
 " University CiiAMiiERa, July 23(7, 1S24. 
 
 "My dear Sin: — In the 0rst place, to begin methodically, I beg to congratulate you on the 
 hair-brea<lth escape which the newspapers tohl us you so happily made when your horse was 
 restive and your gig on the brink of a precipice; and, in the second place, I beg to remind you 
 that the best expression of your gratitude for the deliverance, will be to — to compose some para- 
 phrases anil translations lor the use of the Church. I shall be glad to learn, and to see proof 
 that you are thus employed. 
 
 " I have got several excellent pieces from Mrs. Ilemans and Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, lately, in 
 addition to those which I had formerly from .Miss Joanna Baillie, &c. 
 
 "I am at iiresent busy in the transmission of papers through the Church in respect to the Gen- 
 eral Assembly's plan for increasing the means of education, of leligious instruction chiefly, ir. 
 the Highlands and Islands. In three contiguous i)arishes there is a population of about 20,11(10, 
 and above 1S,<1I)0 of these poor people have never been taught to read. In another district about 
 47,u00 out of 50,000 have not been ta\iglit. Ought these things so to be 1 
 
 " I am particularly interested in the state of lona. Ill su|>plied with a single school, it has no 
 place of worsliip. The minister is bound to pieach to them only four times in the year. Ho 
 preaches on a hill-side, ami from that neighboring coast of the mainland; he has an audience on 
 tliat hill-side of never less tliiui 1,000 persons. This is the state of lona, from which cjwiie at a 
 reMu>te (lay to our mainJand the light of literature and religion. I wish you would write a pe- 
 tition by lona for consideration and help. St. Kildas privations have been supplied by iiublin 
 symp.ithy and bounty. Let us not neglect lona, amid the 'ruins of which whose plaids would 
 not grow warmer f 
 
 " I am, with great regard, yours most faithfully, 
 
 "Gkokge Baib©."
 
 278 MEMOIR OF JOHN AVII.SON. 
 
 looks well, but is not so, and many a Avretched and sleepless hour 
 do I pass on her account. 
 
 " It is so long since the meeting of the good old Professor's* 
 friends, that I need now say no more than that all the arrangements 
 met with my most complete approbation, that I rend the account 
 with peculiar pleasure, and especi;dly your speech and Dr. Macgill's. 
 Whatever was in your hands could not be otherwise than proper 
 
 and right. I have been much worried Avith my own affairs, 
 
 having entangled me in much mischief, even after he bad ruined 
 me, but I am perfectly reconciled to such things, and while my wife 
 and family are Avell and happy, so will I be. Could I see Jane per- 
 fectly restored, I should dismiss all other anxieties from my mind 
 entirely. 
 
 " I should like much indeed to see you at Easter Hill for a day or 
 two ; my plans are yet all unfixed. Perhaps I may take a walk as 
 far early in May. 
 
 "I am building a house in Gloucester Place, a small street lead- 
 ing from the Circais into Lord ^^loray's grounds. Tiiis I am doing 
 because I am poor, and money yielding no interest. If Jane is bet- 
 ter next winter, I intend to carry my plan into effect of taking into 
 my house two or three young gentlemen. ^lention this in any 
 quarter. Rememl)er me kindly to your excellent wife. Your 
 family is now most anti-Malthusian. Believe me ever, my dearest 
 llobert, your most affectionate friend, Joiix Wilsox." 
 
 The house in Gloucester Place was completed and ready for habi- 
 tation in 1826, and thenceforth was his home during the reniair.der 
 of his hfe. The plan of receiving young gentlemen into his house 
 was never put into execution. 
 
 About this time a proposal was made that a separate Chair of 
 Political Economy should be instituted in the University of Edin- 
 burgh, and that the appointment should be conferred upon 3Ir. J. 
 R. M'Culloch, then editor of the Scotsman newspaper. Wilson's 
 professorship coinbined the two subjects of Moral Philosophy and 
 Political Economy, but up to this period he had not lectured on 
 the latter topic : he therefore resented the movement as an inter- 
 ference with his vested rights, and by appealing to Government 
 Bucceeded in crushing the project. After this controversy (which 
 
 * Professor Jardine.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 2711 
 
 included a sharp jjamjihlet, in which the Professor, under the noiu 
 de plume of Mordecai Mullion, dealt somewhat freely with Mr. 
 M'CuUoch), he lectured on political economy. Two years later, we 
 find that he was an advocate of free trade, as may be seen from his 
 letter to Dr. Moir in the next chapter. Could his new studies — 
 consequent upon complying with his friend Patrick Robertson's 
 advice" to prepare a course of lectures on political economy — have 
 led to this result ? It is more than probable that De Quincey may 
 also have influenced his opinions on this head. 
 
 The following letters, from Mr. Patrick Robertson, Mr. Huskis- 
 son, Mr. Canning, and Mr. Peel, will show the interest taken by 
 Wilson's personal and political friends as to the projjosed Cliair : — 
 
 "Edinburgh, Tuesday, lUhJune, 1825. 
 
 " Mt DEAR Wilson: — I have your last. Lockhart and Hope 
 concur with me in thinking that the idea of a petition is out of the 
 question. It would not do to enter the field in this way, unless 
 victory were ])erilled on the success; and what will be the lethargy 
 of our leading Tories and the activity of the Whigs? I should 
 fear the result of a contest in this form. You seem to me to have 
 made every possible exertion ; and there is only one thing more I 
 must urge upon you, a positive pledge to lecture on this subject 
 next winter. You are quite adequate to the task, and this wiih(jut 
 leaving EUeray. Books can easily be sent ; and if you don't know 
 about corn and raw produce, and bullion and foreign supplies, so as 
 to be ready to write in December, you are not the man who went 
 through the more formidable task of your first course. A pledge 
 of this kind would be useful, and when redeemed (if the storm 
 were now over), would be a complete bar against future invasions 
 of your rights. Think of this, or rather determine to do this with- 
 out thinking of it, and it is done. 
 
 " I don't see why you should leave your charming cottnge to 
 come down here at present, nor how you can be of any further ser- 
 vice tlian you have been. It is strange there is no answer from the 
 Big Wigs. Lord Melville writes nobody, and I fancy William 
 Dundas has his hands full enough of his city canvass since that i.i- 
 
 sane ass, , started. I am in hopes you will hear soon, lioth 
 
 Hope and Robert Dundas are anxious to do all in their power, and 
 expect this plot will be detl-ated ; but I see no way of pieventing
 
 280 ■ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 it ultimately, except your actual lectures on the subject. None of 
 us will come up this year, that you may have time to study, so 
 study you must; and don't you understand the old principle upon 
 which the whole of this nonsensical science hangs ? I assure you, 
 without jest, we all deeply IVel the insult thus offered to you and 
 the party, and I cannot believe it will ever be carried through. My 
 hope is in Peel more than all the rest. Oh, for one dash of poor 
 Londonderry ! Ever yours faithfully, Pat. Robertson." 
 
 "Board of Trade, l^ih June, 1825. 
 
 " Sir : — I have had the honor to receive your letter of the 8th 
 instant, stating the grounds on which you conceive that the erec- 
 tion of a new professorship in the University of Edinburgh, for the 
 purpose of lecturing on Political Economy, would be an unfair in- 
 terference with the rights, and consequent duties, which belong to 
 the Chair of Moral Philosophy. 
 
 " Without feeling it necessary to go into the question how far 
 the mode of lecturing on political economy which has hitherto pre- 
 vailed in the University of Edinburgh is the most desirable, and 
 exactly that in which I should concur, if the whole distribution of 
 instruction in that University were to be recast, I have no dithculty 
 in stating that every attention ought to be paid, in looking at the 
 present application, to the circumstances and consideration which 
 you have stated. 
 
 " The state of this case, as far as I know, is this : — An applica- 
 tion has been made by memorial, from certain individuals, to the 
 Government, for the sanction of the Crown to establish a profes- 
 sorship of Political Economy in the University, the subscribers 
 offering to provide a permanent fund for founding the new Chair, 
 in like manner as has been done by a private gentleman (Mr. Drum- 
 mond) in the University of Oxford. 
 
 "This memorial has been referred by Lord Liverpool to the 
 University of Edinburgh for their opinion, and no final decision 
 will be taken by the Government until that opinion shall be re- 
 ceived. Should the Senatus Acailemicus not recommend a coni]li 
 auce with the prayer of the Memorial, I have every reason to be 
 lieve that it will not receive the sanction of Government, and I 
 have conveyed that impression to the person who had put the me- 
 morial into my hands.
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMliS'ilC LIFE. 
 
 281 
 
 " I must therefore refer you, as one of that Senutus Academicus, 
 to your colleagues, who will, I have no doubt, give that opinion 
 which shall appear to them most conducive to the furtherance of 
 the important duties of the University, without prejudice to the 
 individual right of any member of that learned body. I have the 
 honor to be, sir, your most obedient servant, 
 
 "W. IIUSKISSON." 
 
 FROM MR. CANNING. 
 
 "Foreign Office, June 21, 1825. 
 " Dear Sir : — The alarm under which your letter of the 8th was 
 written, has, I think, subsided long ago, in consequence of the an- 
 swers which your representations received from other quarters. I 
 only write lest you should think that I had neglected your letter, 
 or felt no interest in your concerns. I am, dear sir, your obedient 
 and faithful servant, Geo. CAKNmG. 
 
 "Mr. Professor Wilson." 
 
 FROM SIR ROBERT PEEL. 
 [Private.'] ' " Wuitehall, June 21, 1825. 
 
 "Sir: — The project of establishing a new and separate Pi'ofes- 
 sorship of Political Economy in the University of Edinburgh did 
 not receive any encouragement from me. I understand that it is 
 altogether abandoned ; and I have only, therefore, to assure you, 
 that before I would have given my assent to it under any circum- 
 stances, I should have considered it my duty to ascertain that the 
 institution of a new Chair Avas absolutely necessary for the ])ur- 
 poses for which it professed to be instituted, and that the just privi- 
 leges of other professors were not attected by it. I have the honor 
 to be, sir, your obedient servant, Robert Peel. 
 
 "Professor Wilson, etc., etc., Edinburgh." 
 
 lie did not "leave his charming cottage," but very soon found 
 more interesting work than political economy to occupy his thoughts. 
 Mr. Blackwood soon after writes of his " going on with another 
 volume," and also says, " I rejoice, too, tliat you are preparing your 
 Outlines."* Of the "other volume" nothing more was heard. 
 Some small portion of its intended contents was probably con- 
 
 * In December, 1825, 1 find advertised ns "speedily to be published, in one vol., Svo., Proxpectiti 
 of » Course of Moral Inquiry, by John Wilson, Professor of Moial Thilosophy iu the LJulvur- 
 Blly of Edlnbuigb ;" this book, however, never uppeiued. 
 
 V2
 
 282 MElklOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 tribnted to a work presently to be spoken of; but from the letters 
 in reference to that subject, it may be conjectured that some tales 
 were written by him, which, if they ever appeared in print, are not 
 hitherto identified with his name. Besides the three tales which 
 had alreaily been pul^lished, Lights and iShadoics, Margaret Lynd- 
 sat/, and The Fureaters, and two volumes of poems, no separate 
 works of his appeared until l\iQ Mecr eat lo7is of Christopher Nortli, 
 in 1843. That he did not carry out his intention of preparing his 
 Outhnes is cause of regret. 
 
 The next letter from Mr. Lockhart contains some reference to a 
 literary project, of which the first idea appears to have originated 
 with him. Tiie name of Janus will doubtless be entirely new to 
 the readers of this generation, and there are not many now living 
 who are aware of the fact that the volume published under that 
 name, in November, 1825, was chiefly the composition of Wilson 
 and Lockhart. The fact that the publication was intrusted to any 
 other hands than those of Mr. Blackwood I can only attribute to 
 the fict — apparent, from some allusions in Mr. Lockhart's letters — 
 that he had by this time become rather impatient of Mr. Black- 
 wood's independent style of treating his contributions. But for 
 him the book would never have appeared, and as certainly my 
 father would never have contributed. The })lan was suggested ap- 
 paiently by the popularity of a class of books that began to appear 
 in London in the preceding year, under the title of Annuals, such 
 as the Forget Me Not, the Amtdet, and Friendshii^ s Offering. 
 They were adorned with engravings, and contained contributions 
 from the pens of distinguished writers. The projectors of Janus 
 thought it most prudent to make the success of their Annual de- 
 pend on its literary merits alone, but it turned out that they "vvere 
 mistaken. Lockhart and Wilson undertook the editorship, md 
 contributed the great bulk of the articles.* The following is a let- 
 ter from Mr. Lockhart bearing on this subject. He was on the eve 
 of starting for Ireland with Sir Walter Scott : — 
 
 "Edinburgh, July Sth — (Starting). 
 "My dear Wilsox: — T am exceedingly sorry to find myself 
 
 • Several letters on the subject liave been sent me, thrmish the kindness of John Boyd, Esq., 
 of the firm of Oliver & Boyd, the publishers of Janus, which show the interest and zeal with 
 w;\icli the work was carried through. 
 
 i
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 283 
 
 leaving Edinburgh without having seen again or heard from you. 
 I have no time to write at length, so take business in form. 
 
 " 1st. I liave seen Dr. Graliaiu and David Ritchie to-day. They 
 both are in spirits about tlie aft'air of the P. E.* chair. Peel has writ- 
 ten to the Principal most favorably for you, and they both think 
 the matter is settled. However, it is still possible a Senatus Academ- 
 icus may be called, in which case you will of course come down. 
 
 2d. I have seen Boyd. He is in high glee, and has got many 
 subscriptions already for Janus. I have settled that I shall, on 
 reaching Chiefs wood by the 12th of August, be in condition to 
 keep Janus at work regularly, and therefore you must let me have, 
 then and there, a quantity of your best MS. If you think of any 
 engravings, the sooner you communicate with Boyd as to that mat- 
 ter the better, as he will send to London for designs, and grudge 
 no expense ; but this is a thing which does require timely notice. 
 
 "I confess I regard all that as a very secondary concern. l!i the 
 mean time I have plenty of things ready for Janus ', and the mo- 
 ment I have from you a fine poem or essay, or any thing to begin 
 with (for I absolutely demand that you should lead)., I am ready to 
 see the work go to press, 
 
 "I theref(M-e expect, when I reach home, to find there lying for 
 me a copious packet from Elleray. 
 
 " 3c?. Constable is about to publish a Popular Encyclopaedia., in 
 4 vols. 8vo, and he has been able to get Scott, Jeffrey, Macken- 
 zie to contribute. The articles are on an average one page and a 
 half each, but each contributor, having undertaken a luimber of ar- 
 ticles, is at liberty to divide the space among tiLem as he pleases. I 
 have undertaken a few heraldic and biographical things, and he is 
 very anxious that you should do the same. 
 
 "For example, Locke., Jlobbes., Dr. Meid: Would you take in 
 hand to give him two or three pages each (double columns), con- 
 densing the most wanted p>opular information as to these men ? 
 If so, he would gladly jump, and I should certainly be much grati- 
 fied, because I perceive in him the most sincere desire to have con- 
 nection literary with your honor. 
 
 " l*ray address to me, care of Captain Scott, 15th Hussars, Dublin, 
 if you wish to write to me immediately ; if not, my motions are so 
 uncertain that you had much better write to Constable himself, or 
 
 * Political Economy.
 
 284 MEMOm OF JOUX WILSON. 
 
 to me when I return. As to the articles, nine of them are wanted 
 this year. 
 
 "I beg my best respects to Mrs. "Wilson, and to all the bairns, 
 gi-eeting. Yours affectionately, J. G. Lockhart." 
 
 About that time there was no small excitement at Elleray in the 
 anticipation of a visit from Sir Walter Scott. Mr. Canning was 
 also in the neighborhood, and there was a desire to do honor to 
 both by some grand demonstration. On the 17th August, Lock- 
 hart writes to Wilson, '* On board the steamboat ' Harlequin,' half- 
 way from Dublin to Holyhead :" — 
 
 " My dear Wilsox : — Here we are, alive and hearty. Sir "Wal- 
 ter Scott, Anne Scott, and myself; and I write you at the desire of 
 the worthy Baronet to say, that there has been some sort of nego- 
 tiation about meeting Mr. Canning at your friend Bolton's. He 
 fears Mr. Canning will be gone ere now, but is resolved still to take 
 "Windermere en route. We shall, therefore, sleep at Lancaster on 
 Friday night, and breakfast at Kendal, Saturday morning. Sir W. 
 leaves it to you to dispose of him for the rest of that day. You 
 can, if Mr. Canning is at Storrs, let Col. Bolton know the move- 
 ments of Sir W., and so forth ; or you can sport us a dinner your- 
 self; or you can, if there is any inconvenience, order one and beds 
 for us at Admiral Ullock's. "\Ve mean to remain over the Sunday 
 to visit you, at any rate ; so do about the Saturday as you like. I 
 believe Sir "W. expects to call both on "Wordsworth and Southey in 
 going northwards; but I suppose if Canning is with you, they are 
 with you also. Canning in his letter to Scott calls you ' Lord High 
 Admiral of the Lakes.' 
 
 "I am delighted to find that there is this likelihood of seeing you, 
 and trust ^Irs. Wilson is thoroughly restored. I have hea'd from 
 nobody in Scotland but my wife, who gives no news but strictly 
 domestic. Peihaps this will not reach you in time to let us find a 
 line at Kendal informing us of your arrangements. Yours always, 
 
 "J. G. LOCKIIAKT." 
 
 Sir Walter, with his daughter, Miss Scott, and Mr. Lockhart, 
 visited Elleray, as was promised, and remained there for three days. 
 Of this meeting Mr. Lockhart writes: — "On the banks of Winder
 
 LITEKAKY AMD DOMESTIC LIFE. 2S5 
 
 mere we were received with the warmth of old friendship by Mr. 
 Wilson and one whose grace and gentle goodness could have found 
 no lovelier or fitter home than Elleiay, except where she now is.'"* 
 
 All honor was done to the illustrious guest, and my fiither ar- 
 i-anged that he should be entertained by a beautiful aquatic specta- 
 cle. It was a scene worthy *a royal progress, and resembled some 
 of those rare pageants prepared for the reception of regal brides 
 beneath the dazzling sunshine of southern skies. " There were 
 brilliant cavalcades through the woods in the mornings, and deli- 
 cious boatings on the lake by moonlight, and the last day ' The Ad- 
 miral of the Lake' presided over one of the most splendid regattas 
 that ever enlivened Windermere. Perhaps there were not fewer 
 than fifty barges following in the Professor's radiant procession 
 when it paused at the Point of Storrs, to admit into the place of 
 honor the vessel that carried kind and happy Mr. Bolton and his 
 guest. The three Bards of the Lakes led the cheers that hailed 
 Scott and Canning; and the music and sunshine, flags, streamers, 
 and gay dresses, the merry hum of voices, and the ra{)id splashing 
 of innumerable oars, made up a dazzling mixture of sensations, as 
 the flotilla wound its way among richly-tbliaged islands, and along 
 bays and promontories peopled with enthii.siastic spectators."! 
 
 My fatlier invited various friends from Scotland at this gay and 
 uotable time, to join in the geneial welcome given to Scott ; among 
 others, he asked his old and esteemed friend the Professor of 
 Natural History, Mr. Jameson,]; who was reluctantly detained by 
 his duties as editor of Tlie Edinburgh JPhilosophiccd fTownal : his 
 letter is of suflicient interest to be given here : — 
 
 " My dear Sir : — I have delayed from day to day answering 
 your khid letter, in expectation of being able to make such arrange- 
 ments as would allow me the pleasure of visiting you, but in vain ; 
 and now I find, from unforeseen circumstances, that I must forego 
 the happiness of a ramble with you tliis season. ]\[y sister, or 
 rather sisters, who were to accompany me, and who beg their best 
 wishes and kindest thanks to you for your polite invitation, wish 
 all printers, and printers' devils, at the bottom of the lied Sea. 
 They have been in a state of semi-insurrection against me foi some 
 
 • Life of Scott. + lUd. 
 
 X Professor Jaiueson dictl in 1S53, <vtat eij^hty.
 
 286 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 time, owing to the putting off of the expedition, but arc now re- 
 signed to their fate. 
 
 " Edinburgh is at present very dull, and very stupid, and we are 
 only kept alive by the visits of interesting strangers. 
 
 " The adventures of the regatta have reached this, and my sisters 
 expect to hear from Miss Wilson, who, they presume, acted a dis- 
 tinguished part in the naval conflict, an animated account of all that 
 befell the admirals. Some German philosophers say that a man — 
 that 1 presume does not exclude a professor — may be in many places 
 at the same time. I was rather inclined to doubt the accuracy of 
 this notion, but now it seems to be confirmed in yourself, for, on 
 the same day, you were buried at Edinburgh, and alive and merry 
 at EUeray.* 
 
 " All here join in best wishes to your family and Mrs. Wilson, 
 and believe me to remain yours faithfully and sincerely, 
 
 "Rob. Jamesojt. 
 
 "My dear sir, I hope you Avill not forget your promise of a paper 
 for The Fjdinhurgh Philosopldcal Journal. The effects of the 
 scenery of a country on its population would form a very interest- 
 ing topic, and one which affords an ample field for interesting ob- 
 servation." 
 
 Soon after returning to Scotland, Lockhart writes, not in the best 
 of spirits. What the opening allusion is to, I do not know : — 
 
 " CiiiEFSWooD, Wednesdaxj. 1825. 
 " My dear Wilsox : — I have received your letter, and shall not 
 say more in regard to one part of its contents than that I ara 
 heartily sensible to your kindness, and shall in all time coming r<.'- 
 
 * This refers to a practical joke of Mr. Lockhfo-t's, but not known at the time to have origin- 
 ated with him ; a joke which iiii<;ht have ended in painful results had it come untiineously to 
 the cars of any one ne:irly connected with its object. It was no less than a formal announceniftit 
 of Professor Wilson's sudden death in the leading columns of Tlif, Weehbj Jonriuil, aloni: with a 
 panegyric upon his character, written in the usual style adopted when noting the death of ecle- 
 bnitcd' persons. I have not been able to find the paper, but I believe 't was only inf prted in a 
 very few copies. On a later occasion Mr. Lockhart amused himself in a similar manner. I.y a'l- 
 pending to a paper on Lord Robertson's poems in The Quarterly lievivio, the folIowiiK? distich : 
 
 " Heie lies the peerless paper lord, Lord Peter. 
 Who broke the laws of God, and man, and metre." 
 
 These lines were. howL-ver. only in one copy, which was sent to the senator; but the joke lay Ib 
 Lord Robertson's im:igiiii;ig that it was in the whole edition. 
 
 I
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 287 
 
 spect most religiously the feelings wliich I cannot but honor in you 
 as to that matter. I hope I may be as briuf in my vords about 
 Mrs. Wilson. I trust the cool weather, and quiet of a few weeks, 
 will have all the good elFects you look forward to, and that I shall 
 have the pleasure of seeing you all well and gladsome, iu spite of 
 all that hath been in the month of November. As for you, I do 
 think it is Ukely we may meet earlier. All I know of Canning's 
 motions is, that Sir W. Scott expects him at Abbotsfoi-d very early 
 in October; the day not fixed that I know of. I cannot help think- 
 ing that you would be much out of your duty, both to others and 
 to yourself, if you did not come down ; for there is to be at least 
 one public dinner in C.'s ofier — I mean from the Pitt Club — and I 
 think he can't refuse. You must come down and show that we 
 have one speaker among us — for certes we have but one — unless 
 the President himself should come forth on the occasion, which I 
 take to be rather out of the dice. I know Sir W. also will be par- 
 ticularly gratified in seeing you come out on such a tield-day. I 
 wish you would just put yourself into the mail and come to me 
 here when C. leaves Storrs, and then you would see him at Abbots- 
 ford, and at Edinburgh also, without trouble of any kind. The 
 little trip would shake your spirits up, and do you service every 
 way. I assure you it would do me a vast deal of good too. I have 
 been far from well either in health or spirits for some time back, 
 and indeed exist merely by dint of forcing myself to do something. 
 I have spent five or six hours on Shakspere regularly, and have 
 found that sort of work of great use to me, it being one that can 
 be grai)pled with without that full flow of vigor necessary for any 
 thing like toriting ; and I wish you had some similar job by you to 
 take up when the spirit is not exactly in its highest status. I heard 
 grand accounts of you the other day from the young Duke of Buc- 
 cleuch and his governor, Blakeney — a very superior man, by the 
 way. It would make me happy indeed to see you here, and 1 may 
 say the same of not a few round about me. 
 
 "I shall not fail to write you again, if I hear any thing worth 
 telling as to C. ; but I think it more likely you should than I, and I 
 hope you will write me if that be the case. 
 
 " One word as to Ebony.* It is clear he must go down now. 
 Maginn, you have heard, I suppose, is universally considered as the 
 
 * Tin: ioiihrii/uet by which Mr. Bhickwood w:is known by his conuibutors.
 
 288 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON, 
 
 Bole man o£ the Johti Hull 3fagazine ; a most infainous concern, 
 and in general displaying a marvellous lack of every thing but the 
 supremest impudence. I foresee sore rubs between Ebony and 
 
 him. is exceedingly insolent Avhen he has nobody near 
 
 him, as is tlie case at present — cuts and maims — keeps back, etc., 
 etc. ; in short, is utterly disgusting. 
 
 " You will have i)erceived that I have done very little this sum- 
 mer. How could I? I am totally sick of all that sort of concern, 
 and would most gladly say, ' farewell forever.' 
 
 " Yours aifectionately always, J. G. Lockhart." 
 
 It appears that Mr. Canning did not visit Abbotsford, and the 
 anticipated o[)poi-tunity of showing that there was "one speaker" in 
 Scotland did not therefore occur. 
 
 The brilliant and versatile, but somewhat dangerous pen of Ma- 
 ginn,* was at this time in full employment for the Magazine. In 
 
 * William Maginn, alias Ensign O'Doherty, alias Luctus, alias Dr. Olinthus Petre, Trinity 
 ColIegB, Dublin, Ac, &c., was born at Cork in 179-t, and died in London in 1842. This versatile 
 writer and singular man of genius began to contribute to Blackwood in November, ISl'J. Dr. 
 Miiir says that his first article was a translation into Latin of the ballad of "Chevy Chase," 
 which was followed by numerous articles containing both wit and sarcasm, which Mr. Black- 
 wood had to pay for in the case of Le.slie v. Hebrew. Although ho continued to write for Black- 
 wood, the publisher was not acquainted with his real name, and the account of their first inter- 
 view is amusingly told by Dr. Moir:* — 
 
 "I remember having afterwards been infonnid by Mr. IJIackwood that the Doctor arrived iL 
 Edinburgh on Sunday evening, and found liis way out to Ncwingt.on, where he then resided 
 It so hajipened that the whole family had gone to the country a few days before, and in fact the 
 premises, e.xcept the front gate, were locked up. This the Doctor managed, after vaiidy tinging 
 and knocking, to open, and made a circuit of the building, peei>ing first into one window and 
 then another, where every thing looked snug and comfortable, though tenantless. He took oc- 
 casion afterwards to remark, that no such temjitation.s were allowed to prowlers in Ireland. 
 
 "On the forenoon of Monday he presented himself in Trinees street, at that time Mr. Black- 
 wood's place of business, and formally asked for an interview with that gentleman. The Doctor 
 was previously well aware tliat his quizzes on Dowden, Jennings, and Cody of Cork (perfectly 
 harmless as they were), had produced a ferment in that quarter, which now exploded in sending 
 fierce and fiery letters to the proprietor of the Magazine, deiiumding the name of the writer, as 
 he had received sundry notes from Mr. lUackwood, telling him the circumstances; and on Mr. 
 l51ackwood appearing, the stranger ajqirised him of his wish to have a private conversation with 
 liim, and this in the strongest Irish accent he could assume. 
 
 "On being closeted together, Mr. Blackwood thought to himself — as Mr. Blackwood after- 
 wards informed me — ' Here, at last, is one of the wild Ii'ishmen, and come for no good i)urpose, 
 doubtless.' 
 
 "' Vou are Mr. Blackwood, 1 presume,' said the stranger. 
 
 " ' I am,' answered that gentleman. 
 
 "•1 have rather an unpleasant business, then, with you,' lie added, 'regarding some things 
 which appeared in your Magazine. They are so and so, would you be so kind as to give mo 
 the name of the author?' 
 
 * D«/j/in 6^niyfr«i(;^ .Vui7<iri7i«, J.inURry, 18-44, which contains the fullefit account of Mh^iui's ILfa and writing! 1 hjiv»
 
 LITKKAHV AND DOMKSTIC LIFK. 2S9 
 
 the N'octes in particular, where the character of the coinpositioii 
 allowed most IVecdom of expression, he took his full swing, and 
 laid about him in true Donnybrook style. Whether the "sore 
 rubs" anticipated by Lockhart occurred, I have no means of 
 knowing ; probably they did. That he sometimes caused consider- 
 able annoyance to the judicious editor will appear from the follow- 
 ing brief note to Wilson about this very time. The reference in 
 the conclusion is to Mr. Blackwood's candidature for the office of 
 Lord l*rovost, in Avhich he was unsuccessful. 
 
 " Edinburgh, August 22, 1825 
 "My dear Sir: — I received your packet in time, and I hope 
 you will find the whole correctly printed, though I M-as obliged to 
 put to press in a great hurry. I only got Mnginn's Song on Satur- 
 day night, after I had put the sheets to press. 
 
 " On Thursday I received from him some more of the JV^octes, 
 but I did not like them, as he attacked Moore again with great 
 bitterness for his squibs upon the King, and charged the Marquis 
 of Hastings as a hoary courtier, who had provoked Moore toith his 
 libels upon the King. I have written him that it really will not do 
 to rim a-muck in this kind of way. I hope you will, on the whole, 
 
 " ' That requires consideration,' said Mr. Blackwood ; ' and I must first be satisfied that — ' 
 
 "' Your correspondent resides in Cork, doesu't he? You need not make any mystery about 
 that.' 
 
 "'I decline at present,' said Mr. B., 'giving any information on that head, before I know more 
 of this business — of your jmrpose — an<l who you arc.' 
 
 "'You are very shy, sir,' said the stninger; 'I thought you corresjionded with Mr. Scott, of 
 Cork,' mentioning the assumed name under which the Doctor had hitherto communicated with 
 the Muga/iiie. 
 
 " ' I beg to decline giving any information on that subject,' was the response of Mr. Blackwood. 
 
 "'If you don't know him, then,' sputtered out the stranger, 'perhaps, perhaps you could know 
 your own handwriting,' at the same moment producing a packet of letters from his side-pocket. 
 'You need not deny your correspondence willi that gentleman ; I am that gentleman.' 
 
 "Such was the whimsiciU introduction of Dr. Maginn to Mr. Blackwood; and after a cordial 
 Bhake of the hand and a hearty laugh, the pair were in a few minutes up to the elbows in 
 friendship." 
 
 From this time, 1820, till 1828, he continued his contributions more or less frequently. In 1S24, 
 «bout the time Mr. Lockhart writes of him, he was appointed foreign correspondent of T/ie li^p- 
 renentdtire; but as this newspaper was not long-lived, he was again thrown upon his resources, 
 and he earned a scanty livelihood by writing for the periodicals. lie assisted, as Mr. Lockhart 
 says, Theodore Hook, in the John Bull, and obtained so much reputation as a political writer, that 
 on -he establishment of the Standard, he was appointed joint editor of the latter. He was ul- 
 timately connected with the foundation of J^/v//»«r'« Magazine, m IS.'^O, and along with Father 
 Mahony, Mr. Hugh Fraser, and others, gave that periodical his heartiest support. lie was then 
 in the zenith of his fame, and his society courted; but in 1S34 he was again corresponding with 
 Mr. Blackwooil. dating his contributions from a giirret in Wych street, Strand, and from this time 
 till his death his eondiiion was one of wretchedness.
 
 290 MEMOIK OF JOHN ^V1LS0^. 
 
 like tliis number, and that you will be in good spirits to do somo 
 thiiiij very soon for next one. I fully expected to have had the 
 pleasure of a letter from you either yesterday or to-day. 
 
 " A letter from you, however short, is always a treat. The can- 
 vass for the Provostship is as hot as ever, but the result does not 
 now appear so certain as when I last wrote you ; still, I do not de- 
 spair, and I trust we shall be successful. 
 
 " I am, my dear sir, yours truly, W. Blackavood." 
 
 Mr. Lockhart's temporary disgust at magazine writing did not 
 affect his productive activity. Very soon after writing the foregoing 
 letter, he was hard at work writing articles for Janu^, which began 
 to be printed early in September, and was published about the ckise 
 of November, 1S25. The various letters which passed between the 
 editors and the publisher on the subject are entirely occupied with 
 the details of " MS.", " slips," " proofs," and " forms." They con- 
 tain, however, the materials for ascertainiug the contributions of the 
 two principal writers, a hst of which will be found in the Appendix. 
 Tlie following letter from my father to Delta is given, as being the 
 first communication between them which I have found, and as illus- 
 trating his mode of discharging the delicate duty of telling a friend 
 that his MS. is not " suitable." It is also his first letter dated from 
 Gloucester Place : — 
 
 " Gloucester Place, No. S, Friday. 
 
 " My dear Sir : — On my arrival here, a few days ago, I found 
 in the hands of Messi's. Oliver and Boyd, an extract from a tale in- 
 tended for Janxis. As I take an interest in that volume, I trouble 
 you with a few linos, as I know your handwriting. 
 
 "I had intended writing to you to request a contribution to Ja- 
 mes^ but delayed it from time to time, uncertain of the progress that 
 double-faced gentleman was making towards publicity. 
 
 " Copy for 350 pages is already in the printer's hands, and I h.ave 
 about 120 pages of my own MS., and of a friend, to send in a few 
 days, which, owing to ])eculiar circumstances, must make part of the 
 volume, so that 470 pages may be snpjiosed to be contributed. A 
 number of small pieces too are floating about, which it is not easy 
 to know how to dispose of. 
 
 "I am, however, anxious th.it something of yours should be in 
 this volume, and if it be possible, '^"-M-e^ shall be, if you wish it.
 
 LITEKAKY 2VSI) DUMICSTIO Ml'K, 291 
 
 " Tlie funeral scene is certainly good, natural, and true, and as 
 part of a tale, I have no doubt it will be eifective. Standin;jj Ijy it 
 self it does not strike me as one of your best things (many of which 
 are most beautiful and most lively), and I should wish to have in 
 Janus one that I at least like better. 
 
 " I liad in my possession, some time ago, a MS. volume of yours 
 containing several ])rose tales, one of which,* about a minister, a 
 bachelor, I think, or widower, loving or being made to love his 
 housekeeper, or somebody else, I thought admirable. Another tale, 
 too, thei-e was, of a lively character that I liked much, but I forget 
 its name.f I generally forget, or at least retain an indistinct re- 
 membrance of what gives me most i>leasure. Had I that volume I 
 would select a tale fiom it for Janus. The worst of Janus is, that 
 a page holds so little in comparison with a magazine page, that even 
 a short story takes up necessarily great room. 
 
 "Sliould tlie volume prove an annual, I hope you will contribute. 
 
 "This is not a contidential communication. Mr. Lockliart and I 
 have no objections to be spoken of as friends and contributors to 
 Janus, but, on the contrary, wish to be. But let all contributors 
 keep their own counsel. I am, my dear sir, yours with much re- 
 gard, JoHx Wilson." 
 
 On her way to Edinburgh from EUeray, my mother was taken 
 alarmingly ill, and was lor some time in a very precarious state. 
 This, combined with the labors of the opening University session, 
 left little leisure for literary work ; MS. for Janus was therefore in 
 great demand, and proof-sheets had to be revised after the class 
 hour in the Professor's " retiring-room." Some contributions had 
 also been expected from Mr. De Quincey, which, however, did not 
 make iheir appearance. The work at last came out in the form of 
 a very tinely-piinted small octavo volume of 542 pages, which was 
 sold at the price of 12s, There were no embellisliments beyond a 
 vignette representation of the two-foced god, and no names were 
 triven on the title-page or in the table of contents. The preface an- 
 liounces that the volume is intended to l)e the tirst of a series, to be 
 published annually early in November. It never went, however, 
 beyond its first number, not having received encouragement enough 
 
 * This appcarod in the voluiiio uudcr the title, "Saturday Night in tbo Manse," 
 t Probably " Daniel Cathio, toboccouiat."
 
 292 MEMOIlt OF JOITS AVILSOX. 
 
 to warrant the risk of a second trial. As the pubHslier de:ilt lib 
 crally with the authors, we may infer that the book did not pay so 
 well as it might have done with poorer matter and a low^r price. 
 There was, in fact, too much good writing in this now little known 
 volume : such a crop could not be " annual," and so it came up but 
 once. Its name suggests the character of the subjects contained in 
 its pages, which vary in range between the seriousness of philoso- 
 phy and the facetiousuess of genuine humor ; as free from duluess 
 in the one kind as from flippancy in the other. Among the shorter 
 and lighter papers, there is one from the French, but not a transla- 
 tion, that gives the history of a dog, " Moustache," whose charac- 
 teristic individuality is as skilfully portrayed as if it had come from 
 the hand of a literary "Landseer."* From the list of contents it 
 will be seen that nearly the whole was produced by the editors. 
 Of the few contributions by other hands, are Miss Edgeworth's 
 witty " Thoughts on Bores," and one or two pleasant sketches by 
 Delta. 
 
 Mr. Lockhart left Chiefswood for London in December, 1825, to 
 assume the editorship of the Quarterly Review. The following let- 
 ter appears to have been written the day after he had taken posses- 
 sion of the editorial chair : — 
 
 " 25 Pall Mall, 23d December, 1825. 
 
 " My dear Wilsox : — It was only yesterday that we got our- 
 selves at length established under a roof of our own, otherwise 
 you should have heard from me, and, as it is, I must entreat that 
 whatever you do as to the rest of my letter, you will write inuue- 
 diatelt/, to say how Mrs. Wilson is. I have often thought with 
 pain of the state in which we left her, and, through her, you, and I 
 shall not think pleasantly of any thing connected with you, until I 
 hear better tidings. 
 
 "Murray, from what he said to me, would answer Boyd's letter 
 in the aflirmative. I did not choose to press him, but said what T 
 wuld with decency. f 
 
 " As I feared and hinted, you are rather in a scrape about the 
 
 * Of such is Dr. John Brown, who, in Our Dogs, has unravelled the instinctive beauties and 
 touching sa;.'acity of the canine race, with a delicacy of f>erception and cunning workmanship of 
 thought truly adiiiir.iblo. '•IIab"and " Moustache," in their devotion of purpose, would per- 
 fectly have appreciated e;ich other; but, al.is! the faithful companion of " Ailie," and the bravo 
 " Moustache." must remain for ever the heroes of their own tales. These are not dogs to be met 
 with every day : they couiu, like epic poems, after a lapse i»f j»ges, and like them ai-e immortal, 
 t I'robably refers lo Murray becoming the Lon.lon publisher oi Junti*.
 
 LITKRARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 293 
 
 Uranus poem, the proprietor of it being some old Don, who for these 
 seven years had dunned Murray constantly, the bookseller in the 
 mean time writing, he says, to Blackwood, equally in vain. 
 
 "One thing remains; that the whole 3I<S. he forthwith transmit- 
 ted to Murray ; in that case the old gent, may probably never know 
 of the printing of any part. I fear the volume is heavy on the whole ; 
 but T know the deepness of my own prejudice against metaphysical 
 essays, and would fain hope it is not hirgely partaken. 
 
 " Maginn is off for Paris, where I hope he will behave himself. 
 He has an opportunity of retrieving much, if he will use it. I 
 think there can be nothing in his removal to injure his writings in 
 Blcickwooil., but au contraire^ and certainly nothing to duiiinish 
 their quantity. 
 
 " Mr. has yesterday transferred to me the treasures of 
 
 the Review ; and I must say, my dear Wilson, that his whole stock 
 is not worth five shillings. Thank God, other and better hands are 
 at work for my first number, or I should be in a pretty hobble. 
 My bt'lief is that he has been living on the stock bequeathed by 
 Gitibrd, and the contributions of a set of d — d idiots of Oriel, 
 But mind now, Wilson, I am sure to have a most hard struggle to 
 get up a very good first Number, and, if I do not, it will be the 
 Devil. I entreat you to cast about for a serious and important 
 subject ; give your mind full scope, and me the benefit of a week's 
 Christmas leisure. 
 
 " Murray's newspapei* concerns seem to go on flourishingly. 
 The title, I am rather of belief, wnll be ' The Representative,'* but 
 he has not yet fixed. 
 
 " I shall write you in due time, and at length, as to that busi- 
 ness. 
 
 "As for me personally, everything goes on smoothly. I have 
 the kindest letters from Southey, and indeed from all the real sup- 
 
 * Murray's newspaper concerns did not po on "flonrishinfrly," as may be gathered from the fol 
 lowing note: — "With Mr. Benjamin Disraeli for editor, and witty Dr. Maginn for Paris Corrr - 
 pondent, John Murray's new daily paper, Tlie Jiepreseiitntire (priee 7d.), began its inauspieious 
 career on the 26th January, 1&2G. It is needless to rake up the history of a dead and buried dis- 
 aster. Aft«ir a short and unhappy career of six months, The Keprexentatite expired of debility 
 on the snl'sefjuent 29th of July. The Thames was not on fire, and Printing House Square stood 
 calmly where it had stood. When, in after years, sanguine and speculative projectors enlarged to 
 John Murray on the exeellont ojiening for a new daily paper, he of Albemarle street would shake 
 his head, aud with iiither a melancholy expression of countenance, pointing to a thin folio on his 
 shelves, would say, 'Twenty thousand poimds are buriwl there."" — "Histories of Publishing 
 lioua s." Clitic. January 21. lalKi.
 
 294 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 porters of the Review. Give my love to Cay, and do now ^crite, 
 tcrite, xcrite to yours affectly., J. G. Lockuakt." 
 
 l>uring the following year my father contributed no less than 
 twenty-seven articles, or portions of articles, to the Magazine, in- 
 cluding the following, afterwards republished, in the collected works 
 by Professor Ferrier :—" Cottages," "Streams," "Meg Dods," 
 " Gymnastics." The only month in which nothing of his appeared 
 was May ; the month of April, which closed the session, being his 
 busiest at the College, except November. During the autumn of 
 this year, business of some importance obliged him to go into 
 Westmoreland. He was accompanied by his daughter Margaret 
 and his son Blair, and daring his absence wrote regularly to his 
 wife, giving pleasant local gossip and descriptions of the improve- 
 ments at Elleray. The dinner at Kendal, of which he speaks, was 
 one of political interest connected with the Lowther family, at 
 which he, as a matter of course, was desirous to be present. Mrs. 
 Wilson's brother-in-law, Mr. James Penny Machell of Penny Bridge, 
 was High Sheriif that year at the Lancaster Assizes, which accounts 
 for the allusions to the trials, besides that some of them excited uu- 
 iisual interest. 
 
 "Kendal, 22d August, 1826, 
 Tuesday Morning, Half-past TJtree. 
 
 " My deaeest Jane : — I wrote you a few lines from Carlisle, 
 stating our successful progress thus far, and we arrived here same 
 night at half-past eleven. Not a bed in the house, nor any supper 
 to be got, the cook having gone to bed. I however got Maggie 
 and Blair a very nice bed in a private house, and saw them into it. 
 I slept, or tried to do so, on a sofa, but quite in vain. In a quarter 
 of an hour we set off for Elleray in a chaise, which we shall reach 
 to breakfast about half-past ten. We are all a good deal disgusted 
 with our reception last night in tliis bad and stupid inn. 
 
 " It is a very fine day, and Elleray will be beautiful ; I should 
 think of you every hour I am there, but to-morrow you know I am 
 to be in Kendal again, and shall write to you before the dinner. I 
 have seen nobody in the town whatever, and, of course, heard 
 nothing about the intended meeting. The Mackeands were hangeil 
 yesterday (Monday), an<l I h:ivc just been assured that the brother 
 Wakefield, who w\s to have been tried on Saturday, has forfeited
 
 LITEKARV AND DoMKSTIC LIFK. 295 
 
 his bail, and is off, fearing from the judge's manner tliat be would 
 be imprisoned — if he stood trial — five years.* So there will be no 
 trial at all at Lancaster. I hope, therefore, yet to be at Hollow 
 Oak. 
 
 " Think of my bad luck in losing seven sovereigns from there 
 behig a hole in my lecturing pantaloons. All the silver fell out of 
 the one pocket, which Blair picked up, but the sovereigns had 
 dr()])ped forever through the other. 
 
 " I will write as often as possible, and tell you all that I hear 
 about the various places and people. Kindest love to Johnny and 
 Mary, who will have their turn some day, and also to the lovely 
 girl and George Watson. 
 
 " The chaise is at the gate, and is an open carriage. 
 
 " I am, my dearest Jane, ever your affectionate husband, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 "Kexdal, August 23, 1826, 
 Wednesday Nigld, Twelve o'clock. 
 
 " My beloved Jane : — The dinner is over, and all went well. 
 Your letter I have just received, of which more anon. Why did 
 you not write on Monday night? but thank God it is come now. 
 We are all well, and my next, which will be a post between, shall 
 be a long, descriptive, full and particular account of every one 
 thing in the country. It is your own fault that this is not a long 
 letter, for ray misery all day has been dreadful. Mr. Fleming was 
 with me all day, and was the kindest of friends ; and George Wat 
 son will, I am sure, Avrite for you. 
 
 "I shall see the Machells, who have returned home, and well, I 
 understand. Once more, God bless and protect you ! and get your 
 spectacles ready for next letter, which I shall have time to write at 
 length. Hitherto I have not had an hour. 
 
 "To-morrow, at EUeray, I shall write an admirable epistle. 
 " Your affectionate husband, 
 
 "John Wilson. 
 
 " Love to Johnny, Mary, TJnibs, and George Watson." 
 
 * The two Mackcinds were brothers, who had coniniittcd an atrocious mur-ler on the inhabil 
 Hilts of a wnysido inn. in Lancashire. The " brother Wakcfldd" was do less a person than Kd ward 
 Giblion Wakifield, wlioso slianieful deception wove a strange romance around the life of Helen 
 Turner, lu-i.l furnished to the annals of law one of the most peculiar cases that has ever beeu 
 recorded.
 
 296 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "ELLERA.Y, August 2ith, 1826, 
 Thursday Forenoon. 
 
 " My dearest Jaxe : — I shall give you a sort of j^^ecis of our 
 movement'*. On Tues<lay morning, at nine o'clock, we left Kendal 
 in an open carnage, and reached Elleray before eleven. The day 
 was goodish, indeed excellent at that time, and the place looked 
 beautiful as of old. A handsome new rail runs along from the junc- 
 tion of the new avenue, all along to front of the new house, and has 
 a parkish appearance — painted of a slate color. The house we found 
 standing furnished and in all respects just as we left it, so that, I 
 suppose, the family have just walked out. Thcplants in the entrance 
 reach near the roof, one and all of them, but have few flowers, and 
 must be pruned, I fear, being enormously lank in proportion to their 
 thickness, but all in good health. The little myrtles are about a 
 yard high, and in high feather. The trees and shrubs have not 
 grown very much — it seems a bad year for them ; but the roses and 
 smaller flowers have flourished, and those sent from Edinlnxrgh were 
 much admired. The walks in the garden are all gravelled neatly ; 
 the bower is as green as the sea, and really looks well. The hedge 
 lately planted round the upper part is most thriving, and straw- 
 berry-beds luxuriant ; in short, the garden looks pretty. The crops 
 in the fields are Ijad, as all in the country are. 
 
 " In an hour or two after our arrival it began to rain and blow 
 and bluster like Brougham, so I left the house. Dinner was served 
 in good style at six ; fowls, fish, and mutton. In the evening Wil- 
 liam Garnet came up, and was, as you may suppose, in a state of 
 bliss. The boy is well, and I am to be his godfather by proxy. On 
 Wednesday morning, I never doubted but there would be a letter 
 from you, as I made you promise to write every night at six ; but I 
 never make myself understood. It gave me great pain to find there 
 was none ; but this I alluded to before, so say no more now, but 
 will give you a viva voce scold for it. Fleming went with me in the 
 chaise to Kendal, and at half-past three we sat down to dinner: 
 Lord Lowther and Portarlington (pronounced Pohngton), Colonel 
 Lowther, Henry Lowther, Howard of Levens, Colonel Wilson, Noel 
 of L^nderlay, Bolton, the little Captain, and fifty-six others. It went 
 oft' with ec^'/i, and I speechified a little, but not too much, and gave 
 satisfaction. Barber came over on purpose, and is evidently in the 
 clouds about what I said of his cottage, although he made no allusion
 
 LITEKAliY AND DC'ilESTlU LIFK. 297 
 
 to it. The ball in the evening was apparently a plea^^ant one, but 
 thin, as it was only fixed that morning that theie was to be on( 
 At twelve o'clock the mail came in, and I went down myself to t' 
 Post-Office, and got the postmaster to open the bag, and, lo and be 
 hold, your letter of Tuesday, which took a load of needless anxiety 
 off my soul. God bless you! I returned to the inn, and Barber 
 took me immediately in his chaise to EUeray, which we reached 
 about two, and liad a little supper ; he then Avent on, and I to bed. 
 " I am now preparing, after sound sleep, to call at the Wood and 
 Calgarth. We shall dine at the Wood. The children were to have 
 dined there yesterday, but the rain prevented them. Mrs. Barlow 
 came up in the evening, they tell me, with ]Miss North. Gale was 
 found guilty of two assaults at Lancaster, but the anti-Catholic doc- 
 tor allowed hini to get off without fine. How absurd altogether the 
 quarrel originating in Catholic Emancipation. I shall probably go 
 to Penny Bridge on Saturday, but Avill write again to-morrow, so 
 send to the Post-Olfice on Saturday evening, and on Sunday too, 
 for letters are not delivered till Monda}'. But be sure you, or Mary, 
 or Johnny, or George Watson, write every night, till farther ordei's. 
 The little pony. Tickler, and Nanny, the cow% are all well, so is Star ; 
 Colonsay is sold for four pounds. The last year's calf is as large as 
 any cow, and there is another calf and two pigs. I shall give you 
 any news I hear in my next. I will write to Johnny soon. Your 
 affectionate and loving husband, John Wilson." 
 
 Tiie "Colonsay" mentioned here as sold "for four pounds," had 
 been at one time a pony of remarkable strength and sagacity. A 
 few summers previously, my father became acquainted with a Mr. 
 Douglas, who, with his family, was then residing near Ambleside. 
 This gentleman possessed a handsome and pre])ossessing appear- 
 ance; beyond that he had not much to recommend him, being nothing 
 but a sporting- character, and was after a time discovered not to be 
 sans peur and sans tache. However, he visited in all diiections, 
 frequently coming to EUeray. One day he appeared, mounted on a 
 very fine animal, which he said was thorough-bred, and an unrival- 
 led trotter. This statement gave rise to some discussion on the sub- 
 ject of trotting, d propos of which, Wilson brought forward the 
 merits of a certain gray cob in his possession, ha'f jestingly propos- 
 ing a match between it and tlie above-mentioned " tlioroughlired."
 
 298 MEMOIR OF JOHN -WILSON. 
 
 Mr. Douglas was delighted to meet with an adventure so entirely 
 to his taste, so then and there the day and hour was fixeil for tlie 
 match to come off" — a fortnight from that time. 
 
 It is a lung-ago story, but I well remember the excitement it cre- 
 ated in the menage at EUeray, and the unusual care bestowed upon 
 the cob, — how his feet were kei)t in cold cloths, and how he was 
 fed, and gently exercised daily. In short, the mystery about all the 
 ongoings at the stable was most interesting, and we began to regard 
 with something akin to awe the hitherto not more than commonly 
 cared for animal. 
 
 At last the day anxiously looked for arrived. Full of glee and 
 excitement we ran — sisters and brothers — down the sloping fields, 
 to take a seat upon the to}) of a wall that separated us from the road, 
 and where we could see the starting-poi)it. " Colonsay" was led in 
 triumjjh to meet his fashionable rival, whose " get-up" was certainly 
 excellent. Both rider and horse wore an air of the turf, while my 
 father, in common riding dress, mounted his somewhat ordinary- 
 looking steed, just as a gentleman would do going to take his morn- 
 ing ride. At last, after many manoeuvres of a knowing sort, Mr. 
 Douglas declared himself ready to start, and off" they set, in j^ace 
 very fairly matched, — at least so it se'^med to us from the Elleray 
 gate. 
 
 To Lowood, as far as I remember, was the distance for this trial. 
 Umpires were stationed at their respective points on the road, and 
 Billy Balmer kept a steady eye from his station upon *' Colonsay," 
 whose propensity for dashing in at open gates was feared might I'uin 
 his chance of winning. Meantime, the juvenile band on the wall, 
 along with Mrs. Wilson, were keeping eager watch for the messen- 
 ger who was to bring intelligence of the conquering hero ; and hoTV 
 great was their delight when in due time they heard that " Colonsay " 
 had won the day ; Mr. Douglas's much boasted of trotter having 
 broken into a canter. 
 
 This trotting match with the handsome adventurer, was the origin 
 of "Christopher on Colonsay" in the pages of Blackwood., which 
 did not appear, however, till ten years afterwards. 
 
 {
 
 LITERARY AND DOMKSIIC LIFE. '299 
 
 CHAPTER XIl. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1827-'29. 
 
 0>t: who knew my fatlier well, said, "That in the multiform 
 nature of the man, his mastery over the hearts of ingeneous youth 
 was one of his finest cliaracteristics. An essay or poem is submitted 
 to him by some worthy young man, he docs not like it, and says so 
 in general terms. The youth is not satisfied, and, in the tone of one 
 rather injured, begs to know specific fiults. The generous aristarch, 
 never dealing haughtily with young worth, instantly sits down, and 
 begins by conveying, in the most fearless terms of praise, his sense 
 of tliat worth ; but, this done, woe be to the luckless piece of prose 
 or numerous verse ! Down goes the scalpel with the most miimte 
 savagery of dissection, and the whole tissues and ramifications of 
 fault are laid naked and bare. The young man is astonished, but 
 his nature is of the right sort ; he never forgets the lesson, and, with 
 bands of filial aftection stronger than hooks of steel, he is knit for 
 life to the man who has dealt with him thus. Many a young heart 
 will recognize the peculiar style of the great nature I speak of. This 
 service was once done to Delta ; he was the young man to profit by 
 it, and the friendship was all the firmer."* Mr. Aird probably 
 alludes to the following letter, written by Professor Wilson in Jan- 
 >'ary, 1827, to his friend Dr. Moir : — 
 
 "My dear Sir: — Allow me to write you a kind letter, sug 
 gested by the non-hisertion of your Christmas verses in the last 
 number of ' Maga' — a letter occasioned rather than caused by that 
 circumstance — for I have often wished to tell you my mind about 
 yourself and your poetry. 
 
 " I thhik you — and I have no doubt about the soundness of m v 
 opinion — one of the most delightful poets of this age. You have 
 not, it is true, written any one great work, and, perhaps, like my- 
 self, never will ; but you have written very many exquisitely beau- 
 tiful poems which, as time rolls on, will be finding their way into 
 
 * Thomas Aire's Memoir of D. M. Moir.
 
 300 MliMOIR OF JOHN AVILSON. 
 
 the niiiidful hearts of thousands, and becoming embodied with the 
 corj)us of true Enijlish poetry. The cliaracter and tlie fame of many 
 of our linest writers are of this kind. For myself, I should desire no 
 other — in some manner I hope they are mine ; yours they certainly 
 are, and will be more and more as tlie days and years proceed. 
 
 "Hitherto, I have not said as much as this of you publicly, and 
 for several good reasons. I^irsf. It is best and kindest to confer 
 praise* after it is unquestionably due. /Secondly. You, like myseir, 
 are too much connected with the Magazine to be praised in it, ex- 
 cept when the occasion either demands it or entirely justifies it. 
 TJiirdly. Genevieve is not my favorite poem, because the subject io 
 essentially non-tragic to my imagination^ finely as it is written. 
 Fourthly. I shall, and that, too, right early, speak of you as you 
 ought to be spoken of, because the time has come when that can be 
 done rightfully and gracefully. Fifthly. I will do so when I feel 
 the proi)er time has come ; and, lastly, As often as I feel incUned, 
 which may be not unfrequent. I love to see genius getting its due ; 
 and, although your volume has not sold extensively, you are not- 
 withstanding a popular and an admired writer. 
 
 " Having said this much conscientiously, and from the heart, I 
 now beg leave to revert to a matter of little importance, surely, in 
 itself, but of some importance to me and my feelings, since, un- 
 luckily, it has rather hurt yours, and that too, not unnaturally or 
 unreasonably, for I, too, have been a rejected contributor. In one 
 respect you have altogether misconceived Mr. Blackwood's letter, or 
 he has altogether misconceived the very fcAV words I said about the 
 article. I made no comparison whatever between it and any other 
 article of the kind in 'Maga,' either written by you or by any one 
 else. But I said that the Beppo or Whistlecraft measure had be- 
 come so common, that its sound was to me intolerable, unless it was 
 executed in a transcendent style, like many of Mr. Lockhart's stan- 
 zas in the Mad Banker of Amsterdam, which, in my opinion, are 
 equal to any thing in Byron himself. Your composition, I frankly 
 and freely say now, will not, in my opinion, bear comparison, for 
 strength and variety, with that alluded to. I said further, that 
 there had been poems, and good ones too, without end, and also in 
 magazines, in that measure ; that it had, for a year or so, been al- 
 lowed to cease, and that I wished not to see its revival, except in 
 Bome most potent form indeed. That is all I said to Mr. Black-
 
 LITKUAKY ^\Nb DOMi.STIU LIFE. 301 
 
 wood. I will now say, further, in defence or explanation of the ad- 
 vice I gave him, that the composition is not, in my opinion, pecu- 
 liarly and chaiacteristically Cliristoplierisli^ and therefore, with all 
 its merit, would not have greatly delighted the readers of 'Maga' 
 at the beginning of a new year. Secondly. The topics are not such 
 as Christopher, on looking back for two or three years, could have 
 selected, and many important ones are not alluded to at all. That 
 to me is a fatal objection. Thirdly. There are occasional allusions 
 that are rather out of time and place, and seem to have been — as I 
 believe they were — written, not lately, but a good while ago. So 
 that I do not now, as I did not theti, think it a composition that 
 would have graced and dignified a new year's number, preceding 
 all other articles, as a sort of manifesto from the pen of C. N., and 
 this, partly from its not being very like him in style, but chiefly 
 from its being very unlike him in topics. 
 
 " Having said so nmch, I will venture to say a little more, well 
 knowing that my criticism will not oftend, even although it may not 
 convince.* Of the first four stanzas, the first is to me beautiful, the 
 second moderately good, the third, absolutely bad, and the fourth, 
 not very happy, Irving and Rowland Hill being better out of 
 Korth's mind altogether on a Christmas occasion. The nineteenth 
 stanza is, I think, very bad indeed, no meaning being intended, and 
 the expression being cumbrous and far from ingenious. Twentieth 
 stanza I see no merit in at all, nor do I understand it, I hope, for I 
 trust there is more meaning in it than meets my ear. Jeffrey's ago 
 was a bad joke at the first, worse when repeated in a Christmas 
 Carol for 1827-28. The v.'hole stanza displeases me much. Twen- 
 ty-four is pretty well, but by no means equal to what would have 
 been the view-holloa of old C. N. on first tally-hoing a "Whig. The 
 last line of it does not tell, or point to any one person ; if so, not 
 distinctly. Twenty-fifth contains a repetition of what has been 
 many thousand times repeated in ' Maga,' usque ad nauseam, by 
 that eternal Londoner from Yorkshire, and wants the free freshness 
 with which C. N. would have breathed out himself on such a tojnc, 
 if at all. Perhaps I dislike twenty-eighth stanza, because I am by 
 no means sure of its political econoniy, and never can join in the cry 
 
 * Tl'Pn follows a minute criticism of the poem, stanza by stanza, too detailed to be jriven entira 
 A few touches may sullice, indicatins that in politics the extreme opinions of Christopher Nortl^ 
 H& expressed in Blackwood, were not always those of John AVilson.
 
 302 MEMOIR OF JOHN "WILSOX. 
 
 in tlie Magazine against free trade. Twenty-ninth stanza is neither 
 good nor bad perhaps, but it leans towards the latter. Thirty-third 
 is written, I fear, in the same vein with mucli of our enemies' abuse 
 agauist us. Thirty-fourth opens inefficiently with Eldon. He is a 
 liue old fellow, but in some things a bigot, and getting very old ; 
 yet I love and respect him, as you do. Still this, and stanzas thir- 
 ty-fifth, thirty-sixth, and thirty-seventh are not glorious, and free, 
 and exulting, but the contrary, and the list of our friends is too 
 scanty. Thirty-sixth is unworthy of Sir Walter, r.nd A, and C. N., 
 and J. "NV. Pardon me for saying so. In stanza fortieth I did not 
 expect any thing more about Time, and be damned to him ! All 
 the stanzas that follow to forty-sixth, inclusive, are excellent, and in 
 themselves worthy of A. But what if there be no snow and no 
 skating at Christmas ? No appearance of it at present. Besides, 
 in such an address, they are too numerous. Forty-seventh, forty- 
 eighth, and forty-ninth are feeble in the extreme ; and the recipe 
 for hot-pint, althougli correct, especially so. 
 
 "Finally, the composition, as a whole, is of a very mediocre 
 character, in the opinion of your kind friend and most sincere 
 admirer. Professor Wilson. 
 
 " I have never, in the whole course of my life, given an opinion 
 in writing more than three lines long, of any composition of any 
 man, whom I did not know to be a man of genius and talents. 
 I have given you this long, scrawling, imperfectly expressed opinion 
 of your verses, because I had already let you know that it M'as 
 unfavorable, and therefore there is no impertinence in giving some 
 of the reasons of my belief 
 
 "That you should agree with me wholly is not to be expected; 
 but that you will agree with me partly, I have no doubt, by and 
 by. I say so from experience, for I have often and often seen, all 
 at once, compositions of my own to be good for little or nothing, 
 which I had at the time of writing them thought well of, and even 
 admired. 
 
 " One thing I knoxc you are wrong in, and that is in your pre- 
 ferring this composition to all you ever wrote for ' Maga.' You 
 have written for 'Maga' many of the most delightful verses that are 
 in the English language, and as for ' Mansie Waugh,'* it is hiimitable, 
 
 * The Life of Mansie Waugli, TnUor in Dalkeith. 12nio. Edinburgh, 182S. A work filD 
 of humor, and iiboiiiuliiig in faithful sl^cichcs uf Scottish life ani' mano'irs.
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 303 
 
 and better than Gait's very best. That it should have stopped — i f t he 
 fault of Mr, Blackwood — is to me inexplicable and very displeasing, 
 iind I have more than once said so to hiin, for nothing belter ever 
 was in ' Maga' since she was born. Mr. Blackwood certainly 
 thought the rejected composition a good one, and it was owing to 
 me that it was rejected. I take that on my own head. But that 
 ' Mansie Waugh' should be stopped, is to me disgusting, because 
 it was stopped in my teetli, and in yours who have the glory of it. 
 
 "Let me conclude with the assurance of my esteem for you, my 
 dear sir, no less as a man than an author. I am happy to know that 
 you are universally esteemed where you would wish to be, in your 
 profession, and in your private character, and that your poetical 
 faculty has done you no harm, but on the contrary great good. 
 
 " I wish you would dine with us on Saturday at six o'clock. I 
 expect De Quincey, and one or two other friends, and there is a 
 hed for yoM, otherwise I Avould not ask you at so late an hour. 
 
 " I am yours aft'ectionately, Joiix "Wilson." 
 
 With the above exception, the memorials of this year are con- 
 fined to the pages of Blackwood., to M'hich he contributed in one 
 month (June), when a double number was published, six of the 
 principal articles. How little he thought of knocking oft' a Noctes 
 when in the humor, may be judged from a note to Mr. Ballantyne, 
 the printer, in which he says : — " I think of trying to-day and 
 to-morrow to write a ' Noctes.' "Would you have any olrjec- 
 tion to be introduced as a member? Would your brother? Of 
 coin-se I need not say, that, with a little fun, I shall represent you 
 both in the kindest feeling. Pray let me know. 
 
 " Yours very truly, John Wilson. 
 
 " Subject: — A party are to assemble in the JVeio Shojy to dinner." 
 
 The following note to the same gentleman may come in as a 
 minor illustration of the "calamities cf authors:" — 
 
 " Last night ahotct eleven o'clock, I got two proofs to correct, 
 which took me nearly three hows. I ordered the boy, therefore, 
 to go away, and come early in the morning. It is exactly half-past 
 eight, and I have had the luxury of three hours' work after sup|)er 
 for no end whatever, instead of indulging in it before l)!eakfast.
 
 304 MliMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Yet to get on is, 1 umlerstand, of great importance. Here, tliea, 
 are hours on hours lost, not hy me assurcilly ; then by whom ? 
 
 "Why the devil does not the devil hasten iiimself of an August 
 morning? What right can any devil, red-hot from Tartarus, have 
 to disturb me, Avho never injured liim, for three longlionrs including 
 midnight, all for no purpose hut to make me miserable ? 
 
 "I am, my dear sir, very wroth; therefore, see henceforth, that 
 delays of this kind do not occur, for though I am willing to work 
 when necessary, I am not willing to sacrifice sleep, and sometimes 
 suffer, which is worse, from want of arrangement or idleness in the 
 infernal regions. Yours sincerely, 
 
 " JOHX WiLSOX. 
 
 " Thursday morning. — With two corrected proofs lying before 
 me for several hours needlessly at a time when they are most wanted 
 in the Shades." 
 
 In the month of July of this year, my mother writes to her 
 sister : — 
 
 "We are all quite well, and looking forward to a few weeks' stay 
 on the banks of the Tweed with great pleasure. I forget whether 
 I mentioned when I last wrote to you that Mr. Wilson had taken 
 lodgings at Innerleithen (about six miles fiom Peebles). We go 
 on the 2d of August, the day after the boys' vacation commences. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart and their two children are come here 
 this summer, I am sorry to say the latter in search of health. Mr. 
 L. is looking well, and not a bit changed in any respect. 
 
 " Ebony has presented me with the Life of Kapoleoti, 9 vols. ; 
 everybody is now devouring it, but what is thought of it I have 
 not heard; it will last me some years to get tlirough it if I live; 
 at least, if I read at my customary pace." 
 
 The three autumnal months were spent at Innerleithen, the Pro- 
 fessor visiting Edinburgh from time to time, to attend to his literary 
 affairs, finding on his return relaxation in his favorite amusement 
 of fisliing, or rambhng over the hills to St. Mary's Loch, and not 
 unfrequently spending a day at Altrivc with tlie P^ttrick Shepherd. 
 He had intended, in the following year, to let Elleray ; but not 
 having found a suitable tenant, he spent the autumn there Iiimself 
 with his family. 
 
 From a letter to his friend, the Kev. Mr. Fleming of Rayrig,
 
 LITEKARY AND DOMESTIC LU'E. 305 
 
 ■written in the spring of 1828, it a^ ill be seen how fondly h." clung 
 to the place, after having made up his mind as a matter of duty to 
 sacrifice the pleasure of spending his suniiners there. Ivcferi ing in 
 this letter to the Miigazine, he says: — 
 
 " Of Blaekv)oocV s Magazine I am not the editor, although, I be- 
 lieve, I very generally get both the credit and discredit of being 
 Christopher North. I am one of the chief writers, ])erhnps the 
 chief, and have all along been so, but never received one sliilling 
 from the proprietor, except for my own compositions. Being gen- 
 erally on the spot, I am always willing to give hiiri my advice, and 
 to supply such articles as may be most wanted when I have leisure 
 to do so. But I hold myself answerable to the public only for my 
 own articles, although I have never chosen to say, nor shall I ever, 
 that I am not editor, as that might appear to be shying responsi- 
 bility, or disclaiming my real share in the work. To you, however, 
 I make the avowal, which is to the letter correct, of Christopher 
 North's ideal character. I am in a great measui'e the jiarent never- 
 theless, nor am I ashamed of the old gentleman, who is, tliough 
 rather perverse, a thriving bairn. 
 
 "I shall be at Elleray, with my daughters Margaret and Mary, 
 about the 18th or 20th of April, and hope to stay a month. I in- 
 tend to let P]l]eray, if I can get a suitable tenant, for t}^ree years. 
 My children are all just growing up, and I cannot remove them 
 from Edinburgh, nor can I leave them, even if the ex{)ense of hav- 
 ing two houses wei-e such as I could prudently encounter. I have 
 therefore brought my mind to make the saciifice of my summers, 
 nowhere else so hapi)y as on the banks of beautiful and beloved 
 Windermere. My visit is cliielly to make arrangements for letting 
 Elleray during the period now mentioned. 
 
 "I feel great delicacy in asking any questions of a friend relative 
 to concerns of his friends. But I hope you will not think me 
 guilty of indelicacy in writing to know on what terms Bellfield was 
 let to Mr. Thomson. I am wholly at a loss to know what to ask 
 for Elleray, and Bellfield would be a rule to go by in fixing the 
 rent. I am anxious you will do me the justice to think that I am 
 one of the last men in the world to seek to know any thing of the 
 kind, except in the case like the pi esent, where it would be of ad- 
 vantage to my interests and that of iny lamily; or if there be auy
 
 300 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 objection to your iuforniing me of the point, perhaps you would 
 have the goodness to give me your opinion of what might be the 
 annual rent of the house, garden, and outhouses of Elleray. Who- 
 ever takes it must keep tlie place in order, and therefore must keep 
 on my gardener on his present wages. The land I could either keep 
 myself, or let it along with the house, the whole or in part. 
 
 '•3Jr. would act for me, I know, but , hke other idle 
 
 people, is too free of his tongue about my intentions, of whicli he 
 knows nothing, and has been busy telling all people that I am never 
 again to return to Elleray, and that Elleray is to be sold. This 
 
 rather displeases me. Mr. would oblige me in any thing, but 
 
 is not very skilled in character, and. might, I fear, be imposed upon 
 if he met with people wishing to impose. The idea of making Mr. 
 Fleming useful to me has something in it abhorrent to my miture. 
 Do, however, my dear sir, forgive my natural anxiety- on this point, 
 for if I should let Elleray to a family that would injure it, it would 
 make me truly unhappy. I love it as I love life itself; and, in case 
 I leave Elleray unlet, in your hands I would feel that it was as safe 
 as in my own. I am, however, I repeat it, duly sensible of the deli- 
 cacy of making such a request to such a friend ; and one word will 
 be sufficient. My intention is to keep the cottage in my own hands, 
 with the privilege to inhabit it myself if I choose for a month or 
 two, which will be the utmost in my power ; although that privi- 
 lege I will give up if necessary. 
 
 " Mrs. Wilson is much better in her general health than she has 
 been since her first unhappy illness ; but is still far from being well, 
 and my anxieties are still great. I am, however, relieved fi'om the 
 most dreadful of all fears, and I trust in God that the fits wiL^ not 
 again return. Her constitution would seem to have outlived them, 
 but they have been of a most heart-breaking kind, and I look on all 
 life as under the darkness of a shadow. John, my eldest boy, is 
 five feet ten inches tall, and goes to College next winter. My 
 daughters you will, I hope, see soon, and yours must come -up to 
 Elleray and stay a day or two with them, while they will be bu^ 
 too hapjjy to be again at sweet Kayrig. I hear of a house having 
 been built below Elleray by Mr. Gardiner. I hope it is not an eye- 
 sore. If it be, my eyes, I am sorry to state, will not be often 
 ofll'nded by it for some years to come. A curious enough book on 
 transplanting trees has been published here lately, which I will
 
 LTTKRAKY ANT) DOJrKSTIC I.IVR. 3(")7 
 
 bring you a copy of. Sir Henry Stewart, the author, has made a 
 place well wooded and thriving out of a desert, and has removed 
 hundreds of trees of all kinds, from twenty to fifty years old, with 
 underwood, all of which have for years been in a most flourishing 
 condition. 
 
 " I think you will get this letter on Sunday morning. I shall 
 think of you all m church. Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " John Wilsox." 
 
 As soon as his college duties were over, he set out for EUeray. 
 He Avrites from Bowness to my mother, May 16, 1828 : — 
 
 " My dear Turkess : — I have this morning received your long and 
 kind letter ; and though I wrote to you yesterday, I do so again. 
 First, then, I enclose a t\velve-])Ound note, which, I hope, will set- 
 tle the accounts, though you don't mention the amount of the ren- 
 dering one. I will thank you to write to Robert as follows: — 
 ' Dear Robert, be so good as send to me the ten-pound receipt to 
 sign, if convenient, and I will return it by post. Jane is to tell you 
 to do so, to save you a postage. If you can give her the money 
 first it will be convenient ; if not, she will wait till I return the pa- 
 per. Yours, J. W.' Your taste in furniture is excellent, being the 
 same as my own-; so choose a pai)er of a bluish sort, and don't 
 doubt that I will like the room the better for its being cntii'ely 
 your taste, carpet and all. Johnny may go to the fishing wlienever 
 you think it safe ; but remember wet feet are dangerous to him at 
 present. If he goes, tell him to go and come by the coach, and 
 give him stockings to put on dry. To fish there with dry ^eet is 
 not possible ; and he is not strong yet. Send him to school, with a 
 note saying it was but an eruption, for I cannot think it was the 
 small-pox. If it was, he is cured now. I hope they are good boys. 
 God bless them both, Umbs, and their good mother ! 
 
 " Yesterday, we rode to Ambleside — Mary on Blair's pony, which 
 is in high health and very quiet, and spirited too, Maggie on the 
 nondescript. We called mi the Lutwidges, whom we saw. Thev 
 are all well — she looking very beautiful, and in the family-way of 
 course. Oil the Edmunds, too. We called on the Norths, and 
 were most kindly rec^'ived. I left the girls there, and proceeded 
 to Grasmere, along the new road by the lake-side, which is beauti- 
 ful. Found llaitley Coleridge, a little tipsy, I fear, but not very
 
 308 M13I0IR OF J0I1^ WILSON. 
 
 much ; -went with him to Sammy Barber's. Sammy was delighted 
 to see me. He has um'oofeJ his house, and is raising it several 
 feet. He has built a bed-room for himself, thirty feet long, by 
 twenty wide, with two firejjlaces, and one enormous window com- 
 manding a view of the whole lake. It is the most beautiful room I 
 ever saw. All the rest of the house is equally good, and still the 
 external look improved. 
 
 " Wordsworth is iu London. I called for the nymphs at eight 
 o'clock, and we reached Elleray about ten o'clock — all well. Both 
 nymphs are recovered, though Mary has still a little sore-throat 
 left. To-day, we have waked to Bowness, and made some calls. 
 We visited the Island, and Miss Curwen comes to Elleray next 
 Wednesday to stay all night. She is a sweet girl, modest, sensible, 
 amiable, and English. They are a worthy family. The girls are 
 just now gone on to Rayrig with Miss Taylor, and I shall join them 
 there. I wait behind to write to the Turkess. The country now 
 is in perfect beauty ; and I think of one who has been a kind, and 
 affectionate, and good wife to me at all hours. If I do not, may the 
 beauty of nature pass away from my eyes! To-morrow we dine at 
 Calgarth. On Tuesday next, Sammy Barber and H. Coleridge 
 dine with us. Xeither Wellock nor M'Xeil has appeared, and 1 
 shall wait for them no uiore. Captain Hope and his lady and a 
 piccaninny have just driven up to the door of the inn ; he is a son of 
 the Lord President's, and brother of the Solicitor-General, and a 
 friend of mine. They are just off again. Write as soon as you can 
 or choose, and tell Johnny or Blair to write too — a conjoint letter. 
 Once more, love to you all. Your affectionate husband, 
 
 "John Wilsox." 
 
 The following letters show how well he knew to adapt his com 
 munications to the taste of his correspondents : — 
 
 TO HIS SOX BLAIR. 
 
 "Elleray, Friday Afternoon, May 23, 1828. 
 " My deauest Blair : — Your very entertaining and witty letter 
 came in due course at the breakfast hour, and made us all laugii till 
 we were like to burst our sides ; and Mary had very nearly broken 
 a tea-cup. It was, however, rather impertinent. Your pony is in 
 capital health and spirits, and 3Iary rides him very gently and not
 
 LITKRAUY AND DOMESTIC LIKK. 309 
 
 too fast. Maggy rides a chestnut cow, wliich George declares is a 
 horse, and it certainly is rather like one sometimes. There are two 
 cats, both very tame — a black, and a white one with a red tail. 1 
 fear the latter kills small birds. The young thrushes have tlown, 
 and so have a nest of linnets in the front of the house. The thrush 
 is building again in another place. We had a gooseberry-tart yes- 
 terday, which you would have liked very much. On Saturday, Ave 
 dined at Calgarth, and found all the people there exceedingly well 
 and happy. On Sunday we went to church, and dined at home. 
 On Monday we also dined at home ; and on Tuesday, Hartley Cole- 
 ridge came to dine with us, without Mrs. Barlow, who was ill. On 
 Wednesday we all dined at home ; and yesterday Fletcher Flem- 
 ing and Mr. Ilariison from Ambleside dined with us. To-day we 
 are all going to drink tea w iUi Miss Taylor at Bowness, and to go 
 to a children's ball in the evening. Hartley Coleridge is still with 
 us, and sends his love to your mannna and all yourselves. To-mor- 
 row we are going down to Penny Bridge, and will return on Mon- 
 day or Tuesday. On We<lnesday, which is Ambleside Fair, I am 
 going there. On Thursday, there is to be wrestling there. On 
 Friday, Mr. Garnet gives us a dinner; and after that we shall be 
 thinking of coming home again pretty soon. I am hai)py to hear 
 you and Johnny are good boys. Tell Johnny I am very angiy 
 with him for not writing. Tell mamma that I like the paper ; and 
 got her last letter this morning. God bless her, and you, and 
 Johnny, and Umbs, and keep you all well and happy till we return. 
 Love, too, to Miss Penny, that is. Aunt Mary; and kind compli- 
 ments to Mrs. Alison. I will write to mamma from I'eiiny Bridge. 
 I am, my dear little boy, your most loving and affectionate father, 
 
 "The Old Max." 
 
 TO HIS SON JOHN. 
 
 " Elleuay, Monday Afternoon, June 2, 1828. 
 "My dear Johnny: — I received your letter this morning, from 
 which I find you are well, and in good spirits. I am satisfied with 
 your place in the Academy, which I hope you will keep till the end, 
 or rather steal up a little. I presume ^Ir. Gumi intends going on 
 the stage. We left Penny Bridge on Tuesday, and dined at the 
 Island with a large party. On Wednesday, I went to Ambleside 
 fair, and settled a few bills. Kichard Sowdeii <lined \\ ith me at
 
 S!r» MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Elleray on that day, and kept furnisliing me with his talk till ov 
 o'clock in the morning — the girls being at the Mi-^s Bartons'. On 
 Thursday, I went again to Ambleside, with William and George 
 Fleming, to see the wrestling. It was very good. A man from 
 Cumberland, with a white hat and brown shirt, threatened to tling 
 everybody, and 'foight' them afterwards. The 'foighting' I put a 
 stop to. He stood till the last, but was thrown by a schoolmaster 
 of the name of Robinson, cousin to the imp who used to be at Elle- 
 ray, who won the belt with a handsome inscription — 'From Profes- 
 sor "Wilson.' We had then a number of single matches, the best of 
 three throws ; and Collinson of Bowness threw Robinson easily, he 
 himself having been previously thrown by the Cumbrian for the 
 belt. One Drunky, who had also been thrown for the belt, then 
 threw Collinson, and a tailor called Holmes threw Cumberland. A 
 little fellow about the size of Blair, or less, threw a man about six 
 feet high, and fell upon him with all his weight. Holmes, the 
 tailor, threw Rowland Long. The wrestling, on the whole, ' gave 
 the fomily great delight.' On Friday, we all sailed with Captain 
 Stamp in the ' Emma,' and ran aground at the water-head, but got 
 off in about an hour without damage. The 'Emma' is an excellent, 
 safe, roomy boat, and draws more water than the ' Endeavor.' On 
 the same Friday, we dined with William Garnet, and at tea mef, 
 some young ladies, the Miss Winyards, and Lady Pasley. We 
 rode home in the dark and the wet. On Saturday we gave a party 
 in the evening to the Flemings, Bellasses, and Miss A. Taylor from 
 Ambleside. We had the band, and danced, and the party was 
 pleasant. On Sunday we stayed at home, the day being blowy ; 
 and Miss A. Taylor is still with us. To-day some gentlemen dined 
 at Elleray ; so you see we are very gay. To-morrow we are all 
 going a pic-nicking on the Lake. God bless you, my dear Johnny ! 
 Mind all your dear mother says, and be kind in all things, and at- 
 tentive to her till we return. Love to Blair and Umb;^. Your 
 affectionate father, JoHX Wilson. 
 
 " The cross lines ai-e for your mamma." 
 
 "My dearest Jane: — I intend riding into Kendal on Wednes- 
 day, to meet our Edinl>urgh friends, as it will be satisfactory to 
 hear how you all are. I shall be kept here a few days longer than 
 I intended, because of the want of the needful, which I want to
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFP:. 311 
 
 sponge oat of Ebony, I shall also send to Robert for the £10, in 
 case you have not got it. I will write to yon on Thursday, lixiiig 
 the day for our return, The girls are both well, and eveiyl)ody is 
 kind to them. They are just gone to call at Calgarth, with Alicia 
 Taylor on horseback, with John Alexander with them on loot. 
 Owen Loyd, and Joseph Harding, and some others, are to dine 
 Avith us to-day. Summer is come, and really the most beautiful 
 time of the year is past. Write to me on Sunday evening^ foi' we 
 shall not leave this till Tuesday, at the earliest. If you write .he 
 day you get this, too, or bid Blair do so, so much the better, for 
 that day is always a happy one on which I hear from you. You 
 are a most unaccountable niggard. Direct Mr. Hood's letter to me 
 here, and send it to me by post. Tell Johnny to call and inquire 
 for Captain Watson, or do so yourself, my dear Jane, lirst good 
 day. I am glad to hear such good accounts of him. Keep sending 
 me the Observer and J^nenhif/ Post. IMy expectations of my room 
 are very high. I intend to get John Watson to give me a head of 
 you, to hang up over the chinmey-piece. What think you of that? 
 The little man does not sleep well here by himself I do not fear 
 that I shall find you well and happy. Yours till death. 
 
 "John Wilson." 
 
 The allusions to Hartley Coleridge awaken mingled feelings of 
 pain and pleasure in remembrance of his frequent visits to Elleray, 
 •where he Avas ever a welcome guest. The gentle, humble-hearted, 
 highly gifted man, " Dear Hartley," as my father called him, 
 dreamed through a life of error, loving the good and hating the 
 evil, yet unable to resist it. His companionship was always delight- 
 ful to the Professor, and many hours of converse they held ; his 
 best and hai)piest moments were those spent at P^lleray. ]My father 
 had a great power over him, and exerted it with kind but lirm de- 
 termination. On one occasion he was kept imprisoned for some 
 weeks under his surveillance, in order that he might finish some 
 literary work he had i)romised to have ready by a certain time. He 
 completed his task, and when the day of release came, it was not in- 
 tended that he should leave Elleray. But Hartley's evil demon was 
 at hand ; without one word of adieu to the friends in whose ))res- 
 ence he stood, off he ran at full speed down the avenue, lost to 
 sight amid the trees, seen again in the open highway still running,
 
 ol2 MEMOnj OF JOHN WILSoX. 
 
 until tlie sound of his far-off footsteps gradually died away in the 
 distance, and he himself was hidden, not in the groves of the valley 
 hut in some obscure den, where, drinking among low companions, 
 his mind was soon brought to a level with theirs. Then these 
 clouds would after a time pass away, and he again returned to the 
 society of those who could appreciate him, aud who never ceased 
 to love him. 
 
 Every one loved Hartley Coleridge ; there was something in his 
 appearance that evoked kindliness. Extremely boyish hi aspect, 
 his juvenile air was aided not a little by his general mode of dress — 
 a dark blue cloth round jacket, white trousers, black silk handker- 
 chief tied loosely round his throat ; sometimes a straw hat covered 
 his head, but more frequently it was bare, showing his black, thick, 
 short, curling hair. His eyes were large, dark, and expressive, an<l a 
 countenance almost sad in expi'ession, was relieved by the beau.itul 
 smile which lighted it up from time to time. Th;i tone of his voice 
 was musically soft. He excelled in reading, and very often read 
 aloud to my motlier. The contrast betAveeu him and tlie Professor, 
 as they walked up and down the drawing rooms at Eileray, was 
 very striking. Both were earnest in manner and peculiar in expres- 
 sion. My father's rapid sweeping steps would soon have distanced 
 poor Hartley, if he had not kept up to him by a sort of short trot ; 
 then, standing still for a moment, excited by some question of |)hil- 
 osophical interest — jierhaps the madness of Hamlet, or whether or 
 not he was a perfect gentlenuin — they would pour forth such tor- 
 rents of eloquence that those jiresent would have wished them to 
 speak forever. After a pause, off again through the rooms, back- 
 ■wards and forwards, for an hour at a time would they walk ; the 
 Professors athletic form, stately and free in action, and his clear 
 blue eyes and flowing hair, contrasting singuhvrly with Hartley's 
 diminutive stature and dark complexion, as he followed like some 
 familiar spirit, one moment looking vengeance, the next humble, 
 obeisant. Is it not tiue that the sins of the fathers are visited upon 
 the children ? Certain it is that the light of genius he inherited 
 was dimmed from its original source. He found no rejiose upon 
 earth, but wandered like a breeze, until he was laid down in the 
 quiet churchyard of Grasmere, close beside the resting-place of 
 William Wordswoilh.* 
 
 ♦ Hartley Culcii.l-e, son of Saniuul Taylor Coleridge, brm 1796, died ISSL
 
 I.TTKKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 313 
 
 My father's contributions to the Magazine this year were very 
 extensive, and several of them of enduring interest. They include 
 "Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," "Old North and Young 
 North," "Christinas Dreams," "Health and Longevity," " Salmo- 
 nia," and "Sacred Poetry." My mother, wiiting to her sister in 
 September, asks her: — "Have you read Blackwood's last number? 
 I mean any of it. ' Christopher in his Sporting Jacket' is thought 
 very good ; and Mr. W. expressed a sort of wish our nephew John 
 might like it. The Dean of Chester thinks it about one of the best 
 things the author has produced." 
 
 Another of her letters about this time contains some pleasant 
 home gossip. A baby niece is of coiirse a principal topic : — " Mr. 
 Wilson feels a great interest in her, poor little thing, and is never 
 annoyed by any of her infantine screams or noises, which is more 
 than I can say of him towards his own when of that age. This is 
 a comfort to me, because I shall have true delight in having the 
 little darling here as often as she is allowed to come ; and you may 
 well suppose tiiat I am always anxious, when the pen is, as it must 
 be, in Mr. Wilson's hand often, that he has nothing to disturb him." 
 The mother's heart is shown in the following lines : — " Johnny is 
 preparing for the University. As Mr. Wilson only expects and 
 exacts common diligence from him, I do not fear he will do well." 
 After mentioning the classes, she says : — " The three last-mentioned 
 accom|)lishments (drawing, fencing, and dancing) are only recrea- 
 tions, but there is no harm in them ; and I believe a greater blessing 
 cannot befell a young man than to have every hour harmlessly if 
 not usefully employed. You cannot think how much pleased I was 
 with a letter Mr. W. received from Miss Watson the other day, 
 speaking of the boys. I dare say it was flattering, but she has a 
 way of saying things that appears as if they were not flattering. 
 I would copy it now for you, but that I think you must be tired of 
 the old mother's egotism. I have not mentioned the girls, but 
 they are well. M. has two pupils, Jane and M. De Quincey, to 
 whom she gives daily lessons in reading, writing, geography, gram- 
 mar, and spelling; this occupies good part of the forenoon, and 
 practising, mending old stockings, millinery, and such like, fill up 
 some of the remaining hours of the day." 
 
 Tlie four following letters from Allan Cunningham tell their own 
 story : — 
 13*
 
 314 MEMOIR or jouN ^vlLso^^ 
 
 " 27 Lower Belgrave Place, 
 \Uh Sq^tember, 1828. 
 
 " My pear Friend : — I have cut and cleared away right and 
 left, and opened a space for your very beautiful poem, and now it 
 will appear at full length, as it rightly deserves. Will you have 
 the goodness to say your will to the proof as quickly as possible, 
 and let me have it again, for the printer pushes me sorely. 
 
 " You have indeed done me a great and lasting kindness ; you 
 have aided me, I trust effectually, in establishing my Annual Book,* 
 and enabled me to create a little income for my family. My life 
 has been one continued struggle to maintain my independence and 
 support A\ it'e and children, and I have, when the labor of the day 
 closed, endeavored to use the little talent which my country allows 
 me to possess as easily and as profitably as I can. The pen thus 
 adds a little to the profit of the chisel, and I keep head above water, 
 and on occasion take the middle of the causeway with an inde- 
 pendent step. 
 
 " There is another matter about which I know not how to speak; 
 and now I think on't, I had better speak out bluntly at once. My 
 means are but moderate ; and having engaged to produce the liter- 
 ature of the volume for a certain sum, the variety of the articles has 
 caused no small expenditure. I camiot, therefore, say that I can 
 pay you for Edderline's Dream ; but I beg you Avill allow me to Lay 
 twenty pounds aside by way of token or remembrance, to be paid 
 in any way you may desire, into some friend's hand here, or remit- 
 ted by post to Edinburgh. I am ashamed to offer so small a sum 
 for a work which I admire so much ; but what Burns said to the 
 Muse, I may with equal propriety say to you : — 
 
 " ' Ye ken — ye ken 
 That strong necessity supreme is 
 'Mang sons of men.' 
 
 "Now, may I venture to look to you for eight or ten pages for 
 my next volume on the same kind of terms ? I shall, with half-a- 
 dozen assurances of the aid of the leading men of genius, be able to 
 negotiate more effectually with the i)roprietor ; for, when he sees 
 that Sir Walter Scott, Professor Wilson, Mr. Southoy, Mr. Lcck- 
 hart, and one or two more, are lesolved to sui)port me, he will com- 
 prehend that the speculation will be piotitable, and close with me 
 
 * '/''if Annict»cir</.
 
 LH'EKAUY AND DOMKSTIC LIFK. 315 
 
 P accordingly. Do, I beg :in(i entreat of you, agree to tliis, and ?ay 
 so Avlien you write. 
 
 "Forgive all this forwardness and earnestness, and believe nie to 
 be your faithful servant and admirer, 
 
 "Allan Cunxixgham." 
 
 "27 LoTVER Belgrave Place, 
 November 7, 1828. 
 
 " My dicar Friexd : — My little Annual — thanks to your ex- 
 quisite Edderline, and your kind and seasonable words — has been 
 very successful. It is not yet published, and cannot appear these 
 eight days, yet we have sold C,000 copies. The booksellers all look 
 kindly upon it ; the proprietor is very much pleased with his suc- 
 cess ; and it is generally looked upon here as a work fairly rooted 
 in public favor, liha first large paper proof-copy ready shall be on 
 its way to Gloucester Place before it is an hour finished. It is in- 
 deed outwardly a most splendid book. 
 
 " I must now speak of the future. The Keepsake people last sea- 
 son bought up some of my friends, and imagined, because they had 
 succeeded with one or tAvo eminent ones, that my book was crushed, 
 and would not be any thing like a rival. They were too wily for me ; 
 and though I shall never be able to meet them in their own way, 
 still I must endeavor to gather all the friends round me that I can. 
 I have been with our mutual friend Lockhart this morning, and we 
 have made the following arrangejnent, which he permits me to men- 
 tion to you, in the hope you will aid me on the same conditions. 
 He has promised me a poem, and a piece of prose to the extent of 
 from twenty to thirty pages, for £50, and engaged to write for no 
 other annual. Now if you would help me on the same terms, and 
 to the same extent, I shall consider myself fortunate. It is true 
 you kindly proniised to aid me with whatever I liked for next year, 
 and desired me not to talk of money. JMy dear friend, Ave make 
 money of you, and why not make some return ? I beg you Avill, 
 therefore, letting bygones be bygones in money matters, join Avith 
 ]Mr. Lockhart in this. I could give you juany reasons for doino- it, 
 all of Avliich would influence you. It is enough to say, that my 
 rivals will come next year into the field, in all the strength of talent, 
 and rank, and fashion, and strive to bear me down. The author of 
 'Eddeiline,' and many other things equally delightfid, can prevent 
 this, and to hhn I look for help.
 
 316 MKMOIR OF .JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 " I sliall try Wordswortli in the same way. . I am sure of Snntlioy 
 and of Ed. Irving. I shall limit ray list of contributors, and make 
 a better book generally than I have done. I am to have a painting 
 from Wilkie, and one from Newton, and they will be more carefully 
 engrave<l too. 
 
 " I am glad that your poem has met with such applause here. I 
 have now seen all the other Annuals, and I assure you that in the 
 best of them there is nothing that approaches in beauty to ' Edder- 
 line.' This seems to be the general opinion, and proud I am of it. 
 I remain, my dear friend, yours ever faithfully, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham." 
 
 "27 Belgrave Place Lower, 
 November 19, 1828. 
 
 " My dear Friend : — I send for your acceptance a large-paper 
 copy of my Annual, with proofs of the ])lates, and I send it by the 
 mail that you may have it on your table a few days before publica- 
 tion. You will be glad to hear that the book has been favorably 
 received, and the general impression seems to be, that while the 
 Keepsake is a little below expectation, the Anniversary is a little 
 above it. I am told by one in whose judgment I can fully confide, 
 that our poetry is superior, and ' Edderline's Di'eam' the noblest 
 poem in any of the annuals. This makes me happy ; it puts us at 
 the head of th.ese publications. 
 
 " I took the liberty of writing a letter to you lately, and ven- 
 tured to make you an offer, which I wish, in justice to my admira- 
 tion of your talents, had been worthier of your merits. I hope and 
 entreat you will think favorably of my request, and give me your 
 aid, as powerfully as you can. If you but knew the opposition 
 which I have to encounter, and could hear the high words of those 
 who, with their exclusive poets, and their bands of bards, seek to 
 bear me down, your own proud spirit and chivalrous feelings would 
 send you [quickly] to my aid, and secure me from being put tc 
 shame by the highest of the island. One great poet, not a Scotch 
 one, kindly advised me last season, to think no more of literary 
 competition with the Keepsake, inasmuch as he dipt his pen exclu- 
 isively for that })ublication. I kjiow his poetic contributions, and 
 fear them not when I think on ' Edderline.' 
 
 "I hope you will not think me vain, or a dreamer of unattainable 
 things, when 1 express my hope of being able, through the aid of 
 
 i
 
 LITKUARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 317 
 
 my friends, lo maintain the reputation of my book against the fame 
 of otliers, thougli they be aided by some who might have aided me. 
 Should you decline — which I hope in God you will not — the offer 
 which I lately made, I shall still depend upon your assistance, which 
 you had the goodness to promise. Another such poem as ' Edder- 
 line' would make my fortune, and if I could obtain it by INIay or 
 June it would be in excellent time. 
 
 " If you would wish a copy or two of the book to give away, I 
 shall be happy to place them at your disposal. I remain, my dear 
 friend, your faithful servant, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham," 
 
 " 27 Lower Belgrave Place, 
 Uth December, 1828. 
 
 " INIy dear Friend : — I enclose you some lines for your friend's 
 paper, and am truly glad of any opportunity of obliging you. I like 
 Mr. Bell's Joitrnal* much. He understands, I see, what poetry is ; 
 a thing not common among critics. If there is any thing else you 
 wish me to do, say so. I have not the heart to refuse you any thing. 
 
 " I was much pleased with your kind assurances respecting ray 
 next year's volume. Mr. Lockhart said he would write to you, and I 
 hope you will unite with him and Irving in contributing for me alone. 
 As I have been disappointed in Wordsworth, I hope you Avill allow 
 me to add £25 of his £50 to the £50 I already promised. The other 
 I intend for Mr. Lockhart, This, after all, looks like picking your 
 pocket, for such is the rage for Annuals at present, that a poet so 
 eminent as you are may command terms. I ought, perhaps, to be 
 satisfied with the kind assurances you have given, and not be over 
 greedy. 
 
 " One word about Wordsworth. In his last letter to me, he said 
 that Alaric Watts had a prior claim, ' Only,' quoth he, ' Watts says 
 I go about depreciating other Annuals out of regard for the Keep- 
 sake. This is untrue. I only said, as the Keepsahe paid poets best 
 it would be the best work.' This is not depreciating! He advised 
 me, before he knew who were to be my contributors, not to think 
 of rivalry in literature with the Keepsake. Enough of a little man 
 and a great poet. His poetic sympathies are warm, but his heart, 
 for any manly pur])ose, as cold as a December snail. I had to-day 
 
 • The EUtnhiiryk Lih'ra,^y Otis«tte.
 
 31S MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOM. 
 
 a very pleasant, witty contribution, from Theodore Hook, I remain, 
 my dear friend, yours faithfully, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " P. S. — I have got Mr. Bell's letter and Journals, and shall thank 
 hhu for liis good opinion by sending lihn a trifle some time soon for 
 the jjaper. If you think my name will do the least good to the 
 good cause, pray insert it at either end of the poem you like. A. C." 
 
 The Anniversary^ of which the editor wrote so anxiously, was 
 not tlie only literary work this year that had requested the Profes- 
 Bors's powerful aid. "Edderline's Dream," unfortunately, a frag- 
 ment, some cantos having been lost in MS., was followed in the 
 month of December by two beautiful little poems, one called "The 
 Vale of Peace," the other " The Ilare-Bells," written for TJie Edin- 
 burgh Literary Gazette, then edited by Mr. Henry Glassford Bell, 
 whose abilities as a student in the Moral Philosophy class had attract- 
 ed Professor Wilson's notice. He frequently visited at his house in 
 Gloucester Place, and very soon evinced qualities more worthy of 
 regard than a cultivated mind and a refined poetical taste. This 
 acquaintanceship ripened into a friendship warm and sincere. Sup- 
 port in afiairs of literature was not long a binding link ; letters were 
 forsaken for law, and, after a few years' practice in Edinburgh, IVIr. 
 Bell removed to Glasgow, having obtained a Sheriflship in that 
 important city, where he has long enjoyed the respect due to an 
 ad Jiiirable judge, and an accomplished man of letters. 
 
 It has already been mentioned that my father had prepared 
 sketches for the composition of various poems ; why he did not fol- 
 low further his original impulses in this direction has been matter 
 of sui'prise. So strong a genius as his can hardly be supposed to 
 have quite missed its proper direction. Yet from the date of the 
 publication of the "City of the Plague," up to 1829, there is no in- 
 dication of his having seriously bent his mind to poetical composi- 
 tion. In the autumn of that year, at Elleray, he was again visited 
 by the muse, and my mother thus mentions the fact to her sister: — 
 
 " Mr. W. has been in rather a poetical vein of late, and I rather 
 think there will be a pretty long poem of his in the next number of 
 Blackwood, entitled, ' An Evening in Furness Abbey,' or some- 
 thing of that land. It will be too long for you to read, but perhaps 
 Ann will do so, and tell v<^u what it is about." From the publica-
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 319 
 
 tion of tliis beautiful poem, the tender domestic allusions in which 
 would alone make it of peculiar interest and value in the eyes 
 of the present writer,* down to 1837, when he composed his last 
 poem, " Uniniore," he did not again exercise his poetic faculty in 
 the form of verse. Late in life, he thought much of a subject which 
 he wished to shape into verse, "The Covenanters," but he said that 
 he found in it insuperable difficulties.! "The Manse" was another 
 Bubject he used to speak of, adding jocularly, " he was obliged to 
 leave that, owing to the Dlsruptio)iy\ 
 
 IIov\' far we have got beyond the days when criticism of ihe 
 Ettrick Shepherd required remonstrance to subdue it, may be gath- 
 ered from the next letter, received during this holiday time at 
 Ellcray : — 
 
 "Mount Benger, AugristW, 1829. 
 
 " My dear and noxoRED John : — I never thought you bad been 
 so unconscionable as to desire a sportsman on the 11th or even the 
 13th of August to leave Ettrick Forest for the bare scraggy hills of 
 Westmoreland! — Ettrick Forest, where the black cocks and white 
 cocks, brown cocks and gray cocks, ducks, plovers, and peascweeps 
 and whilly-whaups are as thick as the flocks that cover her moun- 
 tains, and come to the hills of Westmoreland that can nourish nothing 
 better than a castril or stonechat! To leave the great yellow-fin of 
 Yarrow, or the Still larger gray-locher for the degenerate fry of 
 Troutbeck, Esthwaite, or even Wastwater ! No, no, the request will 
 not do ; it is an unreasonable one, and therefore not unlike Your- 
 self; for besides, what would become of Old Xorth and Blackwood, 
 and all our friends for game, were I to come to Elleray just now? 
 I know of no home of man where I could be so happy within doors, 
 with so many lovely and joyous ffices around me ; but this is not 
 the season for in-door enjoyments; they must be reaped on the 
 
 * Contrastiug his present experience with his early poetic dreams, he says : 
 "Those (lays are stone, 
 And it has pleased hi^h Heaven to crown my life 
 With such a load of happini'ss, that at times 
 
 My very soul is faint with bearing up the blessed burden." . . . 
 t He corresponded with Mr. Alrd a good deal on this subject, llis letters are too lengthy for 
 Insertion, but it is refreshing to And in them an occasional hearty outburst of indisnation at the 
 persecuting government of Charles and James. "Ought there not to be some savage splendid 
 Covenanters introduced somewhere or other? Pray, consider with yourself how far they ever 
 carried retaliation or retribution. I believe not far. Besides, under such accursed tyranny, bold 
 risinjs up of men's flercest and fellest pas.sions were not wrong." 
 } The split in the Church of Scotland in ISii.
 
 o20 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Avastes among the blooming heath, by the silver spring, or swathed 
 in the delicious breeze of the wilderness. EUeray, with all its sweets, 
 could never have been my choice for a habitation, and perhaps you 
 are the only Scottish gentleman who ever made such a choice, and 
 still persists in maintaining it, in spite of every disadvantage. Happy 
 days to you, and a safe return ! Yours most respectfully, 
 
 " James Hogg." 
 
 The following letter, written about the same time, from my father 
 to his friend Mr. Fleming, is unfortunately torn at the conclusion, 
 but what remains of it is sufficientl}'^ interesting to be given : — 
 
 " My dear Fleming : — I much fear that it will not be possible 
 for me to join your party on Tuesday, which I should regret under 
 any circumstances, and more especially under the present, when you 
 are kind enough to wish my presence more than usual. I have tried 
 to arrange my proceedings, in twenty diflerent ways, with the view 
 of returning on Tuesday, but see not how I can efiect my object. 
 Mr. Benjamin Penny and his wife come to us to-morrow, and leave 
 us on Friday. I cannot therefore go to Keswick till Saturday, and 
 from Keswick I have to go to Buttermere and Cromack, and, if 
 possible, Ennerdale and Wastwater. The artist who accompauies 
 me, or rather whom I accompany, is unfortunately the most helpless 
 of human beings, and incapable of finding his way alone among 
 mountains for one single hour. I am, therefore, under the absolute 
 necessity of guiding him every mile of the way, and were I to leave 
 him he might as well be lying in his bed. His stay here is limited 
 by his engagements in Edinburgh, and we shall have to return to 
 Elleray on Thursday, without having an opportunity of going again 
 into Cumberland. Were I therefore to leave him on Tuesday, great 
 part of my object in bringing hira here would be defeated, and, in- 
 deed, even as it is, I have little hope of his achieving my purpose. 
 He can neither walk nor ride, nor remember the name of the lake, 
 village, vale, or house, and yet he is an excellent artist, though a 
 most incapable man, I returned from a three days' tour with hira 
 on Saturday night, and Avould have immediately written to you, but 
 ex])ected to have called on you on Sunday evening, to tell you how 
 matters stood. Mrs. Wilson, John, and one of the girls, or indeed 
 any part of the f imily yon choose, will be with you on Tuesday ; aud
 
 LITlCKAliV AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 321 
 
 if Tuesday be a bad day, so that Mr. Gibb cannot draw, and the 
 distance be such as I can accomphsh, I will exert some of my activ- 
 ity, a little impaired now, though not to any melancholy extent, and 
 ai)pear at Rayrig at five o'clock. 
 
 " It would have been pleasant had the three friends met, in a 
 (juiet way, at Kayrig ; and I do not doubt that, in spite of all, we 
 might have been even happy. But our meeting Avas prevented. 
 Watson, I am sure, regretted it ; and as for myself, I trust you 
 will believe in the warmth and sincerity of my aifection. 
 
 " With rcgai-d to the conversation of Calgarth about the Edin- 
 burgh murderers,* I had quite forgotten it, till the allusion to it in 
 your kind letter recalled it to my memory. I do not believe that 
 there is any difference of opinion in our minds respecting those 
 hideous transactions, that might not be reconciled in three minutes' 
 iminterrupted conversation. But I never yet recollect a single con- 
 ver&ation in a mixed company, on any subject on which some differ- 
 ence of opinion between two parties had been expressed or inti- 
 mated, where it was not rendered impossible to reconcile it by the 
 interposition of a third or fourth party taking up so«ie point con- 
 nected with, perh.aps, but not essentially belonging to the point at 
 issue. The argument, if there has been one, is thus broken in 
 upon, new topics introduced, and, without tedious explanations, it 
 is scarcely possible to get back to the real question. Something of 
 this kind occurred, I remember, at Calgarth. Watson and Lprd 
 De Tabley joined in Avith certain remarks — right enough, peihaps, 
 in their way — but such as involved and entangled the thread of our 
 discourse. And thus you and I appeared, I am disposed to think, 
 to have adopted different views of the matter ; whereas, had we 
 been left to ourselves, we should either have agreed, or at least had 
 an opportunity of letting each other clearly understand what the 
 point was on which we disagreed, and the grounds of that disagree- 
 ment. In early life I fear that my studies were not such as habitu- 
 '^ated my mind to the very strictest and closest reasonings; nor 
 perhaps is it the natural bent . . . ." 
 
 The artist, Mr. Gibb, whose incapacity in travelling is thus hu- 
 
 ♦ Curke and Ilarc, wlio were tried in Edinburgh, In IS'29, for a series of murders pt rpetmted 
 for the puq)ose of supplying the inedieul sehuol with auutoaiiejil subjects.— See Xocte^ Ambro- 
 aiiincr. lUO.
 
 322 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 morously described, was taken to Westmoreland by Professor Wil- 
 son, in order to make drawings for au intended work descriptive of 
 lake scenery ; a design, however, that came to an end, owing to 
 an untimely disaster that overtook the numerous illustrations that 
 had been made. 
 
 A letter from so celebrated a man as Thomas Carlyle naturally 
 awakens interest, to know how he and Professor Wilson regarded 
 each other. The terms of affection expressed in this epistle would 
 lead to a supposition that there had been an intimate intercourse 
 between them. But either want of opportunity or other circum- 
 stances prevented the continuance of personal friendship. It seems 
 that these two gifted men never met, at least not more than once 
 again after their first intro<luction, which took place in the house 
 of Mr. John Gordon, at one time a favorite pupil, and ever after a 
 dearly-loved friend of my father. 
 
 " Cr.ugeiVputtock, Dumfries, 
 Idth December, 1829. 
 
 " Ml DEAR Sir : — Your kind promise of a Christmas visit has 
 not been forgotten here ; and though we are not without misgiv- 
 ings as to its fulfilment, some hope also still lingers ; at all events, 
 if we must go unserved, it shall not be for want of wishing and 
 audible asking. Come, then, if you would do us a high /avor, that 
 warm hearts may welcome in the cold New- Year, and the voice of 
 poetry and philosophy, 7inmerls lege solutis, may for once be heard 
 in these deserts, where, since Noah's deluge, little but the whirring 
 of heath-cocks and the lowing of oxen has broken the stillness. 
 You shall have a warm fire, and a warm welcome ; and we will 
 talk in all dialects, concerning all things, climb to hill-tops, and see 
 certain of the kingdoms of this world, and at night gather round 
 a clear hearth, and forget that winter and the devil are so busy in 
 our planet. There are seasons when one seems as if emancipated 
 from the ' prison called life,' as if its bolts were broken, and the 
 Russian ice-palace were changed into an open sunny Tempe, and 
 man might love his brother without fraud or fear ! A few such 
 hours are scattered over our existence, otherwise it were too hard, 
 and Avould make us too hard. 
 
 " But now descending to prose arrangements, or capabilities of 
 arrangement, let me remind you how easy it is to be conveyed 
 hither. There is a mail-coach niglitly to Dumfries, and two stage- 
 
 i
 
 litp:rary and domestic life, 323 
 
 coaches every alternate clay to Thornhill ; from each of which places 
 we are but fifteen miles distant, with a fiir road, and plenty of 
 vehicles from both. Could we have warning, we would send you 
 down two horses ; of wheel carriages (except carts and barrows) 
 we are still unhappily destitute. Nay, in any case, the distance, 
 for a stout Scottish man, is but a morning walk, and this is the love- 
 liest December weather I can recollect of seeing. But we are at 
 the Dumfries post-office every Wednesday and Saturday, and 
 should rejoice to have the quadrupeds waiting for you either there 
 or at Tliornhill, on any specified day. To Gordon, I purpose 
 writing on Wednesday ; but any way I know he will follow you, 
 as Hesperus does the sun. 
 
 " I have not seen one BlacJcioood, or even an Edinburgh news- 
 paper since I returned hither ; so what you are doing in that un- 
 paralleled city is altogether a mystery to ine. Scarcely have tidings 
 of the Scotsman-Mercury duel reached me, and how the worthies 
 failed to shoot each other, and the one has lost his editorship, and 
 tJie other still continues to edit.* Sir William Hamilton's paper 
 on Coushi's Metaphysics I read last night ; but, like Hogg's Fife 
 warlock, ' my head whirled roun', and ane thing I couldna mind.' 
 curas hominum ! I have some thoughts of beginning to j)^'o- 
 phesy next year, if I prosper ; that seems the best style, could one 
 strike into it rightly. 
 
 "Now, tell me if you will come, or if you absolutely refuse. At 
 all events, remember me as long as you can in good- will and affec- 
 tion, as I will ever remember you. My wife sends you her kindest 
 regards, and still hopes against hope that she shall wear her Goethe 
 brooch this Christmas, a tiling only done when there is a man of 
 genius in the company. 
 
 " I must break oflf, for there is an Oxonian gigman coming to 
 visit me in an hour, and I have many things to do. I heard him 
 say the other night that in literaiy Scotland there was not one such 
 other man as ! — a thing in which, if would do him- 
 self any justice, I cordially agi-ee. Believe me always, my dear 
 sir, yours with affectionate esteem, Thomas Carlyle." 
 
 • Oncof Uie jileasant little incidents of those (urrceable times, when it wasconsiJered necesisiiry 
 th:il the editors of the ScoUttuin and the Ciiledonian Jlercuri/ should exchanse shots to vindieate 
 a fino-iu-t eiiUcism. The i.riMcipals were Mr. t'harhs Maclaren and Dr. .I.inie.s Browne. The 
 " hostile ineuUiijj" took placo at sewn o'clock in the morning, on the 12th of November, 1829.
 
 '62i MEMOIR OF JOUN WILSON. 
 
 About this; time I find another letter from Mr. Lockhart, referring 
 to tlie contest for the University of Oxford hi 1829, when Su* Robert 
 Peel was unseated : — 
 
 " LoxBox, 24 Slssex Place, Regent's Park, 
 Sunday. 
 
 " My DEAR Wilson : — I am exceedingly anxious to hear from 
 you, firstly about Landor, what you have done, or what I really 
 may expect to count on, and ^ohen ? You will see Blanco White's 
 review ere this reaches you. I think it won't do, behig full of cox- 
 combry, and barren of information, and in all the lighter parts 
 mauvais (jenre. It's, however, supported by all the Coplestons, 
 
 Malthuses, etc. ; and to satisfy , I must make an exertion, in 
 
 which, as you love me, give me your efiectual aid — for you can. I 
 know you will. 
 
 "I take it for granted you have been applied to both for Peel 
 and Inglis. What do you say on that score ? I am as well pleased 
 I don't happen to have a vote. To have one, would cost rae near 
 -£100 ; more than I care for Peel, Inglis, and the Catholic Question, 
 triajuncta in uno. Tlie Duke now counts on forty majority in the 
 Lords, but his cronies hint he begins to be sorry the opposition out 
 of doors is so xceak^ as he had calculated on forcing, through the 
 Ko Popery row, the Catholics to swallow a bill seasoned originally 
 for the gusto of the Defender of the Faith. 
 
 "How are you all at home? Ever yours, 
 
 " J. G. LOCKHAKT. 
 
 " p. S. — If you go to Oxon, come hither imprimis^ and I will go 
 with you." 
 
 The next letter is addressed to Mr. De Quincey, dated June, 
 1829, and alludes to the "sketch of the Professor," of which I have 
 made partial use iu a previous chapter : — 
 
 " Sunday Evening, June, 1 829. 
 
 "My dear De Quixcey: — I had intended calling at the Nab to- 
 morrow, to know whether or not you had left Edinburgh ; but 
 from the Literary Gazette, received this morning, I perceive you 
 are still in the Modern Athens. I wish, when you have determined 
 on coming hitherwards, that you would let me have intimatiou 
 thereof, as an excursion or two among the mountains, ere summer 
 fades, would be pleasant, if practicable.
 
 LITERAKY ANIJ DOMESTIC LIFE. 325 
 
 "Your sketch of the Professor has given us pleasure at Elleray. 
 It has occurred to me that you may possibly allude, in the p;irt 
 which is to follow, to the circumstance of my having lost a great 
 part of my original patrimony, as an antithesis to the word ' rich.' 
 Were you to do so, I know it would be with your natural delicacy, 
 and in a way flattering to my character. But the man to whom I 
 owed that favor died about a fortnight ago, , and any allu- 
 sion to it might seem to have been prompted by myself, and would 
 excite angry and painful feelings. On that account I trouble you 
 with this perhaps needless hint, that it would be better to pass it 
 over sub silentio. Otherwise, I should have liked some allusion to 
 it, as the loss, grievous to many minds, never hurt essentially the 
 peace of mine, nor embittered my hap2)iness. 
 
 "If you think the Isle of Palms and the City of the Plague 
 original poems (in design), and unborrowed and unsuggested, I 
 hope you will say so. The Plague has been often touched on and 
 alluded to, but never, that I know of, was made the subject of a poem, 
 old Withers (the City Remembrancer) excepted, and some drivel- 
 ling of Taylor the Water-Poet. Defoe's fictitious prose narrative I 
 bad never read, except an extract or two in Britton's Beauties of 
 England. If you think me a good private cliaracter, do say so ; 
 and if in my house there be one who sheds a quiet light, perh.aps a 
 beautiful niche may be given to that clear luminary. Base brutes 
 have libelled my personal character. Coming from you, the truth 
 told, without reference to their malignity, will make me and others 
 more happy than any kind expression you may use regarding my 
 genius or talents. In the Liyhts and /Shadows^ Margaret Lynd- 
 say^ The Foresters, and many articles in Blackwood (such as Selby's 
 'Ornithology'*), I have wished to speak of humble life, and the 
 *^limentriry feelings of the human soul in i^^olation, under the light 
 of a veil of poetry. Have I done so? Pathos, a sense of the 
 beautiful, and humor, I think I possess. Do I ? In the City of 
 the Plague there ought to be something of the sublime. Is theie? 
 That you think too well of me, is most probably the case. So do 
 not fear to speak whatever you think less flattering, for the opinion 
 of such a nuui, being formed in kindness and affection, will gratify 
 me far beyond the most boundless panegyric from anybody else. 1 
 feel that I am totally free from all jealousy, si^ite, envy, and un- 
 
 ♦ November. 1826.
 
 326 MKMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 charitableness. I am not so passionate in temper as you think. lu 
 comparison with yourself, I am the Prince of Peacefulness, for you 
 are a nature of dreadful pas>ions subdued by reason. I wish you 
 would praise me as a lecturer on Moral Philosophy. That would 
 do me good ; aiul say that I am thoroughly logical and argumenta- 
 tive — for it is true ; not a rhetorician, as fools aver. I think, with 
 practice and opportunities, I would have been an orator. Am I a 
 good critic ? We are all well. I have been very ill with rheuma- 
 tism. God bless you, my dear friend, and beheve me ever yours 
 affectionately, J. W." 
 
 The friendship subsisting between Mr. De Quincey and my father 
 has already been mentioned. From 1809, when he was his com- 
 panion in pedestrian rambles and the sharer of his purse, till the 
 hour of his death, that friendship remained unbroken, though some- 
 times, in his strange career, months or years would elapse without 
 my father either seeing or hearing of him. If this singular man's 
 life were written truthfully, no one would believe it, so strange 
 the tale would seem. It may well be cause of regret that, by his 
 own fatal indulgence, he had warped the original beauty of his na- 
 ture. For tine sentiment and much tender kindliness of disposition 
 gleamed through the dark mists which had gathered around him, 
 and imperfectly permitted him to feel the virtue he so eloquently 
 described. For the most part his habit of sympathy was such that 
 it elevated the dark passions of life, investing them with an awful 
 grandeur, destructive to the moral sense. Those beautiful writings 
 of his captivate the mind, and would fain invite the reader to be- 
 lieve that the man they represent is De Quincey himself. But not 
 even in the "Autobiography" is hh persofoiel to be found. He in- 
 deed knew how to analyze the human heart, through all its deep 
 windings, but in return he offered no key of access to his own. In 
 manner no man was more courteous and naturally dignified ; the 
 strange vicissitudes of his life had given him a presence of mind 
 which never deserted him, even in positions the most trying. It 
 was this quality that gave him, in combination with his remarkable 
 powers of persuasion, connnand over all minds ; the ignorant were 
 silenced by awe, and the refined faschiated as by the spell of a ser- 
 pent. The same faults in common men would have excited con- 
 tempt; the same irregularities of life in ordinary mortals would
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIKE. 327 
 
 ftave destroyed interest and affection ; but with him patience was 
 willing to be torn to tatters, and respect driven to the last verge. 
 Still Thomas De Quincey held the place his intellectual greatness 
 had at tirst taken possession of! Wilson loved him to the last, and 
 better than any man he understood him. In the expansiveness of 
 his own heart, he made allowances for faults which experience 
 taught him were the growth of circumstance. It may seem strange 
 that men so opposite in character were allied to each other by the 
 bonds of friendship ; but I think that all experience shows that 
 sympathy, not similarity, draws men to one another in that sacred 
 relation. 
 
 I remember his coming to Gloucester Place one stormy uight. 
 He remained hour after hour, in vain expectation that the waters 
 would assuage and the hurly-burly cease. There was nothing for it 
 but that our visitor should remain all night. The Professor ordered 
 a room to be prej^ared for liim, and they found each other such good 
 company that this accidental detention was prolonged, without fur- 
 ther difficulty, for the greater part of a year. During this visit 
 some of his eccentricities did not escape observation. For exam- 
 ple, he rarely appeared at the family meals, preferring to dine in his 
 own room at his own hour, not unfrequently turning niglit into day. 
 His tastes were very simple, though a little troublesome, at least to 
 llie servant who prepared his repast. Coffee, boiled rice and milk, 
 and a piece of mutton from the loin, were the materials that invari- 
 ably formed his diet. The cook, who had an audience with him 
 daily, received her instructions in silent awe, quite overpowered by 
 his manner ; for, luid he been addressing a duchess, he could scarcely 
 have spoken Aviih more deference. He would couch his request iu 
 such terms as these : — " Owing to dyspepsia afflicting my system, 
 and the possibility of any additional disarrangement of the stomach 
 taking place, consequences incalculably distressing would arise, so 
 much so indeed as to increase nervous irritation, and prevent me 
 fi'om attending to matters of overwhelming importance, if you do 
 not remember to cut the mutton in a diagonal rather than in a loii- 
 giludiiial form." The cook — a Scotchwoman — had great rever- 
 ence for Mr. De Quincey as a man of genius ; but, alter one of 
 these interviews, her patience was pretty well exhausted, and slie 
 would say, " Weel, I never heard the like o' that in a' my days : 
 til,.' bodie has an avvfu' sicht o' woi'ds. If it had been my ain mais-
 
 828 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ter that was wanting his dinner, he would ha' ordered a h:ile table- 
 fu' wi' Uttle mair than a walF o' his haun, and here's a' this claver 
 aboot a bit mutton nae bigger than a prin. Mr. De Quinshey 
 would mak' a gran' preacher, though I'm tliiuking a hantle o' the 
 folk wouldna ken what he was driving at." Betty's observations 
 were made with considerable self-satisfaction, as she considered her 
 insight of Mr. De Quincey's character by no means slight, and 
 many was the quaint remark she made, sometimes hitting upon a 
 truth that entitled her to that shrewd sort of discrimination by no 
 means uncommon in the humble ranks of Scottish life. But these 
 little meals were not the only indulgences that, when not properly 
 attended to, brought trouble to Mr. De Quincey. Regularity in 
 doses of opium was even of greater consequence. An ounce of 
 laudanum per diem prostrated animal life in the early part of the 
 day. It was no unfrequent sight to find him in his room lying upon 
 the rug in front of the fire, his head resting upon a book, with liis 
 arms crossed over his breast, plunged in profound slumber. For 
 several hours he would lie in this state, until the effects of the tor- 
 por had passed away. The time when he was most brilliant was 
 generally towards the early morning hours ; and then, more than 
 once, in order to show him oif, my father arranged his supper ])ai- 
 ties so that, sitting till three or four in the morning, he brought 3Ir, 
 De Quincey to that point at which in charm and power of conver- 
 sation he was so truly wonderful.* 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. — A CRITISE WITU 
 THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 
 
 1830-37. 
 
 In 1830, we get some glimpses of home life in Gloucester Place. 
 IVom my mother's letters to Miss Penny. She says, in reply to an 
 invitation for her sons to Penny Bridge : — " The boys are trans- 
 ported with the idea of so much enjoyment, and I hope they will 
 
 * Mr. De (iiiiii.-oy died at Eirnilimirh, Diwiiilwr 8, 1859
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC I-IFE. 329 
 
 not be disappointed indeed. I do not think Mr. Professor can ro 
 fuse them, but I have not yet had time to talk the matter over with 
 him; for at the time the letter came lie was |)articularly busy, and 
 the day before yesterday, he and Johnny left us for a week to 
 visit an old friend, Mr. Findlay, in the neighborhood of Glasgow, 
 from whose house they mean to go and peranjbulate all the old 
 haunts in and about Paisley, where Mr. W. spent his boyhood, and 
 particularly to see the old minister Dr. M'Latchie, whom I dare say 
 you have heard him mention often ; he lived in his house for seve- 
 ral years before he went to Glasgow College." My father really 
 must have been " particularly busy" at this time, and his powers of 
 working seem to me little short of miraculous ; he had two articles 
 in Blackwood in January ; four in February ; three in March ; one 
 each in April and May ; four in June ; three in July ; seven in Au- 
 gust (or 116 pages); one in September; two in October; and one 
 in November and December : being thirty articles in the year, or 
 1,200 columns. To give an idea of his versatility, I shall mention 
 the titles of his articles in the Magazine for one month, viz., Au- 
 gust:— "The Great Moray Floods ;" "The Lay of the Desert;" 
 " The Wild Garland, and Sacred Melodies ;" " Wild Fowl Siioot- 
 ing ;" " Colman's Random Records ;" " Clark on Climate ;" " Noc- 
 tes, No. 51." My motner, wmle all this literary work was going 
 on, was too good a housewife to be able to spare time for more 
 than the most notable works of the day. She, however, says jocu- 
 lai'ly to her correspondent: "I think I must give you a little litera- 
 ture, as I shine in that line prodigiously ; I have read, with intense 
 interest, as everybody nmst do, Moore's Life of Lord Byron. 
 Mr. W. had a copy sent to him, fortunately; for strange as it may 
 appear, it is not to be had in the booksellers' shoph ..ere, and I sup- 
 pose will not be till the small edition comes out." 
 
 In September and October, the Professor writes, from Penny 
 Bridge and Elleray, the following letters to his wife : — 
 
 "Penny Buu)GE, Tuesday, September, 18;;0. 
 "My dearest Jane: — We came here yesterday; and my inten- 
 tion was to take Maggy back to Elleray with me to-day, and thence 
 in a few days to Edinburgh. But I find that that arrangement 
 would not suit, and therefore have altered it. Our plans now are 
 as. follows : — We return in a body to Elleiay (that is, I and Maggy,
 
 OO'J MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and James Ferrier) this forenoon. There is a ball at Mrs. Ed- 
 luund's (the Gale !) to-nig!it, where we shall be. On Tliursday, 
 tliere is a grand public ball at Ambleside, where we shall be ; and I 
 shall keep Maggy at Elleray till Monday, when she and the boys 
 will go in a body to Penny Bridge, and I return alo?ie to Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 " Eroni your letters I see you are well : and I cannot deny Mag- 
 gy the pleasure of the two balls ; so remain on her account, which 
 I hope will please you, and that you will be happy till and after my 
 return. The session will begin soon, and I shall have enough to do 
 before it comes on. Dearest Jane, be good and cheerful ; and I 
 hope all good will attend us all during the winter. Such weather 
 never was seen as here ! Thursday last was fixed for a regatta at 
 Lowood. It was a dreadful day, and nothing occurred but a din- 
 ner-[»arty of twenty-four, where I presided. On Fri<lay, a sort of 
 small regatta took place. A repast at three o'clock was attendetl 
 by about seventy-five ladies and gentlemen, and th^s ball in the 
 evening was, I believe, liked by the young people. The ' wor^tling' 
 took place during two hours of rain and storm. The ling was a 
 tarn. Rubinson, the schoolmaster, threw Brunskil. and Ir-ine threw 
 Kobinson ; but the last fall was made up between them, and gave 
 no satisfaction. The good people here are all well and kind. 
 Maggy has stood her various excursions well, and is fat. 1 think 
 her also grown tall. She is a quarter of an inch taller than Mrs. 
 
 Barlow. Colonel B lost his wife lately by elopement, buJ^ is in 
 
 high spirits, and all his conversation is about the fiiir sex. He is a 
 pleasant man, I think, and I took a ride with him to Grasmere t'oth- 
 er day. The old fool waltzes very well, and is in love with Magiry. 
 He dined with us at Elleray on Sunday. I have not seen the Wat- 
 sons for a long time, but shall call on them to-morrow. The weather 
 and the uncertainty of my motions have stood in the way of many 
 things. I have constant toothache and rheumatism, but am tolera- 
 bly well notwithstanding. Give my love to Molly and Umbs. Tell 
 them both to be ready on my arrival, to help me in arranging my 
 books and papers in the garrets and elsewhere. My dearest Jane, 
 God bless you always. Your aftectionate husband, 
 
 "J. WlLS02f.'-' 
 
 A few davs later Ik- writes:^ 
 
 I
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFK. 331 
 
 " Ellerat, Monday Afternoon, 
 Octohtr, 18:^0. 
 "My dearest Jaite : — The ball at Ambleside went off with groat 
 ^at^ Maggy being the chief belle. The Mnjor is gone, and proved 
 empty in the long-run. We all dined at Calgarth on Saturday — a 
 pleasant party. On Sunday, a Captain Alexander (who was in 
 Persia) called on us, and we took him to the Hardens' to dinner. 
 We were all there. To-day, Maggy and Johnny made calls on 
 horseback, and we in the ' Gazelle.' We took farewell of the Wat- 
 sons. Mr. Garnet dines with us at Elleray, and the boys at Lowood 
 with the Cantabs. To-morrow they go to Penny Bridge, and J. 
 Ferrier to Oxford, and I to Kendal. So expect rae by the mail on 
 Wednesday, to dinner, at five, if I get a place at Carlisle. I found 
 the Penny Bridge people were anxious, so I let the bairns go to 
 them till after the Hunt ball ; and no doubt they will be happy. 
 Have all tny newspapers from the ' Opossum' on Tuesday before I 
 arrive. Tell Molly to get them in a heap. Have a fire in the front 
 drawing-room and dining-room, and be a good girl on my arrival. 
 Have a shirt, etc., aired for me, for I am a rheuniatician ; a fowl 
 boiled. I got your kind letter yesterday. Love to Moll and Umbs. 
 God bless you ! I am, your afFectionate husband, 
 
 " JoHNXY Wilson." 
 
 " Elleray, Monday, 1830. 
 
 '* My dearest Jane : — I had a letter this morning from Maggy, 
 dated Saturday, Bangor Ferry, all icell ; and I supjtose that she 
 would write to you some day. She told me not of her plans, but I 
 understand from Belfield, that the party are expected there on 
 Thursday. I think I shall stay till she arrives. We dined at 
 Penny Bridge on Thursday, having called at Hollow Oak, and 
 found all the family at both places well. 
 
 " Miss Penny is looking very well. We returned that night to 
 Elleray. On Friday, for the first time — no, for the second — we 
 took a sail in the ' Gazelle,' the Thomsons' boat, for an hour or two, 
 and then dined in a body at Lowood. On Saturday we rode (all 
 five) to Grasmere, walked up Easdale — fell in with a man and his 
 wife, or love-lady — Englishers apparently, named Brodie, who were 
 anxious to see Langdale. We told them to join us, and all seven 
 rode to the head of it, across by Blea-Tarn, and down little Lang- 
 dale to Ambleside.
 
 332 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " It was a delightful clay as to weather, and we enjoyed ourselves 
 considerably. 
 
 "At Ambleside, where we arrived about half-past six, we dined 
 in great strength. The Carr surgeon, the Costelloe ditto, John 
 Harden, Fletcher Fleming, another person, I think, and ourselves 
 five. I got home about twelve, all steady, Sunday, that is yester- 
 day, was one of the most complete things of the kind I remember 
 to have seen ; and I jiresume the floods in Morayshire were in high 
 health and spirits. We lay on sofas all day. To-day, Momlay, is 
 stormy and showery, and I never left the dining-room great chair. 
 Tell Mary to write to me the night she gets this, and that, I think, 
 will be to-morrow, and I shall get it on Thursday. Write you om 
 Thursday nighty and I shall get it on Saturday, on which day I 
 shall probably leave EUeray, but I will fix the day as soon as Maggy 
 comes. I shall, on my arrival, have plenty to do to get ready for 
 November 4th ; so shall not most probably go to Chiefswood at 
 all. Hartley Coleridge came here on Saturday, and is looking well 
 and steady. He sends his kindest regards to you, Mary, and Umbs. 
 Do you wish me to bring Maggy with me ? Yours, most affec- 
 tionately, J. Wilson. 
 
 " I got your kind letter duly this morning." 
 
 " Dearest Moll : — Write me a long letter, and on Wednesday 
 night, if you have not time on Tuesday. Give my love to your 
 Mamma and Umbs. Your affectionate father, J. W." 
 
 Next year he paid another visit to Westmoreland, from which he 
 ■writes to his wife : — 
 
 "Pen'xy Bridge, Sunday, 2Q,th Sept^lfiZl. 
 
 " My dear Jane : — I delayed visiting this place with Mary till I 
 could leave EUeray, without interruption, for a couple of days. T. 
 Hamilton stayed with us a fortnight, and, as he came a week later, 
 anil stayed a week longer than he intended, so has my return to 
 Edinburgh been inevitably prevented. Mary and I came here on 
 Thursday, since which hour it has never ceased raining one minute, 
 nor hus one of the family been out of doors. They are all well, in- 
 cluding Mrs. and Miss Hervey, who have been staying about a 
 nioniii. It now threatens to be fair, and I purpose setting off by 
 and by on foot to EUeray, a Avalk oi fifteen miles, which perhaj»s 
 may do me good ; but if I feel tired at Newby Brid ;e, I will take
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC T.IKE. 333 
 
 a boat or chaise. Mary I leave at Penny Bridge for another week. 
 The boys will join her here next Thursday, and remain till the 
 Monday following, when they will all return to Windermere. On 
 that Monday, Mary will go to Itayrig for two days or three, and 
 either on Thursday or Friday arrive together in Edinburgh. I and 
 Gibb will most probably be in Edinburgh on Thursday Jirst^ unless 
 I find any business to detain me at Elleray for another day, on my 
 return there to-night. If so, you will hear from me on Wednesday. 
 As Mary wrote a long letter on Tuesday last, full, I presume, of 
 news, 1 have nothing to communicate in that line. Birkbeck has 
 been at Elleray for two or three days, and Johnny says he expects 
 Stoddart, who perhaps may be there on my return to-night. We 
 all went to the Kendal ball, which the young people seemed to en- 
 joy. Twenty-six went from Bowness, forming the majority of the 
 rank and beauty. I hope you have been all quite well since I saw 
 you, as all letters seem to indicate, and that I shall find yon all well 
 on my return. A severe winter lies before me, for I must lecture 
 on Political Economy this session, as well as Moral Philosophy ; 
 .and that Magazine will also weigh heavy on me. I certainly can- 
 not work as I once could, and feel easily wearied and worn down 
 with long sitting ; but what must be must, and toil I must, what- 
 ever be the consequence. The month betbre the Session opens will 
 be of unspeakable importance to me, to relieve if possible my miser- 
 able appearance in College beginning of last Session. I wish to do 
 my duty in that place at least, and change and exposure there are 
 hard to bear, and of infinite loss to my interests. I feel great unea- 
 siness and i)ain very often from the complaint I spoke of; but how 
 else can I do what is necessary for me to do ? Whatever be the 
 consequence, and however severe the toil, I must labor this winter 
 like a galley-slave ; and since it is for us all, in that at least, I shall 
 be doing what is at once right and difficult, and in itself deserving 
 of commendation. If I fall through it, it shall only be with my life, 
 or illness beyond my strength to bear up against. I hope Maggy's 
 playing the guitar and singing frequently, and that Umbs is a good 
 boy. Kindest love to theni. I shoulil like to have a few kind lines 
 from you, written on Monday, the evening you receive this, and 
 seni to post-otfice then. I may, or rather must miss then), but if 
 any thing prevents it I shall conclude you are undoubtedly all well. 
 You need not send any newspapers after recei t of this, but please
 
 334: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to keep them together. Do not say any thing about my motions to 
 the Blackwootls, as I wish to be at home a day or two incog. I 
 >ihall get my room done up when I arrive, which will save me trou- 
 ble perhaps afterwards in looking out for papers. Mary is getting 
 Hit, and looks well, and the boys are all right. I am, my dearesi 
 Jane, yours ever affectionately, John "Wilson." 
 
 Two days later he writes : — 
 
 "My dear Jane : — I expect to be at home on Friday per mail, 
 or 'Peveril,' to dinner. I purpose riding over to Penrith with 
 Garnet on the ponies on Wednesday, and thence on, which saves 
 me Kendal, a place abhorred. The family leave Elleray that day 
 for Penny Bridge. I was so knocked up with my walk therefrom 
 as to be stiff and lame yet. My walking day is over. The shrubs 
 in the entrance are all well, but too tall, and want to be cut over. 
 The myrtle is in excellent health and beauty, though it seems less.* 
 Charlief is in high glee and condition. The avenue is beautiful, and 
 the gate pretty, the low walls being covered with ivy, and other 
 odoriferous plants and parasites. The ponies and cows are all well- 
 to-do, five of the former and two of the latter. Of the five former, 
 one is an 'unter, and two are staigs. I called to-day at the Wood, 
 and found all the Watsons well. I have frequently done so. I 
 have not been in Ambleside since Hamilton left us ; and we have 
 seen nobody for a long time, it being supposed that I am gone, 
 whereas I am just going. I wish no dinner on Friday, but a fool, 
 as F. calls it. Mary is to write to you on Friday next, so you will 
 hear of the boys a day later than by the Professor. AYeir nr.ist 
 have been a bore. I like Otter ; Starky is in treaty for Brathay fur 
 nineteen years. He is seventy-two. Rover is pretty bobbish. 
 Star is at Oldfield in high spirits, and neighs as often as we pass 
 the farm. Love to Maggy and Umbs. I expect to find you all 
 well, and if possible alone and in good humor on Friday, for I shall 
 be very tired. Stoddart brought letters. I opened Mag's and 
 yours, but not the other two, which being about eating had no 
 charms. Yours affectionately, J. Wilson." 
 
 That the Magazine did weigh heavily upon him I do no' wonder, 
 
 • The myrtle was my mothers favorite jilaut. 
 t A tiKUiicl lielonjjing to Diy mother.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 335 
 
 as be had already written twenty articles during 1831, five of which 
 were in the Au<fust number. 
 
 During this year, too, he coniinenced tliose noble critical essays 
 on " Homer and his Translators,"* which scholars have reniarked 
 "contain the most vivid and genial criticisms in our own or any 
 other language. "f I believe tieep thought and careful philosophi- 
 cal inquiry, combined with stirring vivacity, are nowhere more 
 attractively displayed than in these essays of my father. But not 
 to the learned alone do they give delight, for my humble admira- 
 tion makes me turn to them again and again. 
 
 The following letter from Mr. Sotheby, relating to these papers, 
 may come in here : — 
 
 "13 Lower Grosvevor Place, October 8, 18.'51. 
 
 " My dear Sir : — One month, two months, three months' griev- 
 ous disappointment, intolerable disappointment. Homer and his tail, 
 Chapman, Pope, and Sotheby in dim eclipse. What becomes of 
 the j)romise solemnly given to the public, that the vases of good 
 and evil, impartially ])Oured forth by your balancing hand, were ere 
 Christmas to determine our fate? I long doubted whether I 
 should trouble you with a letter, but the decided opinion of our 
 friend Lockhart decided mc. And now hear, I pray, in confidence, 
 why I am peculiarly anxious for the completion of your admirable 
 remarks. 
 
 " I propose, ere long, to publish the Odyssey, and shall gratity 
 myself by sending you, as a specimen of it, the eleventh book. It 
 will contain, inter alia, a sop for the critics, deeply soaked in the 
 blood of a fair heifer and a sable ram, and among swarms of spirits, 
 the images of the heroes of the Iliad, completing the tale of Troy 
 divine. After the publication of the Odyssey, it is my intent, by 
 the utmost diligence and labor, to correct the Iliad, and to endeavor 
 1o render it less unworthy of the praise you have been pleased to 
 confer on it. Of your praise I am justly proud ; yet for my future 
 object, I am above measure desirous of the benefit of your cen- 
 sures. The remarks (however flattering) with which I have been 
 honored by others, are less valuable to me than your censures ; of 
 this, the proof will be evident in the subsequent edition. 
 
 * The first apiiearcd in April, fulIowtMl by Numbers 2 and 8, in M:iy and .Tuly. In Ausiist, n 
 critique on the Atrnmeinnon of .Esohylus interrupted the essays, but they were resumed again ill 
 l)<eeruber, continued at intcrviils from 1S3'2 to 1S;14. making in all seven papers. 
 
 t Oiadstones Studies on lloiner mid the Ifoineric Aye.
 
 336 MEMOIR OF JOHN \\^LSON. 
 
 "You must not, you cannot leave your work incomplete. How 
 resist the night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses ? — Hector 
 bursting tlie rampart — Juno and the Ccstus — Hector rushing ou, 
 like the stalled liorse snapping the cord — Tlie death of iSarpedon — 
 The consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of tlie 
 armed Achilles — The Vulcanian armor — Achilles mourning over 
 Patroclus — The conclusion of the twentieth book — The lamenta- 
 tions of Priam, and Hecuba, and, above all, of Andromache — Priam 
 at the feet of Achilles — Andromache's lamentation, and Helen's 
 (oh, that lovely Helen !) over the corse of Hector — can these and 
 innumerable other passages be resisted by the poet of the ' City of 
 the Plague V No, no, no. 
 
 " In sooth, I must say, I had lK)])e tliat at Christmas I might hnve 
 collected, and printed for private distribution, or, far rather, pub- 
 lished, for public delight and benefit, with your express permission, 
 the several critiques in one body, and then presented to the world 
 a work of criticism unparalleled. 
 
 " I dine this day at Lockhart's, with my old and dear friend, Sir 
 Walter. His health has improved since his arrival. Perhaps your 
 cheeks may burn. I beg the flivor of hearing from you. I remain, 
 my dear sir, most sincerely yours, Wm. Sotukbv."* 
 
 Miss Watson, the writer of the following letter, wasahuly whose 
 name can scarcely be permitted to pass without some n»)ti(e. Slie 
 was eldest daughter of the Bishop of Llaiulaff, and a woman of high 
 mental attainments. When my i'ather resided as a young man iu 
 Westmoreland, she was then in the flower of her age, and in con- 
 stant communion with the bright spirits who at that time made the 
 Lake country so celebrated. JMr. De Quincey, in writing of Cliarles 
 Lloyd, and mentioning Miss Watson as his frii-nd, says she " was an 
 accomplislu'd student in that very department of literature which 
 he most cultivated, namely, all that class of works which deal in the 
 analysis of human passions. That they corresponded in French, 
 that the letters on l)oth sides Avere full of spirit and originality." 
 Miss Watson's life, with all the advantages which arise from a 
 highly endowed nature, was but a sad one, for her temperament was 
 liabitually melancholy, and her liealth delicate. She has long siiu-e 
 found repose. The speech which she alludes to in her letter, was 
 
 • Williiim Si'Uieby, born November 9, 1757; died December 80, 1883.
 
 I.ITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 337 
 
 one made by Professor "Wilson at a public meeting which had been 
 projected by a number of individuals, to give vent to their senti- 
 menls upon the eflect of the reform measures in the contemplation 
 of Government : 
 
 *^ December 3, 1831. 
 
 " My dear Professor : — I suppose it is to yourself I owe the 
 Edinburii^h papers containing your own eloquent and elegant speech. 
 Many thanks ; I admire it much. If you were not born a prince 
 you deserve to be one. Mr. ]5olton was here when I was reading 
 it, and he said, ' I do assure you, Miss Watson, that Mr. Canning 
 never made a finer speech, and I shall driiik the Professor's health in 
 a bumper to-day.' I really am not capable of understanding what 
 Englishmen mean by all this nonsense. We are like the Bourbons, 
 of whom it may be said, 'that they had learnt nothing by the 
 Fi'ench Revolution.' Is it possible that the system of equality (at 
 wlii(.h a chijd of five years old might laugh) can still delude the 
 minds of men now? I liave no news worth sending; all is quiet 
 The cholera frightens no one. We laugh at it as a good joke. Goc^ 
 help our merry hearts ! there is something ludicrous in it, I suppose, 
 which I can't find out. Blackwood sent me Robert of Paris^ etc., 
 which I am very much pleased to have. I have not begun it yet; 
 indeed, I am not well, nor would have sent you so dull a letter, but 
 that I could not delay saying how much I was gratified by the papers. 
 Ever believe me yours aftectionntely, D. Watsox. 
 
 " Kind remembrances to Mrs. Wilson and Margaret. It is bitter, 
 bitter cold in this pretty house. As for you and the Shepherd (to 
 w'liom I would send my thanks for the most gratifying letter I ever 
 leceived, but that it is rather too late in the day), I advise you both 
 to shut yourselves up in Ambrose's for a month to come, and keep 
 clear of all the nonsense that will be going on in the shape of Re- 
 form ; and every night put down your conversation, and let me sec 
 it in Blackioood. You shall be two philosophers enchanted like 
 Durandarte, and not to be disenchanted till all is over. Truly I do 
 think you eat too many oysters! How much I do like those 
 ' Xoctes.' Write one, and let it be a good one. Wordsworth says 
 'that the booksellers are all aghast! and that another dark age i:J 
 coming on.' I think he is not far wrong. He is a wonderful crea- 
 lure when he will deign to be what nature made him, not artifici-il 
 societv. He read one of his poems to me. The subject Avas some
 
 338 Mi:Mt)IU OF JOHN ^\■II.^50X 
 
 gold-fish, but tlic latter stanzas were magnificent ! Oh, what a pity 
 it is to see so noble a creature condescending to be the ass of La 
 Fontaine's Fable! Adieu! I have written beyond my power of 
 hand. I would rather far listen to you than write to you. I can- 
 not noAV make up a letter, but my heart is still the same. It was 
 the only talent I ever possessed in this world. It must be hid under 
 a bushel. How is Mrs. Hamilton ? I am ashamed to send such a 
 scrawl, but indeed I am very poorly, as the old nurses say." 
 
 Tlie following passages from the Professor's oration, which, on 
 referring to the papers, I see was the speech of the day, are worth 
 reproducing. He said, among other good things, that " Often have 
 I heard it said, and have my eyes loathed to see it written, that we 
 of tlie great Conservative party are enemies of education, and have 
 no love for what are called the lower orders — orders who, when 
 their duties are nobly performed, are, in my humble estimation, as 
 high as that in which any human being can stand. I repel the 
 calumny. I myself belong to no high family. I had no patronage 
 beyond what my own honorable character gave me. I have slept 
 in the cottages of hundreds of the poor. I have sat by the cotter's 
 ingle on the Saturday night, and seen the gray-haired patriarch with 
 pleasure unfold the sacred page — the solace of his humble but hon- 
 orable life. I have even faintly tried to shadow forth the lights and 
 shades of their character ; and it is said I belong to that class who 
 hate and despise the people. . . . Must I allow my understand- 
 ing to be stormed by such arguments as that the chief business of 
 poor men is to attend to politics, or their best happiness to be found 
 in elections ? I know far better that he has duties imposed on him 
 by nature, and, if his heart is right and his head clear, while he is not 
 indiflercnt to such subjects, there are a hundred other duties he must 
 perform far more important; he may be reading one book, which 
 tells iiini in what happiness consists, but to M'hich I have seen but 
 few allusions made by the reformers in modern times. In reading 
 those weathei'-stained pages, on which, perhaps, the sun of heaven 
 had looked blight while they had been unfolded of old on the hill- 
 si<le by his forefathers of the Covenant ; when, environed with peril 
 and death, he is taught at once religion towards his Maker, and not 
 to forget the love and duty he owes to mankind ; to prefer deeper 
 interests, because everlastint;, to those little turbulences which now
 
 LITERARY AND DOMKSTIC I.IFK. 339 
 
 agitate the surface of society, but whicli, I hope, will soon subside 
 into a calm, and leave the country peaceful as before."* 
 
 1 fear, however, hi.s political opponents, in that time of madness, 
 did not look upon his Avords witli the same loving eyes as his ami- 
 able corresi)ondent, as I see in a letter of my father's at this time a 
 reference to a rhyming criticism of the Conservative proceedings any 
 thing but flattering, from which I give two lines as a specimen : — 
 
 " The Professor got up and spoke of sobriety, 
 Religion, the Bible, and moral propriety." 
 
 " I nc^ed not point out to your disgust," parenthetically observes the 
 Professor to a friend, " the insinuations conveyed in that wretched 
 doggerel, nor express my own that they could have been published 
 by a man who has frequently had the honor of sitting at my table, 
 and of witnessing my character in the domestic circle." 
 
 In this excited period I tind ladies writing strongly on political 
 matters. For example, even the gentle spirit of my mother is 
 roused. She says to my aunt : — " I hope you are as much disgusted 
 and grieved as we all are with the passing of this accursed Reform 
 Bill. I never look mto a newspaper now; but we shall see what 
 they will make of it by and by." 
 
 Among my father's contributions to the Magazine this year, there 
 appeared in the May number an article which attracted considerable 
 attention. It was a review of Mr. Tennyson's Poems, f the first 
 edition of which had appeared two years previously. The critique 
 was severe, yet kindly and discriminating. The writer remarking 
 good-humoredly at its close, " In correcting it for the press, we pee 
 that its whole merit, Avhich is great, consists in the extracts, which 
 are 'beautiful exceedingly.' Perhaps in the first part of our article 
 we may have exaggerated Mr. Tennyson's not unfrequent silliness, 
 for we are apt to be carried away by the whim of the moment, and, 
 in our humorous moods, many things wear a queer look to our aged 
 <>yes which fill young |)upils with tears ; but we feel assured that in 
 the second part we have not exaggerated his strength, and that we 
 have done no more than justice to his fine faculties." It says much 
 for the critic's discriminating power that he truly foretold of the 
 fiture Laureate, that the day would come when, bjueath sun and 
 
 • Edinburgh Advertiser, Nov. 29, 1S31. 
 
 i Poema,(Jiie/lij Lt/fical. By Alfied Ti'iinyson. London : E. Wilson. 1880.
 
 340 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 shower, his genius would grow up and expand into a stately tree, 
 embowering a solemn shade within its wide circumference, and that 
 millions would confirm his judgment "that Alfred Tennyson is a 
 poet." The young poet, although evidently nettled,* received the 
 criticism in good part, and profited by it. On reading the paper 
 once more, I observe that, with scarcely a single exception, the 
 verses condemned by the critic were omitted or altered in after 
 editions.f 
 
 In June, 1832, my mother writes : — "Mr. Wilson has long and 
 earnestly wished to have a cruise with the experimental squadron, 
 which I believe will sail by the end of this month ; but unfortunately 
 he Avas late in applying to Sir P. Malcolm." 
 
 In July he left home for the purpose of joining the squadron, and 
 the result of his naval experience will be found in the following 
 communications sent from time to time to Mrs. Wilson : 
 
 " Union Hotel, Charing Cross, 
 Wednesday, July 11, 1832. 
 " My dearest Jane : — I have received your favor of last Satur- 
 day, and rejoice to find that you are all well, and in as good spirits 
 as can be expected during my absence. Had I known what bustle 
 and V)otheration I should be exposed to, I hardly think I should 
 have left Edinburgh. Every day gives a diflTerent account of the 
 movement of the squadron. The ' Vernon,' who is at Woolwich, 
 wa-s to have dropt down to-day to Sheerness, but it is put off till 
 Friday, and even that is uncertain. She has then to get all her 
 guns and powder on board, and her sails set, and other things, which 
 will take some days, I guess ; and this morning it is said the squad- 
 
 • In the edition of his poems, published in 1833, the following somewhat puerile lines appeared, 
 which I quote as a literary curiosity : — 
 
 " TO CIIKI8T0PIIEK NORTH. 
 
 " You did late review my lays. 
 Crusty Christopher ; 
 You did mingle blame with praise, 
 
 Kusty Christopher: 
 Wlien I learned from whom It came, 
 I forgave you all the blame, 
 
 Musty Christopher; 
 I could not forgive the praise, 
 Fusty Christopher." 
 t " The National Song ;" " English War Song ;" ** We aro Free ;" " Love, Pride, and Forgetful- 
 hess ;" Sonnet, " Shall the h.ag Evil," &c. ; " The ' How' and the ' Why ;' " " The Kruken," Ac. Ac, 
 tie all consigned to oliliviou, or to our acquisitive brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, whl 
 may have preserved these yoiithf;il etlusions iu the American editions. 
 
 I
 
 CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL 6QUADRJN. 341 
 
 ron are to meet at Plymouth. All this keeps me in a quandary, 
 and I have not been able to see Sir F. Collier, the captain of the 
 'Vernon,' but possibly shall to-morrow. Since I wrote I have been 
 again at Woolwich, and seen the officers of the 'Vernon.' They 
 were at first rather alarmed at the idea of a professor, and wonder- 
 ed what the deuce he wanted on board. I understand that they 
 are now in better humor ; but the truth is, that pride is the leading 
 article in the character of all sailors on their own ship ; and I am 
 told these dons are determined to take nobody else but myself. 
 Captain Hope (not the President's son) and Andrew Hay were with 
 me at Woolwich, and there we picked up Captain Gray* of the 
 Marines (you will remember his singing), who dined with us at 
 Greenwich. I see Blair every day, and pass my time chiefly with 
 offishers^i\\Q United Service Club being close at hand. The literary 
 people here seem cockneys. I called yesterday on Miss Landon, 
 who is really a pleasant girl, and seemed much flattered by the old 
 fellow's visit. To-d;iy Blair and I, along with Edward Moxon, 
 (bookseller), take coach for Enfield (at three o'clock), to visit Charles 
 Lamb. We return at night, if there are coaches. On Thursday, I 
 intend going to the Thomsons' down the river, and shall call again 
 on my way on the ' Vernon,' to see what is doing. Meanwhile, you 
 will get this letter on Fridny^ and be sure it is answered that even- 
 ing^ and sent to the General Post-Office. I shall thus hear from 
 you on Monday, and shall then (if not olf) have to tell you all our 
 future intentions. Meanwhile it is reported that the cholera is on 
 hoard the ' Vernon.'' If so, I shall not go, but proceed to the Tyne. 
 But say nothing of this to anybody. Yesterday I visited Kensing- 
 ton Gardens with Captain Hope, but saw nobody like Maggy, Ma- 
 ry, Umbs, and yourself. I met there Lord Haddington, and am to 
 dine with him, if I can, before sailing ; but I hope we shall be at 
 rendezvous by Monday night. Tell Maggy to give me all news, 
 and if you havfi heard again from Johnny. I will send you in my 
 next my direction when we set sail ; and I am not without hoi)es 
 the squadron may land me in Scotland. Some say there will be 
 fighting, and that the ' Vernon' will lead the van, ])eing, though a 
 frigate, as powerful as a line-of-battle ship. I will write to Ebony 
 about money for the house aftei- I hear from Maggy, and hope vou 
 will go on pretty well till 1 return. Tell Maggy to be civil to Bob, 
 
 » Cliail. s 0.:iy si-- ].. 102.
 
 342 MEMOIR OF JOHN WII.SOX, 
 
 and he will be my banker for small sums. I will also semi a receipt. 
 which you will get on the Qth of August^ for £3u odd ; but I wiil 
 explain how in my next. 
 
 ''Take good care of all yourselves, and be good boys and girls, 
 liow to Mag, Moll, and Uinbs. As for Blair, he cuts me so up 
 that I fear to send him even my compliments. I am glad to hejir 
 of Moll's voice being high. Keep Mag to the guitar and new songa 
 Yours ever aftectionately, John "Wilsox." 
 
 The next is to his daughter 3Iary: — 
 
 " Uxiox Hotel, Charixg Cross, 
 July 16, 1832. 
 
 " Mt dear Mart : — I have received your kind epistle, and am 
 rather pleased to find you all well. I write these tew lines in a 
 great hurry, to tell you to wraj) up in a parcel, two silver soup- 
 spoons, tico tea-spootis, and tuco silver forks, and direct them to me 
 at Union Hotel, Charing Cross, per mail, without delay. See them 
 booked at the Office. Young ladies take such things to school, and 
 young gentlemen, it seems, to sea. See that the direction is dis- 
 tinct. Write to me by the same post, or if any thing prevent, by 
 the one following ; but direct my letter, care of Captain Tatnal, 
 No. 5 Park Terrace, Greenwich. I have just time to say God bless 
 you all, but in a few days will write a long letter tellmg you of our 
 intended motions, as we hope to be ofl" by the 26th. Don't believe 
 any thing about the ' Vernon' in any newspaper. Be good girls 
 and boys till my return, and do not all forget your old Dad. Love 
 to mamma, and tell me if you have heard farther from Johnny 
 Thy affectionate father, J. Wilson." 
 
 TO MRS. "WTLSON. 
 
 "Xo. 2 Paek Terrace, Greexwich, 
 Friday. 
 "Ma bojtn'e Citoyenne: — I am now fairly established here in 
 lodgings, that is, in a room looking into Greenwich Park, with 
 liberty to take my meals in a parlor belonging to the f;miily. The 
 master thereof is a Frenchman, and a Professor of Languages, and 
 tne house swarms with frogs, that is, children. I pay fourteen 
 shillings a week for lodging, which is a salutary change from the 
 not el. T "lino with T.itnal or Williams, or at a sliilUng ordinary^
 
 CKUISE WITH THE EXl'EKIMENTAL SQUADPwON. 343 
 
 and hope to be able to pay my bill to Monsieur Gallois when I take 
 my departure. I walk to "Woolwich daily (three miles), and board 
 the 'Vernon,' who now assumes a seaward seeming. Her jjun- 
 rarriages are on board, but not the guns themselves, which are to 
 be taken in at Sheerness. I have seen Sir F. Collier, who behaves 
 civilly, but he cannot comprehend what I want on board the ' Ver- 
 non,' neither can I. Her destination is still unknown, but she is to 
 have marines and artillerymen on board, which smells of fighting. 
 But with whom are we to figlit ? My own opinion is, that we are 
 going to cruise oflf Ireland, and to land troops at Cork. Williams 
 thinks we are going to Madeira, to look after an American frigate, 
 and Tatnal talks of the Greek Islands. Meanwhile, Sir P. Malcolm, 
 I hear, is enraged at being kept tossing about in the ' Donegal,' 
 without knowing why or wherefore ; and nobody knows where the 
 ' Orestes' has gone. The ' Tyne' sails to-morrow for Plymouth. 
 The 'Vernon,' it is thought, cannot be off before the 27th, so that 
 there will be time to write me again before I go to sea. You will 
 get tliis on Mon<lay morning, and I hope some of you Avill answer 
 it that night. Direct it to me at Captain Tatnal's, No. 5 Park 
 Terrace, Greenwich, in case I should be off. If our destination be 
 merely Ireland, there is every probability of our touching at some 
 Scotch port. I have been several times at Sir Henry Blackwood's, 
 in Regent Park ; pleasant family, and fashionable. I forgot if I 
 mentioned that I went to the Opera, singing and dancing, and tout- 
 ensemble beautiful. A Miss Doyle (a Paddy about thirty-five), at 
 Sir H. B.'s, plays the harp ten times better than Taylor. She is 
 held to be the finest harpist we have. Miss Blackwood is very 
 pretty, and clever. I go up to town to-day to dine with Mrs. 
 Burke, and to-morrow a party of us eat white bait at the ' Crown 
 and Sceptre' here. Besides the ' Vernon,' there are lying at Wool- 
 wich two new gun-brigs, also built by Symonds, called the ' Snake' 
 and the ' Serpent.' They go with us to compete with the ' Orestes.' 
 The squadron, therefore, at first, will consist of the 'Donegal,' SJ, 
 the ' Vernon,' 50, the ' Castor,' 44, the ' Tyne,' 28, the ' Orestes,' 
 'Serpent,' and 'Snake,' 18; and we expect to be joined by the 
 'Britannia' and 'Caledonia,' 120; but that is uncertain. The 
 hatred felt for the ' Vernon' is wide and deep, and all the old fogies 
 predict she will ca])size in a squall. Tiiis is all owing to her incom- 
 parable beauty. Yuu have just to imagine the 'Endeavor' raagni
 
 344 MKMOIU OF JOHN ■SVILSON. 
 
 fied, and you see lier hull, only she is sharper. She is very -wile 
 ill proportiou to her length, and also deep ; so the devil himself 
 will not be able to ujiset or sink her. She has the masts and spars 
 of a 74, and yet they seem light as lady-fern. I am sorry, however, 
 to say, that there have been twelve cases of cholera on board, and 
 three deaths. The disease, however, is now over, and I have no 
 dt)ubt arose from the dreadful heat of the Aveather acting on the 
 new paint. She is now dry as a whistle, and the crew is the finest 
 ever seen. I hope you will get up a long letter among you in reply 
 to this, and I shall be expecting it anxiously, as the last I can re- 
 ceive for some time. I will write again before one o'clock, sending 
 you my direction, and also a receipt, which will enable you to get 
 some money, I think, on the 6th of August. Be sure to tell me of 
 Johnny, and when he returns I hope he will write me an account 
 of his route and his exploits. Blair, too, might write me a letter, I 
 think. Kindest love to them all. Keep M.aggie at her music, and 
 tell me how Molly is getting on with Miss Paton. Perhaps Umbs 
 has a voice ! Tell her to try. Compliments to Rover.* God bless 
 you all, and believe me, dearest Jane, yours ever most affectionately, 
 
 " JouN Wilson." 
 
 " SUEERNESS, August 4, 1832. 
 
 " My dearest Jane : — I have delayed writing to you from day 
 to day, in hourly expectation of being able to tell you something 
 decisive of our mysterious motions, but am still in ignorance. In a 
 few days you may expect another and very long epistle ; but I 
 write now just to say that Ave are Aveighing anchor from Slieerness 
 for the Nore, and that to-morrow we set sail doAvn the Channel, 
 either for Cork or Madeira, or somcAvhere else, for nobody knows 
 Avhere. I never kncAv what noise Avas, till I got on board the 'Ver- 
 non.' But all goes on Avell ; the particulars in my next. I enclose 
 you a five-pound note just to pay the postage. I cannot get on 
 shore, else I would send a stamp for some money due to me on the 
 6ih. ]?ut I Avill send it first port Ave touch on. MeauAvhile Maggy 
 must, when necessary, get a small supply from Bob. 
 
 " You Avill not think this short letter unkind, for we are ordered 
 off in li;ilf an hour. You may depend on my next being rathei 
 amusing. 
 
 * One of llii- Jojfs.
 
 CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQCADROX. 345 
 
 " I shall be most anxious to hear from you, and of you all, imme- 
 diately. You are all at leisure, and must get up a long joint letter, 
 telling me of every thing. Get a long sheet from Ebony, and cioss 
 it all over. Enclose it (directed to me in IT. M. S. 'Vernon') to Mr. 
 Barrow, Admiralty, and he will transmit it duly. Do not lose time. 
 God bless you all, one and all, and believe me, my dearest Jane, ever 
 yours affectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 " , 1832. 
 
 " My dearest Jane : — I wrote to you a few days ago from 
 Sheerness, and now seize another hour to inform of our motions 
 since I wrote from London. I found my lodgings at Greenwich 
 very comfortable, but experienced almost as many interruptions 
 there as in town. I dined with Charles Barney one day, and found 
 the family the kindest of the kind, and pleasant. I forget if I told 
 you that the Literary Union gave me a dinner, with T. Campbell in 
 the chair. At last, after many a weary delay, the ' Vernon' left 
 Woolwich on Sunday, 20th July., in tow of two steaml)oats, which 
 took her to the Nore. On Monday, 30th, she was taken into dock 
 at Sheerness, and then, after some repairs in her copper, anchored 
 within cable-length of the 'Ocean,' of 100 guns. Some of us 
 amused ourselves with walking about the jdace ; but it is somewhat 
 dullish, though the docks, etc., are splendid. On Tuesday., 2>\s^ we 
 took our guns on board, lifty 32-pounders, the method of doing 
 which was interesting to me, who had never seen it before ; and 
 then lunched with the officers of the ' Ocean,' and inspected that 
 magnificent ship ' The Flag Ship' — Admiral Sir J. Beresford. I 
 dined with the Admiral in his house on shore, and met a i)leasant 
 party of males and females. We had music and dancing, and the 
 fimily proved agreeable and amiable. At midnight we reached the 
 'Vernon,' all tolerably steady, that is to say, Mr. Massey, the first 
 (lieutenant, the cai>tain, and myself. 
 
 " On Wednesday, \st of August, I breakfasted with the officers 
 of the ' Ocean,' and Lieutenant Carey (brother of Lord Falkland) 
 took me in his cutter to Chatham, during which sail we saw about 
 a hundred ships of war, of the line and fiigates, all moored like 
 models along both shores. The chaplain (Falls) and I then in- 
 spected Chatham and Rochester, and walked to Maidstone, where 
 were the assizes; so we procceled to a village wayside iim, where
 
 34:6 MEMOIU OF JOHN WILSON, 
 
 we slept comfortably. This walk gave us a view of the Vale ol 
 Alesfoid aiul tlie richest parts of Kent. 
 
 " On T/ia)'sd<(>/, 2(1, Ave retcirned to the 'Vernon,' through a woody 
 and hedgy country, and the hottest of days, and in tlie afternoon 
 saw the powder taken aboard. The officers of the 96th gave me a 
 dinner at the barracks, and a jovial night we had of it. On rowing 
 back to the ship, one of our lieutenants fell overboard, but we 
 picked him up without loss of time, and had him resuscitated. On 
 l\ida}/, 3d, I called on the Admiral, and chatted with his three 
 daughters, about the corresponding ages of your three — pretty, and 
 well brought up, elegant, and without hauteur. They have no 
 mother, but an aunt lives with the Admiral, who is a kind-hearted 
 soul as ever lived. I also called on Captain Chambers, captain of 
 the ' Ocaan,' who lives on shore, and chatted with his daughters, 
 three in number, and agreeable — eldest pretty and rather literary 
 — good people all. I also called on Mr. Warden, surgeon, who used 
 to live in Ann Street. I found him and his wife and family snugly 
 situated in a good house, and civil to a degree. I dined on board 
 the ' Ocean :' officers of that ship delightful fellows, and over- 
 whelmed me with kindness. 
 
 '■'■Saturday^ the Ath. — The ' Snake' gun-brig from Woolwich ap 
 peared in the offing going down the river, and the ' Ocean' saluted 
 her with twelve guns. At midday the ' Vernon' manned her yards, 
 a beautiful sight, while we received the Admiral. I lunched on 
 board the ' Ocean,' and dined in the ' Vernon,' having inspected 
 all the docks and the model-room, and seen Sheerness completely. 
 In the evening we were towed out to the Nore. On Sunday^ thi, 
 5th, we weighed anchor by daylight, and the ' Vernon' for the first 
 time e.\])anded her wings in tiight. She was accompanied by the 
 Duke of Portland's celebrated yacht the 'Clown,' whom she beat 
 going before the wind, but we had no other kind of trial till we 
 cast anchor off the Sark in the ' Swin' off Norwich. Jfotiday, the 
 6th. — Weighed anchor at daylight with a fine breeze, and went into 
 the Downs. Off Ramsgate, were joined by the ' Snake' and ' Pan- 
 taloon' gun-brigs, the latter the best sailer of her size ever known. 
 It came on to blow fresh, and for several hours we tried it on upon 
 a wind, having been joined by a number of cutters. The ' Vernon' 
 rather beat the rest, but in my opinion not very far, the 'Pantaloon' 
 Bticking to her like wax. But our sails are not yet stretched, and
 
 cRursK WITH Tin: kxperimental squadron. 347 
 
 the opinion on board is, that f-he will, in another -week or so, beat 
 all opponents. The day was line, and the sight beautiful, as we 
 cruised along the white clilFs of Dover, and then well over towards 
 the French coast. At sunset we returned before the wind to the 
 Downs, and the squadron ('Vernon,' 'Snake,' 'Pantaloon,' and 
 ' Clown') cast anchor off Deal, surrounded by a great number of 
 vessels. 
 
 " Tuesday^ the 1th. — The squadron left their anchorage before 
 Deal about twelve o'clock, with a strong breeze; the 'Clown' and 
 'Pantaloon' being to windward of the 'Vernon,' and the 'Snake* 
 rather to leeward. Tliis position was retained for nearly two hours, 
 when the ' Snake' dropped considerably astern, and the ' Vernon' 
 weathered the 'Pantaloon,' the 'Clown' still keeping to windward 
 and crossing our bows. At this juncture it blew hard, and I went 
 down with Collier and Synionds to dinner in their cabin. The ' Ver- 
 non' was now left in charge of the lirst lieutenant, and in tacking 
 missed stays. The ' Snake' and ' Pantaloon' immediately went to 
 windward, and we were last of all. It still blew very fresh, and in 
 about two hours we again headed the squadron, all but the ' Clown,' 
 who continued first all along. Towards sunset the wind came off" 
 the land, where the ' Snake' and ' Pantaloon' were, and brought 
 them to windward of us about two miles, and so ended the day's 
 trial, with alternate success. The 'Snake' and 'Pantaloon' then 
 came down by signal under the 'Vernon's' stern, and we continued 
 all night in company under easy sail, the wind having slackened, 
 and the moon being clear and bright. 
 
 " Wednesday, 8th. — At seven o'clock found ourselves off Beachy 
 Head, with the 'Clown' a long way to leeward, th.e ' Snake' to wind- 
 ward, and the * Pantaloon' in our wake. '^Phe wind had shifted 
 during the night, and we had the advantage of it. But towards 
 morning it had fallen, and we made but two knots an hour. The 
 calm continued during the day, and we made but little way. Early 
 in the afternoon a miserable accident occurred. The crew were up 
 aloft lowering the main topgallant yard. It is a sj)ar about seventy 
 feet long, and about sixty feet above the deck. As it was coming 
 down, a man slid along it to release a rope from a block, when, by 
 some mistake, the men above cut the rope he was hoKling by, and 
 in sight of us all he descended with great velocity, clinging to th« 
 spar till he came to the end of it, and then with outstretched arm.s
 
 348 MKMOIlt OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 fell about forty feet upon tlie deck, within three yards of wliere I 
 was standing. The crash was dreadful, and he was instantly larried 
 below, alfairs going on just as if he had been a spider. It was found 
 that his light arm was shattered to pieces, and his whole frame shook 
 fatally. He continued composed and sensible for three hours, when 
 he began to moan wofuUy, and in half an hour expired. lie was a 
 Scotsman of the name of Murray, one of the best men in the ship, 
 and brother, it is said, of a clergyman. No doubt many felt for 
 huu, but the noise, laughter, swearing, and singing, went on during 
 all the lime he was dying. 
 
 '■'T/tu/-^dai/,9th. — The ship has been making considerable way 
 during the night, and at eight o'clock we are oif the Isle of Wight ; 
 ' Snake' and ' Pantaloon' about two miles behind, all three going 
 before the wind. The dead man is lying on the gun-deck, separated 
 from wheie I now sit by a thin partition. The body is wrapped in 
 flags, and the walls at his head and back are hung with cutlasses and 
 the muskets of the marines. His weatherbeaten face is calm and 
 smiling, and ' after life's titful fever he sleeps well.' The night be- 
 fore, he was one of the most active in a jig danced to the fifes. The 
 wind is freshening, and we expect to be ofi" Plymouth (120 miles) by 
 midnight. We have sprang one of our yards, and the fore-mast 
 seems shaken, so we shall put into Plymouth to refit, and probably 
 remain there three days. It is not unlikely that the Admiral (Mai 
 colm) may join us there. If not, we shall Bail for Cork (distant 30C 
 miles), and then, perhaps, the experimental squadron will begin its 
 career. We have no more fear of fighting, neither do we know 
 where we may be going, but my own opinion is that we shall cruise 
 in the Channel. I do not see that I can be at home sooner than a 
 month at the soonest, as all that I came to see remains yet to be 
 seen. I am not without hopes of getting a letter from you before 
 we leave Plymouth. I meet with all kindness from everybody, and 
 am pleased with the on-goings of a sea-life, though the bustle and 
 disturbance is greater than I had imagined, and the noise incessant 
 imd beyond all description. But my appetite is good, and I am 
 never heaid to utter a complaint. All day wind light, but towards 
 evening it freshened, and at seven we committed the body of the 
 poor sailor to the deep. The funeral ceremony was most impressive. 
 Before nightfall the ' Snake' came up with a fresh breeze, and we 
 had another contest, in which the ' Vernon' w\as fairly beaten. In
 
 CRUISE WITH TIIK EXPERIMENTAL S^iL AUKOX. 341) 
 
 smooth water and moderate winds the ' Snake' is at present her 
 master, much to my surprise ; when it blows hard we are superior. 
 Friday, 10th. — This morning at four we entered Plymouth. The 
 country around is very beautiful, and young Captain Blackwood and 
 I are proposing to go on shore. How long we remain here seems 
 uncertain. I hopt it may not be above a day or two. 
 
 *' Captain Blackwood and self have been perambulating Plymoutli, 
 and intend to dine at the hotel thereof. 
 
 " 1 have written a tolerably long letter. God bless you all, and 
 true it is that I think of you every hour, and hope you now and then 
 think of me too. Kindest love to all the progeny, John, Mag, Moll, 
 Blair, and Umbs, and believe me yours most affectionately, 
 
 " J. Wilson. 
 
 " Write to me again on receipt of this, and enclose as before to 
 Mr. Barrow of the Admiralty. The enclosed signature of my 
 name, Johnny will give to Robert Blackwood, who will get my half- 
 year's salary from the City Chamberlain, which you will get from 
 the said Bob. Send £10 to EUeray, and account to me for the rest 
 of the enormous sum.* I enclosed £5 in my last from Sheerness. 
 Once more love to yourself and to children, and farewell. I will 
 write from Cork. Yours, J. W." 
 
 " Plymouth, August 23d. 
 "My DEAiiKST Jaxe : — I have, as you know, received your first 
 long united epistle, and answered it in a hurried letter, telling you 
 to write to me direct to Plymouth. Before that I wrote a long 
 journal letter enclosing my signature for a receipt, wliic-.h no doubt 
 you have received. To wait for the post of that era (the day after 
 my long letter, August 10), I went up the Tamar with Captain 
 Blackwood, and after an excursion of three days returned to Ply- 
 mouth. On Tuesday the 14th I dined on board the 'Malta,' Cap- 
 tain Clavell, with a large party, and that evening went aboard the 
 * Canipeadora' schooner, a pleasure-yacht belonging to Mr. Wil- 
 liamson, from Liverpool (nephew to old Shaw thereof, who, I un- 
 derstand, was a rich and well-bred personage), and sailed w^ith liim 
 to Portsmouth, distant from Plymouth 150 miles. I passed two 
 days at Portsmouth viewing all the great works there; and return- 
 ed to Plymouth on Saturday, the ITlh, by a steamer; a most stormy 
 
 ♦ The Professor's " salary" was luli 4s. 4J. per aiiuum.
 
 350 MEMOIU OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 passage. Saturday and Sunday I dined on board tlie ' Ternon ;' 
 and on the Sunday I wrote to you the hurried letter above aUuded 
 to. On Monday, the 19th, I dined with Mr. Roberts, the master 
 Bhip-buiUh-r of the docks, and mot some naval and military officers. 
 Tuesday the 20th -was an a'-day's rain, and I kept all day in a lodg- 
 ing-room with Captain Williams, R. X., and his brother, the purser 
 of the 'Vernon.' Wednesday the 21st was a fine day, but I went 
 nowhere, except on board a few ships ; and it being electioneering 
 time here, I heard some s])eeches from Sir Edward Codrington and 
 others. I dined with a party of offishers at the hotel. To-day 
 (Thursday the 2 2d) I saw Sir F. Collier, w'ho informed me that the 
 squadron of Sir P. Malcolm, consisting of seven sail, were in the 
 offing, and that the ' Vernon' is to join them to-morrow at 12 a.m. 
 W^e are consequently all in a bustle ; and my next letter will be 
 from the first port we put into. This is the night of the said Thurs- 
 day ; I am on shore writing this. I hope that a letter from you will 
 reach us to-morrow before we sail, though I fear not, because Mr. 
 Barrow is at Portsmouth, and that may have delayed your letter. 
 The letter which you were to write direct according to former in- 
 structions, to Plymouth, will be sent after us ere long. On receiv- 
 ing this please to write to me, directed to me under cover to Mr. 
 Marrow, Adtniralti/, and it will be forwarded with the Admiral's 
 letters. 7'Ae cruise begins to-morrow^ and two months have been 
 spent, as you will see, in another way. I shall take two or three 
 weeks of the cruise, as it would be stupid to return without seeing 
 the experimental squadron. I shall write to you by the first steamer 
 or tender that takes letters from the squadron. I do not think we 
 are going very far. Several balls and concerts were about to be 
 given to us, but our orders have come at last rather unexpectedly, 
 and all the ladies are in tears. I forgot to say that on Monday, the 
 13th, I dined, not on board the 'Vernon,' but in the Admiral's 
 house, with a sitlendid party. The ' Vernon' has been much attnck- 
 ed in the newspapers, but my account of her in my long letter i& 
 the correct one. I think in strong breezes she will beat the squadron. 
 In light winds she may prove but an ' Endeavor.' I shall say no 
 more of my hopes and tears about your letter to-morrow ; but this 
 I will say, and truly, that I Uiink of you all three or seven times a 
 (iay, or haply twenty-one. I suppose the lads have gone to Elleray, 
 according to my permission in my last, and with the means of doing
 
 CRUISE wrni the exterlmicntal squadron. y>')\ 
 
 so affonled by the stamp-receipt. I will write to you agniii before 
 long; I hope it will not be very long before I return. Tell (he girls 
 to be sensible and good ffffls. Love to them and the lads, if these 
 latter be with you ; and do not doubt, my dearest Jane, that I am, 
 and ever will be, your affectionate Johx "^Vilson." 
 
 " Campeadora ScnooNEn, Plymoutu, 
 • Augzist 31, 1832. 
 
 " My dearest Jane : — After some anxiety from not hearing 
 from you, your letter of the 23d, direct to Plymouth, reached ine 
 khe day before yesterday, and informed me that all are well. I 
 cannot conjecture what has become of your other letters, but I 
 have received only one long one written conjunctly, and your own 
 of the 23d. Any or all intermediate must still be with Mr. Barrow. 
 I presume that Sym has told you within these few days that he has 
 heard from me, and I now sit down to inform you further of my 
 proceedings. The squadron are now collected, and we have been 
 sailing with strong breezes. The first day there was no right trial ; 
 the second, from Torbay to near Plymouth and back again, was also 
 inconclusive. The chief struggle was between the 'Snake,' 'Cas- 
 tor,' and 'Vernon.' When going under full sail, in the same tack, 
 close-hauled to the Avind, the 'Vernon' Avas considerably ahead, the 
 ' Castor' next, and the ' Snake' trying to shoot across the ' Castor's' 
 bow, but without success. The ' Castor' carried away her jib-boom, 
 and signal was thereupon made by the Admiral for us io jyut about. 
 The 'Castor' stood in, and we crossed her to Avindward only fifty 
 yards. As she Avas more than fifty yards behind Avhen Ave started, 
 her people claimed the victoiy, but it was obviously no go. The 
 day grew very boisterous, and we got safe at sunset into Torbay. 
 On Sunday (the day folloAving), I visited the Admiral, as told in my 
 letter to Sym. On Monday Ave lay at rest. I am sorry to s.-jy, that 
 on entering Torbay, on &iturday night, a man fell overboard, and 
 Avas droAvned. On Wednesday morning, at four o'clock, the squad- 
 ron got under weigh and left Torbay. I had gone o)i board the 
 'Campeadora' the night before, and slept thereon conditio]i that a 
 look-out should be kept on the movements of the 'Vernon.' Jud^e 
 •^f my feelings (mixed) Avhen aAvakened at soA'en, and told all the 
 dliips had been gone for several hours. At eight Ave AA-eighed an- 
 chor and followed the fleet. The tide favored ys, ami so did a
 
 S52 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 stronor breeze from the land, and in a few hours we discovered ihe 
 Sfiuadron some leagues ahead, but to leeward, and they were all 
 racing, and, as we neared, I had a beautiful view of ail their mo- 
 tions. The 'Snake' was two miles ahead of all the others; the 
 ' Ycrnon' and 'Prince' were next, and close together. The 'Trin- 
 culo' followed, then the ' Nimrod ;' next came the ' Castor,' and, 
 finally, the ' Donegal ;' the ' Dryad' had been sent to Portsmouth, 
 and the 'Tyne' to Plymouth the day before. It* now came on to 
 blow very hard, and the Avaves ran hillocks high ; frequent squalls 
 darkened the sky, and shut out the ships, which ever and anon 
 reappeared like phantoms. They seemed to retain their positions. 
 Meanwhile we kept to windward, and ahead of them all, but with 
 a pitching, and a tossing, and a rolling no mortal stomach could 
 withstand. Still, though occasionally sick, I enjoyed the storm. 
 My hat flew overboard, and we were all as wet as if in the sea. 
 There was no danger, and the vessel was admirably managed, but 
 she was liker a fish than a bird. Between four and five in the 
 afternoon the ' Campeadora' dropt anchor behind the breakwater 
 in Plymouth Sound. In rather more than half-an-hour the ' Snake' 
 did the same ; in another half-hour in came the ' Prince ;' in quarter 
 of an hour more the ' Vernon ;' and shortly after the ' Trinculo' 
 and the 'Nimrod;' the 'Castor' and 'Donegal' were obliged to lie 
 ofl* during the night. The race was fifty miles, beating to wind- 
 ward, and in blowy weather. The ' Vernon' was, at the end, seven 
 miles ahead of the ' Castor,' her chief competitor, they being the 
 only two frigates, and built by rivals, Symonds and Jeflrys. ^s 
 soon as I got myself dried, and my hunger appeased, I joined the 
 'Vernon,' and joined the officers in the gun-room, crowing over the 
 ' Castor.' They had sold all my cfteots by auction, and had consid- 
 ered me a deserter. The night was passed somewhat boisterously, 
 hut ihe name of the Campeadora never once mentioned I ! ! ! She 
 had beaten them all like sacJcs, and I therefore behaved as if I had 
 come from Torbay in a balloon. Next day (Thursday) we remain- 
 ed all anchored behind the breakwater. Your welcome letter I le- 
 ceived on board the ' Vernon,' the evening of the race. I asked one 
 of the officers what he thought of the ' Can)peadorn,' Avho had left 
 Tc^rbay three hours after the sqiuidron, and anchored in the Sound 
 of Plymouth halfan-hour before the 'Snake.' His answer was. 
 ' Thf(t he had not seen her ! that we had not sailed with the squad-
 
 CEUISE WITH THE EXPEKlilENVAL SQUADRON. OOO 
 
 ron at all; and had been brought m by the tide and the land 
 breeze' ! ! ! The tide and land breeze had helped to bring us up 
 with the squadron ; but for live hours we Ijeat thenx al!, as I s.iid, 
 like sacks into our anchorage. The whole oliicers joined with my 
 antagonist in argument, and it has been settled among them that 
 the 'Campeadora' did not sail with the squadron, and that she beat 
 nobody ! Such, even at sea, is the littleness of men's souls ; it is 
 worse even than on Windermere at a regatta. This is Friday (the 
 31st), and I slept last night in the 'Campeadora.' I shall keep this 
 letter open till I hear something of our intended motions, which I 
 hope to do on boarding the 'Admiral.' The 'Vernon' is eaid to be 
 wet, because when it blows hard, and she sails upon a wind, the 
 spray S[)ins over her main top-gallant mast. This it seems is reck- 
 oned a great merit. As to the noise on board — for it consists of 
 everlasting groaning, howling, yelling, cursing, and swearing, which 
 is the language in which all orders are given and executed — never 
 less than 200 men are 2^)'C(ncii/f/ on her decks, and occasionally 500; 
 windlasses are ever at work, and iron cables are letting out and 
 taking in, which rumble like thunder. Gun-carriages (two ton and 
 a half heavy) are pei"petually rolled about to alter her trim, and ever 
 and anon cannon fired close to your ears (32-pounders) which might 
 waken the dead. Drums, too, are rolling frequently, and there are 
 at all times the noise of heavy bodies falling, of winds whistling', 
 and waves beating up to any degree. But all these noises are 
 nothing compared to holy-sto7iiny ! This is the name given to 
 scrubbing decks. ^V hundred men all fall at once upon their knees, 
 and begin sciubbing the decks with large rough stones called holy- 
 stones ; this continues every morning from four o'clock to five, and 
 is a noise that beggars all description. I sleep in the cock-pit, a 
 place below both decks, in a swinging cot, which is very comforta- 
 ble. But as soon as the decks are done, down come a dozen Jacks, 
 and holy-sto7ie the floor of the cock-pit, Avithout taking any notice 
 of me, who am swinging over their heads. That being over, all 
 the midshipmen whose chests are in the cock-pit, come in to wash, 
 and shave, and dress. You had better not imagine the scene that 
 then ensues. As soon as the majority of them are gone I get up, 
 and, at half-past seven. Cap tain Coryton of the Marines gives me 
 his cabin to wash and dress in. I do so every morning, and the 
 luxury of washing too became known to ine for the first time; for 
 15
 
 354: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 you get covered -witb dust, and sand, and paint by day and night, 
 to say nothing of tar and twuic ; in short, every thiuir but tV-alhers. 
 The eating is excellent, and the drinking not bad, though some- 
 times rather too much of it. 
 
 " I have, since writing the above, seen Sir F. Collier, who informs 
 me we start to-morrow forenoon (September 1st) for the coast of 
 Ireland. I shall go; and if the squadron does not return soon to 
 Portsmouth, I shall sail from Cork to some northern port, and so 
 home. I will write to you by the first opportunity, and I believe 
 one will occur in a week. Love to the girls. I am happy to hear 
 that Molly is getting on with her singing, and she may depend on 
 my being pleased with her chanson. ^l-Q^^ is, no doubt, now a Son- 
 tag; perhaps Umbs may also prove a songstress. The boys by 
 this time have, I suppose, been a while at Elleray. Narcotic is a 
 good word for the Opium-Eater, but I read it hare-skiu. I have 
 just heard that another letter is lying for me on shore. I hope it 
 is from some of you ; but I cannot get it, I fear, till the morning, 
 and I am this hour again on boai'd the ' Vernon,' and it is blowing 
 so hard that no boats are going on shore. 
 
 "I therefore conclude with warmest and sincerest affection for 
 thyself and all our children. Give my kindest remembrances to 
 my sister Jnne, who, I devoutly trust, will continue to improve in 
 health, and, ere long, be well. You ai'e now but a family of four 
 feniah's, so be all good boys, and believe that I will be happy to be 
 with you again, when I hope you will be happy to see again the old 
 man. Once more, with love to you and the three Graces, I am, my 
 dearest Jane, ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 " John Wilson. 
 
 "'Veexox,' off Plymouth, Augiist Slst." 
 
 " Land's End, Tuesday Evening, 
 September ith. 
 
 *' About eight o'clock morning we were off the Scilly Isles, and 
 observed a steamer. It contained the Admiralty and other 
 grandees. Sir C. Paget, Sir F. Maitland, and Admiral Dundas, 
 came on board .at nine, and at ten signal was made for all ships to 
 close upon the ' Vernon.' The wind was light but steady, and the 
 day beautiful. We sailed till five o'clock (seven hours) in charming 
 style, but it would take a volume to narrate all our evolutions. 
 For the greater part of the time the ' Waterwitch' kept first, and
 
 CRUISE WITH THE EXIM.RIMKXTAL SQUADRON. 3o.> 
 
 thon the 'Vernon,' the 'Snaku' having outmanoeuvred lierself by 
 passing too close to windwanl. Tlie 'Castor' sailed well, hut kfci)t 
 dropping to leeward. At half past four the 'Vernon' weathered 
 the ' Water w^itch' and 'Snake,' and led the squadron. This was 
 done by fair sailing, on which the Admiral made signal to shorten 
 sail, which was done; and the grandees left us and went on board 
 the steamer, which set off for Portsmouth. Sir Pulteney tlien came 
 on board the ' Vernon,' and acknowledged we had beaten the squad- 
 ron. The ' Castor' was four miles to leeward, the ' Stag' six, and 
 the 'Donegal' eight: the'NiuMod' as far; but the ' Waterwitch' 
 and ' Snake' were only a quarter of a mile under our lee. The tri- 
 umph of the ' Vernon' is declared complete, but, in my opinion, the 
 'Waterwitch' and 'Snake' may beat her another day; the 'Castor' 
 cannot, in any wind. The Admiral has just left us, and, if weather 
 permit, Sir F. Collier and the Professor will dine to-morrow on 
 board the ' Donegal.' We are now making sail back to the ' Lizard,' 
 where, in the morning, a boat will come from shore for our letters. 
 We will then put about for the coast of Ireland, as Sir Pulteney 
 himself has told me ; and therefore, my dearest Jane, either your- 
 self or the lasses, that is, the gals, must write to me, if possible, the 
 evening you receive this — His Majesty'' s S/up ' Ver/ton,^ Cork — 
 without any reference to Barrow, and I shall get it probably before 
 we leave that harbor. That will be the last time I shall hear from 
 you before I return ; and from Cork I will write to Sym, who will 
 probably send you my letter or pait of it. Pray keep my letters 
 for sake of the dates, for I have not been able to keep a journal. A 
 good many things have occurred on board within tliese tew days, 
 but I have no room to narrate them. Warmest love to the progeny, 
 who, I hope, do not forget him who tenderly loveth them. I ex- 
 pect to find them all grown on my return, and Catalani jealous of 
 Sontag. I send them all kisses and prayers for their happiness, and 
 for that of one of the best of wives to her aftectionate husband, 
 
 "John Wilson." 
 
 "Off the Lizard, Sepkmher 5, 1832. 
 
 "My dearest Jane: — I wrote a tolerably long letter the day 
 
 before we left Plymouth, which was on Tuesday, the 4ih. I had 
 
 then received threj letters from you, including one that had been 
 
 sent to Cork. I t!i.refore knew that you were all well on the 23d
 
 356 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 August, and trust I believe you are so noio. The squadron left 
 port with a light leading wind, consisting of ' Donegal,' ' Yernon,' 
 'Castor,' 'StMg' (a 40 frigate), 'Nimrod,' 'Snake,' and 'Waterwitch.' 
 The ' Dryad' is paid off, being a bad sailer, and the ' Tyne' sails for 
 South America in a few days, and belongs no more to our Aug. 
 Tile 'Trinculo' has gone to Cork, and the ' Prince' is at Plymouth. 
 In beating jut, ' Vernon' missed stays, and drifted, stern foremost, 
 aboard the 'Castor,' with no inconsiderable crash, staving her boat 
 in the slings, and making much cordage spin. We got off, how- 
 ever, without damage of any consequence, and towards night were 
 off the Eddystone lighthouse. There was very little difference in 
 the rate of going between ' Vernon' and ' Castor.' The ' Castor' 
 rather beat us the first two hours, but at sunset (when sail is always 
 t^ken in) we were to windward about 200 yards ; the ' Snake,' as 
 usual, a mile at least ahead, and to windward of us all. All night 
 ■we kept under easy sail in 'our Admiral's lee,' and on Monday 
 morning at six o'clock, signal was made for us to spread all our 
 canvas, and try it before the wind. We soon got into a cluster, the 
 breeze being so light as to be almost a calm, and so we carried on 
 in a pretty but tedious style for the greater part of the day, our 
 prows being in the direction of Falmouth. The Lords of the Ad- 
 miralty are there at present, and I suppose we shall touch in this 
 evening. They were at Plymouth, and I Avas introduced to one of 
 them. Admiral Dundas, who was very civil; so was Sir d Paget 
 and Sir F. Maitlaiid, the latter of whom invited me to see him at 
 Portsmouth on our return, he being Admiral on that station. Sir 
 J. Graham I did not see, as we were at dinner when he came on 
 board the ' Vernon.' Sir Pulteney has been extremely kind, and is 
 a good old man. I had not heard of poor Minna's death, and asked 
 how she was, when he gave me the intelligence. She was a good 
 woman, in my opinion. She died of dropsy, and had suffered much, 
 but bore it like a Christian. We have just caught sight of an 
 enormous lizard, so large that it is called 'The Lizard,' and we are 
 all to lie under its shadow till morning, so good-night." 
 
 "Cork, Fiidaij, Hth Sept., 1832. 
 "My deakkst Jane: — I wrote to you on the 5^A, off the Lizard, 
 and since then have enjoyed a week's capital cruisinrf in all kinds of 
 winds, except a positive storm. Your last letter received was the 2^th
 
 CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQL'ATJKON. 357 
 
 of August; and I am in hopes of getting your answer to mine of the 
 5th to-night. If I do not, I shall leave orders at the pos^ office to 
 send it on to London, \vhere I hope to be in a week from this day. 
 But in case any accident should happen, I wish one <>f you to write 
 to me, the same day you get this, directed to me at ' Union Ilotel^ 
 Charing Cross, London, to lie till called for,^ telling me that you are 
 all well. I shall be at Portsmouth (necessarily) a day or two before I 
 go to London, but shall not stay in the metropolis more than one 
 day. I rather think I shall come down to Edinburgh by land, for a 
 steamboat after the 'Vernon' will be rather dull, and at this season 
 rolls most infernally. In that case I shall go by York ; for I do 
 not wish to trouble Elleray at present, for sufficient reasons. As I 
 shall travel outside, I shall probably stay a day at York: but I will 
 write you a day before I leave London, communicating particulars, 
 and you will see me before long. 
 
 " On Tuesday, the 11th, Ave entered the Cove of Cork at sunset; 
 the squadron at four o'clock. On Wednesday, the 12ih, I set off on 
 foot for the city of Cork, distant thirteen miles, a most beautiful 
 walk. At nine o'clock, I took a seat in the mail-coach, and was off 
 for Killarney. In the coach were a Captain and Mrs. Baillie, young 
 people w'ho had been in India, and near relatives of the Major and 
 Mrs. Barlow. We became friends. 
 
 " At Killarney found that Mrs. Cashel* was not there! ought to 
 have known that before. Stormy night, so kept snug in a good 
 inn. Thursday, 13th, left Killarney in a jingle at five o'clock in the 
 morning, and arrived at Marino Lodge, on the Kenmare, distance 
 twenty miles, before nine o'clock. Found the family all well, ex- 
 cept Mrs. Cashel, who has an asthmatic cough, which mention to 
 nobody. I will amuse you wheii we meet with my account of my 
 visit to that quarter. Nothing could exceed their kindness, and 
 she admires you beyond all. On Friday, the 14th, left ]\Iarino 
 Lodge in a taxed cart at five o'ch)ck, and went nearly twenty miles 
 through mountains to a place on the Cork road, where the mail 
 overtook us. Got in — and afterwards out — after being txcice tq>- 
 set, and three times h;df upset. jNIore of that anon ; no bones 
 broken. I have just dined in tlie eoffee-room with three very a'^i-eo- 
 able Irishmen, whose names I do not know, but who asked me to 
 drink wine as the Professor. I am just about to set off for the 
 
 • Ills slater.
 
 358 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 * Vernon' in a jingle ; and I hear that we sail to-morrow (Saturday, 
 the 15th), at five o'clock a. m. Indeed, Sir F. Collier told me so 
 before I left the ship. I thought it would or might seem unkind 
 not to see Grace Avhen I was in Ireland, and therefore I travelled 
 100 miles for that purpose, being with them just twenty hours. 
 You must not be incensed with the shortness of this letter, for you 
 must perceive that I have been in a dreadful racket. 1 intend 
 writing another letter to Sym on our way up to Portsmouth ; but 
 do not say any thing about it. If your letter has come thus far, it 
 will be lying for me to-night on board the 'Vernon.' Tenderest 
 love to the Graces, and also to the lads at EUeray, I hope you will 
 be kind to the old man on his return — all of you. Yours ever, most 
 afiectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 " UxiON' Hotel, Charixg Cross, 
 TuescUvj Afternoon, September 2jth, 1832. 
 
 "My dearest Jane: — The 'Vernon' anchored at Spithead this 
 day week, and the day following I Avrote to Sym, who would tell 
 you of my welfare. I got your Cork letter on the Thursday, and 
 on Friday I bade farewell to the ' Varmint' (as she is called), and 
 dined on shore with the Williamses, vv^ho have a house at Ports- 
 mouth. That night I took coach to London, where I arrived 
 about six o'clock, and went to bed for some hours. I found your 
 letter lying for me soon after breakfast, and was rejoiced to find 
 you were all well. On Saturday, Dr. Maginn dined Avith me ; and 
 on Sunday I called on Mrs. S. C. Hall and husband, Miss Landon, 
 and Thomas Campbell, with the last, not least, of whom I passed 
 the evening. There is a Captain Coryton (of the Marines) on board 
 the ' Vernon,' whose wife and family live at Woolwich. I promised 
 to call on them to tell them about him, and his mode of life, aiirl 
 did so on Monday, having walked thither and back (about twenty 
 miles). He is to be absent for three years in South America. I 
 retiuncd to London by seven, and dined with a German liaron, 
 whose name I can neither spell nor pronounce, a Polish X'.itriot, 
 (not Shirma), and a French royalist. On Tuesday, that is, this day, 
 after some business connected with my cruise, I called on Mr.-. 
 Jamieson, author of Ki?ir^ Charles's Beauties. She is very clever, 
 middle-aged, red-haired, and agreeable, though I suspect you would 
 c;dl her a cnuceited min.v. She is to send some Italian airs tCi
 
 LITERARY AND DOMi:STI0 LIFE. 359 
 
 the guitar for Maggie, to the hotel this evening. I am going to 
 dine to-day at the Literary Union, with Campbell and some others. 
 To-morrow I shall be busy all day, calling on naval oilicers, and at 
 the Admiralty, nor could I have sooner done so. And on Thurs- 
 day, I shall leave London for York in one of the morning coaches. 
 This will enable me to stop some hours there to rest, and I shall be 
 in Edinburgh on Saturday afternoon ; I do not know at what hour, 
 but I believe tico or three after the mail, unless I take my place in 
 the mail from, York. The gals can ask Bob at what hour any 
 coach arrives in Edinburgh from York, besides the maih I should 
 think he will know. But should any thing detain me, it will only 
 be ray not getting a place at York. The gals may take a look at the 
 mail, perhaps on Saturday. I need say no more than that I shall 
 be truly happy to find you all well and happy, as you deserve to be. 
 God bless you all ! Yours ever affectionately, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1832-37. 
 
 The following letter will be read with interest : 
 
 "London, November ZQ, 1832. 
 "Sir : — You have often, and 'on the Hialto'' too, twitted me with 
 an addition to Sonnets, and ' sxich small deer' of poetry, sometimes 
 in a spirit of good-humor, at others in that tone of raillery which is 
 60 awful to young gentlemen given to rhyming love and dove. Yet, 
 notwithstanding the terrors of your frown, I think there is so much 
 of the milk of human kindness blending up with that rough nature 
 of youi-s, as would prevent you from willingly hurting the weak 
 and the defenceless ; on the contrary, if Master Feeble acknowl- 
 edged his failing in a becoming manner, I can believe that you 
 would put the timid gentleman on his legs, pat his head, cocker his 
 alarmed features into a complacent smile, and, giving him some
 
 360 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 tiling nice, wasliing it down witli a jorum of wliiskey-toddy, send 
 him home to his lodgings and hmdlndy witli your compliments, so 
 that I, yon will perceive, have no bad opinion of your lionship. 
 
 "You can do me a great good; and when I assure you, which I 
 do seriously and in all sincerity, that I seek not your favor in the 
 spirit of vanity, that I may plume myself with it hereafter ; and 
 wheu I tell you that I have ventured on this publication not to ex- 
 alt myself, but, if possible, to benefit some poor relations, weighed 
 down by the pressure of our bad times, I am sure that I may rely 
 on your appreciating my motive, whatever you may think of the 
 means I have taken to work it out. 
 
 " One thing more I would say ; these poems, such as they are, 
 are the productions of a self-educated man, who, in his tenth year 
 of childhood, with little more than a knowledge of his Readhif/ 
 Made Easy, was driven out into the world to seek his bread, and 
 pick up such acquirements as he could meet with ; these are not 
 many, for he was not lucky enough to meet with many. Tiiis is 
 a foct which I do not care that the public should know, for what 
 has that monster so well off for heads to do with it ; nor, perhaps, 
 have you ; I have mentioned it merely because I could not conceal 
 it at this moment, when the disadvantages it has surrounded me with 
 return upon me like old grievances for a time foi-gotten, but come 
 back again to 'sight and seeing,' as palpable as ever, and as pro- 
 vokiiig. 
 
 "Enough of myself. There are many errors in the book staring 
 me out of countenance. While it was in the press I was danger- 
 ously ill, and, therefore, paid but little and distracted attention to it. 
 Think, then, as mercifully of me and mine as you can ; and though, 
 when you are frolicsome, you love to spatter us poor cockneys, 
 sometimes justly enough, at others not so, believe that I can can- 
 didly appreciate the power and the beauty of some parts of Jilack- 
 icood''s Mafjazine, and that I am, all ditferences notwithst:uidiiig, 
 your humble servant, ,"* 
 
 In my mother's letters during 1833 and 1834, the strong political 
 feelings of the time are occasionally exhibited. In one she says : 
 
 • The sienatnre of this letter has been torn off, but the letter itself is indorsed "from Charles 
 Lamb to Professor Wilson." I nm. however, afraid that it is not the production of "Elia," and 
 lis I am not familiar with the handwriting, I cannot say who is the writer, or whet)"ir the appeal 
 Was ivsponded to.
 
 I.ITKKAKV AM) DOMESTIC LIFE. 3G I 
 
 "We are all terribly disgustetl and annoyed at the result of the late 
 elections. I never look into a newspaper now ; and my only com- 
 fort is in reading the |)olitical |)apers in Blackwood^ and renu'niber- 
 ing that I have lived in the times of the Georges." Again she writes : 
 "What do you think of Church and State affairs? We are in a 
 pretty way ; oh, for the good old times ! Thank Heaven, while Mr. 
 Wilson can hold a pen, it will be wielded in defence of the right 
 cause." His pen, indeed, was not allowed to lie idle at this time, 
 as the reader will find by referring to his contributions. During 
 1833-34 lie wrote no fewer than fifty-four articles for Blackwood, 
 or upwards of 2,400 closely printed columns on politics and generai 
 literature. Among these were reviews of Ebenezer Elliot* and 
 Audubon, the ornithologist, which crdled forth interesting and 
 characteristic repUes. 
 
 FROM EBENEZER ELLIOT. 
 
 "Sheffield, %fh May, 1834. 
 "Mr. Professor : — I do not write merely to thank you for your 
 almost fatherly criticism on my poetry, but to say, that when I sent 
 that unhappy letter, addressed, I suppose, to the Editor of BUick" 
 woods Ma(ja:dne^ I knew not that the Professor was the editor. I 
 had been told that the famous rural articles were yours, and the 
 ' Noctes.' This was all I knew of that terrible incarnation of the 
 Scotch Thistle, Christopher North. I had judged from his portrait 
 on the cover of the Magazine. I understand it is a true portrait of 
 Mr. Blafikwood, whose name even now involuntarily brings before 
 my imagination a personage ready to flay poor Radicals alive. 
 When at length I understood you was the editor, I still thought 
 you was only the successor of C. North, the dreadful. The letter 
 must have been the result of despair. The Monthhj Review had 
 stricken me on the heart with a hand of ice, but I had fuled to 
 attract the attention of the critics generally ; and perhaps I ^heo 
 thought that even an unfavorable notice in Blackwood would bt 
 better than none. But when I was told, a few days ago, that I was 
 reviewed in ' Mnga,' I expected I was done for, never to hold up 
 my head again. Having no copy of the letter I know not what 
 vileness it may contain, besides the sad vulgarityf unlortunately 
 
 * Ebenezer Elliot, the Oorn-I.aw Rhymer, was born in \'^\ ; lie diod in 1849. 
 
 t "Mr. Elliot \v:is ;.U-i'>cil, a gip.i.l while a^o, in a letter, the reverse of flatVrnng, ixMressod to 
 
 15*
 
 Ob'2 MKMOIU OF .IclIN \V I I.SOX. 
 
 quoted, auJ lor which I bhish through my marrow ; but on the 
 word of a poet, whose tiction is truth, when I wrote it I was no 
 more aware, than if you had never been born, that I was writing to 
 Professor Wilson. I shouKl hate myself if I could delibei ately have 
 sent a disrespectful letter to the author of those inimitable rural 
 pictures, which, before God, I believe have lengthened my days on 
 earth. 
 
 "After your almost saintly forbearance, I must nvjt bother you 
 about the Corn-Laws ; but I will just observe that in our Island of 
 Jersey, where (perjury [sic] excepted) the trade in corn is free, 
 land lets much higher than in England. But is it not a shame that 
 wheat should be sent from Holland to Jersey, after incurring heavy 
 charges, and the Dutchman's profit, and then be sent to England as 
 the produce of Jersey ? Poor John Bull paying for all out of his 
 workhouse wages, or the sixteen-pence which he receives for four- 
 teen hours' factory labor in the climate of Jamaica. 
 
 '•• What is to follow such legislation ? I am, with heartfelt respect 
 and thankfulness, Ebenezek Elliot." 
 
 I cannot resist giving a passage from an article which aflfbrdedthe 
 author of the Corn-Law Rhymes so much genuine pleasure : — 
 
 " Ebenezer Elliot does — not only now and then, but often — ru- 
 ralize ; with the intense passionateuess of a line spirit escaping from 
 smoke and slavery into the fresh air of freedom — with the tender- 
 ness of a gentle spirit communing with nature in Sabbath-rest. 
 Greedily he gulps the dewy breath of morn, like a man who has 
 been long suffering from thirst drinking at a wayside well. He feasts 
 upon the flowers — with his eyes, with his lips ; he walks along the 
 grass as if it were cooling to his feet. The slow typhus fever per- 
 petual with townsmen is changed into a quick gladsome glow, like 
 the life of life. A strong animal pleasure possesses the limbs and 
 frame of the strong man released from labor, yet finding no leisure 
 to loiter in the lanes — and away with him to the woods and rocks 
 and heaven-kissing hills. But that is not all his pleasure — though 
 it might suffice, one would think, for a slave. Through all his 
 senses it penet -ates into his soul — and his soul gets wmgsand soars. 
 
 ns, and written wit'.i his uwn hard hoof of a hand, to call U8 a 'big bine-bottle,' but we boar no 
 roscuiblance to tbar insect," &c,— From "Poetry of E. KUiot," in BlackwiMHTa JIagaaim, 
 May, l&iit
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE, 303 
 
 Yes ; it has the wings of a dove, and flees away — and is at rest ! 
 Where are tlie heaven-kissing hills in Hallamshire ? Here, and 
 there, and everywhere — tor the sky stoops down to kiss them — and 
 the presence ot" a poet scares not away, but consecrates their em- 
 braces 
 
 ' Uuder the opening eyelids of the morn.' 
 
 Of such kind is the love of nature that breaks out in all the com- 
 positions of this town-bred poet. Nature to hiiu is a mistress whom 
 he cannot visit when he will, and whom he woos, not stealthily, 
 but by snatches — snatches torn from time, and shortened by joy 
 that ' thinks down hours to moments.' Even in her sweet com- 
 panionship he fseenis scarcely ever altogether forgetful of the place 
 from which he made his escape to rush into her arms, and clasp her 
 to his breast, lie knows that his bliss must be brief, and that an 
 iron voice, like a kuell, is ringing him back to dust and ashes. So he 
 smothers her with kisses — and tearing himself away — again with 
 bare arms he is beating at the anvil, and feels that man is born to 
 trouble as the sparks fly upwards. For Ebenezcr Elliot, gentle 
 reader, is a worker in iron ; that is — to use his own words — ' a 
 dealer in steel, working hard every day ; literally laboring with my 
 head and hands, and alas, loith my heart too! If you think the 
 steel-trade, in these 2)^oJiiless days, is not a heavy, hard-working 
 trade, come and break a ton.'' 
 
 " We have worked at manual labor for our amusement, but, it 
 was so ordered, never for bread ; for reefing and reeving can hardly 
 be called manual labor — it comes to be as facile to the fingers as the 
 brandishing of this present pen. We have ploughed, sowed, reajied, 
 mowed, pitchforked, threshed ; and put heart an<l knee to the gave- 
 lock hoisting rocks. But not for a day's darg, and not for bread. 
 Now here lies the effectual and vital distinction between the condi- 
 tion of our poet and his critic — between the condition of Ebeuezer 
 KUiot and that of all our other poets, except Robert Burns."* 
 
 The next letter is from Mr. Audubon ;f — 
 
 " My dear Fkiexd : — The first hour of this new year was ushered 
 to me surrounded by my dear flock, all comfortably seated around 
 
 * BlackwooiVa Magazine. Miiy, ISM. 
 
 t J. .1. Audubou, author of Tlie Birds of America, c6c., died lo 183L
 
 304- MTMOIR OF .lOH.V WIT.?(>N. 
 
 a small table, in a middle-sized room, where I sincerely wished 
 had been also, to witness the flowinsc gladness of our sen se«, as from 
 one of us 'Audubon's Ornithologrical Biography' was read from 
 your eve'- valuable Journal. I wished this because I felt assured 
 that your noble heart would have received our most grateful thanks 
 with i»leasure, the instant our simple ideas had conveyed to you the 
 grant of happiness we experienced at your hands. You were not 
 with us, alas ! but to make amends the best way we could, all of a 
 common accord drank to the health, prosperity, and long life, 
 of our generous, talented, and ever kind friend, Professor John 
 Wilson, and all those amiable beings who cling around his heart ! 
 May those our sincerest wishes reach you soon, and may they be 
 sealed by Him who granted us existence, and the joys heaped upon 
 the ' American woodsman ' and his family, in your hospitable land, 
 and may we deserve all the benefits we have received in your ever 
 dear country, although it may prove impossible to us to do more 
 than to be ever grateful to her worthy sons. 
 
 " Accept our respectful united regards, and offer them to your 
 family, whilst I remain, with highest esteem, your truly thankful 
 friend and most obedient servant, John J. Audubox." 
 
 The next letter is from the Rev. James White :* — 
 
 '• LoxLET, Stratford-ox- Avoy, 
 4th Xovember, 1834. 
 " My dear Sir : — The last was an admirable ' Noctes,' and in 
 my opinion, makes up for the one for July. After describing the 
 party at Carnegie's, who did you mean by the ass that, after bray- 
 ing loud enough to deafen Christopher, went braying all over the 
 
 * The Rev. J. White, of Bonchurch, Isle of Wight, author of Sir Frizzi-e Pumpkin, Xiffhit at 
 Mm«, tl-c. and other stories, died March 2S, 1S6'2, aged fifty-eight. "Mr. White, says the Edin^ 
 burgh Courant. who was a native of this country, where his family still possess considerabi* 
 property, was born in the year 1604. After studyiug with success at Glasgow and Oxford, he took 
 orders in the Church of England, and was presented by Lord Brougham to a living in Suffolk, 
 which he afterwards gave up for another in Warwickshire, On ultimately succeeding tn a con- 
 Biderable patrimony, he retired from the t'hurch and removed with his family to the Isle of Wight, 
 where .Mrs, White had inherited from her father. Colonel HilL, of St Boniface, a portion of his 
 estate, Bonchurch. so celebrated for its beauty and mild climate. His retirement enabled him ti 
 devote a coLsiderabte share of his time to literary pursuits, which he prosecuted with much sue- 
 ^ss. The pages it{ Blackvood were enlivened by many of his contributions of a light kind, too 
 popular and well known to reo.uire to be enumerated ; and his later works, including the EighUtm 
 <'/iristian Cmitui'ie>i and the History of France, showed that his industry and accuracy, bS well 
 w his good sensK? and sound judgment, were not inferior to his other and more popular talenta."— 
 ^itntleinun't Jfdfftuiue.
 
 LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 365 
 
 Borders ? You unconscionable monster, did you mean me ? Vicar 
 of the consolidated livings of Loxley and Bray ! I console myselt 
 with thinking it is something to be mentioned in the ' Noctes,' 
 though in no higher character than an ass. 
 
 " Have you ever thought of making Hogg a metempsychosist ? 
 what a famous description he would give of his feelings when he 
 was a whale (the one that swallowed Jonah), or a tiger, or an ante- 
 diluvian aligautor near the Falls of Niagara, his disgust after being 
 shot as an eagle, to find himself a herd at the head of Ettriek !* 
 
 " Do you think of coming to England next year ? Remember, 
 whenever you do, you have promised me a benefit. Has Blair 
 come up to college yet ? If he has, I wish you would for once 
 write me a letter with his address ; for, as I am only a day's drive 
 from Oxford, I should be most happy to show him this part of the 
 country in the short vacation. My wife desires to be very kindly 
 remembered to you and Mrs. Wilson, not forgetting the young 
 ladies. And I remain, ever yours very truly, 
 
 "James White." 
 
 Attention to the ordinary course of duties, and the numerous 
 occupations which engrossed his daily life, never stood in the way 
 of my father's endeavors to be useful to his fellow-men. An ex- 
 ample of this may be seen in his correspondence with a mutual 
 friend, in order to pacify and to restore Mr. Hogg to his former 
 position with Mr. Blackwood. This labor, for such it was, ended 
 ultimately to the satisfaction of all parties, and the correspondence 
 which led to that result is truly honorable to the writers. 
 
 " My dear Shepherd : — From the first blush of the business, I 
 greatly disliked your quai-rel with the Blackwoods, and often 
 wished to be instrumental in putting an end to it, but I saw no 
 opening, and did not choose to be needlessly obtrusive. Hearing 
 that you would rather it was made up, and not doubting that Mr 
 Blackwood would meet you for that purpose in an atnicable spirit, 
 I volunteer my services — if you and he choose to accept of them — 
 as mediator. 
 
 " I propose this — that all mere diflferences on this, and that, and 
 
 • This liint appears to have been nctod upon, as those who are interested may read tliu Shtp- 
 lierd s t'.aiisniigratlons I'nlly detailed in the " Noctes" of FcbrUHrj', 1885.
 
 306 MliMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 every subject, and all asperities of sentiment or language on either 
 side, be at once forgotten, and never once alluded to — ^so that there 
 shall be asked no explanation nor apology, but each of you con- 
 tinue to think yourself in the right, without taking the trouble to 
 say so. 
 
 " But you have accused Mr. Blackwood in your correspondence 
 with him, as I understand, of shabbiness, meanness, selfish motives, 
 and almost dishonesty. In your Memoir there is an allusion to 
 some transaction about a bill, which directly charges Mr. Black- 
 wood with v\ant of integrity. In that light it was received by a 
 knave and fool in Eraser's Magazine^ and on it was founded a pub- 
 lic charge of downright dishonesty against a perfectly honorable 
 and honest man. Xow, my good sir, insinuations or accusations of 
 this kind are quite ' another guess matter' from mere ebullitions of 
 temper, and it is impossible that Mr. Blackwood can ever make up 
 any quarrel with any man icho doubts his integrity. It is your 
 bouuden duty, therefore, to make amends to him on this subject. 
 But even here I would not counsel any apology, I would say that 
 it is your duty as an honest man to say fully, and freely, and 
 unequivocally that you know Mi\ Blackwood to be one, and in all 
 his dealings with you he has behaved as one. This avowal is no 
 more than he is entitled to from you ; and, of course, it should be 
 taken in lieu of an apology. As to writing henceforth in ' Maga,' I 
 am sure it will give me the greatest pleasure to see the Shepherd 
 adorning that work with his friends again; and, in that case, it 
 would be graceful and becoming in you to address Mr. Blackwood 
 in terms of esteem, such as would remove from all minds any idea 
 that you ever wished to accuse him of want of principle. I should 
 think that would be agi'eeable to yourself, and that it would be 
 agreeable to all who feel the kindest interest in your character and 
 reputation. In this way you would both appear in your true colors, 
 and to the best advantage. 
 
 "As for the Noctes Amhrosianm^ that is a subject in which I am 
 chiefly concerned ; and there shall never be another with you in it, 
 if indeed that he disagreeable to you! ! ! But all the idiots in ex- 
 istence shall never persuade me that in those dialogues you are not 
 respected and honored, and that they have not spread the fame of 
 your genius and your virtues all over Europe, America, Asia, and 
 Africa. If there be another man who has done more for your
 
 LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 367 
 
 fame than 7" have done, let me know in what region of the moon he 
 has taken up liis abode. But let the ' Noctes' drop, or let us talk 
 upon that subject, if you choose, that we may find out Avhich of us 
 is insane, perliaps both. 
 ^ " Sliow tliis letter to the Grays — our friends — and let them say 
 whether or not it be reasonable, and if any good is likely to result 
 from my services. I have written of my own accord, and without 
 any autliority from Mr. Blackwood, but entirely from believing that 
 his kindness towards you Avould dispose him to make the matter up 
 at once, on the one condition which, as an honest man, I would 
 advise him to consider essential, and without which, indeed, he 
 could not listen to any proposal. I am, my dear sir, your affec- 
 tionate friend, John Wilson." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hogg : — Your letter in answer to mine is Avritten 
 as mine was, in a friendly spirit ; but on considering its various 
 contents, I feel that I can be of no use at present in effecting a re- 
 conciliation between you and Mr. Blackwood. I was induced to 
 oft'er my services by my OAvn sincere regard for you, and by the 
 wishes of Mrs. Izett and Mr. Grieve ; but it rarely happens that an 
 unaccredited mediator between offended friends in a somewhat 
 complicated quarrel can effect any good. Should you, at any future 
 time, wish me to give an opinion in this matter, or advice of any 
 sort, you Avill find me ready to do so with the utmost sincerity, I 
 will merely mention to Mr. Grieve, who was desirous of having 
 you and Mr. lilackwood and myself to diimer, that I wrote you, 
 and had an answer from you ; but I shall leave you to tell him or 
 not, as you please, what passed between us. That I may not f;Ul 
 into any unintentional mis-statement, I will likewise tell Mr. Black- 
 wood the same, and no more, that I may not do more harm than 
 good by having taken any step in the affair. If you never have 
 made any accusation of the kind I mentioned against Mr. Black- 
 wood, then am I ignorant of the merits of the case altogether, and 
 my interference is only an additional instance of the danger of vol- 
 imtcering counsel, with erroneous impressions of the relative situa- 
 tion of thp parties. I proposed a plan of reconciliation, Avhich 
 seemed to me to make no unpleasant demand on either party, and 
 wliich was extremely simple ; but it would seem that I took for 
 grantid ceitain acrus.uions or in^inuations against Mr. Blackwood's
 
 8G8 MKMulli tiF JcilI.N \VILS(.)N. 
 
 character as a man of business, Avhich you never made. I am, 
 tliert'lbre, in the dark, and require to be instructed, instead of being 
 ]»rivileged to counsel. "With every kind sentiment, I am, my dear 
 sir, yours most sincerely, John Wilsox." 
 
 In a long letter to Mr. Grieve, my father is at great pains to clear 
 up tlie matter, and effect the mucli-desired reconciliation on terms 
 honorable to both parties. He says : — 
 
 "If Mr. Hogg puts his retm-n as a writer to ' Maga,' on the 
 groimd that ' Maga' suffers greatly fi-om his absence from her pages, 
 and that JNFr. B. must be very desirous of his re-assi.stance, that will 
 at once be a stumbling-block in the way of settlement ; for Mr. B., 
 whether rightly or wrongly, Avill not make the admission. No 
 doubt Mr. H.'s articles were often excellent, and no doubt the 
 ' Xoctes ' were very popular, but the Magazine, however much 
 many readers must have missed Mr. Hogg and the ' Noctes,' has 
 been gradually increasing in sale, and therefore Mr. B. will never 
 give in to that view of the subject. 
 
 " Mr. Hogg, in his letter to me, and in a long conversation I had 
 with him in my own house yesterday after dinner, sticks to his 
 proposal of having iJlOO settled on him, on condition of writing, 
 and of becoming again the hero of the ' Noctes,' as before. I see 
 manj', many difficulties in the way of such an arrangement, and I 
 know that Mr. Blackwood will never agree to it in that shape ; for 
 it might eventually i)rove degrading and disgraceful to both par- 
 ties, api)earing to the public to be a bribe given and taken dishon- 
 orably. 
 
 " But nothing can be more reasonable than for Mr. Hogg to make 
 £100 or more by 'Maga,' and by the Agrictdtiiral Jor(rnal. If he 
 writer again for both, Mr. B. is bound to pay him handsomely and 
 generously, as an old friend and man of genius ; and no doubt he 
 will do so, so that if Mr. Hogg exert himself to a degree yott and 
 /think reasonable, there can be no doubt that he will get £100 or 
 more from Mr. ]Jlackwood, without any positive bargain of the 
 kind above mentioned, which might injure Mr. Hogg's reputation, 
 anil appear to the puljlic in a degrading light. 
 
 '•To insure this, no7ie of Mr. JIo</[fs articles should ever again 
 he returned. If now and then any of them are inadmissible th^y
 
 LITKRART AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 369 
 
 should still he paid foi\ and Mr. Blackwood, I have no doubt, 
 would at once agree to that, so that at the end of tlie year Mr. 
 Hogg would have received his £lOO or more, witliout any objec- 
 tionable condition, and on reasonable exertions. 
 
 "And now a few words about myself. The Shepherd, in his let- 
 ter to me (wliich you have seen, I believe), seems to say that / 
 ought to settle the £100 a year on him, and that he is willing to 
 receive it from me, if I think it will be for my own benefit. I have 
 said nothing about this to him, but to you I merely say that I never 
 did and never will interfere in anyway with the pecuniary concerns 
 of the Magazine, tliat being the affair of Mr. Blackwood; secondly^ 
 that of all the writers in it, I have done most for the least renm- 
 neration, though ]Mr. B. and I have never once hail one word of 
 disagreement on that subject; and thirdly, that it is a matter of 
 the most perfect indifference to me, whether or not I ever again 
 write anotlier ' Noctes,' for all that I write on any subject seems to 
 be popular far above its deserts ; and considering the great num- 
 ber of ' Noctes' I have written, I feel very much indisposed ever 
 to resume them.* My own personal gain or loss, therefore, must 
 be i)ut out of sight entirely in this question ; as I can neither gain 
 nor lose by any arrangement between Mr. B. and Mr. Hogg, though 
 the Shepherd thinks otherwise. 
 
 "This, likewise, must and will be considered by Mr. Blackwood, 
 whether the 'Noctes' can be resumed, for if the public supjiosed 
 that /were influenced by a regard to my own interests in resuming 
 them, I most certainly never would ; ami were I to resume them, 
 and Mr. Hogg again to prove wilful, and order them to be discon- 
 tinued, I should feel myself placed in a condition unworthy of me. 
 I wrote the ' Noctes' to benefit and do honor to Mr. Hogg, much 
 more than to benefit myself; and but for them, he with ail his ex- 
 traordinary powers would not have been universally known as he 
 fDow is ; for poetical fame, you well know, is fleeting and precarious. 
 After more than a dozen years' acquiescence and delight in the 
 'Noctes,' the Shepherd, because he quarrelled with Mr. IJlaekwood 
 on other grounds, puts an end to them, which by the by he had no 
 right to do. It is for me to consider whether I can resume them; 
 but if I do, it must be clearly understood that I am not influenced 
 by self-interest, but merely by a desire to bring back things as they 
 
 * .My father never wrote aiiotla-r " Noctis" after the Shei.herd's death, which took place in 1S35.
 
 370 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 were before, and to contribute my part to an anncable arrnnge- 
 niem. 
 
 "But I will say to you what must not be said to anybody else, 
 tliat if it be necessary, owing to Mr. Hogg not writing a sufficient 
 number of articles fit for insertion, to make up some considerable 
 earn towards £100 per annum being given to him, I will certainly 
 contribute half of it along with Mr. Blackwood. 
 
 "There are various other points to be attended to. The ]\[aga- 
 zine noxo is the least personal periodical existing, and it will con- 
 tinue so. Now Mr. Hogg may wish to insert articles about London 
 and so on, that may be extremely personal. Mr. Blackwood could 
 not take such articles. He has himself ven'^on to be oftended with 
 Mr. Hogg's writings about himself, and could not consistently in 
 like manner otFend others. Suppose that the Shepherd sent such 
 MS. for the first year as could not be inserted at all, is Mr. Black- 
 wood to be paying him £100 for nothing ? The kind, therefore, of 
 his contributions must be considered by ' James,' though he may 
 still be allowed considerable latitude. 
 
 " With respect to past quarrels, they should at once be forgotten 
 by both parties, and not a word said about them, except if ^Ir. 
 Hogg has published any thing reflecting on Mr. Blackwood's intea- 
 rity. I think he has. That, therefore, must be done away with 
 by the Shepherd in the Magazine itself, but not iu the way of apol- 
 ogy, but in a manly manner, sucli as Avould do honor to himself, and 
 at once put down all the calutiinies of others, to which Mr. Black- 
 wood has been unjustly exposed, especially in F'raser''s Magazine. 
 All abuse of Mr. Blackwood in that work, as founded on his be- 
 havior to Mr. Hogg, must, by 3Ir. Hogg, be put a stop to ; for if 
 he continues to write in Fraser, and to allow those people to put 
 into his mouth whatever they choose (and they hold him up to ridi- 
 cule every month after a very diiferent fashion from the Noctes ! !), 
 their abuse of Mr, Blackwood will seem to be sanctioned by Mr. 
 Hogg, and neutralize whatever he may say in ' jNIaga.' This is phiiji. 
 
 " Consider what I have said attentively, and I will call on you on 
 Tucadny at two o\-loc/i, and will explain a few other matters perhaps 
 tedious to write upon. After that, the sooner you see Mr. B. the 
 better, and I think an arrangement may be made, iu itself reasona- 
 ble and beneficial to all parties, on the above basis. Yours ever 
 afi"ectionately, John Wilson."
 
 LITKRARV AND I)()Mi:STI€ LIFK. Oii 
 
 The result of these friendly negotiations may be gatliered from 
 the "Xoctes" of May 1834, in which there is a lively and most 
 amusing description of the Shepherd's return to the bosom of his 
 friends in the tent at the Fairy's Cleugh.* 
 
 I make use of my mother's words to tell of the plans for the sum- 
 mer of 1834: — "Our own plans for the summer are, to spend four 
 months of it at least, that is, from the 20th June till the 20th Octo- 
 ber, in Ettrick Forest. The house we have taken, which is fur- 
 nished, belongs to Lord Napier, who is at present in China, and he 
 wished to get it let for the summer; but, from the retirement of the 
 situation, hardly expected to meet with a tenant for that time. It 
 is called Thirlstane Castle ; the country around is all interesting, be- 
 ing pastoral, with no lack of wood and water, and a great lack of 
 neighbors ; we all like retirement, young and old, and look forward, 
 with great satisfaction, to spending a quiet summer." 
 
 We accordingly took up our quarters at Thirlstane, and enjoyed 
 Ettrick Forest vastly; the boys had their fishing and shooting; the 
 very dogs were happy. " The dowgs," as James Hogg called them, 
 shared in all our amusements ; it was here that Rover had his ad- 
 venture with the witch transformed into a hare. "She Avas sitting 
 in her ain kail-yaird, the preceese house I dinna choose to mention, 
 when Girafle, in louping ower the dyke, louped ower her, and she 
 gietl a spang intil the road, turning round her fud within a yard 
 o' Clavcrs,! — and then sic a brassle; a' tliree thegither up the brae, 
 and then back again in a hairy whirlwind ; twa miles in less than ae 
 minute. She made for the mouth of the syver,J but Rover, wha 
 had happened to be examining it in his inquisitive way, and kent 
 naething o' the course, Avas coming out just as she Avas gaun in, an' 
 atweon the twa there ensued, unseen in the syver, a desperate bat- 
 tle. Well dune Avitch ; Avell dune Avarlock ; and at ae time I feared, 
 frae his yelping and yoAvling, that Rover Avas getting the Avorst o't, 
 
 * The whole (lialiigiie, which will be foiind in the Koctes, May, 1S34, is too long for quotiition, 
 I'Ut a few lines of the apolojry may be given : — 
 
 " I'll never breathe a whisper even to my ain heart, at the lanelicst hour o' niiilniglit, except it 
 be when I am sayinu' my prayers, o' ony misundiTstandin'; that ever happened between us twi\, 
 either about 'Mawga' or ony ither topic, as lang's I leeve, an' am no deserted o" my .<eiisi.s. but 
 am left in full possession of the gift of reason ; and I now dielit all' the Uiblets o' my memory illia 
 letter o" ony ugly record that tlie Enemy, talciiig the advantau'e o" the corruption o' our fallen n.v 
 tnre, contrived to scarify there wi' the pint o' an airn pen, red-bet frae yon wicked place. I now 
 dicht them a' aft', just as I diclit aff frae this table the wine-drops wr ma sleeve ; and I forgive ye 
 frae the very bottom o' ina sowle," &c., itc. 
 
 t The Shepherd's coUeys. X A co*red drain.
 
 372 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and might lose his life. Aukl poesies* cuff sair wi' their fore-pa-\T s, 
 mill theirs is a wicked bite. I>ut the outl:ni<Jish woltiness in Rover 
 brak forth in extremity, and he cam rushing out o' the syver wi' her 
 in his mouth, shaking her savagely, as if she had been but a rattoii, 
 and I had to choke him off. Forbye thrappling her, he had bit intil 
 the jugular; and she had lost sae meikle bluid, that you hae eaten 
 her the noo roasted, instead o' her made intil sou})." 
 
 Rover was a colley from the beautiful pastures of Westmoreland; 
 he had succeeded Brontef in the Professor's affections. He had all 
 the sagacity of his species ; he was generally admired, but strictly 
 speaking he was not beautiful, as the Shepherd remarked that he 
 had "a cross o' some outlandish blood" in his veins; he, however, 
 walked with a stately, defiant air, and was very "leesh ;" his coat 
 was black and glossy, it gleamed in the light ; a white ring sur- 
 rounded his neck, and melted away into the depths of his muscular 
 chest ; he was very loving and affectionate, and as we children toM 
 him every thing that was going on, these communications quickly 
 opened his mind, and Rover increased so much the more in intelli- 
 gence. We never doubted in his humanity, and treated him ac- 
 cordingly ; animation of spirit and activity of body combhied to 
 give him a more than usual share of enjoyment. Rover's com- 
 j)anion in dog-life was Fang the terrier. Poor Fang was one of the 
 victims in Ilawthornden garden ; but at Thirlstane he, hke Rover, 
 and like us all, old and young, enjoyed himself vastly. Poor Rover 
 fell sick in the spring of the following year, and struggled for many 
 days with dumb madness. I remember that shortly before the 
 por)r creature died, longing for the sympathy of his master's kind 
 voice, he crawled up stairs to a room next the drawing-room ; my 
 father stood beside liim, trying to soothe and comfort the poor ani- 
 mal. A \e\-y few minutes before death closed his fast-glazing eye, 
 the Professor said : " Rover, my poor fellow, give me your paw." 
 The dying animal made an effort to reach his master's hand ; and 
 so thus parted my father with his favorite, as one man taking fare- 
 well of another. My father loved " both man, and bird, and beast;" 
 he could turn at any moment from the hardest work, with playful 
 tenderness, to some household pet, or any object colored by home 
 affection.J 
 
 • Harca. f \ favorite dog of my father's, of whom more anon. 
 
 t It Is Worth observing how close in descrijttiou two stiulents of dog-lifo have approached each
 
 LITERARY AND DOMKSTIC LIFE. 37ii 
 
 Wife, children, pets, idealized as they soiuetimes are, play through 
 many of his most beautiful and imaginative essays. Memory le- 
 vives in his soul matters trivial enough; but to those familiar with 
 his ways, these little touches, embalming the fancy or taste of some 
 cherished friend, are deeply interesting. For example, my mother's 
 favorite plant was the myrtle : we find it peeping out here and 
 there in his writings, thus — 
 
 North. — " These are mere myrtles." 
 
 Shepherd. — "Mere myrtles! Dinna say that again o' them — mere; an ungratc- 
 fu' word, of a flowery plant, a' fu' o' bonny white starries; and is that their scent 
 that I smell?" 
 
 N)7-th. — " The balm is from many breaths, my dear James. Nothing that grows 
 is without fragrance." 
 
 In a letter written by my mother this autumn she says : — " We like 
 our residence exceedingly, notwithstanding its great retirement and 
 moist climate : the latter we were ))rei)ared foi- before we came, and 
 have certau)ly not been disappointed, for we have had rather more 
 of rain than fail- weather. The house is situated in a narrow valley 
 in Ettrick, with high hills on every side, which attract the clouds. 
 We, however, contrive to amuse ourselves very well, with books and 
 work, music and drawing; and when fair and fine, the boys and girls 
 have their ponies, and the old people a safe low open carriage, 
 yclept a dro.sky, in which they take the air. The walks are quite 
 to my taste, and without number in the wood wiiich surrounds the 
 
 other. Every one remembers the celebrated contest in Tiah and kin FriemJs; here i.s my father's 
 description (if a <i(it'-tight from tlie Xocten. No one w;is more amused at the resemblance than 
 the jrcnial author of Hub, whin the writer pointed out that he had been anticipated bv Xho 
 " Shepherd :" — 
 
 " Douii another close, and a battle o' dowgs! Abull-dowgand a mastiff! Tbe great big brown 
 mastiff mouthin" the buU-dowg by tlio vorra haunches, as if to crunch his bacl;. and the wlj 
 M'hitc bull-dowg never seeming to fash his thoomb, but sticking by the regul:u- set teeth o' his 
 un<ler-hung.iaw to the throat o' the mastiff, close to the jugular, and" has to be drawn off the grip 
 by twa strong baker-boys pu'in'at the tail o' the tane, and twa strong butcher-hoys p-rin' at the 
 tail o' the tither; for the mastilTs malster begins to tear that the viper at his throat will kill him 
 outright, and offers to pay a' bets, and confess his dowg has lost the battle. But the crowd wisli 
 
 to see the ficht out — and harl the dowgs that are uoo worryiug ither without any growliut; bailli 
 
 silent, exeei>t a sort o' snoi-ling Ihiough tlie nostrils, and a kind o" guller in their gullets.— I say 
 the crowd harl them out o' the mi<lden. ontil the staues. again— and, ' Wecl dune, Caesar 1' -Beltcr 
 dune, Vesiier!' 'A mutchkin to a gill on WhiteyP -The muckleane cannafeeht!' 'See how iLe 
 wcu bick is worryiug him noo. by a new spat on the thrapple !' ' He wud riu awa". gin she wiul 
 iei him loose!' ' She's just like her nu)ther, that belauged to the caravan o" wild beasts!' 'Q, 
 man, Davie, but I wud like to iret a breed out o' her by the watch-dowg at Bellmaiileii Bleach- 
 riild, that killed, ye keii, the Kilmanuick carri.i's Help in twenty minutes at KiuijSH elU' "— 
 Koften.
 
 374 MEMOIR OF JOWS WILSON. 
 
 house, and there is one delightful walk, the avenue, which is the 
 approach, and whicli, from one lodge to the other, is rather more 
 than a mile of nice dry gravel, and quite level, or nearly so, which 
 suits me vastly well ; there is a beautiful flower-garden close to the 
 house and a very pretty brawling stream, which reminds one of 
 Stockgill at Ambleside ; there is a very good waterfall likewise in 
 the grounds, about a mile from the house, Avhich I have not yet 
 seen, the path being very steep, and, owing to the rains, very wet ; 
 it is called the Black Spout. The boys have abundance of amuse- 
 ment in tishing and shooting, there being plenty of game — bares 
 and rabbits. John has the Duke of Buccleuch's permission to 
 
 shoot, and therefore we expect to have plenty of grouse 
 
 . . . Our neighbors, Avho are few and far between, consist of re- 
 spectable farmers, who have showed us great attention, indeed, Mr. 
 "Wilson was known to all the neighborhood long ago, in his pedes- 
 trian perambulations. The church is about a mile and a half from 
 us, a neat little building, with a comfortable manse attached. Mr. 
 Smith, the minister, is a very favorable specimen of a Scotch cler 
 gyman, with a modest, hospitable wife, and two children, 
 
 "Mr. "Wilson was obliged to go to Edinburgh last Saturday, but 
 I hope he will be here again on Wednesday. He is staying at the 
 Bank. Poor Mr. Blackwood is very ill ; indeed, I fear dangerously 
 so. It is a sur<jii'al case, and though his general health has not as 
 yet suiFered, should that give way there is no chance for him. He 
 would be an irreparable loss to his family, and a serious one to 
 Edinburgh, being an excellent citizen, a magistrate, and highly 
 respected even by his enemies." 
 
 My father's spirits were at this time very much disturbed at the 
 prospect of soon losing his kind and long-tried friend, the gradual 
 increase of whose illness he writes of with much feeling to his 
 wife : — 
 
 " Gloucester Place, Thursday X(ght. 
 
 "My dear Jane: — I found Mr. Blackwood ai)parently near his 
 dissolution, but entirely sensible, and well aware of his state, which 
 indeed he had been for a long time, though, till lately, he had never 
 said so, not wishing to disturb his foniily. He was very cheerful, 
 and we sjioke cliecrfuUy of various matters ; this was on ^Monday, 
 on my arrival from Pei'lilos in a chaise, the coach being full. Tuesday 
 was a day of rain, and being very ill, I lay all the day in bed. I did
 
 LITEliAKl' AM) DOMKSTIC LIFE. 375' 
 
 not, thortfoii^., see any of the Blackwoods, nor anybody else, but. 
 heard that he was keeping; much the same. On Wednesday I saw 
 Alexander and Robert, and found there was no change. This morn- 
 ing (Thursday) I called, and found him looking on the whole bette"* 
 than before, strc nger in his speech and general appearance. I had 
 much conversati' >n with him, and found him quite prepared to die, 
 pleased with the kindness of all around him, and grateful for all 
 mercies. It is ii/j possible, I think, that he can live many days, and 
 yet the medical men all declared on Sunday that he could not hold 
 out many hours. A good conscience is the best comforter on such 
 a bed as his, and were his bed mine to-morrow, bless God I have a 
 conscience that would support me as it supports him, and which 
 will support me till then, while I strive to do my duty to my f imily, 
 with weakened powers both of mind and body, but under circum- 
 stances which more than ever demand exertion. I have been too 
 ill to write one word since I came, and have seen nobody, nor shall 
 I till I return to Thirlstane. Not one word of the Magazine is writ- 
 ten. Last night I made an eflbrt and walked to the Bank through 
 a tremendous storm. 
 
 " I was in bed to-day till after bank hours, and could not disturb 
 the Blackwoods, of whom I have not heard since the morning. I 
 have consulted Listen. Sedentary employments are bad for that 
 complaint, but sedentary I must be, and will work till I can work 
 no longer. It is necessary that I should do, and better men have 
 done so, and will do so while the world lasts. Thank God, I in- 
 jure nobody in thought, Avord, or deed. I am willing to die for 
 my family, Avho, one and all, yourself included, deserve all that is 
 good at my hands. I believe that poor Mr. Blackwood's exertions 
 have caused his illness, and after his death my work must be inces- 
 sant, till the night comes in which no man can work. I have been 
 interrupted all summer, but Avinter must see another sigh), and I 
 will do my utmost. I will write again by Ebenezer Hogg, and 
 shall not, indeed cannot, leave this before Mr. Blackwood's death. 
 He cannot survive many days, but I do not think the boys and Mr. 
 Hay need come in. I will speak of that again in my letter. I am 
 yours affectionately, John Wilsv).v." 
 
 "Baxk. Tliursday S'vjht. 
 "My DEAii Jaxk: — I arrived at the Bank at half-past twelve on
 
 376 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Monday with a violent toothache ; dined there alone ; sa'v the 
 Blackwoods, and went to bed at nine. On Tuesday called on Mr. 
 Blackwood, and found him tolerably well. Lost all ih t day in be- 
 ing unable to settle to any thing ; finding the bank-house most un- 
 comfortable in all respects — no pillows to the beds, no sofas, no 
 tables on which it was possible to write, from their being so low 
 and the chairs so high. I did nothing. On Wednesday did a little, 
 but not much ; and dined, perhaps injudiciously, with Liston,* to 
 meet Schetky ;f stayed till one o'clock ; and to-day had an open 
 and confused head ; A^TOte in the back shop, but not very much. I 
 sent for Xancy to the Bank, and found from her that she Avas pick- 
 ing currants in Gloucester Place, and told her that I would be there 
 to-morrow (Friday) at nine o'clock, and write in my room, which, 
 she says, is open, and sleep at the Bank. I dine at Mr. Blackwood's. 
 Mr. Hay called on me at the shop to-day, and is well, having been 
 ill with cholera or colic. The ^Magazine is in a sad state, and en- 
 tirely behind, and as yet I have done little to forward it. I am not 
 quite incog., I fear, but have avoided seeing any of my old friends 
 of the Parliament House. I will write by Sunday's mail, so you 
 Avill hear from me on Tuesday, telling you when to send the gig to 
 Innerleithen. I think it will be on \Yednesday night, therefore keep 
 it disengaged for that day; but I will mention particulars m my 
 next. My face is swelled, but not so bad as before nearly. The 
 Whigs are all in again, or rather were never out, except Lord 
 Grey, who remains out. Poor Blackwood looks as well as ever, and 
 there seem to be hopes, but the disease is very, very bad, and I 
 do not know what to say. Love to all. Yours ever aflfectionately 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 * " Saturday Evening. 
 
 ** "My dear Maggie : — Mr. Blackwood is in the same state, wear- 
 
 • Robert Liston, the celebrated snrjeon ; died in 1S47. 
 
 t Jolin Schetky, An artist, a friend of my father's. — " I have no conceit of those 'wh.i arc all 
 thinss to all men.' Why, I h.ive seen John Schetky himself in the sulks with sumpbs, though he 
 Is more tolerant of ninnies and noodles than almost any other man of genius I have over known; 
 but cl.ip him <lo\vn among a choice crew of kindred spirits, and how his wild wit (•"■>n veL as in 
 its prime, wantons! playing at will its virgin fancies, till Care herself comes from he>' cell, and 
 sitlini: by the side of Joy, loses her nanae. and forgets her nature, and joins in glee or catch, bc- 
 lieulh the power of that maL'ician, the merriest in the hall." — Xocten. No. l.vvi., 1834. 
 
 " A gentleman who .served with our army in the Spanish camprdgns, and has paiiit'd seveiul 
 wild scenes of the Pyrenees in a most original manner. He is, I imagine, the very (ln-«t painter 
 of sky since Salvalor Vioix'^—LttUra on tlie Lifing Artmls of SioU-ina.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 377 
 
 iiig away gradually, but living longer than any of the med'cal pco 
 pie thought possible. Last Sunday, it was thought he coald not 
 live many hours. 
 
 "I enclose £10 for present use, and shall write to your mamma 
 on Monday, so that you will hear from me on Wednesday. 
 
 " This goes by f^benezer Hogg, and two other letters ; and 
 Nancy, I understand, is sending clothes to Bonjeddard, from which 
 I gather you are going to the ball, which is right. Love to all. 
 Use the gig as you choose, for I shall not want it for some time. 
 Thine alFectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 " Gloucester Place, Monday Evening. 
 
 " My dear Jane : — I shall be in Innerleithen on Thursday per 
 coach, so let the gig be there the night before. I have been writ- 
 ing here since Friday, with but indifferent success, and am at thig 
 hour worn out. Nancy has done what I asked her to do, and I 
 have let the bell ring 10,000 times without minding it. 
 
 " Billy called, with Captain Craigie, on Sunday, and, after view- 
 ing them from the bedroom window, I let them in. I have seen 
 nobody else, not even Sym, but intend to call to morrow night. I 
 have slept here, and in utter desolation, as at Blackwood's it was 
 too mournful to go there. 
 
 *' What is to become of next Magazine I do not know. If I come 
 here again, I will bring Maggie with me. Five hours of writing 
 give me a headache, and worse, and I become useless. I do not 
 think Blackwood will recover, but Liston speaks still as if he had 
 hopes. Nobody writes for the Magaznie, and the lads are in very 
 low spirits, but show much that is amiable. I believe Hogg and 
 his wife and I will be in the coach on Thursday morning to Inner- 
 leithen ; so Bob told me. The printers are waiting for ^IS., and I 
 have none but a few pages to give them; but on Weilnesday night 
 all must be at press. I hope to find you all well and hai)py. Yours 
 ever affectionately, Joux Wilson." 
 
 Mr. Blackwood died on the 16th of September, 1834. "Four 
 months of suffering, in part intense, exhausted by slow degrees :dl 
 his physical energies, but left his temper calm and unrufHed, and 
 his intellect entire and vigorous even to the last. He had thus what 
 no good man will consider as a slight i)rivilege, that of contem- 
 16
 
 3TS MKMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 piating the ai>proach of death with the clearness and full strength of 
 his niiiiil and faculties, and of instructing those around him, by 
 s;okMnn precept and memorable example, by what means alone 
 humanity, conscious of its own frailty, can sustain that prospect 
 with humble serenit.y."* This event made no change in my father's 
 relations with the Magazine, but two years later a trial came that 
 deadened his interest, and the willingness of his hand to work. 
 
 " What is to become of next Magazine ?" was the question on 
 Monday evening, while the printers were waiting for MS., and he 
 had but a few pages to give them. How he worked that night and 
 next two days may be seen by examining the number of the Maga- 
 zine for October, of which he wrote with his own hand 5G out of the 
 142 pages required. His articles were : " A Glance at the Xoctes 
 of Athena}us ;" and a "Review of Coleridge's Poetical Works." 
 
 For the remainder of this year, and for the two subsequent years, 
 he gave the most imequivocal proofs of his regard for his friend's 
 memory, and his interest in his family, by continuing his labors 
 with unflagging industry. In glancing over his contributions for 
 1835, I perceive that in January he had three; in February five ; 
 in March two ; in May two ; in July five ; in August four ; in Sej^ 
 tember three ; and in October and Xovember one in each month, 
 making a total of twenty-six articles during the twelve months. Of 
 all these criticisms I have only space to allude to the very brilliant 
 series of papers on Spenser, regarding which Mr. Hallam remarks, 
 that " It has been justly observed by a living writer of the most 
 ardent and enthusiastic genius, whose eloquence is as the rush of 
 mighty waters, and has left it for others almost as invidious to 
 praise in terms of less rapture, as to censure what he has bonm 
 along in the stream of unhesitating eulogy, that ' no poet has ever 
 had a more exquisite sense of the beautiful than Spenser.' "f 
 
 In 183G and 1837, he continued to contribute an article at least 
 once a month until his own great loss paralyzed him. 
 
 The following letters were wiitten in the autumn of 1835 from 
 the banks of the Clyde : — 
 
 " The Baths, HELEXSBrRGU, 
 1835, Tuesday. 12 o'clock. 
 " My dear Jaxe : — I dined with Miss Sym on Sunday, and was 
 kindly received by her and Mr. Andrew. 
 
 JUacl-icood, October, 1B3T. ♦ LiUrature of Europe, vol iL, p. 136.
 
 LITKKAKY AND DoMK.STIC LIFE. 379 
 
 "Dinner was over (half-past four), but the Ilowtowdy and 
 pigeon-pie brought back, and having cast the coat to it, much to 
 the old lady's amusement, I made a feast. I left Ghrsgow at hidf- 
 past six on Thursday morning, and reached Helensburgh about 
 nine. I forgot to say that Blair was at the Mearns, so I did not 
 see him. Monday (that is yesterday) was a broiling day without 
 wind ; not a breath till about twelve, when some yachts started for 
 a cup ; the heat was intense, though there was a canopy over the 
 Orion, in which the party was gathered. We had every thing good 
 in the upper and lower jaw-most line ; and the champagne — a wine 
 I like — flew like winking. This continued till six o'clock, and I had 
 a mortal headache. Race won by the ' Clarence' (her seventh cup 
 this summer), the 'Amethyst' (Smith's yacht) being beaten. At 
 seven we sat down forty-five to dinner in the Baths, so the hotel is 
 called, and we had a pleasant party enough, as far as tlie heat 
 would suffer." 
 
 "Largs, Sunday, August 2, 1835. 
 " My dear Magg ! — I duly received the governess's letter, and 
 write now to say that two gentlemen are to dine with us in 
 Gloucester Place on Wednesday first, viz., Wednesday, August 
 5th, at six o'clock. Get us a good dinner. It was my intention to 
 write a long letter about us, but how can I ? We have all been at 
 church, and the room is filled with people, and the post goes in an 
 hour. Blair and Frank Wilson and Willy Sym came down per 
 steamer last night, and return to Glasgow to-morrow morning, but 
 Blair has no intention, as far as I know, of returning to Edinburgh. 
 I have just seen him, and no more. The Regatta is over, and 
 Umbs was at the ball here; 200 people present. To-day is a storm. 
 To-morrow I hope to get to Glasgow, and be home to dinner on 
 Tuesday per mail — sooner not possible — so do try all of von to be 
 contented till then without me. All are well. Your aftectionate 
 father, John Wilsox, 
 
 " Who sends love to the lave, chickens and dogs included." 
 
 In August, 1836, the Professor, witli his wife and two eldest 
 daughters, visited Paisley, where a public dinner was given to 
 him, to which he was accompanied by his friend Thomas Campbell. 
 The meeting was numerously attended, and went off with eclat.
 
 380 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 The following note to Mr. Findlay accompanied a report of the 
 speeches on this occasion : — 
 
 "6 Gloccester Place, September 1. 
 "My deab Fkiend: — The penis idle; not cold the heart! I for- 
 get not ever the friends of my heart. This report is a very imperfect 
 one, but I thought you might not dislike to see it. I tcill write 
 very soon, and at length. We are all well, and unite in kindest re- 
 gards and remembrances. Ever yours most affectionately, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 As an illustration of his humorous post-prandial speeches, I give 
 an extract from the report : — '• Mr. Campbell had been pleased to 
 give them an animated character of his physical power ; all he would 
 say was that nature had blessed him with a sound mind in a sound 
 body, and he had felt her kindness in this, that it had enabled him 
 in his travels and wanderings to move with independence and free- 
 dom from all the restraints that weakness of body might imply. He 
 remembered seeing it mentioned in the public prints some years ago 
 that he resembled the wild m:m of the wood, but little did he dream 
 that at last he was to grow into a resemblance of their immortal 
 Wallace." After some further observations, in which the learned 
 Professor spoke warmly and eloquently of the genius of Mr. Cam]> 
 bell, he referred to the remarks of that gentleman about the circles 
 of reputation that surrounded him, and his reception at the dinner 
 of the Campbell Club. Perhaps, he observed, it was not so great 
 an achievement for Mr. Campbell to come 400 miles to receive the 
 honors awaiting him, as it was for him (Mr. W.) to go forty miles 
 to see those honors bestowed upon him; while the little discharge 
 of applause with which his appearance Avas welcomed, was to be 
 regarded only as a humble tribute due to Mr. Cjvmpbell's superior 
 artillery. He gave Mr. Campbell willingly the possession of all the 
 outer circles. He gave him London — undisputed possession of L5Tj- 
 don — also of Edinburgh ; he did not ask for Glasgow ; but here in 
 Paisley (tremendous cheering which drowned the rest of the sen- 
 tence), they wuuld agree with the justice of the sentiment, when he 
 said that had he been born in the poorest village in the land, he 
 would not have cause to be ashamed of his birthplace ; nor, he trusted, 
 would his birthplace have cause to be ashamed of him (cheers). But 
 wlien he considered where he was born — the town of Paisley — where
 
 LITEKAKY AND DoMhSllO LIFp:. 3S1 
 
 he had that morning walked along the front of his father's house — 
 itself no insignificant mansion — a town of the very best size — not 
 like the great unwieldy Glasgow, or Edinburgh, where (while fears 
 were entertained of the failure of the crops in the country) a crop 
 was going on in the streets of the oily (cheers and laughter), but 
 turned he to his native town, "Ah, seest'u ! seest'u!"* (tremendous 
 cheering and laughter). PoUtics were very properly excluded from 
 tliat meeting, etc., etc. 
 
 After the festivities at Paisley were over, they took a short excui- 
 sion to Loch Lomond, Glen Falloch, Killin, Loch Earn, Crieff, Com- 
 rie, Perth, and homewards ; nor was it then imagined that one of 
 that hap|)y i)arty was so soon to be removed from the honored and 
 loved place she held in her family. 
 
 On New Year's day, 1837, my mother wrote her last letter to her 
 dearly loved sister ; and the correspondence, which had continued 
 without interruption for twenty-five years, was now to cease : — 
 
 "My dear Mauy: — "With the exception of Mr. Wilson, we arc 
 nearly as well as usual. I cannot get Mr. W. to take proper car© 
 of himself; he would put you out of all patience, as he really does 
 me, and neither scolding nor persuasion avail, and I am obliged to 
 submit, and so must he ; he consents to stay in the house, which is 
 one comfort, and therefore I trust his cough will soon disappear. 
 
 "Frank says the preparations in Glasgow for the reception of Sir 
 R. Peel will be splendid. Mr. Wilson and John will be both there. 
 I believe there will be at least 2,000 at the dinner, and the demand 
 for tickets is unprecedented. I will take care to send you a news- 
 paper, with the best account of the meeting that can be had. There 
 is some anticipation, I hear, that the Radicals will try to make some 
 disturbance, but there is no fear but then* attempts will be soon put 
 a stop to. 
 
 " I am just now reading a delightful book ; if you have not already 
 seen it, pray try and get it ; it is Prior's ' Life of Golclsinith." Do 
 you remember how you used to like Goldsmith ? and I never read 
 a line of this book without thinking of you, and wishing we were 
 reading it together. You will love him better than ever after re;id- 
 ing these Memoirs. 
 
 "A thousand thanks for your welcome letter, and for all the good 
 
 • This Ig a Paisley expression peculiar to th< people, and uienns " Seest lliou, seest thou?"
 
 382 MKMOIE or JOHN WILSON. 
 
 :iiul kind wishes therein contaiued. In retiini, pray accept all our 
 united and most cordial wishes, whieli are offered in all sincerity and 
 aiieetion to yourself and all our well-beloved friends at Penny Bridge, 
 tliat you may enjoy many, many happy retui'us of this blessed season. 
 Your affectionate sister, J. Wilson." 
 
 My mother's illness was not at first of a nature to alarm the family ; 
 but my father was always nervous about her, Avhen any thing more 
 than usual disturbed her health ; she had been for some years deli- 
 cate, and took less exercise than was perhaps for her good. We 
 thought that the little tour, made in the autumn of 1836, had been 
 very beneficial, and hoped that this would in future tempt her to 
 move more frequently from home. About the middle of March, lit- 
 tle more than two months after sending an affectionate greeting at 
 the beginning of anew year to the beloved friends at Penny Bridge, 
 she was taken ill with a feverish cold, which, after a few days, turned 
 to a malady beyond the aid of human skill. Water on the chest was 
 the ultimate cause of her death, which sad event took place on the 
 29th of March, and was communicated to her sister Mary in the fol- 
 lowing touching letter by a relative, who could well understand the 
 irreparable loss that had befallen husbaud and children by the pass 
 ing away of this gentle spirit : — 
 
 " My letter, written last night, will have prepared you to heai' 
 thot our worst fears have been confirmed ; our dearest Jane expired 
 last night at half-past twelve o'clock. Immediately after writing to 
 you, I went, along with my husband, to Glo'ster Place, trusting 
 that she might once more know me. She had been sleeping heavily 
 for two or three hours, but when I went into her room, sh« was 
 breathing softer though shorter, and a kind of hope seized ujion 
 me. The ))hysician had ordered a cordial to be given her every 
 hour; for this purpT)se it was necessary to rouse her from licr 
 sleep, and it was at this time a trial was to be made whether she 
 would know me ; how anxiously I hoped to exchange one kind 
 look with her, to kiss her again, but it was not God's will it shoiiM 
 1k' so. Her husband was just going to raise her head, that he mi'^lil 
 enable her to taste the draught, when she breathed three siglis, with 
 sliort intervals, and all was over before we who were around her 
 bed could believe it possible that her spirit had fled. We Avere 
 stuimed with the ini, xpeeted stroke, for none of us had anticipated
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 3S3 
 
 any change last night. The Professor was seized with a sort of 
 lialf delirium, and you can scarcely picture a more disires>iiig scene 
 than him lying on the floor, his son John wee|iing over him, and 
 the poor girls in e<]ual distress. His first words were those of 
 prayer; after that he spoke incessantly the whole night, and seemed 
 to recapitulate the events of many years in a few hours. They 
 were all calmer this morning. Maggy tells me that she scarcely 
 ever spoke except Avhen addressed ; that she did not think herself 
 in danger, and had even yesterday morning spoken of getting bet- 
 ter. But she did not know any of them, at all times, for the last 
 day or two, and I believe none of them yesterday. The funeral, I 
 believe, will take place on Saturday. God bless you both ; — with 
 kindest love to all." 
 
 So passed away from this earth the spirit of his idolized wife, 
 leaving the world thenceforth for him dark and dreary. This be- 
 reavement overwhelmed him with grief, almost depriving him of 
 reason, nor, when the excess of sorrow passed away, did mourning 
 ever entirely leave his heart. When he resumed his duties next 
 session, he met his class with a depressed and solemn spirit, unable 
 at first to give utterance to words, for he saw that he had with him 
 the symi)athy and tender respect of his students. After a short 
 pause, his voice tremulous with emotion, he said, "Gentlemen, 
 pardon me, l)ut since we last met, I have been in the valley of the 
 shadow of death." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 1837-44. 
 
 " Pictures and visions which fjincy had drawn and happy love 
 had inspired, came now in fierce torrent of recollection over the 
 prostrate and afflicted soul. Though sorrow had no jiart in tlicin 
 before, it possesses tiiem now. Thus, one idea, and the pain which 
 is now inseparable from it, reign over all changes of thought — 
 though these thoughts in themselves have l)cen fixed in their con-
 
 384 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 nection with one ;r. other, and image linked to image long before ; 
 they rise up by those connoetions, but they are determined to aiise 
 and depart by that one fixed concejition which hokls its unshaken 
 seat in the sorrow of the souk"* It is quite evident from those 
 words, written a year after that great domestic affliction had l)efal- 
 len him, that my lather liad not slmt out from liis lieart the imago 
 of liis wife. How lie thought and felt at the moment when the 
 shadow of death darkened his life, may be gathered from the fol- 
 lowing touching lines copied from the pubHc journals of the day: — 
 
 "Last week a ))aragraph appeared describing the painful situation 
 to which Professor Wilson had been reduced from deep mental 
 affliction. The following extract from a letter to a fiieml, written 
 by himself, is the best evidence of the error into which our contem- 
 porary had fallen : — 
 
 '"It pleased God on the 29th of ^[arch to visit me with the se- 
 verest calamity that can befall one of his creatures, in the death of 
 my wife, with whom I had lived in love for twenty-six years, and 
 from that event till about a fortnight ago, I lived with my family, 
 two sons and three daughters, dutiful and affectionate, in a secluded 
 house near Roslin. I am now in Edinburgh, and eaily in Novem- 
 ber hope to resume my daily duties in the University. I have 
 many blessings for which I am humbly thankful to the Almighty, 
 and though I have not borne my affliction so well, or better than I 
 have done, yet I have borne it with submission and resignation, and 
 feel that though this world is darkened, I may be able yet to exert 
 such faculties, humble as they are, as God has given me, if not to 
 the benefit, not to the detriment of my fellow-mortals.' " 
 
 That letter leads one irresistibly back to one written in May, 
 1811, when he stood on the threshold of a new life full of antiei 
 pated hapjiiness. "Where was that solemn, calm spirit, now thai 
 (she — the best and gentlest of wives — was gone? Did he say, 
 "Comfort's in heaven, and we on earth?" True it was, he suffered 
 as such a soul must suffer at such a loss, and it was for a long time 
 a terrible storm of trouble. But he gave evidence in due time that 
 lie was not forever to be overcome with sadness. 
 
 It is necessary, in order to relate some of the events of this smn 
 mer, that we should follow him to the secluded house ne.ir Hoslin, 
 where he went immediately after my mother's death, o jubtlesa 
 
 * " Our Two Vases," Blacktcood , April, 1S38. 
 
 ^
 
 LITKKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 385 
 
 hoping to find, as he had done of old, some comfort in communion 
 with outward nature. It was Spring, too, his very love for which 
 carried with it a vague presage of evil. 
 
 "Yea! mournful thouphts like the^e eren now ariso, 
 While Spring, like Nature's smiling infancy, 
 Sports round me, and all images of peace 
 Seem native to this earth, nor other home 
 Desire or know ; j-et doth a mystic chain 
 Link in our hearts foreboding fears of death, 
 With every loveliest thing that seems to UB 
 Most deeply fraught with life." 
 
 Thus did he meet the fair season so loved of old, sighing — 
 
 " the heavy change, now thou art gone ; 
 Now thou art gone, and never must return!" 
 
 I may observe here, without any unfilial disrespect, that his deep sor 
 row was not without its good influence on the sufferer. Those who 
 had known him were well aware of tlie sincerity of his religious 
 belief, and of his solemn and silent adoration of the Saviour ; but 
 it was observed from this time that his faith exercised a more con- 
 stant sway over his actions. The tone of his writings is higher, 
 and they contain almost unceasing aspirations after the spiritual. 
 The same humility, which in a singular degree now made him so 
 modest and unobtrusive with the public, ordered all his ways in 
 private life. The humble opinion he had of himself could have 
 arisen from no other source than from reverence to God, whose ser- 
 vant he felt himself to be, and debtor beyond all for the possession 
 of those gifts which, in the difiidcnce of his soul, he hoped he had 
 used, " if not for the benefit, not for the detriment of his fellow- 
 mortals." As a specimen of his thoughts, and as introductory to 
 the life of peace and charity which he led in his seclusion at Roslin, 
 I refer my readers to a noble passage on Intellect ;* it forms a touch- 
 ing conti'ast to the simplicity and tenderness of disposition whieh 
 caused him to turn aside from these lofty communings to the com- 
 mon humanities of nature. He was well known in the houses of 
 the poor. No humble friend was ever cast aside if honest and up- 
 right. During the summer, an old servant of my mothei's, who 
 had formerly lived many years in her service, had fallen into bad 
 health, and was ordered change of air. She was at once invited to 
 
 ♦ " Our Pocket Companioui," BlaokicoofVi U'lgutint, vol. illv., 1S3S.
 
 386 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Rosliu, and Jessie willingly aviuleJ herself of my fathei''s kindness, 
 and came to his liouse; but the change was of little service ; con- 
 sumiition had taken lirm hold, and soon the poor invalid was con- 
 tincd to bed never more to rise. That she was considerately at- 
 tended and soothed during those long watches — the sad accompani- 
 ment of this lingering disease — was only what was to have been 
 expected, but it was no unfrequent sight to see my Either, as early 
 dawn streaked the sky, sitting by the bedside of the dying woman, 
 arranging with gentle but awkward liand the pillow beneath her 
 head, or cheering her with encouraging words, and reading, when 
 she desired it, those portions of the Bible most suitable to her need. 
 AVhen she died, her master laid her head in the grave in Lasswade 
 churcliynrd. 
 
 This whole season was burdened with one feeling which tinged all 
 he wrote, and never quite left him.* In October, he returned to 
 Edinl)urgh and i-esumed his college duties, how, we have already 
 seen in Mr. Smith's reminiscences. About this time circumstances 
 occurred that in a measure removed the gloom which had settled 
 upon his mind. Two of his daughters were married,f and the pleas- 
 ant interchange of social civilities, which generally takes place on 
 these occasions, led him into a wider circle of friends than formerly. 
 
 * " There is another incident of that period which brings out the profound emotion in a way too 
 characteristically singular to be repeated, were it not known beyond the private circle: — how two 
 pet dogs, special favorites of Mrs. Wilson's, having got astray within the preserve-grounds of an 
 estate near which their owner was then" staying in the country, were shot by the son of the pro- 
 prietor, while engaged in field-sports with other gentleuien, and were iifterwards ascertained, to 
 their extreme regret, to belong to Professor Wilson, to whom they sent an immediate explana- 
 tion, h;istening to follow it up afterwards by apologies in person. His indignation, however, it is 
 said, was uncontrollable, and we can conceive that leonine aspect in its prime— dilating, flaming, 
 flushed with the sudden distraction of a grief that became rage, seeing nothing before it but the 
 embodiment, as it were, of the great destroyer. The occasion, it was gravely argued by a ine- 
 diutiir, was one for the display of magnanimity. ' Magnamimitt !' was the emphatic reply,— 
 ' Why, sir, I showed the utmost magnanimity this morning when one of the murderers was in 
 tliid very room, and I did not pitch him out of the window I' As jnurder he accoi-dingly persisted 
 in regarding it, with a sullen obstinate desire for justice, which required no small degree of maji- 
 ogenient on the part of friends, and of propitiation from the culprits, to prevent his making it a 
 public matter. Untrained to ciUamity, like Lear, when all at once — 
 
 " ' The king is mad ! how stitT is our vile sense ' 
 
 That we st;ind up, and have ingenious feeling 
 
 Of our huge sorrows! Better we were distract: 
 
 So should our thoughts be severed from our griefs ; 
 
 And woes, by wrong iui.aginations, lose 
 
 The knowledge of llieniselves.'" 
 —From Mr. t'u|iple"s graceful ^^Memorial and Estimate of Profcaaor Wilson, hy a Student^' 
 4to. Kdiiibu.-gh. 
 
 + The eldest, Margaret Anne, to her cousin, Mr. ,T. F. Ferrior, now Professor of Moral Philos- 
 0,'hy, Sl Andrews; tiic second, Mai-y, to Mr. J. T. Gordon, now Sheriff of Midlothian. 
 
 i
 
 LITKEAliY AND DOMESTIC LIKi;. 387 
 
 By tiie marriage of his second daughter, who, along with her lius- 
 band, found a lionie for eleven years in lier f ither's house, a eliange 
 was wrought in the feehngs of some of the cliief men of the Whig 
 party towards him. It has already been shown to what an extent 
 the bitterness of party spirit hud separated good men and true from 
 each otiier, not only in public matters but in private life. That 
 spirit was now dying out, and the alienation which had for some 
 years existed, more through force of habit than inclination, was 
 soon to cease, as far as my father was concerned. Mr. Gordon was 
 a Wliig, and connected with Whig families ; he introduced to his 
 father-in-law's house new visitors and new elements of thought ; old 
 prejudices disnpjjeared, and " Christopher North" was frequently 
 seen in the midst of what once was to his own party the camp 
 of the enemy. Many a pleasant day they spent in each other's 
 houses ; and no observer, however dull, could fail to be struck even 
 by the aspect of the four men who tluis again met together, Jefi- 
 rey, Cockburn, Rutherfurd, and Wilson. I think I may venture, 
 without partiality, to say that my father was the most remarkable 
 of the four. There was a certain similarity of bearing and manner 
 in the thiee great lawyers which was not shared by him : he was 
 evidently not one of the family. I shall never forget his manly 
 voice, pleasantly contrasting with Jeffrey's sharp silvery tones, as 
 they mingled sparkling wit with their more serious discourse, which 
 was enlivened by the quaint humor and Doric notes of Cockburn, 
 that type of the old Scottish gentleman, whose dignifietl yet homely 
 manner and solemn beauty gave his aspect a peculiar grace — Ruth- 
 erfurd also, to whose large mind, consummate ability, rich and ripe 
 endowments, I most willingly pay a most sincere and affectionate 
 tribute of true regard and respect.* It will not do for me to dwell 
 on these things, however pleasant to myself would be a digression 
 into this fairy-land of reminiscence. f 
 
 * The mutual appreciation and familiar friendship of Wilson and Rutherfurd was us instant as 
 are question and answer to-day by teU^irraph; and I cannot now recall, without emotion, the fond 
 and constant attachment which the srreat and busy lawyer felt and manifested to " Christopher 
 Nortli."' I liave before me at this moment letter after letter, written during a course of years to 
 my husband from his uncle in London, in the din of the heaviest seasons of otUcial duty, not one 
 of which ever concludes without some special message to or inquiry about the '• Professor."' 
 
 t Nobody, however, will grudge me a few words in honor of that ami.ible and admirable luan, 
 he late Lord Murray, who may be said to have lived in the open air of universal and cheerful 
 l»ispit;ility. His heart and his hearth were alike op.ii, with an eniial warmth of welcome, to all, 
 old and yoiuii;, big or little. None undersloo.l or relished better than he did the joyous benev- 
 olence ol my father's disposition. I wiah 1 could liu;,'er a little over the agreeable reunions in
 
 388 MEMOIR OK JOHN WILSON'. 
 
 My father, since the days when he wrote in the EiUnbirjh. had 
 achieved a position iu letters not only different from Jeffrey's, but 
 higher and nioie enduring. As a critic, he had worked in a deeper 
 mine than the Edinburgh Reviewer, dealing less with mere forms, 
 and more with the true spirit of art. 
 
 His great work, indeed, was that which to me seems the highest 
 destiny of man, to teach ; and his lessons have spread far and near. 
 In the limitations of his genius lay its excellence ; it made him pat- 
 riotic ; and if, for example, his name is not linked with individual 
 creations of character such as bind the name of Goethe with Faust 
 or Werther or Wilbelm Meister, yet his immediate influence extends 
 over a wider sphere of life. These creations of the great German, 
 though quite accordant with nature, speak but to a high order of 
 cultivation. They are works containing a spirit and action of life, 
 tiie sympathies of which can never enter the hut of the peasant or 
 the homes of the poor. On the other hand, Wilson is thoroughly 
 patriotic ; there is not a class in the whole of Scotland incapable of 
 enjoying his writings ; and I believe his influence in the habits and 
 modes of thought on every subject, grave or gay, is felt throughout 
 the country. Be it politics, literature, or sport, there is not one of 
 these themes that lias not taken color from him — a sure test of 
 genius. In the ^ Xoctes" alone is seen his creative power in indi- 
 vidual character ; yet its most original conception is not a type, but 
 a bemg of time and place. The Shepherd is not to be found every- 
 where in Scotland, cither sitting at feasts, or tending his flocks on 
 the hill-side. We are not familiar with him as we are with the char- 
 acters of Charles Dickens. We have to imagine the one ; we see 
 and know the others. Christopher himself is typical of Avhat has 
 tteen ; he presides at these meetings, when philosophy mounts high, 
 with the dignity of a minister of blue-eyed Athene. The spirit of 
 the Greek school is upon him, and we can fancy, that, before assem- 
 bling his companions together, he invoked the gods for eloquence and 
 wisdom. There he was great ; but in his tales, his Recreations, and 
 his poetry, the true nature of the man, as he lived at home, is to be 
 found. In the simple ways of his daily life, I see him as he some- 
 times used to be, in his own room, surrounded by his family — the 
 
 Jcflfrcy's house in his latter ye.irs, which, under the mellowed lustre of a simple domestic fire- 
 side, rivalic4l the sprishtliesi fascinations of a Hotel R.-jmbouillet. No friend went to them, or 
 was there greeted, with more cordial sympathy than Professor Wilson.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 389 
 
 prestige of greatness laid aside, and \,\ie very strength of his hand 
 softened, that he might gently caress the infant on his knee, and play 
 uith the little ones at his feet. And many a game was played with 
 fun and frolic ; stories were told, harley-sugar was eaten, and feasts 
 of various kinds given, "A party in grandpapa's room" was 
 ever hailed with delight. There was to be seen a tempting display 
 of figs, raisins, cakes, and other good things, all laid out on a table 
 set and covered by himself; while he, acting on the occasion as 
 waiter, was ordered about in the most unceremonious fashion. After 
 a while, when childhood was passing away from the frolics of the 
 nursery, and venturing to explore the mysteries of life, he would 
 speak to his little friends as companions, and passing from gay to 
 grave, led their young spirits on, and bound their hearts to his. 
 
 In speaking of his kindness to human pets ^ I may mention a very 
 delightful instance of his love to the inferior animals. I remember 
 a hapless sparrow being found lying on the door-steps scarcely 
 fledged, and quite unable to do for itself. It was brought into the 
 house, and from that moment became & protege of my father's. It 
 found a lodging in his room, and ere long was perfectly domestica- 
 ted, leading a life of uninterrupted peace and prosj)erity for nearly 
 eleven years. It seemed quite of opinion that it was the most im 
 portant occupant of the apartment, and would peck and chirp where 
 it liked, not untrequently nestling in the folds of its patron's waist, 
 coat, attracted by the warmth it found there. Then with bolder 
 stroke of familiarity, it would hop upon his shoulder, and |)icking 
 off some straggling hair from the long locks hanging about his neck, 
 would jump away to its cage, and depositing the treasure with an 
 air of triumph, return to fresh conquest, quite certain of welcome. 
 The creature seemed positively influenced by constant association 
 with its master. It grew in stature, and began to assume a noble 
 and defiant look. It was alleged, in fact, that he was gradually be- 
 coming an eagle. 
 
 Of his dogs, their name was Legion. I remember Bronte, Rover 
 Fang, Paris, Charlie, Fido, Tip, and Grog, besides outsiders with- 
 out number, 
 
 Bronte comes first on the list. He came, I think, into the family 
 in the year 1826, a soft, shapeless mass of puppyhood, and grew up 
 a beautiful Newfoundland dog, " Purple-black was he all ovei-, 
 evept the star on his breast, as the raven's wing. Strength and
 
 390 MEMOIK OF JOUN WILSON. 
 
 Bagncity emboldened his bounding beauty, and a ficrr-eness lay deep 
 down within the quiet lustre o' his een that tauld you, even wlien 
 lie laid his head upon your knees, and smiled up to y';ur lace like a 
 verra intellectual and moral creature — as he was — that had he been 
 angered, he coald have torn in pieces a Eon.''* He was brave and 
 gentle in disposition, and we all loved him, but he was my father's 
 peculiar property, of which he was, by the way, quite aware ; he 
 evinced for him a constancy that gained in return the confidence 
 and atiection of his master. Every day for several years did Bronte 
 walk by his side to and from the College, where he was soon as 
 well known as the Professor himself. This fine dog came to an un- 
 timely end. There was good reason to believe that he had been 
 poisoned by some members of Dr. Knox's class, in revenge for the 
 remarks made by my father on the Burke and Hare raurders.f I 
 remember the morning we missed Bronte from the breakfast-room, 
 a half-formed presentiment told us that something was wrong ; we 
 called, but no bounding step answered the summons. I went to 
 look for him in the schoolroom, and there he lay lifeless. I could 
 not believe it, and touched him gently with my foot ; he did not 
 move. I bent down and laid my hand on his head, but it was cold; 
 poor Bronte was dead I " Xo bark like his now belongs to the 
 world of sound ;" and so passed Bronte '' to the laud of hereafter." 
 It was some time ere he found a successor ; but there was no living 
 without dogs, and the next was Rover, of whom I have already 
 spoken. 
 
 The house in Gloucester Place was a rendezvous for all kinds of 
 dogs. My father's kindliness of nature made him open his house 
 for his four-footed friends, who were too numerous to describe. 
 There was Professor Jameson's Xeptune, a Xewfoundland dog, 
 Mrs. Ilutherfurd's Juba, a pet spaniel, and Wasp, a Dandy Din- 
 mont, belonging to Lord Rutherfurd, who were constant visitors ; 
 but the most notorious sorner of the whole party was Tory, brother 
 to Fang, both sons of !Mr. Blackwood's famous dog. Tickler. Tory 
 paid his \'isits with the cool assurance of a man of the world, the 
 agreeableness of whose society was not to be questioned for a mo- 
 ment ; he remained as long as he wished, was civil and good-hu- 
 mored to every one, but, as a matter of course, selected the m:x6ter 
 of the house as his chief companion, walked with him, and patron- 
 
 * XocU-g JinbroitiutKt. t lUd.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMK6TIC LIFE. 391 
 
 izbd him. I tliink he looked upon himself as the binduig link 
 between the bitter Tory of the old re<jirae^ and the moderate 
 Conservative of the new. Tliere was evidently a feeling of par- 
 tisanship in his mind as he took up his position at tlie door of Mr. 
 FJlackwood's shop, either to throw the Professor off or take him up, 
 as the case miglit be. I never knew so eccentric a dog as Tory ; 
 he had many liiends, but his ways were queer and wandering. 
 There was no place of public amusement he did not attend ; his 
 principles were decidedly those of a dog about town ; and though 
 serious, grave, and composed in deportment, he preferred stir and 
 excitement to rest and decorum. Tory was never known to go to 
 church, but at the door of the theatre, or at the Assembly llooms, 
 he has been seen to linger for hours. He was a long-backed yellow 
 terrier, with his front feet slightly turned out, and an expression of 
 countenance full of mildness and wisdom. Tory continued his 
 visits to Gloucester Place, and his friendship for the Professor, for 
 several years, but he did not neglect other friends, for he exhibited 
 his partiality for many individuals in the street, accompanying them 
 in their walk, and perhaps going home with them. This erratic and 
 indei)endent mode of existence brought him much into notice. 
 There must be many in Edinburgh who remember his knowing 
 look and strange habits. 
 
 One other such companion must be mentioned, the last ray father 
 ever had ; he belonged to his son Blair, and was originally the 
 property of a cab-driver in Edinburgh. Grog was his name, and 
 it argues the unpoetical position he held in early life. He was the 
 meekest and gentlest, and almost the smallest doggie I ever saw. 
 His color Avas a rich chestnut brown ; his coat, smooth and short, 
 might be compared to the wing of a pheasant ; and as he lay nest- 
 ling in the sofa, he looked much more like a bird than a dog. I 
 think he never followed my father in the street, their intimacy be- 
 ing confined entirely to domestic life ; he was too petit to venture 
 near Christopher as he strode along the street, but many a little 
 snooze he took within the folds of his ample coat, or in the pocket 
 of his jacket, or sometimes on the table among his papers. I can- 
 not pretend to say of Avhat breed Grog had come ; he had little, 
 comical, turned-out feet; he was a cosy, coaxing, mysterious, half- 
 mouse, half-bird-like dog ; a fancy article, and might have been 
 bought very litly ft\>m a bazaar of larly's work, made up for the
 
 392 mi:moik of joiin wilson. 
 
 occasion, and sold at a hiu;h price on account of his rarity. He died 
 easily, being found one morning on his master's pillow lifeless; his 
 little heart had ceased to beat during the night. The Professor 
 was very sad when he died, and vowed he never would have any 
 more dogs — and he kept his vow. 
 
 In connection with this subject, there remains something to be 
 tsaid of his continued devotion to the birds mentioned in an earlier 
 part of this Memoir. I think it was the love of the beautiful in all 
 created things that made my father admire the glossy plumage, 
 delicate snake-like head, and noble air of game birds — the aristoc- 
 racy of their species. For many months he pampered and fed no 
 fewer than sixty-tico of these precious bipeds in the back-green of 
 his house. The noise made by this fearful regiment of birds beg- 
 gars all description, yet, be it said, for the honor of human patience 
 and courtesy, not a single complaint ever came from friend or 
 neighbor ; for months it went on, and still this 
 
 "Bufera infernal" 
 was listened to in silence.* 
 
 Fearing lest any of his pets should expand their wings and take 
 flight, their master sought to prevent this by clipping a wing of 
 each. He chanced to fix upon a day for this operation when his 
 son-in-law, Mr, Gordon, was occupied in his room with his clerk, 
 the apartment adjoining which was the place of rendezvous. 
 Chanticleer, at no time " most musical, most melancholy" of birds, 
 on this occasion made noise enough to " create a soul under the 
 ribs of death." Such an uproar ! sounds of fluttering of feathers, 
 accompanied by low chucklings, half hysterical cackling, suppress- 
 ed crowing, and every sign of agitation and rage that lungs not 
 human could send forth. During the whole of this proceeding, 
 extraordinary as it may have appeared to the uninitiated ear, not 
 an observation escaped the lips of the clerk, who for more than an 
 hour was subjected to "this lively din." 
 
 If, however, the silence of neighbors did honor to their virtue, 
 there were distresses and perplexities which domestic tongues 
 
 * His medical altendant naively relates that one day when the Professor took him into his 
 " aviary,'" and pointoil out the varied beauties of his birds, the Doctor asked, " Do they never 
 fiu'lit y" " Fight !"' replied Uie Professor. •' you little know the noble nature of the animal ; he will 
 aot fislit iitilcss he is incited; but," added he, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, "put a hen 
 
 amoMi; iheu), and I won't answer for the peace bcins long observed; and so it hath buen sinca 
 
 the be^'iniiiiiif of the world," added the old ni:in eloquent
 
 LITERARY AKD DOMESTIC LIFE. 393 
 
 found no difficulty in expressing. Two of the birds fell sick, and 
 change of air was considered necessary for their restoration to 
 health. A happy thought suggested to the Professor, that an hos- 
 pital might be found for the invalids in a room of the attic story, 
 where boxes and various unused articles of the menage v/ere kept, 
 in short, the lumber-room, not unfrequently, however, a repository 
 for very valuable articles — so far belying its name. In this apart- 
 ment, for more than a week, Avalked in undisturbed quiet the two 
 invalids, tended, fed, and visited many times during each day by 
 their watchful patron. Health by those means was restored, and 
 nothing now remained but to remove the pets to their old abode in 
 ihe back-green, where they crowed and strutted more insolently 
 than ever. A few d:iys after the lumber-room had been evacuated 
 by its feathered tenants, the Professor's daughters ascended to the 
 said apartment, ha})py in the possession there — secure in a well- 
 papered trunk — of certain beautiful ball-dresses to be worn that 
 very night in all the freshness of unsullied crape and ribbons. 
 What sight met their eyes on opening the door of the room ! Hor- 
 rible to say, the elegant dresses were lying on the floor in a corner, 
 soiled, torn, and crumpled, in fact useless. The box in which they 
 had been so carefully laid, had been, on account of its size, at once 
 secured by the Professor as an eligible coop for his l)irds. The 
 dresses Avere of no value in his eyes; probably he did not know 
 what they were ; so tossing them ruthlessly out, he left them to 
 their fate. It was quite evident, from the appearance they pre- 
 sented, that along with the empty trunk — according to the caprice 
 of the fowls — they had been used as a nest. To imagine the feel- 
 ings of the young ladies at the sight of their fair vanities, " all tat- 
 tered and torn," is to call up a subject which, even at this distant 
 date, causes a natural pang. It was a trial certainly not borne with 
 much patience, and no doubt, in the hour of disappoint li^ent, called 
 .forth expressions of bitter and undisguised hatred towards \\\ ani- 
 1 mated nature in the sha|)e oi feathers. The aviary was \fter a 
 time shut up, and all its inhabitants were sent olf in various direc- 
 tions. The following note to Dr. Moir will show how they wei'e 
 disposed of: — 
 
 "G Gloucestkr Place, Monday. 
 "My dear Sir: — I have a game-cock of great value which I 
 wish to walk (as it is technically terme<i) for a \\i\y months. Cau
 
 394 MEMom OF jonx wilsox. 
 
 you take him in ? This will depend entirely on your setting any 
 value on the bird you now may have, and who, I presume, is Dung- 
 hill, if you do, on no account displace him from his own throne. 
 If you do not, I will bring mine down on Thursday, and see him 
 safely deposited in your back court. In that case, his present 
 majesty must either be put to death or expatriated, as if put to- 
 gether thev will fall by mutual wounds. Yours affectionately, 
 
 "J. WiLSOX." 
 
 Apparently the only article from his pen during 1840 in Dlack- 
 tcood was a review of " A Legend of Florence," by Leigh Hunt. If 
 he had not long ere that made the amende honorable for the unjust 
 bitterness of the past, he certainly in this review used " the gracious 
 tact, the Christian art," to heal all wounds, illustrating finely his 
 own memorable words, " The animosities are mortal, but the hinnan- 
 ities live forever." 
 
 Preparatory to beginning an essay upon Burns, which he had 
 engaged to write for the Messrs. Blackie, he was desirous to seek 
 the best domestic traces of him that could be found, and naturally 
 turned to Dumfriesshire for such information. Two interesting let- 
 ters to Mr. Thomas Aird, will, better than words of mine, show how 
 earnestly he set about his work, although I cannot, at the same time, 
 avoid drawing attention to certain expressions of anxious interest 
 concerning the better part of the man. For example, his desire to 
 hear " if Burns was a church-goer, regular or irregular, and to what 
 church." All his inquiries show a tender sympathy, a Christian de- 
 sire to place that erring spirit justly before men, for well did he 
 know how in this world foults are judged. There is a touching 
 simplicity, too, in the personal allusions in these words, '•'■ Her eyes 
 never having looked on the Xith." 
 
 "■May 3, 1840. 
 
 " My dear ]\Ie. Aird : — I have been ill with rose in my head for 
 more than a fortnight, and it is still among the roots of my hair, but 
 in about a week or so, I think I shall be able to move in the open 
 air without danger. I have a leaning towards Dumfriesshire, it being 
 unhaunted by the past, or less haunted than almost any other place, 
 her eyes never having looked on the Xith. Perhaps thereabouts I 
 might move, and there find an hour of peace. Is Thornhill a pleasant 
 villagce ? and is there an inn between it and Dumfries? Is there an
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE, 395 
 
 inn in the pass of Dalvine ? Is Penpont habitable quietly for a few 
 days, or any of the pretty villajjjc-iiins in that district? Pray let me 
 hear from you at your leisure how the land lies. Perhaps I may 
 afterwards step down to your town for a day, but I wish, if I make 
 out a week's visit to Nithsdale or neighborhood, to do so unknown 
 but to yourself. Affectionately yours, Joiix Wilsox." 
 
 Four months later we find him writing again to the same friend : — 
 
 "Edixbdrgh, Sqyt. 24, 184:0. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Aird : — I have at last set to work — if that be not 
 too strong an assertion — on my paper about Burns, so long promised 
 to the Messrs. Blackie of Glasgow, for Hie Land of Bums. They 
 have in hand about fifty printed quarto pages, but some of it has not 
 been returned to me to correct for press. They expect, I believe, 
 thirty or fifty more. 
 
 " Can you find out from good authority in Dumfries (Jessie 
 Lewars, they say, is yet alive, and is Mrs. Thomson) if Burns was 
 a church-goer at Dumfries, regular or irregular, and to what church ? 
 2. If he was on habits of intimacy with any clergyman or clergymen 
 in the town — as, for example, Dr. Burnside? In 1803, 1 stayed two 
 days with the Burnsides — all dear friends of mine then^ and long 
 afterwards, though noio the survivors are to me like the dead. I 
 then called with Mary Burnside,* now ]\[rs. Taylor, in Liverpool, on 
 Mrs. Burns. Robert I remember at Glasgow College, but hardly 
 knew him, and I dare say he does not remember me. 3. Did any 
 clergyman visit him on his dying bed ; and is it supposed that when 
 dying the Bible was read by him more than formerly or not ? 4. 
 Had Burns frequent, rare, or regular family worship at Dumfries? 
 At Ellisland I think he often had. If these questions can be answered 
 affirmatively, in whole or in part, I shall say something about it ; if 
 not, I shall be silent, or nearly so. In either case I hope I shall say 
 nothing wrong. 
 
 " I have not left Edinburgh since I saw you, but for a dav or so, 
 and I won't leave it till this contribution to Tlie Life of liKms is 
 finished. Then I intend going for a week to Kelso, and from the 
 20th October to ditto April, if spared, be in this room, misnamed a 
 
 * Mary Burnside was the friend anil eonfldant.e of the "Orphan Maid," whose imago was no 
 bard to tear from his young heart.
 
 39G MEMOIR or JOHN wilson. 
 
 study — it is a sort of library. 1 am alone witli one daughter, my 
 good J.ine ; her mother's name, and much of her nature — but not 
 . . .. Yours affectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 During this summer he went into Dumfries and Galloway, accom- 
 panied by his two sous. I have an interesting account of a visit he 
 paid to tlie Rev. George Murray of Balmaclellan, Glenkens, with a 
 day's fishing in Lochinvar, but it is too long for insertion. 
 
 In speaking of his room, Av^hich he calls "a sort of library," some- 
 thing nuiy be said of that careless habit which overtook him in his 
 later years, and gave to his Avhole appearance an air of reckless free- 
 dom. His room was a strange mixture of what may be called order 
 and untidiness, for there was not a scrap of paper, or a book, that 
 his hand could not light upon in a moment, Avhile to the casual eye, 
 in search of discovery, it would appear chaos, without a chance of 
 being cleared away. 
 
 To any one whose delight lay in beauty of furniture, or quaint and 
 delicate ornament, well-appointed arraugements, and all that inde- 
 scriV)able fascination caught from nick-nacks and articles of vertu,, 
 that apartment must have appeared a mere lumber-room. The book- 
 shelves were of unpainted wood, knocked uj) in the rudest fashion, 
 and their volumes, though not wanting in number or excellence, 
 Avore but shabby habiliments, many of them being tattered and 
 Avithout backs. The chief pieces of furniture in this room Avere tAvo 
 cases : one containing specimens of foreign birds, a gift from an 
 admirer of his genius across the Atlantic, Avhich was used incongru- 
 ously enough sometimes as a Avardrobe; the other Avas a book-case, 
 but not entirely devoted to books ; its glass doors permitted a motley 
 assortment of articles to be seen. The spirit, the tastes and habits 
 of the possessor were all to be found there, side by side like a little 
 community of domesticities. 
 
 For example, resting upon the Wealth of N'ations lay shining 
 coils of gut, set off by pretty ])ink tAviniugs. Peeping out from 
 JBo.dana^ in juxtaposition Avith the Faery Queen, Avere no end of 
 delicately dressed flies; and pocket-books Avell filled with gear foi 
 the "gentle craft" found company with Shakspere and Beu Jon 
 son ; while fishing-rods, in pieces, stretched their elegant length 
 along the shelves, embracing a whole set of poets. Nor was the 
 gravest philosophy without its contrast, and Jeremy Taylor, too,
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 397 
 
 found innocent repose in the ncigliborliood of a tin box of barley- 
 sugar, excellent as when bought " at my old man's." Here and 
 there, in the interstices between books, were stuffed what ajipearel 
 to b^ dingy, crumpled bits of paper — these were bank-notes, hi? 
 class fees — not unfrequently, for want of a purse, thrust to the bot- 
 tom of an old worsted stocking, when not honored by a place in 
 the book-case. I am certain he very rarely counted over the fees 
 taken from his students. He never looked at or touched money in 
 the usual way ; he very often forgot where he put it ; saving when 
 these stocking banks were his humor ; no one, for its own sake, or 
 for his own purposes, ever regarded riches with such perfect indif- 
 ference. He was like the old patriai-ch whose simple desires were 
 comprehended in these words : — " If God will be with me, and keep 
 me in the way I am to go, and give me bread to eat, and raiment 
 to put on" — other thought of wealth he had not. And so there he 
 sat, in the majesty of unaffected dignity, surrounded by a homeli- 
 ness that still left him a type of the finest gentleman ; courteous to 
 all, easy and unembarrassed in address, wearing his neglige with as 
 much grace as a courtier his lace and plumes, nor leaving otlicr im- 
 pression than that which goodness makes on minds ready to ac- 
 knowledge superiority; seeing there "the elements so mixed in 
 him, that nature might stand up and say to all the world, This was 
 a man." 
 
 " Writing for Blackwood" were Avords that bore no pleasant sig- 
 nificance to my ears in the days of childhood. Well do I remember, 
 when living long ago in Aim Street, going to school with my sister 
 Margaret, that, on our return from it, the first question eagerly put 
 by us to the servant as she opened the door was, "Is papa busy 
 to-day ; is he writing for Blackwood ?" If the inquiry was answered 
 in the affirmative, then oft* went our shoes, and we crei)t up stairs 
 like mice. I believe, generally si)eaking, there never was so quiet a 
 nursery as ours. Thus " writing for Blackwood" found little favoi 
 in our eyes, and the grim old visage of Geordie Buchanan met with 
 very rough treatment from our hands. If, as sometimes happened, 
 a number of the Magazine found its way to the nursery, it iiever 
 failed to be tossed from floor to ceiling, and back again, until tat- 
 tered to our hearts' content. In due time we came to a]q)reciate 
 better the value of these labors, when we learned what love and 
 duty there >'as in them ; and a good lesson of endurance and
 
 398 
 
 MKtfOnt OF JOHN ■WILSON. 
 
 power the old man taught by the very manner of his work. How 
 he set about it, d ^^t'ojyos of his study, may chiim a few words of 
 description. 
 
 His habit of composition, or rather I should say the execution of 
 it, was not always ordered best for his comfort. The amazing ra« 
 pidity with which he wrote, caused him too often to delay his v.'ork 
 to tlie very last moment, so that he almost always wrote under 
 compulsion, and every second of time was of consequence. Under 
 such a mode of labor there was no hour left for relaxation. When 
 regularly in for an article for Blackwood, his whole strength was 
 put forth, and it may be said he struck into life what he had to do 
 at a blow. He at these times began to write immediately after 
 breakfast, that meal being dispatched with a swiftness commensu- 
 rate Avith the necessity of the case before him. He then shut him- 
 self into his study, with an express command that no one was to 
 disturb him, and he never stirred from his writing-table until per- 
 haps the greater part of a "Noctes" was written, or some paper of 
 equal brilliancy and interest completed. Tlie idea of breaking his 
 labor by taking a constitutional walk never entered his thoughts for 
 a moment. Whatever he had to write, even though a day or two 
 were to keep him close at work, he never inten-upted his pen, saving 
 to take his night's rest, and a late dinner served to him in his study. 
 Tlic hour for that meal was on these occasions nine o'clock ; his 
 dinner then consisted invariably of a boiled fowl, potatoes, and a 
 glass of water — he allowed himself no wine. After dinner he re- 
 sumed his pen till midnight, when he retired to bed, not unfrequeut- 
 ly to be disturbed by an early printer's boy ; although sometimes, 
 these familiars did not come often enough or early enough for their 
 master's work,* as may be seen from the following note to Mr. 
 Ballantyne : — 
 
 * That those familiars wcro not always so dilatory, the folb)'\ving humorous description will tes- 
 tify : — " O tlicsc printers' devils I Like urchins on an ice-slide keep-ing the pie warm, from cock- 
 crow tiil owl-hoot do they continue in unintcrmitting succession to pour from the far-off office 
 down upon M(jray Place or Buchanan Lodge, one imp almost on the verj' shoulders of another, 
 without a minutii di'vil-frce, crying, ' Copy ! copy !' in every variety of intonation possiMe in grulf 
 or shrill; and should I chance to drop asleep over an article, worn down by protracted siifferinN'S 
 to mere skin and bone, as j'ou see, till the wick of my candle — one to the pound — hangs drooping 
 down by the side of the melting mutton, the two sunk stories are swarmins with them all a- 
 hum ! Many, doubtless, die during the year, but from such immense numbers thiy are never 
 missed any nmre than the midges you massacre on a sultry summer eve. Then the face un<l 
 figure of one devil are so like another's — the i>eople who have time to pay particular atten- 
 tion to their (lersonal appearance, which I have not, say they are as different as sheep. Thaf 
 tipsy Thamiuuit is to me ail one with liiwzy IJeelzebub,"" &c. — Nocte.H. 
 
 i
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 399 
 
 " The boy was told to call this morning at seven, and said he 
 would, but lie has not come till .... I rose at five this morning 
 nn purpose to bave the sheets ready. I wish you could order the 
 devils to be more punctual, as they never by any accident appear 
 in this house at a proper time. The devil who broke his word is 
 he who broiight ike Jirst packet last night. The devil who brought 
 the second, is in this blameless. I do not wish the first devil to get 
 more than his due : but you must snub him for my sake. For a 
 man who goes to bed at two, does not relish leaving it at five, ex- 
 cept in case of life or death. Would you believe it, I am a little 
 angry just now ? J. W." 
 
 I do not exaggerate his power of speed, when I say he wrote 
 more in a few hours than most able writers do in a few days ; ex- 
 amples of it I have often seen in the very manuscript before him, 
 which, disposed on the table, was soon transferred to the more 
 roomy space of the floor at his feet, where it lay " thick as autum- 
 nal leaves in Vallombrosa," only to be piled up again quickly as 
 before. When I look back to the days when he sat in that con- 
 fused, dusty study, working sometimes like a slave, it seems to me 
 as if Hood's "Song of the Shirt," with a differenceofbui'den, would 
 apply in its touching words to him ; for it was 
 
 ""Write, write, write, 
 While the cock is crowing aloof; 
 
 And write, write, write, 
 Till the stars shine through the roof;" 
 
 And so was his literature made, that delightful periodical literature 
 which, " say of it w^liat you will, gives light to the heads and heat 
 to the hearts of millions of our race. The greatest and best men of 
 the age have not disdained to belong to the Brotherhood ; and thus 
 the hovel holds what must not be missing in the hall — the furniture 
 of the cot is the same as that of the palace ; and duke and ditcher 
 read their lessons from the sume page." 
 
 He never, even in very cold weather, had a fire in his room ; noi 
 did it at night, as most apartments do, get heat from gas, which he 
 ])articular]y disliked, remaining faithful to the primitive candle — a 
 large vulgar tallow, set in a suitable candlestick composed of ordi- 
 nary tin, and made after the fashion of what is called a kitclu'n can-
 
 4-00 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 dlestick. What his fiincy for this was I cannot say, but lie never 
 did, and would not, make use of any other. 
 
 From 1840 to 1845 there were only two papers contributed by 
 him to Blackwood, viz., the review of Leigh Hunt's Lefjend of 
 Florence^ already spoken of, and a laudatory criticism of Macaulay's 
 iMys of Ancient Home. The latter appeared in December, 1842. 
 This cessation from labor arose in the first instance from a paralytic 
 affection of his right hand, which attacked him in May, 1840, and 
 disabled him for nearly a year. It was the first warning he received 
 that his great strength and wonderful constitution lay under the 
 same law as that which commands the weakest. Writing thence- 
 forwai'd became irksome, and the characters traced by his pen are 
 almost undecipherable. This attack gradually wore away, but it 
 was during its continuance, and for years after, that he imposed 
 upon himself rules of total abstinence from wine and every kind of 
 stimulant. Toast and water was the only beverage of which he 
 partook. 
 
 I have nothing more to relate of this time, nor are there any other 
 traces of literary occupation beyond that belonging directly to his 
 College duties. The remaining portion of this year must be per- 
 mitted to pass in silence ; and not again till the summer of 1841, is 
 there a trace of any thing but what belongs to a retired and quiet life. 
 
 In June, 1841, he presided at a large public dinner given in honor 
 of Mr. Charles Dickens,* and immediately afterwards started for 
 the Highlands. The following letter to Mr. Findlay recalls recol- 
 lections of that delightful tour. I was then with him at Rothesay, 
 as his communication shows, on occasion of a melancholy n:itui e, 
 which, however, at that period did not result as was anticipated, 
 and left the summer months free from any other sorrow than that 
 of anxiety. Mrs. Gordon rallied for a time, and was Avell enough 
 to bear removal to Edinburgh in the autumn, but the sad condition 
 in which she was brought friends around her, of whom my father 
 Tv'as one ; and on one of these visits to Rothesay, he made from 
 thence a short detour by Inverary and Loch Awe, taking me with 
 him, along with his eldest son John. 
 
 "ROTUESAT, Thursday Night, 
 Jtdy 1, 1841. 
 " My dear Robert : — Gordon and I left Edinburgh suddenly by 
 
 * n<i>nrtcd In Scotsjnan, June 26, 1S41 
 
 J
 
 LITER ART AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 401 
 
 the night mail on Monday, and arrived here on Tuesday forenoon. 
 Dr. Hay and my daughter Mary followed in the afternoon, in con- 
 sequence of the illness of Mrs. Gordon, senior, who, I fear, is dying. 
 To-diiy, Mary and Gordon had nearly met a i'atal accident, having 
 been upset in a car, over a considerable (lc[)th among rocks on the 
 shore-road, along with their friend Mr. Irvine, and his son. All 
 were for a while insensible except Mary, and all have been a good 
 deal hurt. Mary was brought home in Mrs. T. Douglas's carriage, 
 and is going on well. In a day or two she will be quite well ; and 
 Gordon is little the worse. It was near being a fatal accident, and 
 had a frightful look. I was not of the party. Mrs. Gordon's con- 
 dition and Mary's accident will keep me here a day or two, so my 
 plans are changed for the present, and I shall not be at Easter Hill 
 till next week. Be under no anxiety about Mary, for she has re- 
 covered considerably, and will soon again be on her feet. My hand 
 is not so well to-day, and I fear you Avill hardly be able to read this 
 scrawl. Yours aflfectionately, John Wilson." 
 
 At no time did my father ever appear so free from care as when 
 communing with nature. With him it was indeed communion. He 
 did not, as many do when living in the presence of fine scenery, 
 show any impatience to leave one scene in order to seek another ; 
 no restless desii-e to be on the top of a mountain, or away into some 
 distant valley ; but he would linger in and about the place his heart 
 had fixed to visit. All he desired was there before him; it was 
 almost a lesson to look at his countenance at such moments. There 
 was an expression, as it were, of melancholy, awe, and gratitude, a 
 fervent inward emotion pictured outwardly. His fine blue eye 
 seemed as if, in and beyond nature, it saw some vision that beatified 
 the sight of earth, and sent his spirit to the gates of heaven. 
 
 I remember walking a whole day with him, rambling about the 
 neighborhood of Cladich ; scarcely a word was uttered. Now and 
 then he would point out a spot, which sudden sun-gleams made for 
 a moment what he called a " sight of divine beauty ;" and then 
 again, perhaps when some more extended and lengthened duration 
 of light overspread the whole landscape, making it a scene of match- 
 less loveliness, gently touching my arm, he signified, by a motion 
 of his hand, that I too must t:ike in and admire what he did not ex- 
 press by words ; silence at such moments was the key to more iu- 
 17
 
 402 MEMOIR OF JOIIX WILSO:!!. 
 
 tense enioyment. We sat down to rest on an eminence at the head 
 of Loch Awe, when the midday sun glittered over every island and 
 promontory, streaking the green fields with lines of gold. Xot 
 a sound escaped his lips ; but when, after a while, the softening 
 sliades of afternoon lent a less intense color to the scene, he spoke a 
 few words, saying : " Long, long ago, I saw such a sight of beauty 
 here, that if I were to tell it no one would believe it ; indeed, I am 
 not sure whether I can describe what I saw ; it was truly divine ! 
 I have written something very poor and feeble in attempt to de 
 scribe that incomparable sight, Avhich I cannot now read ; but to 
 my dying day I shall not forget the vision." 
 
 Did this vision suggest " Lays of Fairyland ?" — taking too, in 
 after years, another form than verse. It appeared in one of the 
 most beautiful morsels of prose composition he ever wrote, which 
 so impressed Lord Jeftrey's mind, he never was tired of read- 
 ing it. 
 
 It is a description of a foiry's funeral, and rather than refer the 
 reader to the volume and page where it is to be found, I give the 
 extract, as in fitting association with Loch Awe and the unforgotten 
 vision or poet's dream near the brow of Ben Ciuachan: — 
 
 "There it was, on a little river island, that once, whether sleep- 
 mg or waking we know not, we saw celebrated a fairy's funeral. 
 First we heard small pipes playing, as if no bigger than hollow 
 rushes that whisper to the night winds ; and more piteous thin 
 aught that trills from earthly instrument was the scarce audible 
 dirge ! It seemed to float over the stream, every foam-bell emit- 
 ting a })laintive note, till the fairy anthem came floating over our 
 couch, and then alighting without footsteps among the heather. 
 The pattering of little feet was then heard, as if living creatures 
 were arranging themselves in order, and then there was nothing 
 but a more ordered hymn. The harmony was like the melting of 
 musical dowdrops, and sang, without words, of sorrow and death. 
 We opened our eyes, or rather sight came to them when closed, 
 and dream was vision. Hundreds of creatures, no taller than the 
 crest of the lapwing, and all hanging down their veiled heads, stood 
 in a circle on a green plat among the rocks ; and in the midst was 
 a bier, framed as it seemed of flowers unknown to the Highland 
 hills ; and on the bier a fairy lying with uncovered foce, pale as a 
 lilv, and motionless as the snow. The dirge srew fainter and
 
 LITKRAKY AND DOMEsTIC LIFE. 403 
 
 fiiintcr, and then died quite away ; Avhen two of the creatures came 
 froiu the circle, and took their station, one at the head, the other at 
 the foot of the bier. They sanj; alternate measures, not louder than 
 the twittering of the awakened woodlark before it goes up the 
 dewy air, but dolorous and full of the desolation of death. The 
 flower-bier stirred ; for the spot on which it lay sank slowly down, 
 and in a few moments the greensward was smuoih as ever, the very 
 dews glitteruig above the buried fairy. A cloud passed over the 
 raoon ; and, with a choral lament, the funeral troop sailed duskily 
 away, heard afar off, so stiU was the midnight solitude of the glen. 
 Then the disenthi-alled Orchy began to rejoice as before, through 
 all her streams and falls ; and at the sudden leaping of the waters 
 and outbursting of the moon, we awoke." 
 
 I know not what the custom of authors is Avith regard to their 
 own works, but this is true, that Professor Wilson never read what 
 he wrote after it was published. lie never spoke of himself but 
 with the greatest humility. If egotism he possessed, it belonged 
 entirely to the playful spirit of his writings, as seen in the lighter 
 touches of the " Noctes." It was this humility that gave so great 
 a charm to his graver conversation ; and in listening to him, you 
 felt perfectly convinced that truth was the guiding princijjle of all 
 he said. There was no desire to produce an impression by startling 
 theories, or by careless off-hand bits of brilliancy — the glow without 
 heat. Simple, earnest, eloquent, and vigorous, his opinion carried 
 the weight with it which belongs to all in whom implicit confidence 
 rests. I never knew any one the truth of whose nature, at a glance, 
 was so evident ; not a shadow of dissemblance ever crossed that 
 manly heart. His sympathies are best understood in examples of 
 the love which gentle and simple bore to him. 
 
 Fortunately, one of the few letters I ever received from him has 
 been preserved. It brings the reader to 1842, when it will show 
 him in one of his happiest moods. He has shaken the dust of the 
 pavement from his feet, and pitched his tent for the time being on 
 the pastoral slopes of a retired valley, the beautiful boundary of the 
 river Esk, renowned in story for the adventures of " Young Locli- 
 in\ ai-." There, in the spring of the year, he rambled, full of inter- 
 est and occupation, not angling, or loitering through day-dreams by 
 holm or shaw, but looking on with approving eye, suggesting autl 
 ai U,)g, MS circumstances required, in the appointment of a new
 
 404: MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 house for his son John, who had just entered upon the pleasant, 
 though anxious, toil of a farmer's life. 
 
 As the sunnraer advanced I was to join him there. Meanwhile 
 he writes a description of the locale., so beautifully minute in char- 
 acter that it may stand as a daguerreotype of the scene. I otfer the 
 letter as one of the best specimens of his domestic correspond- 
 ence: — 
 
 " BiLLHOLM, LaXGHOLH, 
 Friday Forenoon, May 27, 1842. 
 
 "My dear Maky : — We left Linhope on "Wednesday, dined at 
 the farmer's ordinary in Langholm, and came to Biliholm in the 
 evening. Yesterday we were all occupied all day taking stock on 
 the hills — sixty score ; twelve gentlemen dined, thirty-four shep- 
 herds and herdsmen, ten horses, and twenty-five dogs. The scene 
 surpassed description, but it is over. Tiiis morning the party (with 
 Biliholm and Menzion at their head) went off for a similar purpose 
 to Craighope, distant some ten miles ; and Biliholm, I believe, will 
 return with Mr. Scott (the outgoing tenant) in the evening. Mean- 
 while I am left alone, and shall send this and some other letters to 
 Langholm by a lad, as there is no post. That is inconvenient — 
 very. 
 
 " In a day or two we shall be more quiet, but you can have no 
 idea of the bustle and importance of all at this juncture, nor has 
 John an hour to spare for any purpose out of his own individual 
 concerns. 
 
 "■ This place is, beyond doubt, in all respects sweet and serene, 
 being the uppermost farm in the valley of the Esk before it becomes 
 bare. It is not so rich or wooded as a few miles farther down, but 
 is not treeless ; the holms or haughs are cultivated and cheerful ; 
 the Esk about the size of the Tweed at the Ci'ook, and the hills not 
 so high as the highest about lunei'leithen, but elegantly shaped, 
 and in the best style of pastoral. 
 
 "The house 'shines well where it stands,' on a bank sloping 
 down to the river, which is not above twenty yards from the dooi', 
 so Goliah* has nothing to do but walk in and float down to Lang- 
 holm. But after Port Bannatyne he is safe against water. It fronts 
 tlie river ; many pleasant holms in the middle distance, and the 
 aforesaid hills about a mile off, surrounding the horizon. Sufficient 
 
 * One of Lis grandchildren.
 
 Lri'EEARY AND DOMKSTIC LIl'K. 405 
 
 trees up and down the banks; but the view in front oper., iV*' < s- 
 posed. The house was originally of this common kind : do'.r in 
 the middle, window on each side, three windows above, and win- 
 dowless roof. A stone portico, since erected, takes away the for- 
 mality, and breaks the blast. Freestone, neat with a window, good 
 place for a clock, or even a ' beetle.' Entering through a glass door 
 nito the passage, to the left is the drawing-room, about sixteen feet 
 square, I think, though I have not measured it yet ; one window 
 looking to the front, another up the river into a close scene pretty 
 with trees ; a most pleasant parlor. 
 
 "To the right is the parlor, 15 feet by 12, small no doubt, but 
 lodgeable and comfortable. Up-stairs (which face you on your 
 entrance) are four bedrooms, all comfortable ; the two to the front 
 excellent and lit for anybody ; one of them with a small dressing- 
 room with a window. I forgot to say, that behind the drawing- 
 r(;om is a pretty little room for a boudoir, study, or bedroom. All 
 these rooms are papered, not, perhaps, as we would have papered 
 them, but all neat and tidy, and not to be needlessly found fault 
 with. So done only two years ago ; so is the passage and staii*- 
 case. An addition had been made to the house at the end to the 
 right hand ; and on the ground floor is the dining-room, into which 
 you enter through the aforesaid parlor. It is, I believe, 18 feet by 
 IG. One window looks to the front, and one into a grove of trees. 
 It is oil-painted, of the color of dark brick-dust, with a gilt mould- 
 ing; railier ugly at first sight, but I am trying to like it, and, for 
 the present, it will do. Doors, etc., of all the rooms, good imitation 
 of oak. 
 
 "Above the dining-room, and behind it overhead, are two largish 
 '•ooms, very low in the roof, communicating with one of the best 
 bedrooms aforesaid, and used formerly as nurseries. 
 
 " So there are, in fact, seven bedrooms. 
 
 "There is a good kitchen (fatally to me, not to John) near the 
 amiiig-room, and back kitchen, also servants' hall, as it is called, or 
 rather butier's pantry — a very comfortable and useful place — and 
 fitted up with presses, Avhich John bought. There is a woman- 
 servant's room, with two beds; ditto, ditto, man-servant's. A 
 storeroom — good size — and a large dark closet, fit to hold the six 
 tin canisters, though they were sixty, and other things besides. 
 Behind are a few out-houses in rather a shaky condition. The
 
 4^)0 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 farm-oflfices are about 100 or 150 yards from tlie house. The garden 
 is an oblong, containing, I should think, about 1^ acres. One end 
 joins the house ; one side is walled, and the farther end ; the other 
 side, hedged prettily, and with many lihics, runs along the banks 
 of the river, and 'tis a very pretty garden indeed. Fruit-trees 
 rather too old, and gooseberry-bushes too ; but the latter show a 
 pretty good crop, and I counted 120 bushes. There are also cur- 
 rants and rasj)s, and a promising stra'.vberry bed. Every thing in 
 it will be late this season, as it Avas dressed since John came here, 
 only three weeks ago, but every thing is growing. The furniture 
 has not yet made its appearance, but I beheve is at Langholm, and 
 I shall hear about it by return of my messenger, 
 
 "I will write again first opportunity, and expect to be at home 
 by the middle of the week. Observe the directions in my last 
 letter. Love to Blair and Umbs, Gordon and Goliah, Lexy and 
 Adele, Taglioni, Mary Anne, and the rest. 
 
 " Your affectionate father, John Wilson." 
 
 Almost the whole of this summer was spent at Billholm. The 
 winter, coming again with its usual routine of work, calls him to 
 town somewhere about October. Li December his fine " Roman 
 hand" strikes fire once more through the languid ribs of "Maga," 
 and he greets with good heart and will theXays of Aticient Rome. 
 No a;77"ere jt>e«s^e of political differences obtrudes its ill-concealed 
 remembrance through his words. What is it to him whether it be 
 Whig or Tory who writes, when genius, with star-like light, 
 "flames in the forehead of the morning sky?" "What! poelry 
 from Macaulay ? Ay, and why not ? The House hushes itself to 
 hear him, even when ' Stanley is the cry.' If he be not the first of 
 critics (spare our blushes), who is? Name the young poet who 
 could have written The Armada., and kindled, as if by electricity, 
 beacons on all the brows of England till night grew day ! Tlie 
 young poets, we said, all want fire. Macaulay is not one of the set, 
 for he is full of fire." 
 
 And so does he pi-oceed, Avith honest words of praise, to the etid, 
 giving M'hat is due to all. More of his treatment of this n(^ble 
 enemy \v another plai-e. 
 
 As I have already remarked, there was nothing wri'^ten for 
 Bhtclncood during the years 1842-'44. What was he about? 
 
 i
 
 LITERARY AXD DOMESTTC LTFK 
 
 407 
 
 What light has such a question to be put? Is literature worked 
 as if on a tread-mill, under the hand of a task-master ; or is the 
 public voice never to cease from the weary cry of " give, give ?'' 
 
 The contents of the following letter to Dr. Moir Avill show that 
 he was not absolutely idle : — 
 
 "Ith Oct., 1842. 
 
 " My dear Sir : — I have lost several days in looking over till I 
 am sick, all Blackwood., for a description of Christopher's house in 
 Moray Place. It is somewhere pictured as the House of Indolence, 
 and with some elaboration, as I once heard Horatio ]Macculloch, the 
 painter, talk of it with rapture. I wish you would cast over in 
 your mind where the description may be, as I would fain put it 
 into a chapter in vol. iii. of ' Recreations' now printing. Sometimes 
 a reader remembers what a writer forgets. It is not in a 'Noctes.' 
 I read it with my own eyes not long ago ; but I am ashamed of 
 myself to think how many hours (days) I have wasted in wearily 
 trying to recover it. Perhaps it may recur to you without much 
 effort of recollection. Yours affectionately, 
 
 "JouN Wilson." 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1844-48. 
 
 We now come to February, 1844, where an old correspondent ro 
 appears, whose letters, if not written in the sunny si)irit of bonJio- 
 ^mie, have a pectdiar excellence of their own. Never did graver's 
 Itool give more unmistakable sharpness to his lines, than the pen of 
 John Gibson Lockhart gave to his words. The three following let- 
 ters are as characteristic of his satirical power as any of those off- 
 hand caricatures that shred his best friends to ])ieces, leaving the 
 most poetical of them as bereft of that beautifying property, as if 
 ihey had been born utterly without it. I have seen various portraits 
 of my father tVfjm that pencil, each bearing the grotesque image of the
 
 408 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 artist's fancy, yet all undeniably like. So was it his humor, nearly to 
 the end, to look upon men and things with the chilling eye of the 
 satirist. 
 
 "25th March, 1844. 
 
 "My dear WiLSO^f: — I have spelt out your letter with labor,* 
 but great ultimate contentment. 
 
 "i^lexander Blackwood had given me, by yesterday's post, my 
 
 first information touching that enormous absurdity of in re 
 
 Kemp deceased, and I answered him, expressing my deep thankful- 
 ness for the result of your interference ; but I had not quite under- 
 stood with how much difficulty you contended, and how nearly you 
 were alone in the fight against eternal desecration. If Kemp had 
 
 been put there, must in due time have polluted the same site (2 
 
 fceculentiore. Of the other suggestion nipt in the bud, never shall 
 I breathe a Avhisper to any human being. For some time I have 
 fancied Scotland must be all mad ; I never see a Scotch paper with- 
 out being strengthened in that conviction, but this is the ^e^^/ws 
 ultra ! 
 
 "I have not read any novel lately, far less written one. I do not 
 even guess to what new book you allude in your last page. You 
 address me by the name of some hero^ I suppose, but that is unde- 
 cipherable by my optics. No bamming here. Do name the book. 
 Is this your sly way of announcing to me some new escapade of the 
 long-haired and longish-headed ? 
 
 " By the by, Swinton has depicted both hair and head with very 
 admirable skill. I had no noiion that there was such stuff in the 
 lad. He will, I am confident, soon be on a par here with Frank 
 Grant, who is clearing £5,000 or £6,000 per annum. I like the C. X. 
 a thousandfold better than Lauder's, and hope to have an engraving 
 of it, same size, very speedily. 
 
 " I showed the ' Poemata'f some weeks ago to John Blackwood, 
 and bade him send you a copy. Perhaps to me you owe your 
 knowledge, therefore, of the novel epithet. Horace, however, has 
 ' teterrima belli causa' and I rather suspect teterrima carries a deli- 
 cate double entendre in that classical loc. void. cit. 
 
 "You have not read the title-page correctly. First, the book Is 
 
 ♦ This difficulty arose from the circumstance of his correspondent suffering, as has been tolfl, 
 from the weakness in his hand. 
 
 + Poe^mata Lyrica. Versa Latina lilmanU ScHpta. By H. D. Ityder. Simpkin, Marsh 
 and Co.
 
 litki;aky and domestic lifk 
 
 4<>9 
 
 published by Simpkin, Marshall, et Co. 2d. The author is not 
 Moore, Bean (to whom it is dedicated, as a compliment to his 'zeal 
 for the Apostolical successiorr), hit 11. Ryder, Canon of Lichfield, 
 son of the late Bishop of Lichfield, and nephew of Lord Harrowby. 
 I fancy the man is simply mad ; if not, Lonsdale must handsel his 
 jurisdiction by overwhelming a scandal not inferior to the other 
 Fitz-Eveque H. Marsh's in re Miord. That case, by the by, goes 
 to confirm another of my old doctrines, viz., that the Trial by Jury 
 is the grossest of all British humbugs. I forget if it is Swift or 
 Scorpio who sang — 
 
 " ' Powers Episcopal we know 
 Must from some apostle flow; 
 But I'll never be so rude as 
 Ask how many draw from Judas.' 
 
 " Here is another fine spring day. Why don't you come up with 
 Lord Peter for a week or two ; or without him ? The Government 
 is in a tarnation fix. I suspect Ashley has got very wild, poor fellow 
 — a better lives not ; and that we shall have by and by Jack Cade 
 in right earnest. Gleig is chaplain-general of the forces ; keeping 
 Chelsea and his living in Kent too. ***** Ever yours affection- 
 ately, J. G. L. 
 
 " Alone and dreary ; both my young away from me ; I shall soon 
 be left entirely alone in this weary world. 
 
 "You read in the papers about Louis Philippe giving Brougham 
 a piece of Gobelins Tapestry, but they did not mention the subject. 
 It is a very ^nQ picture indeed — of a worrying-match between two 
 dogs ! 
 
 " Now I went, a few nights ago, to a large dinner at Brougham's 
 house, and on entering the inner room, there was he with a cane, 
 holding aside the curtains, and explaining the beauties of this mas- 
 terpiece to — Plain John ! ! 
 
 " Literal truth ; but absurder than any fiction. The company 
 seemed in agonies of diversion at the unconsciousness of the pair 
 of barons. 
 
 " That week both H. B.* and Punch had been caricaturing them 
 as the Terriers of the Times disgracing a drawing-room ! 
 
 " All true, as I shall answer, etc." 
 
 • Mr. John T)oylc, the fnther of Richnrd Boyle, author of Brmon, Jones, and Rohimion, " ig 
 generally bcliovod to be the nnthor of the cclebnitod H. B. political sketches, which were a few 
 17*
 
 ■JIO MI.MOIU OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 There are one or two allusions in this letter Avhich may require 
 a word of explanation. 
 
 The first paragraph refers to a proposition made by some parties 
 in Edinburgh, that tlie remains of Mr. Kemp, the architeet of the 
 Scott monument, should have interment beneath it, he having come 
 to an untimely end not long after the completion of his design. 
 Professor Wilson had some trouble in preventing this absurd pro- 
 ject being carried out. In the second, there are some playful re- 
 marks about a novel ; d j^ro^yos of which I may say, that novel- 
 reading was a mental dissipation my father seldom indulged in, re- 
 garding that sort of literature, in general, as enervating to the mind 
 and destructive to the formation of good taste. Now and then he 
 was prevailed on to open one, when recommended as very good. 
 Whitefriars had just been published; he was delighted with it, 
 and sat down, on the impulse of the moment, to congratulate the 
 author (who could be no other than John G. Lockhart) on his suc- 
 cess ; and in this belief he addresses him by the title of his hero.* 
 
 This letter is almost immediately followed by another: — 
 
 "March 28, 1844. 
 
 "•My dear Wilson: — It is not easy to judge of the merit of 
 an architectural design until one (I mean an ignoramus) has seen it 
 in actual stone. I thought the drawing of Scott's monument very 
 good, and I suppose, from what is now executed, you can form a 
 fair opinion. All my remaining anxiety is that the statue should be 
 in hronze. Marble w^ill last very few years before you see the work 
 of decay on the surface. Is it too late to make a vigorous effort for 
 this, in my mind, primary object? I have no fear about inoney. I 
 met . . . yesterday at dinner at ... , and gave her your love. She 
 is a fine creature. I see nothing like her, and were I either young 
 or rich, I should be in danger. She told me Brewster, Chalmers, 
 and all the Frow Kirk are going to start a new Review. IIovv 
 many Reviews are we to have ? Is not it odd that the old ones keep 
 ''oat at all ? but I doubt if they have lost almost any thing as yet. 
 
 le Q. li. prints nearly 10,000, I know, if not quite. Nor have I 
 
 years ago so rom:irkatily popular, and which, while exhibiting with abundant keenness the proaa. 
 inent features and peeuliarities of the persons caricatured, wore always gentlemanly in feeling, 
 and free from anj' appearance of malice.'" — Knishfs Entjliith Cyclopaedia. 
 • Whi^friaris has been ascribed to Miss E. Kobinson.
 
 LITERAKY AND DOMKSTIC LIFE. 411 
 
 heard that Ebony is declining, in spite of these Hoods and Ains- 
 worths, etc., etc. 
 
 "... showed me a lot of Edinburgli daguerreotypes — the Cand- 
 lishes, etc. ; that of Sir D. Brewster is by far the best specimen of 
 the art I had ever seen. It is so good, that I should take it very 
 kind if you would sit to the man wliom Brewster patronizesybr me* 
 I should like also to have Sheriff Cay. This art is about to revolu- 
 tionize book illustration entiiely. 
 
 •' There is very great uneasiness here about this ten hours' affair. 
 I really exjject to see the Government displaced sooner or later by 
 this coalition of Johnny llussell with Ashley, Oastler, and the Times. 
 •Your old friend. Sir James Graham, is terribly unpopular with both 
 sides of the House. Yet I think his demeanor in private society 
 infinitely more agreeable than Peel's, who, somehow, is not run upon 
 in the same style by any party. Inglis takes kindly to the name of 
 Jack Cade. AVe shall have him H. B.'d, of course. Ashley speaks 
 well, he has a fine presence, good voice, and his zeal gives liim real 
 eloquence now and then ; but he has slender talents, and his head 
 has been quite turned by the popularity he has acquired. I seriously 
 fear he will go mad. He lives and moves in an atmosphere of fanat- 
 icism, talks quite gravely about the Jews recovering Jerusalem, the 
 Millennium at hand, etc., etc. 
 
 " Brougham goes to Paris this week to [inter alia) take counsel 
 with Guizot and Dupin about a great humbug (I believe), his new 
 Society for the Amendment of the Law ; and, learning that Lynd- 
 hurst, Deuman, etc., approved, I agreed to be a member on 
 Brougham's request, and went to a meeting yesterday, where he 
 was in the chair. What a restless, perturbed spirit! ***** 
 
 " Nothing could surprise me now-a-days. The Government have 
 allowed B. to be their saviour so often in the II. of Lords, that they 
 may by and by find it impossible to refuse him even the Seals. I 
 am, you see, idle, and in gossiping vein this morning, having 
 just got rid of a d — d thick Quarterly, I fear, a dull one. Ever 
 affectionately yours, J. G. Lockhakt." 
 
 In the next letter, which is the last of this correspondence that 
 h:is been preserved, it will be seen how pain and inward yearning 
 
 * My llitlier did so, and the frontispit-ce to the i)rosent Memoir is engraved from Mr. Hill's 
 juilo' vjHi, l)y the artist's Icind permission.
 
 412 MKMOIR OF .lUlIX WILSON. 
 
 for things gone from before his eyes had softened a stern nature, 
 brinfrinc: it throucrh trials which left him a sadder and a wiser man : — 
 
 "Fair Lawx, Tdn-bridge, 
 
 Easter Wedntsday, 1844. 
 
 " My dear "W"ilsox : — I bad your kind letter here yesterday, and 
 the resolutions as to the Scott and Kemp affairs, which seem to me 
 drawn up in the best possible taste, not a Avord to giye offence, and 
 much yery delicately calculated to conciliate. I came to this place 
 a week ago, utterly done up in body and mind ; but perfect repose 
 and idleness, with cold lamb and home-brewed beer, and no wine 
 nor excitement of any sort, haye already done wonders, and in fact 
 conyinced me that I might haye health again, if I could manage to 
 cut London, and Quarterly Reviews. As for any yery liyely interest 
 in this life, that is out of the question with me as with you, and from 
 the same fatal date, though I struggled against it for a while, instead 
 of at once estimating the case completely as I think you did. Let 
 us both be thankful that we haye children not unworthy of their 
 mothers. I reproach myself when the sun is shining on their young 
 and happy faces, as well as on the yiolots and hyacinths and burst- 
 ing leaves, that I should be unable to aAvaken more than a dim ghost- 
 like semi-sympathy with them, or in any thing present or to come, 
 but so it is. No good, however, can come of these croakings. Like 
 you, I haye no plans now — never. "Walter must fag hard all this 
 summer in Essex with a Pusej-ite tutor, if he is to go to Balliol in 
 October with any advantage, and therefore I think it most likely I 
 shall not stir far from London. * * * * 
 
 "****! used to haye a real friendship for the water of Clyde 
 and some half-dozen of its tributary Calders and Lethans, familiar 
 from infancy ; and, most of all, for certain burns with deep rocky 
 beds and cold invisible cascades. As it is, I could be well contented 
 to abide for the rest of this life in such a spot as this same Fairlawn 
 — well named. It is a large ancient house built round a monastic 
 court, with a good park, most noble beeches, and limes and oaks, 
 looking over the rich vale of the Medway, with a tract of rough 
 heath, and holt, and sand-hill, lying behind it, six or seven miles in 
 length, and about two in breadth. This was the original seat of the 
 Vanes ; and old Sir Harry lies buried here with many of his ances 
 tors. It is now possessed by Miss Yates, cousin-german to Sir Bi
 
 L-TtUA^If AND DOMESTIC LITE. 413 
 
 F'.'el, iiii excellent, sensible, most kind old lady ; stone blind from 
 five years of age, and otherwise afflicted, but always cheerful; too 
 high a Tory to admire the premier, and, inter alia^oioXd Sir Robert's 
 opinion as to the Children question. I am going to-day for a few 
 days to another house in this neighborhood, and shall be in London 
 again by this day week. 
 
 " Sir W. Allan writes he has a picture of Sir W. and Anne Scott 
 for the Exhibition. I hope rather than expect to be pleased 
 therewith. 
 
 " So Abinger exit. He wedded a spry widow who had been 
 anxious for his third son on last August ; and on landing at Calais 
 for the honey trip, put herself down ' age 55 ;' but the Fates were 
 not to be gammoned, nor Lady Venus neither, and the coffin- 
 plate will tell truly : Ann. -/Etat. 76. I suppose Pollock will take 
 the place, yet it is not impossible that II. B. may fimcy it, and if he 
 does, it might not be easy for Peel to give him a rebufl". Ever aflfec- 
 tionateiy yours, J. G. L." 
 
 Lockhart's very sorrows are a contrast to those of his friend. 
 There is something of a listless bitterness in the words, " I should 
 be unable to awaken more than a dim ghost-Uke semi-symi)athy with 
 them, or in any thing present or to come." He is stricken, as it 
 were, and will not look up. But my father, with that healthful heart 
 of his, that joyous nature that smiles even in the midst of tears, had 
 scarcely yet laid aside the strong enthusiasm which belonged so re- 
 markably to his youth. His energies are, as may be seen from the 
 following letter to his son John, still directed to the " Kemp affiiir." 
 The subject is pleasantly mingled with domestic interests concern- 
 ing Billholm: — 
 
 "6 Gloucester Place, Saturday, 6th, 1844. 
 
 " My dear John : — On looking over the portfolio of prints, I 
 'thought Harvey's Covenanters, Baptism, and Allan's Burns woi'th 
 framing, and have got them framed in same style with Allan's 
 Scott in the dining-room. These three make a trio, with Harvey 
 in the middle, which will hang, I think, well on the drawing-room 
 A^all opposite the front window. 
 
 "The Polish Exiles will hang, I think, well to the right of the 
 door, as you enter the drawing-room, if in the middle, so as at any 
 time to allow of two ap[)ropriate pendants. The demure Damsel
 
 414 MEMOIR OF JOHN WHS.', v. 
 
 mny rango with Yictoria. But follow youv own taste, wLiuli js as 
 good, or Letter than mine. 
 
 "The live will make the room look gay, am] tliey leave this by 
 the wagon on the 8th instant, directed to be left at Langholm till 
 called for. 
 
 " I close my session on Friday, the r2th, or perhaps a day or two 
 sooner. The weather here is fine, and I trust you will have a good 
 lambing season in spite of the severities since you left us. I see 
 prices are somewhat better, and trust this year may be considerably 
 more favorable than the last two. My own motions are not fixed 
 for the future ; but I shall not leave this before the latter end of 
 May for any other quarter. Four hundred persons were assembled 
 to inter Kemp in the Scott Monument. I heard of it at eleven 
 o'clock; saw M'Xeill, and after much angry discussion with a dep- 
 utation, stopped the funeral, and turned it into the West Kirkyard. 
 They had got leave from . . . and some other fools, and had kept 
 the public ignorant of the proceedings. Very general approbation 
 of our interference is not unmixed with savage or sulky exaspera- 
 tion among the ten-pounders who stood up for their order. It 
 would have been a vulgar outrage. Next day's Witness was inso- 
 lent, but since, there has been a calm sough. The general commit- 
 tee have since passed resolutions approving our conduct. We 
 passed them ourselves, and I moved them in a strong speech, to 
 which there was no reply. 
 
 " A Professor of Music was to be chosen on Saturday, the 3d 
 March. We were all met ; but neither party could tell how it 
 might go, as there were two doubtful votes. The Bennettites 
 boldly moved, on false and foolish pretence of giving time to a 
 new candidate named Pearson, to postpone the election till the 1st 
 of June ; and this motion was carried bi/ one. They hope some- 
 thing may occur before then, to give Bennett a better chance ; and 
 they expect to have the vote of the Chemical Professor, who is to 
 be elected in a few weeks, which may turn the scales. . . . We are 
 all well, and ^Mary will visit you soon. I leave Blair, who is well, 
 to speak for his own motions. He has been talking of going to 
 Biilholm for some days past. With love from all here and in Carl 
 ton Street — I am, your affectionate father, J. Wilsox." 
 
 Soon after this h'imc-loving spirit has assi-tod in making the
 
 LITEEAKY AND DOMliSTlU LIFE. 415 
 
 pretty pastoral farm "look gay," we find him in the full energy of 
 his ardent nature, awakening the sympathies of all around him on 
 a subject that moved the whole Scottish nation as witli one lieart, 
 and ultimately brouglit a stream of sympathetic souls together to 
 the banks of Doon, till it seemed as if all Scotland had poured it8 
 life there to do honor to the memory of Burns. 
 
 The Burns Festival was an occasion fitted to call forth the zeal 
 of Wilson's nature, and he Avorked heart and soul in the cause, with 
 vigor little less than that which impelled him, in " his bright and 
 shining youth," to walk seventy miles to be pi'esent at a Burns meet- 
 ing, which he "electrified with a new and peculiar fervor of elo- 
 quence, such as had never been heard before."* We have three 
 letters relative to this great gathering; one is addressed to his son- 
 in-law, Mr. Gordon, before it took place, with a view to arranging 
 the toasts : — 
 
 " Mt dear Sheriff : — The toasts now stand well, and we shall 
 not try to improve the arrangement. What you say about the poor 
 dear Shepherd is, I fear, true, though his fame will endure. Nei- 
 ther will his memory have to come in till after Scott and Campbell; 
 and we all know, that even on a generally j^opular theme, it is very 
 difficult to secure attention and interest far on in the ' Course of 
 Time.' Perhaps the memory of the Shepherd cannot be given at 
 all, for if some prosing driveller, without name or influence, were 
 to give it, it would not do at all. If so, I shall speak of him during 
 what I say of Burns. Will that do ? I desire to have your opinion 
 of this ; for if you think it would not do, I shall look about for a 
 proper person to give his memory after Alison has spoken. William 
 Aytoun ? What should follow? 'The Peasantry,' etc. That toast 
 I recommended to Mr, Ballantine, and we leave it in his hands, or 
 any one he may select to do it for him. If the Justice-General or 
 Lord Advocate were to give ' Lord Eglinton' in a few sentences, it 
 
 * t)f the Professor's walking feats I have not been able to gather many authentic anecdotes. 
 Mr. Aird mentioned the fact quoted here in his speech at the Burns Festival, and my brother 
 writes nic on the subject : — '• I have often hei\rd him mention the followinsr. He once walked 
 forty miles in eifrht hours, but when or where he did it I cannot recollect On another occasion 
 he walked from Liveriiool to Klleray, within the four and twenty hours. I do not know what 
 the distance is, but think it most be somewhere about eighty miles. You are correct about his 
 walking from Kelso to Edinburgh — forty miles, to attend a public dinner. It was in 1S2'2, when 
 the King was there. Once, when disappointed in getting a place in the mail from Penrith to 
 Kemlal. he gave his coat to the driver, set ott on fool, reached Keiidal some time before thu 
 Coach, and then trudged on to Klleray."
 
 410 MKMOIK OF .)OllS WILSON. 
 
 would do well. But such least is not nect-'ssary ; for the names 
 might be merely mentioned, and the tlianks carried by acclamatit>n. 
 So with all others. These toasts might be set down and assigned, 
 and given as circumstances may permit. 
 
 " I shall write to Ballantiue to that effect, subject to any altera- 
 tions ; and there is no need to print the toasts, etc., tunes, etc., till all 
 is fixed, a tew da^-s before the 6th ; vice-chairman, stewards, etc., as 
 no man of course would, on such an occasion, speak of himself, the 
 place assigned him, whatever that may be, speaking for itself 
 
 "Finally, we propose 'The Provost and Magistrates of Ayr and 
 other Burghs,' and ' The Ladies,' of course, with shouts of love and 
 delight. And so finis." 
 
 The next letter is from Sergeant Talfourd,* whom he had invited 
 to join the meeting at Ayr : — 
 
 "Oxford, July 14, ISl-i. 
 
 " My deae Sir : — Your very kind letter respecting the festival 
 on the banks of the Doon has reached me at this city, where I am 
 on the circuit ; and if it were possible for me to meet the wish it so 
 cordially expresses, I should at once recall the answer I felt com- 
 pelled to give to the invitation of the committee, and look forward 
 with delight to sharing in the enjoyments of the time. When, 
 however, I tell you the sad truth, that on the 6th August we {i.e., 
 the Circuit) shall be at Shrewsbury, and on the 7th shall turn south- 
 ward to Hereford, so that it will be impossible for me to be in Scot- 
 land on the 6th by the utmost exertion, and all the aid of steamboats 
 and railways, without entirely absenting myself from both the 
 Shrewsbury and the Hereford Assizes, and causing serious incon- 
 A'enience to many, besides the loss to myself, I am sure you will 
 sympathize with the conviction I have reluctantly adopted, that / 
 cannot be with you at your most interesting meeting. Our long 
 circuit, which is this year somewhat later than usual, in consequence 
 of the Irish Writ of Error, will not close before the 22d or 23d 
 August, when I hope to take my family to the country you know 
 so well in the neighborhood of Windermere, where Mr. Words- 
 worth has taken a cottage for us for the holidays. If your festiv:il 
 had, happily for me, occurred while I was there at liberty, I should 
 have embraced, with pleasure I cannot express, the opportunity of 
 
 * S ii Thuuiii& Nuun Talfourd died in tbc di:>ch:in;e of Ui& n>rofessional duties at the Assizes, 1S54.
 
 LITER A KY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 417 
 
 meeting you under circumstances so original as the celebration of 
 one of the truest poets who ever lived, and of beholding his genius 
 by the light of yours, and then I might perhaps have hoped to in- 
 duce our great living poet to accompany me. But I am tantalizing 
 myself by fancying impossibilities, and can only ho[)e that Words- 
 worth may grace your festival, and that all happiness may attend 
 it, and you and yours. 
 
 " Believe me to remain, my dear sir, most truly and respectfully 
 yours, T. N. Talfoukd." 
 
 The last from the Professor to Aird is characteristic of that gen- 
 tle courtesy which the chivalry of his nature ever showed to woman. 
 Such traits of kindliness may seem almost too trifling to draw at- 
 tention to, but they are unfortunately not so common in the routine 
 of intercourse Avith our fellow-creatures as could be wished : — 
 
 " Edinborgh, Saturday Eceniiig, 
 August 11 th, 1844. 
 
 " My dear Mr, Aird : — I looked about for you in all directions, 
 but could not see you on the field or in the Pavilion. I wished 
 most to have had you on the platform, as the procession passed by 
 before the Adelphi. It was very ati'ecting. 
 
 " I told the .Committee a week or two before the Festival, to invite 
 Mrs. Thomson (Jessie Lewars), and no doubt they did so. But I 
 could get no information about her being there from anybody, so 
 did not allude to her in what I said, lest she might not be present. 
 
 "I spoke to a lady in the Aulds' cottage, thinking she was Mrs. 
 Begg, but she told me siie was not; giving me her name, which I 
 did not catch. Perhaps she was Mrs. Thomson ? I wish you would 
 inquire, and, if so, tell her that I did not hear the name ; for, if it 
 was she, I must have seemed wanting in kindness of manner. I saw 
 it stated in a newspaper that she was seated in the Pavilion with 
 Mrs. Begg. I wished I had known that — if it was so; but nobody 
 on the morning of the Festival seemed to know any thing, and Mr. 
 Auld in his cottage naturally enough was so carried, that he moved 
 about in all directions with ears inaccessible to human speech. 
 
 "A confounded bag})ipe and a horrid drum drove a quarter of an 
 hour's words out of my mind, or rather necessitated a close, leaving 
 out a good deal to balance what I did say.
 
 418 MEMOra OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "I intend publishinir my address in Blackwood's next number, 
 properly corrected, along with all the others ; and, if you can ^nd 
 a place lor it in the Herald^ I wisli you would, for I wish the ]>eo- 
 ple in the country to see it, if they choose, in right form. 8i)eakers 
 are at the mercy of tlie first reporter, and at the mercy of circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " I am not without hopes of seeing you at Dumfries this month- - 
 or early next. 'Twas a glorious gathering. Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Joiix Wilson." 
 
 My father was always glad to escape from Edinburgh during the 
 summer, but latterly he required other inducement than the "rod" 
 to take him from home ; a solitary "cast" was losing its charm, and 
 he now liked to find companions to saunter with him by loch and 
 stream. This sunmier his old friend, Dr. Blair, had been visiting 
 him, and was easily prevailed on to take a ramble to the Dochart 
 before returning south. The following letter to his daughter Jane 
 (Umbs or "Crumbs"), tells of his own sport and of the Wizai'cVs 
 "walks : — 
 
 "LuiB, Sunday, June 1, 184 j. 
 
 "Dear Ckumbs : — We arrived at Luib (pronounced Libe) on the 
 Dochart, foot of Benmore, on Tuesday afternoon at three o'clock, 
 via Loch Lomond and Glenfalloch. We soon found ourselves en- 
 sconced in a snug parlor looking into a pretty garden, and in every 
 way comfortable. Our bedroom is double-bedded — small ; but such 
 beds I have not slept in for one hundred years. Since our anival 
 till this hour there has not been above twenty drops of rain, and 
 the river (the Dochart) has not been known so low by the oldest 
 inhabitant, who is the landlord — aged eighty -five — deaf and lame — 
 but hearty and jwear^. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Satur- 
 day, after breakfast, I talked tJiree miles up the river, Avhich flows 
 past the inn, and fished down, killing each day with midges about 
 three dozen good trout, like herrings, of course, and about ten 
 dozen of fry — a few of about a pound; none larger. The natives 
 are astonished at my skill, as in such weather fish were never caught 
 before. The Wizard* disappears in the morning, and returns to 
 dinner about six. On Thursday he left Luib about nine, and re- 
 turned at half-past seven, having been over a range of mountains 
 
 * Dr. Alexander Blair.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 419 
 
 anti back afjaiii, ceitaiiily two tliousand feet liigli. I>nt on Friday 
 he was macli fatigued and kept to the valley, and even yesterday 
 lie had not recovered from his fatigue. With respect to myself, I 
 am always knocked up at night, and fresh in the morning. I made 
 right down the middle of the river among huge rocks and stones, 
 avoiding all the pools twenty feet deep, of which there are hun- 
 dreds, many places utterly dried up, otiiers not a foot deep. In 
 flood or rains it must be a most tremendous river. On Monday I 
 think of going to Loch Narget (Maragan ?), about eight miles over 
 the hills, but only if windy and cloudy. 
 
 " On tlie whole, this is the pleasantest inn I ever was at, and the 
 station in all respects delightful. The Wizard takes a gill of icJiis- 
 key daily. I have given up all hopes of rain, and intend staying 
 here a few days longer. We shall be at Cladich on Thursday." 
 
 " Port Sonachax, June 9. 
 
 "My dear Umbs:— We left Luib on Thursday, the 5tli instant, 
 and reached Cladich at half-past seven. No Williams, nor room 
 for ourselves, so we proceeded three miles to Port Sonachan, where 
 Ave have been ever since. Friday was a day of storm, and no fish- 
 ing. Having allowed my boat to drift a few miles to leeward, it 
 took two boatmen three hours to bring me back to port, during 
 which time it rained incessantly, and was bitter cold. I sufiered 
 much, and was in fits on Saturday. The fishing was bad, and I 
 only killed nine ; but one was a noble fellow, upwards of two pounds. 
 On Monday kept the house all day. To-day fished eight miles down 
 the lake to Castle Ardchonnel, a very fine old ruin on an island, 
 which I had never seen before ; landed and dined in the castle with 
 Archy and Sandy, time from three to four o'clock ; wound up ami 
 returned before the Avind, homeward-bound ; beheld the Wizard on 
 a point of the loch, and took him in ; reached Fort Sonachan before 
 seven, and dined sumptuously. Angling had been admirable ; sixty- 
 one trout crannned into the basket, Avliich could not have held 
 another. Of these, thirty were from one-half to three-quarters and 
 one pound each ; the rest not small ; they covered two large tea- 
 trays. It reminded me of the angling thirty and thirty-five years 
 ago. The natives, especially Archy, were astonished. 
 
 " I understood the Wizard wrote to Blair yesterday ; he enjoys 
 riiniself much. an<l walks about from morning to nijjht."
 
 420 MEMOIK or JOHN WILSON. 
 
 We shall now fullow him through a small portion of the year 
 1845, when ho appears to have resumed his work with steady pur- 
 pose, as may be seen by looking at the ^lagazine for seven consecu- 
 tive months. North's Specimens of the ''British Critics" make a 
 noble contribution to that periodical. Those papers, along with 
 too many of equal power and gi'eater interest, have found jealou<? 
 protection within the ceinture of its pages, and seem destined to a 
 flue which ought only to belong to the meagre works of mediocrity- 
 The eighth number of "British Critics" was written at EUeray, 
 whither he had gone for a few weeks, tempted by a beautiful sum- 
 mer, and the natural longing of his heart to ro.ara about a place lull 
 of so many images, pleasant and sad, of the past. The following 
 note to Mr. Gordon refers to this article : 
 
 "Ellerat, VTtdnesdmj. 
 
 " ]N[y dear Gordox : — I am confidently looking for best accounts 
 of dear Mary every day. 
 
 "Pray, attend! I have sent a long article to Blackwood — 'No. 
 VIU. on Critics,' — about 3IacFlecnoe, but chiefly the 'Dunciad.' It 
 will be very long — far longer than I had anticipated, or he may 
 wish. It cannot be sent here for correction, and I wish much you 
 would edit it. 
 
 "Blackwood will give it to you when set up — and I hope cor- 
 rected in some measure by the printer — along with the MS. ; and 
 perhaps on Tuesday you may be able to go over it all, and prevent 
 abuses beyond patience. I will trust to you. I also give you power 
 to leave some out^ if absolutely necessary. Don't let it be less 
 than thirty-two pages — if the MS. requires more. In short, I wish 
 the article in this number, and all in if possible. If not, I leave 
 omission to your discretion ; but read it all over carefully first, that 
 you mny not leave out something referring to something remaining 
 in. ' We ship ou the 24th.' Yours ever, iu haste for post, 
 
 "J. W." 
 
 In the same year (184'7), when the Philosophical Institution was 
 established in Eldinburgh, he was elected its first President, and 
 delivered the opening address. To this honorable ofiice he was re- 
 elected by the members every year as long as he lived. 
 
 We have now come to a longer blank, relieved by no letter, by 
 no work. From the autumn of 1845 till that of 1848 the^-e is noth«
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. l21 
 
 ing but silence. Alas ! this was but the beginning of the end. Ten 
 years ago, while yet strong in body, though suffering and sad of 
 heart, the melancholy of his mind gave a similar tone to his words, 
 and he wrote of himself as if his days were being consumed swifter 
 than a weaver's shuttle : — " Day after day we feel more and more 
 sadly that we are of the dust, and that we are obeying its doom. 
 This life is felt to bo slowly — too swiftly wheeling away with us 
 down a dim acclivity — man knoweth not into what abyss. And as 
 the shows of this world keep receding to our backward gaze, on 
 which gathers now the gloom, and now the glimmer, of this world, 
 hardly would they seem to be, did not memories arise that are re- 
 alities, and some so holy in their sadness that they grow into hopes, 
 and give assurance of the skies." 
 
 With thoughts such as these ever springing from the pure region 
 of his soul, did he go on meeting the common day with hope bright- 
 ened into cheerfulness, until existence was beautified once more by 
 the conviction that duties were still before him — though one was 
 gone whose approving smile had given impetus to all he did. 
 
 The first break to this silence comes in a short letter, written to 
 his old friend Mr. Findlay, inviting him to be present at the marriage 
 of his son John, which took place in July, 1848. This relation was 
 one conducive to his happiness — a fresh tie to keep him hale and 
 strong of heart — making the summer visits to Billholm all the more 
 agreeable by a welcome from its new occupant, whose gentle com- 
 panionship often cheered his rambles by the river side, or made 
 pleasant a rest beneath the shade of its trees : — 
 
 " FriJny, June !), 1848. 
 
 "My dear Robert: — My son John is to be married on the 22d 
 of this month, at the house of his father-in-law, Mr. G. Bell, 4.3 
 ]M(!lville Street. We are sorry not to have beds to offer our 
 friends, and a journey to and from Edinburgh may not be conve- 
 nient to you at this time ; but if you, your good lady, and one of 
 your dear daughters, can assist at the ceremony (twelve o'clock) I 
 ueed not say how welcome will be your presence, and that we shall 
 hope to see you after it at Glo'ster Place. 
 
 " Ever affectionately yours, J. Wilson." 
 
 It may be seen from a letter to his son Blair, that he had lost no 
 time in paying a visit to the newly-married pair; for he writes from
 
 422 MEMOIR OF JOIIX WILSON. 
 
 their home on the 28th September, 1S48, having taken a peep of 
 the pastoral hills on his way from E.leray, where he had been in the 
 earlier part of the season. His letter speaks of domestic matters 
 only ; but it is easy to see a change in his spirit, and that he clings 
 more and more to the circle of young Uves around him. LoneUness, 
 as time crept on, was a feeling that easily affected him, so much so, 
 that sometimes on his return from the College, if he found no one 
 in the house, he would turn from the door, and retrace his steps 
 through the streets, until he met with his daughter, or some of his 
 little grandchildren ; then all was right, and a walk witli them 
 restored him to his wonted spirits. How sadly comes the confes- 
 sion from his lips of the dreariness which fell upon him at Elleray, 
 a place at one time enjoyable as paradise, but where now he could 
 not rest, as these touching words tell : " I have resolved not to 
 return to Elleray, as I should not be able to be there if you had left 
 it. I slept at Bowness the tifth night after my return to Elleray 
 from tfoUow Oak; the silence and loneliness of myself at night not 
 being to be borne, though during the day I was tranquil enough." 
 He makes allusion to his hand, " it is very poorly," and so indeed 
 it was, for he had been unable to use it, saving with difficulty, for 
 nearly three years. This weakness annoyed him very much, not 
 more than was natural, if it appeared to him to be the commence- 
 ment of a greater evil — that fatal breaking up, which saps the 
 strength, and brings age before its time. 
 
 His accustomed work goes on, but by fits and starts, according 
 to his bodily vigor. This autumn only one paper was written for 
 Blackwood., upon Byron's " Address to the Ocean," one of those 
 beautiful critiques which go so deeply into the true principles of 
 poetry. Its sevc?rity may startle at first, but can hardly fail to be 
 acknowledged as just. 
 
 His whule heart and soul were in poetry, and he threw out from 
 the intensity of that feeling a hundred little side-lights, that sparkled 
 and danced on and about the commonest things in nature, till, like 
 a long-continued sunbeam, they lengthened and deepened into a 
 broad light, the happiest, the most joyous in the world, radiant with 
 fun, careering, playing the strangest pranks, showing at last, in 
 shape unmistakable, that enviable property which cannot by any 
 skill in the world be planted in a nature that has it not from its 
 cradle. I do not a";ree with those who hold that humor is the best
 
 LITEIIARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 423 
 
 part of human nature, and that the whole meaning of a man's 
 character may be traced to his humor. But it is an element coming 
 and going, with other qualities, with all that composes the inner 
 spirit; often, it is true, in abeyance, but never crushed; always 
 asseithig its rights, not uiifrequently with an incongruity which, in 
 its unexpected intrusion, does not rob it of charm, but rather adds 
 to its power. 
 
 Wilson's liumor has been described as being sometimes too broad ; 
 perhaps, in the " Noctes," he occasionally makes use of an impasto 
 laid on a little too roughly. But who ever enjoyed his conversa- 
 tion at home or abroad, among the woods and wilds of nature, or 
 on the busy streets of Edinbuigh, that was not as often overpow- 
 ered by his humor as by his wit, Ijy his wisdom as by his eloquence ? 
 His manner in mixing the talk with the walk was peculiar. He 
 took several steps alongside of you, conducting you on to the 
 essential point, then, when he liad reached that, he stopped, " right- 
 about faced," stood in front of you, looking full at you, and deliv- 
 ered the conclusion, then released } ou from the stop you were force<l 
 to make, walked on a few paces, and turned in the same manner 
 again. 
 
 Latterly, a walk to the College was rather too much for him, and 
 he generally took a cab from George Street. This in time became 
 his habit, and gave rise occasionally to the most riotous behavior 
 among the cab-drivers, who used to be on the look-out for his ap- 
 proach, all desirous of driving him. The moment that well-known 
 figure was seen, an uproar began. Ilis appearance and dress were 
 too peculiar not to be recognized a good Avay off, for no one wore 
 a hat with so broad a brim, covered with such a deep crape, his 
 long hair flowing carelessly about his neck, and his black coat but- 
 toned across his chest, now somewhat portly. Still, despite in- 
 creasing infirmity, his step was free, and he looked leonire in 
 strength and bearing. So did he when he sat for his photograph 
 to Mr. D. O. Hill, an engraving from which is prefixed to this 
 work. In this product of that wonderful art, then in its infancy, 
 comes out the character of the man; the block, as it were, from 
 nature, not softened down or refined away by that delicacy whith 
 so often makes portrait-painting insensate, but great in its original 
 strength; with a something, jierhaps more of the man, and a little 
 less of the poet in his look, th.m iiaiuting would have given, yet
 
 424 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 unmistakable to the very character of the hands, broad and bt'anii- 
 ful in form. The liair, not so fine, is rather lost in the hazy shudi) ws 
 of the photograph, out an else is good and true. Wliy, some one 
 may ask, are those ^'■weepers"* on his sleeves ?f This was a mark 
 of respect he paid to the memory of his wife, and which he con- 
 tinued to wear as long as he lived, renewing these simple outward 
 memorials with tender regularity. The solicitude he showed about 
 his weepers was very touching. Many a time I have sewed them 
 on while he stood by till the work was finished, never satisfied 
 unless he saw it done himself. 
 
 A street scene was described to me by a lady who saw it take 
 place : — 
 
 One summer afternoon, as she was about to sit down to dinner, 
 her servant requested her to look out of the window, to see a man 
 cruelly beating his horse. The sight not being a very gratifying 
 one, she declined, and proceeded to take her seat at table. It was 
 quite evident that the servant had discovered something more than 
 the ill-usage of the horse to divert his attention, for he kept his eyes 
 fixed on the window ; again suggesting to his mistress that she 
 ought to look out. Her interest was at length excited, and she rose 
 to see what was going on. In front of her house (Moray Place) 
 stood a cart of coals, which the poor victim of the carter was un- 
 able to drag along. He had been beating the beast most unmerciful- 
 ly, when at that moment Professor Wilson, walking past, had seen tlu; 
 outrage and immediately interfered. The lady said, that from the 
 expression of his face, and vehemence of his manner, the man was 
 evidently "getting it," though she was unable to hear Avliat was 
 said. The carter, exasperated at this interference, took up his whip 
 in a threatening way, as if with intent to strike the Professor. In 
 an instant that well-nerved hand twisted it from the coarse fist of 
 tiie man, as if it had been a straw, and walking quietly up to the 
 cart he unfastened its tranis^ and hurled the whole weight of coals 
 into the street. The rapidity with which this was done left the 
 driver of the cart speechless. Meanwhile, poor Kosinante, freed 
 from his burden, crept slowly away, and the Professor, still clutch- 
 ing the whip in one hand, and leading the horse in the other, pro- 
 
 • " Weepers" are "stripes of muslin or cambric stitched on the extremities of the sleeves of a 
 black coat or sown, as a badge of mournin;;." — Jamieiion. 
 
 t They do not appear in the engraving, as the page is too small to contain the whole pilo- 
 ts ^a;ih.
 
 LITEEAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 4 1^5 
 
 Cerided through Moray Place to deposit the wretched aniinul in 
 better keeping than that of its driver. This little e[)isode is delight- 
 fully characteristic of his im])ulsive nature, and the benevolence of 
 his heart. No weak appeal, through the gossiping cuhuniis of news- 
 papers, to humane societies for the suppression of cruelty to ani- 
 mals ; but action on the spot, with instantaneous aid to the op- 
 pressed. Such summary measures, however, are not always taken. 
 Moral courage is required to fice bystanders ; and not many would 
 care to be seen with a carter's huge whip, leading a miserable raw- 
 boned old horse through the fashionable streets of Edinburgh. 
 But he despised nothing that was just, even to the meanest of cre- 
 ated things ; and had a supreme contempt for the observance of 
 conventional formalities, when they interfered with good and hon- 
 est feelings of the heart. 
 
 It may seem somewhat strange, as I advance towards the later 
 years of my father's life, that I can relate nothing of foreign travel ; 
 or even of recurring visits to London. Ordy twice after his mar- 
 riage did he go to the metropolis, and then, not for any lengthened 
 period, nor with the purpose of keeping himself in the world, or 
 gathering gossip from that great whirlpool of tongues. He ne\ er, as 
 far as I can remember, at any time thought of or cared to associate 
 his name with circumstances likely to bring him into contact with 
 that huge centre of the world — the first entrance to which he so 
 beautifully describes in his "Recreations," written in 1828; too 
 long to give here, and yet almost too fine to be omitted. But those 
 who do not know it, will do well to learn how a nature such as his 
 was affected, by what scarcely now awakens more than a certain cu- 
 riosity, that ere long takes the shape of blase indifference. I doubt 
 very much if any spirit, even beyond the common mould, ever had 
 such emotions awakened within it as those Wilson felt when, " all 
 alone and on foot," he reached that mighty city, where every sight 
 he saw called up some thought of wonder from the treasures of his 
 ardent mind. 
 
 Here is a portion of his powerful descrij)tion ; to convey the idea 
 how, without fear yet trembling, he left the world of his d reruns, 
 the ''emerald caves," the "pearl-leaved forests," and "a^^jthodd 
 meadows," and opened his eyes upon that which w.is no longer a 
 shadow. "Now were we in the eddies — the vortices — the whirl- 
 pools of the great roaring sea of life ! and away we were carried. 
 18
 
 4r'2(} ^rKMoiii (,'.F JOHN avilson. 
 
 not afraid, yet somcAvhat trembling in the awe of our new delight, 
 into the lieart of the liabitations of all the world's most imperial, 
 mus< pervile, most tyrannous, and most slavish passions! All that 
 way. most ele'^ating and most degrading, most startling and most 
 subduing too ; most trying by temptation of pleasure, and by repul. 
 sion of pain ; into the heart of all joy and all grief; all calm and 
 all storm ; all dangerous trouble and more dangerous rest ; all rap- 
 ture and all agony — crime, guilt, misery, madness, despair." This 
 fragment is part of one of those prose poems which he has so often 
 compoecO, and which many of his imaginative essays may be called. 
 What visions foreign shores would have brought to h". -'-^-"' can 
 from such morsels as this be imagined. But the plans of his youth, 
 sketched out no doubt during a period of mental disquietude, and 
 broken up forever, were not likely to be again suggested to one 
 "who had found in domestic life so much happiness. Thus, all 
 thoughts of travel were dissipated from his mind when excitement 
 ceased to be necessary for the preservation of his peace. So time 
 passed away, and no new place rose up to tempt him from home. 
 I believe, however, if his health had continued imbroken, or even 
 been partially restored, he would have crossed the .\tlantic. 
 
 There is no literary man of our land more highly prized or bet- 
 ter appreciated in America than Professor Wilson. In that country 
 his name is respected, and his writings are well known. It is doubt- 
 ful if in England he has so large a circle of admirers. I have often 
 heard him speak of Americans in terms of admiration. He knew 
 many, and received all who came to see him with much interest and 
 kindness ; loving to talk with them on the literary interests of their 
 country ; giving his opinion freely on the merits and demerits of its 
 writers, for they were well known to him. Of one of them he 
 always spoke with profound respect, as a man whose spiritual life 
 and great accomplishments, pure philosophical inquiries and critical 
 taste, had given him a lofty position among his countrpnen — Dr. 
 Channing, the piety of whose character made his life upon earth one 
 of singular beauty. Of his peculiar religious tenets I never heai'd 
 my father speak. Xobility of luiture, and aspirations directed to 
 high aims in exercising influence for good over his fellow-creatures, 
 wore virtues of a kind, taken in combination with intellectual power, 
 suffifient to win favor from him. 
 
 The autobiographical nature of ray father's writings permits me,
 
 JJTERARY AND UOMKSTIC I.IFE. 427 
 
 to a certain extont, to make use of such passages as I know are not 
 only the expression of his seiitinients, but likewise a relk'x of his 
 conduct in life. Then he had a simple habit of seeking pleasure in 
 communion with his own people above all others, finding their soci- 
 ety sufficient for the interest and enjoyment of life. Thus it is that 
 1 have no record to give of his mixing in circles composed of those 
 above him in station; no bans mots from noble wits; no flashes of 
 repartee from dames of high degree ; at home and abroad he walked 
 a simple, unaffected, unfashionable man. With gracious respect to 
 rank, he held aloof from the society of the great ; admiring, from the 
 distance at which he stood, the great and illustrious names that 
 adorned his land ; doing homage in the silence of his heart to all that 
 makes aristocracy admirable and Avorthy of good report, y*^'" pre- 
 feriing to remain true to his own order. 
 
 It was this loyalty that gave him power over the hearts of men, 
 and, I believe, tiiis influence it was which, beyond the respect that 
 knowledge wins, enabled him to render such valuable assistance to 
 art in Scotland. Though he was not (beyond opportunities found 
 in youth) cultivated as many are in the deeper parts of art, such as 
 can only be fathomed by long study and unwearied research, he 
 nevertheless possessed an intuitive feeling for it ; he loved it, and 
 brought an intimate knowledge of nature in all her humors, to bear 
 upon what Avas set before him. The poet's eye unravelled the paint- 
 er's meaning, and if minute detail escaped the expression of his ad- 
 miration, as not being significant of the moving spirit of the painter's 
 soul, it was because this careful transcription meiged its beauty into 
 greater and more touching effect ; even as in contemplating nature, 
 our first feeling is not to sit down to trace the delicate pencillings 
 of flowers, or count the leaves of the dark-belted woods, or yet pick 
 out the violet from its mossy bed. In the perfect landscape we 
 know how much lies " hidden from the eye," and so with the perfect 
 tableau. Our first impression is taken from the general efFct, and 
 if one of delight, fails to be recognized until our transport Ins sub- 
 sideil ; then from delight to wonder are the senses chnnged, and the 
 handiwork of nature in art is acknowledged by one acclamation of 
 praise. It was this love of nature, this devotion to the beautiful, 
 the truth, as I have before observed, that made my father welcome 
 to that boily of men who form so interesting a portion of the com- 
 munity — oui- painters. Their social gatherings, their public meet-
 
 428 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ings, even the "annual Exhibition," was confessed to be benefited 
 by his presence. That hearty sympathy, the genial smile, and the 
 ready joke, are all remembered as something not soon to be seen 
 again. TJie artist's studio was a resort well known to him, and many 
 an hour did he spend within its pleasant enclosures. 
 
 On one occasion when sitting to Mr. Thomas Duncan for his por- 
 trait,* entering his studio, he said, " I am sorry, my dear sir, that 
 my sitting must to-day be a short one ; I have an engagement at two 
 o'clock, I have not a moment after that hour to spare." Mr. Dun- 
 can, of course, expressed his regret ; and at once arranged his easel, 
 placed his subject in the desired position, and began his work. Never 
 had an hour passed away so rapidly. The Professor was in excel- 
 lent spirits, and the painter, delighted with his sitter, was loath to 
 say that two o'clock had struck. "Has it?" said the Professor, "I 
 must be off;"' and forthwith began to re-arrange his toilette, looking 
 at himself in the large pier-glass, stepping backwards and forwards, 
 making remarks upon his ai)pearance, tying his neckcloth, brushing 
 back his hair, then turning to Mr. Duncan with some jocular obser- 
 vation on the subject of dress. Sitting down for a moment led on 
 to something about art ; then perhaps a story. Rising up, his waist- 
 coat, still in his hand, was at last put on ; a walk for a moment or 
 two about the room ; another story, ending in laughter ; beginning 
 again some discourse upon graver matters, till he fell into a train of 
 thought that by degrees warmed him into one of those indescribable 
 rushes of eloquence, tliat poured out the whole force of his mind ; 
 turning the stutlio into a lecture-room, and the artist to one of the 
 most delighted of his students. 
 
 " Bless me, my dear sir," he said, rising sii'^-^'^nly ; "give me my 
 coat, I fe.tr it is long past two o'clock, I had i,_most forgotten my 
 engagement." 
 
 Mr. Duncan, smiling, handed him his coat, ei^ying, " I fear, sir 
 your engagement must be at an end for to-day ; it is now five o'clock." 
 
 Many a story, I believe, of this sort could be told of him. 
 
 There is notiiing in the world so difficult to call up and retain as 
 •a passing gleam of fun or humor. W e require the accessories of the 
 moment, tiie peculiar little touch, the almost invisible light, that, 
 gleaming athwart the mind, kindled it into that exuberance out of 
 
 ♦ Christophtir in his Sporting Jacket. Mr. Thomas Puncan, an accomplished artist, died In 
 S44. His portrait, painted by hiiusulf, hangs in tho NatJonai Gallery, Bdiuburgh.
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 429 
 
 which comes the story, the jest, the speaking evidence of the man. 
 Better is it to be silent forever than destroy the meaning of such 
 words. Wilson's conversational pou'ers, his wit, his humor, cannot, 
 save in general terms, be described. I humbly confess my own un- 
 fitness tor such an undertaking; and I liave not been able to meet 
 Avith any one who by faithful repetition can give me aid in this way. 
 I doubt very much if there is one alive who could. Mr. Lockhart 
 was the only person, who, had he survived to do honor to his friend, 
 might, from the clearness of his perceptive qualities, the pungency 
 of his wit, and the elegance of his language, have done hhn justice. 
 
 Two friends have sent me their reminiscences of social meetings 
 with him about this time. One of them says : — 
 
 "During his last five or six years, in common, I believe, with the 
 rest of the world, I saw him in society very rarely. It was said 
 that he came to be fond of solitude, and much to dislike being in- 
 truded on. I remember Lord Cockburn giving a pictures(iue ac- 
 count of an invasion of his privacy. It was something, so far as I 
 can recall the particulars, in this way. There was a party which it 
 Avas supposed he should have joined, but he did not. They forced 
 their way to his den, and, he being seated in the middle of the 
 room, walked round and round him in solemn, silent, and weird-like 
 procession, he equally silent and regardless of their presence, only 
 showing, by a slight curl of the comer of his mouth, that he was 
 hiternally enjoying the humor of the thing. 
 
 "The last time I met him in society was an occasion not to be 
 easily forgotten. It was one of those stated evening receptions 
 (Tuesdays and Fridays) which brightened the evening of Jeffrey's 
 life. Nothing wdiatever now exists in Edinburgh that can convey 
 to a younger generation any impression of the charms of that circle. 
 If there happened to be any stranger in Edinburgh much worth 
 seeing, you were sure to meet him there. The occasion I refer to 
 was dealt with exactly as the reception of a distinguished stranger, 
 though he was a stranger living among ourselves. There came a 
 rumor up-stairs that Professor Wilson had arrived, and a buzz and 
 expectation, scarcely less keen among those who had never met him, 
 than among others who wondered what change the years since they 
 had last mot him in festivity had wrought. I could see none. He 
 was on abstinence regimen, and eschewed the mulled claret conse- 
 crated to those meetings, but he was genial, brilliant, and even
 
 430 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 jovial. If he had become a liennit, it was eviilent tliat solitude 
 had not visited him." 
 
 My other correspondent met the Professor at a dinner-party at 
 Lord Robertson's, the last party of the kind, I think, he ever was 
 induced to be present at. " The party was especially joyous and 
 genial. After the ladies had left the room, the host, in a short 
 mock-heroic speech,* moved that I should ' take the chair of the 
 meeting,' which was duly seconded by the Honorable Lauderdale 
 Maule, of the 79th Higlilanders. L^pon modestly declining to accept 
 of the honor, I Avas informed that, if I persisted in my refusal, I 
 should be removed from the room by a policeman for contempt of 
 court ! 1 then at once moved up to the head of the table and seated 
 myself, having on my right hand the gallant and accomplished offi 
 cer above mentioned, and on my left the grand-looking old Profes- 
 sor, with Ills eye of tire, and his noble countenance full of geniality 
 and kindness. Lord Robertson, as was his wont several years 
 before his death, sat on the left-hand side, two or three seats from 
 the top. Of that goodly comp^^iy, those three I have just mentioned 
 have passed away. One incident I remember of that diimer-party. 
 Rober<;son, with affectionate earnestness, but from which he could 
 
 * Of Lord Robertson's mock-heroic speeches. Mr. Lockhart gives a vivid description in his 
 account of the Burns dinner of ISIS: — '"The last of these presidents (Mr. Patrick Kobertson). a 
 young Counsellor, of very rising reputation and most pleasant manner, made his ajiproach to the 
 chair amidst such a thunder of acclamation, as seems to be issuing from the cheeks of the Bac- 
 chantes, when Silenus gets astriue on his ass, in the famous picture of Eubens. Once in the 
 chair, there was no fear of his quitting it while anj- remained to pay homage due to bis authority. 
 He made speeches, one chief merit of which consisted (unlike Epic Poems) in their having neither 
 beginning, middle, nor end. He sang songs in which music was not. He proposed toasts in 
 ■which meaning was not. But over every thing that he said there was flung such a radiance of 
 shi-er mother- wit, that there was no difficulty in seeing the want of meaning was no involuntary 
 ■want By the perpetual dazzle of nis wit, by the cordial flow of his good humor, but, above all, 
 by the cheering influence of his broad, happy face, seen through its halo of punch steam (for even 
 the chair had by this time got enough of the juice of the grape), he contrived to diffuse over us 
 all, for a long time, one genial atmosphere of unmingled mirth." The remarks I have already 
 made, as to the difficulty of adequately recording the expressions of original humor, where the 
 felicity consists in the expression and accessories as much as in the mere words, ajiply equally to 
 the wit or humor of Robertson. I venture, however, to give one example that occurs to mc. nut 
 of perhaps hundreds that might be remembered, of bis peculiar and invincible power of cIo.sinK 
 all cnntrovt-rsy oy the broadest form of reductio ad absurdiim. At a dinner party, a li-arued 
 and pedantic Oxonian was becoming very tiresome with his Greek erudition, which he iM>i>t<-.l 
 on pouring forth on a variety of topics more or less recondite. At length, at a certain 8t:^e of 
 the discussion of some histonc;il point Kobertson turned round, and fixing his largo eyes on the 
 ■"Jon. said, with a Sidemnly judicial air. "I rather think, sir, Oionysius of iralicaruassus is 
 ag:iinst you there."' " I beg your p:irdon." said the Don, quickly, "Dionysius did not flourish for 
 ninety years after that period." "Oh," rejoined Patrick, with an expression of face that musf 
 be im:igine<L '' I made a ini>take. I meant Thaddeus of Waf»aic.^ After that the discusjwou 
 ut'iit iio farther in the Oretk chanueL
 
 LITERARY AXD DOMES'HO 1.TFV.. 
 
 431 
 
 not altogether exclude his pocuHar humorous style of illustration, 
 proposed the health of his friend, Professor Wilsou. The Professor 
 replied wit!) feeling, but, at the same time, gave Robertson a re- 
 joinder iu Patrick's own style. 'I have known him,' said the Pro- 
 fessor, ' since his early manhood ; I remember his beautiful hair- 
 intensely red I Knew him! I produced him ; I educed him ; and 
 I occasionally snuffed him' (here the Professor stretched out his 
 arm in the direction of Robertson's head, making the motion with 
 his hand as if it held snuffers). ' It is said, I believe, my friend is a 
 wit : this I deny; he never was, is not, and never can be a wit; I 
 admit his humor, humor peculiarly his own — unctuous and unmis- 
 takable.' In tlie couise of the evening, the Professor sang his 
 favorite song of the ' Sailor's Life at Sea,' and with what power, 
 with what sailor-like aha)idon^ and in the concluding stanzas, when 
 he describes the 'Sailor's death at Sea,' with what simple pathos! 
 it is indescribable, but the effect was visible on every one who heard 
 him. Later on, he volunteered 'Auld Lang Syne,' and often as I 
 have heard the song, and by many good singers, I never heard be- 
 fore, nor ever will again, such a rendering of it. I]urns himself 
 would have been glad and proud to have joined in the chorus ! I 
 met Wilson one or two days after in Hanover Street. He accosted 
 me. I remarked that never till that niglit at Robertson's had I ever 
 really met ' llie Professor.'' He said it was a pleasant evening, and 
 that 'Peter' was very good. 'But, sir,' said he, 'a very curious 
 circumstance happened to myself; I awoke next morning singing, ay, 
 and a very accurate version too of the words and music of that quaint 
 ballad of yours, "The Goulden Vanitee ;" curious thing, sir, wasn't 
 it?' and with a sly look of humor, he turned and walked away."* 
 
 • This quaint ballad, the author of which is unknown, is worth giving in a note, but witi;, .t 
 the magic of the singer's voice it reads but tamely. 
 
 te3teEEilEi5^£^£iS5^lfe"=3^' 
 
 
 THE GOULDEN VANITI:E. 
 There was a gallant sliip, 
 Aud a gallant ship was she, 
 
 Ivk iiMle (Ue. and the Lowlands low; 
 And she was calKil " The (ioitlden Vanitee," 
 
 As she Sailed to the Lowlands low.
 
 4:32 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 CLOSING YEAKS. 
 1849-54. 
 
 In the year 1849, the first of a series of beautiful papers from my 
 fiither's pen appeared in Blackwood^ entitled ''Dies Boreales." They 
 are ten in number, and to me are more attractive than any of his 
 other writings, as they are not only the result of the last etfoits of 
 his matured strength, put forth ere the night came, but contain the 
 very essence of his experience. Some, no doubt, will be ready to 
 compare them with the " Xoctes," and complain that they contain 
 
 She had not sailed a league, 
 A league but only three, 
 
 Eek, etc. 
 When she came up with a French Gallee 
 
 As she sailed, etc. 
 
 Out spoke the little cabin-boy, 
 Out spoke he, 
 
 Eek, etc. ; 
 " What will you .srive me if I sink that French Gallee, " 
 
 As ye sail etc 
 
 Out spoke the captain, 
 Out spt>ke he, 
 
 Eek, etc ; 
 " We'll gi'o ye an estate in the North Coontree," 
 
 As we sail, etc. 
 
 " Then row me up ticht 
 In a black bull's skin, 
 
 Eek, etc. 
 And throw me o'er deck-buird, sink I or swim," 
 
 A.S ye sail, etc 
 
 So they've row'd him up ticht 
 In a black bull's skin : 
 
 Eek, etc, 
 And have thrown him o'er deck-buird, sink he or soom, 
 
 As they sail, etc. 
 
 About and about. 
 And about went he, 
 
 Eek, etc. 
 Until he came up with the French Gallee 
 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 Oh 1 some were playing cards, 
 And Some were playing dice : 
 Eek, etc,
 
 CLOSINQ TEARS, 433 
 
 less variety of character and stirring incident. To compensate for 
 mat want, however, they have certain deeper qualities. The dis- 
 cussions they contain on some of the higliest quesiiuns of morals, 
 and the criticisms on some of the masterpieces of ancient and mod- 
 ern poetry, appear to me to be of the very highest value. In the 
 first of these papers some noble thoughts will be found upon the 
 rituals of the Church, from which I should like to extract his defi- 
 nition of what composes the Scottish service : — 
 
 " The Scottish service comprehends prayer, praise, doctrine ; all 
 three necessary verbal arts amongst Christians met, but each in ut- 
 most simplicity. The praise, which unites the voices of the con- 
 gregation, must be written. The prayer, which is tlie turning 
 towards God of the soul of the shepherd upon behalf of the flock, 
 
 When he took out an !:iislrumciit, bored thirty holes at twice I 
 As they sailed, etc 
 
 Then some they ran with cloaks, 
 And some they ran with caps, 
 
 Eeli, etc., 
 To try If they could stap the oaut-water diaps, 
 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 About and about, 
 And about went he, 
 
 Eek, etc.. 
 Until he cam back to the Gonlden Vanltee, 
 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 " Now throw me o'er a rope. 
 And pu'' me up on buird; 
 
 Eek, etc.. 
 And prove unto me as guid as your word :" 
 
 As ye sail, etc 
 
 " We'll no' throw you o'er a rope. 
 Nor pu' you up on buird, 
 
 Eek, etc., 
 Nor prove uuto you as guid as our wwd," 
 
 As we sail, etc. 
 
 Out spoke the little cabin-boy, 
 Out spoke he, 
 
 Eek, etc., 
 " Then hang me I'll sink ye as I sunk the French OaUea," 
 
 As you sail, etc. 
 
 3ut they've thrown him o'er a rope, 
 And have pu'd him up on buird, 
 
 Eek, etc., 
 And have proved unto him far better tVan their wor< 
 
 As they sailed, etc 
 
 1 am indebted for ilio words and the music to my friend Mj-. 1*. S. Froser. 
 18*
 
 434 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ami upon his own, must be unwritten, unpremeditated, else it is not. 
 prayer. Can the heart ever want fitting Avords ? The teaching 
 must be to the utmost forcihought, at some time or at another, as 
 to the matter. The teacher must liave secured his intelligence of 
 the matter ere he opens his mouth. But the form, which is of ex- 
 pedience only, he must very loosely have considered. That is the 
 theory. It presumes that capable men, full of zeal, and sincerity, 
 and love — fervent servants and careful shepherds — have been chosen 
 under higher guidance. It sujjposes the holy fire of the new-born 
 liefornuition — of the newly regenerated Church, to continue un- 
 damped, inextinguishable. 
 
 " The fact answers to the theory more or less. The original 
 thought — simplicity of worship- -is to the utmost expressed wlien 
 the chased Covenanters are mot on the greensward between the 
 hillside and the brawling brook, under the colored or uncolored 
 sky. Understand that, when their descendants meet within walls 
 beneath roofs, they would worship after the manner of their hunted 
 ancestors." 
 
 My inclination would lead me to say something more of the 
 " Dies," but I must leave them, trusting that fresh readers of my 
 father's Avorks will seek them out, and read him in the same spirit 
 'IS he himself did those great minds that preceded him. 
 
 One more domestic change took place to make him for a time feel 
 somewhat lonely. His youngest daughter, Jane Emily, left him for a 
 home of her own. On the 11th of April, 18-19, she was married to 
 Mr. William Edmondstoune Aytoun, Professor of Belles Lettres in 
 the University of Edinburgh. But his second son, Blair, was yet left 
 to cheer him in his now circumscribed household ; discharging with 
 devotion duties of aftection, until broken health obliged him unwil- 
 lingly to leave Edinburgh, and seek change of scene. The lemain- 
 inor portion of this year, like many others, was spent at his own fire- 
 side ; the coming and going of his family forming the only variety 
 of the day, not unfrequently concluded by t<ome amusement for his ' 
 
 nndchildren. \ favorite walk with them was to the Zoological 
 
 drdens. Wonderful diversions were met with there, and much 
 enteitaining talk there was about the wild beasts ; not always, how- 
 ever, confined to the amusement of the little children who walked 
 with him ; for he generally managed to find auditcjrs who, if not 
 directly addressed, were willing to linger near and listen.
 
 CLOSING YEAKS. 
 
 435 
 
 There is something expressive in the words, "Little Wa)s." 
 Every one has seen, in intimate intercourse with hisfellow-creiitures, 
 hubits andpecuh.'irities that are in themselves trilling enough, but 
 ^t<' belonging to the person that they can be looked upon only as his 
 ' ways," and are never for an instant disputed, rather encouraged. 
 My lather had a number of these " ways," all of so playful a land, 
 60 much proceeding from the affection of his nature, that I can 
 scarcely think of him without them, coming, as they do, out of the 
 heart of his domesticities, when moving about his house, preparing 
 for the forenoon lecture, or silting simi)!y at home after the labor of 
 the day. I would not as a matter of taste introduce an ordinary 
 toilette to the attention of the reader, but with the Professor this 
 business was so like himself, so original, that some account of it 
 will rather amuse than offend. By iits and starts the process of 
 shaving was carried on ; walking out of his dressing-room into the 
 study ; lathering his chin one moment with soap, then standing the 
 next to take a look at some fragment of a lecture, which would ab- 
 sorb liis attention, until the fact of being without coat, and having 
 his face half-covered with soap, was entii'ely forgotten, the reverie 
 only distiu'bed by a ring at the bell, when be would withdraw to 
 proceed with the " toilette's tedious task," which, before completion, 
 would be interrupted by various caprices, such as walking out of 
 one room into another ; then his waistcoat was put on ; after that, 
 perhaps, he had a hunt among old letters and papers for the lecture, 
 now lost, which a mumte before he held in his hand. Off again to 
 his dressing-room, bringing his coat along with him, and, diving 
 into its pockets, he Avould find the lost lecture, in the form of the 
 tattered fragment of a letter, which, to keej) together, he was 
 obliged to ask his daughter to sew' for him with needle and thread, 
 an operation requiring considerable skill, the age of the paper havhig 
 reduced the once shining Bath post to a species of crumbling wool, 
 uot willing to be transfixed or held in order by such an arrangement 
 as that of needlework. At last, he would get under weigh ; but the 
 t^ing of his shoes and the winding-up of his watch were the finish- 
 ing touches to this disjointed toilette. These little operations he 
 never, as far as I remend:)er, did for himself; they were offices I 
 (iftcn had the pleasure of [jerforniing. The watch was a great joke. 
 Ill the first place, he seldom wore his own, which never by any 
 chance was right, or treated according to the natural properties of
 
 436 MKMOIU OF JOHN wiLsoy. 
 
 a watch.* Many wonderful escapes this t^-«iament (if so it may be 
 onlled) hail from fire, water, and sudden deat.i. All that was requirea 
 of it at his hands was that it should go, and point at some given 
 hour. His o\rn account of its treatment is so exactly the sort of 
 system pursued, that this little imaginative bit oi writing will de- 
 scribe its course correctly : — "We wound up our chronometer irregu- 
 larly, by fits and starts, thrice a day, perhaps, or once a week, till it 
 fell into an intermittent fever, grew delirious, and gave up the 
 ghost." His snuflF-bcr, to©, was a source of agony to him ; it was 
 always lost, at least the one he wished to use. He had a curious 
 sort of way of mislaying things ; even that broad-brimmed hat of 
 his sometimes went amissing; his gloves, his pocket-handkerchief, 
 every thing, just the moment he wished to be off to his class, seemed 
 to become invisible. Xo doubt all these minor evils of life were 
 vividly before him when he makes his imaginary editor give occa- 
 sional vent to his feelings in the " Xoctes."f 
 
 These are some of the " ways." Gas, as I have said, he could not 
 endure, having once blown it out, and nearly suflfocated a whole 
 family. It was the first duty of the servant to place the tin candle- 
 stick and snuffers on his table in the morning. That and his ink- 
 stand were two articles of vertu not to be removed from his sight. 
 The uikstand, a little earthenware image of Arion on his dolphin, 
 I preserve with care and pride.J 
 
 • A sufferer sends me the following anecdote : — " While delivering one of the Inananral Ad- 
 dresses to the Philosophical Institution, of which he was president, ii) the full career of that im- 
 passioned eloquence for which he was so distinguished, he somewhat suddenly made a pause in his 
 address. Looking round on the platform of faces beside him, he put the emphatic question, 'Can 
 any of you gentlemen lend me a watch ?' Being very near him I handed him mine, but a moment 
 Lad hardly p.isst-d ere I repented doing so. Grasping the chronometer in his band, the l^ofessor 
 at once recommenced his oration, and, in ' suiting the action to the word,' I expected it would 
 Boon be smashed to pieces; but I was agreeably disappointed, as, after swaying it to and fro for 
 tome time, he at last laid it gently down on the cushion before him." 
 
 t •* Who the devil has stolen my gloves? cries the same celebrated literary charactiv, as, s'amp- 
 tag. he blows his nails, and bangs the front door after him, sulkily shaking his naked mawliea 
 •n the steps with Sir John Frost. 
 
 '• Hang itl had we three hundred and sixty-flve snuff-boxea, not one of them would be suffere«l 
 t> lie still on this table : but the whole gang shall be dismissed, men and women alike, thev 
 are all thieves. You have not seen my slippers, you say, sirrah? — Well, then, we shall us* vr 
 Interest to got you admitted into the Blind Asylum. 
 
 " Hold your confounded tongue, sir, and instantly fetch us our hat What else have you got to 
 do in this life, you lazy hound, but attend to our hat ? And have you no fears, you infidel ?"' 
 
 J It was bought by my mother, in a small shop in Stockbridge, in 1S20. That shop was then 
 kept by a young man. who has sinc<^ risen to great eminence in the world, having gained by 
 t;s acquirements, and extensive antiquarian knowledge, a name of European fame. In his private 
 life he is beloved and resi>eot<-d by all who know him, and among my own friends there is n* 
 one I esteem more highly thun Mr. Itobvrt Chambers.
 
 CLOSING TEARS. 437 
 
 He was in his luttor years passionately fond of children : his grand- 
 children were his playmates. A favorite pastime with tiiem was 
 fishing in imaginary rivers and lochs, in boats and out of tliem ; the 
 scenei-y rising around the anglers with magical rapidity, for one 
 glorious reality was there to create the whole, fishing-rods, reels 
 and basket, line and flies — the entire gear. What shouts and 
 Bcreams of delight as " the fun grew fast and furious," and fish 
 were caught by dozens, Goliah getting his phantom trout unhooked 
 by his grandfather, who would caution him not to let his line be 
 entangled in the trees ; and so they would go on. The confidence 
 which children pLice in their elders is one of the most convincing 
 proofs of the love bestowed on them. At that period of life no 
 idea of age crosses the mind. The child of six imagines himself 
 surrounded by companions of his own age in all he sees. The 
 grandfather is an abstract of love, good humor, and kindness ; his 
 venerable aspect and dignified bearing are lost sight of in the over- 
 flowing benevolence of his heart. Noah's ark, trumpets, drums, 
 pencils, puzzles, dolls, and all the delightful games of infant life are 
 supposed to possess equal interest in his eyes. I have often seen 
 this unwearieil playmate sitting in the very heart of all these para- 
 phernalia, taking his part according to orders given, and actually 
 going at the request of some of these urchins up-stairs to the nur- 
 sery to fetch down a forgotten toy, or on all-fours on the ground 
 Iielpiug them to look for some lost fragment. With all this fami- 
 liarity there was a certain feeling of awe, and care was taken not 
 to otfend. Sometimes the little group, becoming too noisy, would 
 be suddenly dispersed : Christopher, being in no humor to don his 
 *' sporting-jacket," closed for a brief season the study-door, intimat- 
 in<jr that serious work had be^un. 
 
 A nervous or fidgety mother would have been somewhat startled 
 at his mode of treating babies ; but I was so accustomed to all his 
 doings that I never for a moment interfered with them. His grand- 
 daughter went through many perils. He had great pleasure i'l 
 amusing himself with her long before she could either walk or 
 speak. One day I met him coming down-stairs with what appeared 
 to be a bundle in his hands, but it was my baby which he clutched 
 by the back of the clothes, her feet kicking through her long robe, 
 and her little arms striking about evidently in enjoyment of the 
 reckless position in wljieh she was held. He said this way of car-
 
 438 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 rying a child was a discovery he had made, tliat it was quite safe, 
 and very good for it. It was all very well so long as he remem- 
 bered what lie was about ; but more than once this large good-na- 
 tured baby was left all alone to its own devices. Sometimes he 
 would lay her down on the rug in his room and forget she was 
 Jhere ; when, coming into the drawing-room without his plaything, 
 and being interrogated as to where she was, he would remember 
 he had left her lying on the floor ; and bringing her back with a 
 joke, still maintaining he was the best nurse in the world, "but I 
 will take her u}>stairs to Sally," and so, according to his new dis- 
 covery, she was carried back unscathed to the nursery. He did 
 not always treat the young lady with this disrespect, for she was 
 very often in his arms Avhen he w:;s preparing his thoughts for the 
 lecture-hour. A pretty tableau it was to see them in that littered 
 room, among books and papers — the only bright things in it — and 
 the SPAREOW, too, looking on while he hopped about the table, not 
 quite certain whether he should not affect a little envy at the sight 
 of the new inmate, whose chubby hands were clutching and tearing 
 away at the long hair, which of right belonged to the audacious 
 bird. So he thought, as he chirped in concert with the baby's 
 screams of delight, and dared at last to ahght upon the shoulder 
 of the unconscious Professor, absorbed in the volume he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 Such were the little scenes that recall "the grandfather" to 
 me ; and I hope I have not wearied my readers by this detail about 
 babies and children, but that I may have added, by common fixcts, 
 a tenderer association to his name, claiming from those who only 
 knew his intellect respect for the loving sympathies that made home 
 80 sweet. 
 
 I have now come to the year 1850, when my father was living 
 alone in his house in Gloucester Place, leaving it occasionally to 
 visit his son .John at Billholm, as two letters bearing the date of 
 that year show. They are both addressed to his second son, 
 Blair, and are written in his usual kind and home-loving spirit. 
 One of them announces the death of his faithful old servant, Billy 
 Balmer : — 
 
 "LiXMOCXT, nth Augtist, 1850. 
 
 " My dear Blair : — Poor Billy died here yesterday night about 
 nine o'clock, so quietly, that we scarcely knew when he was gone.
 
 CLOSING YEA Its. 1159 
 
 On Friday, he is to be interred in tlie adjacent conu'teiy. His 
 wife liad cunie from Bowiiess. 
 
 "I tliink of going to Billbohn on Saturday for ten days. Per- 
 haps you will write to me there on (jetting this, and tell me liow 
 you are going on. Your letter to Jane was most acceptable to all 
 of us. 
 
 " I will write to you from Billholm on receiving a letter from 
 you. All well. Jane Aytoun and Golly left for liillliohn yesterday, 
 Kind regards to all friends at Kirkebost, and believe mo ever, your 
 most aifectionate father, J- W." 
 
 Of Billy a few more words may be said. The last time my fa- 
 ther visited Westmoreland was in the year 1848. Whether his old 
 boatman fancied, from being no longer young, that he would soon 
 be sei)arated from his master forever I cannot say, but soon after 
 he took a longing to visit Scotland. The railway from Kendal to 
 Edinburgh had been open some short time, but Billy was a stern 
 Conservative, and could not suffer the idea of modern reform in any 
 shape ; he considered railways generally not only destructive to the 
 country at large, but to individual life in particular — a species of 
 infernal machine for the purpose of promoting sudden death.* 
 Willi these feelings, perfectly orthodox in the breast of such a 
 primitive son of creation, it is natural to suppose that he would 
 shun the locomotive. So one fine day he bade farewell to " pretty 
 Bowness," and trudged manfully on foot all the way into Eskdalo 
 Muir, arriving, weary and worn out, after a coujjle of days' walk- 
 ing, at the hospitable door of Billholm. There he was received, 
 and he tarried for some months ; but kind though the young master 
 was, he longed for the old. After a time he left the " house that 
 shines well where it stands," and made his w^ay to Edinburgh, 
 True devotion like that met Avith the reward due to it, and Billy 
 was re-established in his master's service, dressed after the fashion 
 of his early days, in sailor guise, with pleasant work to do, and a 
 glass of ale daily to cheer his old soul. 
 
 I never knew of any love to mortal so true as that of Billy for 
 my father. It was like that of David for Jonathan, " passing the 
 
 * Billy's lioiTor at railways appears to have been shared by others who ought to have known 
 bolter. Witness Wordsworth's linos on the projected Kendal and Windermere Kailway, com 
 niencing — 
 
 " Is there no nook of English ground secure from rash assault?"
 
 440 MKMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 love of women." Cheerful reminiscences he had of past labor by 
 the lake-side; then came kiiulness and care to soothe the weakness 
 and troubles of advaiicini;- age; and, hist of all, the toucli of a ten- 
 der hand by the dying bed. Poor old man ; he liad come to pay nie 
 a visit at Lixmount, where I was then residing, when he took his 
 last illness ; he lay some weeks, fading gradually away. Before his 
 last hour came, I sent to let my lather know I thought it was at 
 hand; my message brought him imsnediately. He walked tlie dis- 
 tance — about two miles from Gloucester Place ; and walking at 
 that time was beginning to fatigue him, so he arrived heated and 
 tired, but went at once, without taking rest, to his old comrade's 
 room, wliere he found him conscious, though too weak to speak. 
 Billy's eye lighted up the moment it rested on the beloved face be- 
 fore him, and he made an effort to raise his hand — the weather- 
 beaten hynd that had so often pulled an oar on Windermere ; it 
 was lying unnerved and white, barely able to return the pressure 
 so tenderly given. The other held in its helpless grasp a black silk 
 handkerchief which he seemed desirous of protecting. As the day 
 wore on life wore away. The scene was simple and sad. Pale and 
 emaciated, the old man rested beneath the white drapery of his bed, 
 noiseless almost as a shadow; while my father sat beside him, still 
 fresh in face and powerful in frame, exhibiting in his changing coun- 
 tenance the emotions of solemn thought and a touched heart. Soon 
 the change came ; a stronger breathing for a moment, a few faint 
 sighs, and then that unmistakable stillness nowhere to be heard but 
 in the chamber of death. The old boatman had passed to other 
 shores. The handkerchief he grasped in his hand was one given to 
 him by his master ; he had desired his wife to lay it beside him. It 
 was a something tangible when memory was leaving him, that re- 
 vived in his heart recollections of the past. Billy Balmer was in 
 terred in the "NVarriston Cemetery. My father Avalked at the head 
 of his coffin, and laid him in his grave. 
 
 The next letter is written in September : — 
 
 "My dear Blair: — Golly and Jane having both written to you 
 from Billholm, I need say little of my visit to it. You know, too, 
 of the sudden appearance of the dear Doctor.* We left them all 
 well on the Wednesday j^i'eceding the Queen's arrival. But we
 
 CLOSING YKAUS. 4-ii 
 
 did not go to see her entree on Tiiursday, and so missed wliat I hear 
 was a sight worth seeiug. On Fri-hxy I attended, with about twelve 
 other professors, the stone-hiying,* which was pretty. The Prince 
 spoke well, and to the purpose. On Saturday we dined with ^Irs. 
 II. Chambers, and met De Quincey and his daughters and a few 
 others. In the evening dropt in about 150 literary persons of all 
 ages and sexes ; and I never saw the Doctor in such force. His 
 tongue never lay, and he would have sat till midnight ; but Sabbath 
 broke up the paity. Next day Mary came for us in her carriage, 
 but no Doctor was to be foimd, so we went to Lixmount without 
 him, and at half-past seven he appeared in a brougham, having lost 
 liimself in some quanies. On Tuesday, he dined with Mrs. Pit- 
 man, and to-day accompanies her to the Horticultural; so I do not 
 expect to see him again till Friday. lie is stronger than I ever 
 knew him, and in great spirits ; and I am as kind to him as possible. 
 I expect he will stay yet for ten days, when he returns to Abberly 
 to accompany Mrs. Busk to London. I am not without hopes that 
 he will pay us a visit early in spring. He s.'uds his love to you. 
 
 " Gordon is the greatest man in Edinburgh — next to him the 
 Provost and Mr. Moxey.f The place seems quiet again as before, 
 but the excitement was great. Dear Jane had a bad attack two 
 days before we left Billholm, but was up the day we left, and I 
 trust quite haidy again. I am much the better of the dear Doc- 
 tor's visit, and am in good spirits. You aie not forgotten in Skye 
 by any of us ; and we all rejoice to think Avhat a stock of health 
 you are laying in for the winter. I am glad the guardsman and lady 
 are pleasant. Wiieu the Doctor goes I shall be able to know my 
 own motions. I must go then for a few days to St. Andrews. Al- 
 ter that I will Avrite to you. Meanwhile God bless you, ever prays 
 your affectionate father, J. W. 
 
 " Give my very kindest regards to the Doctor and good lady." 
 
 The " dear Doctor," whose name has so frequently been men- 
 tioned in these pages, claims a few more words here. The school- 
 boy of olden days, beloved by all for his gentleness and goodness, 
 singing out, as Miss Sym describes him, " Ohon a ree ! ohon a ree !'' 
 whom she tinds "grojiing in the piess, howking out a book, part 
 
 * The fdumiation-stono of tlu- n-w National Gallery on the Mound. 
 + Superintendeut of Police.
 
 44-2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 of which was rojitl with his peculiar burr.'' These simple words 
 give us the impression that tiiere was a somotliing about lilni dif- 
 ferent from other boys. As a man, I never saw any one like him ; 
 and truly he continued his love for '' howking out books." How 
 inurli he read, and to what purpose, may be clearly seen from the 
 correspondence between himself and his friend, to whom, in exterior 
 and manner, he formed a strange contrast. The gentleness of his 
 movements was remarkable. There was almost a timidity of char- 
 acter expressed in his bearing at first sight ; but the wonderful in- 
 telligence of his countenance, the fine formation of his head, dis- 
 pelled that impression, and the real meaning was read in perceiving 
 that modesty, not fear, conquered his spirit, taking from him that 
 confidence which the consciousness of power almost always gives. 
 It was similarity of studies and sentiments that made them so much 
 one ; for of athletic sports in any shape, Dr. Blair knew nothing 
 practically, nor cared. The course and habit of his life were like 
 the smooth, deep water; serene, undisturbed to outward eye, and 
 the very repose that was about him had a charm for the restless, 
 active energy of his friend, who turned to this gentle and meek na- 
 ture for mental rest. I have often seen them sitting together in the 
 quiet retirement of the study, peifectly absorbed in each other's 
 presence, like schoolboys in the abandonment of their love for each 
 other, occupying one seat between them, my father, with his arm 
 lovingly embracing " the dear Doctor's" shoulders, playfully pulling 
 the somewhat silvered locks to draw his attention to sometning in 
 the tome spread out on their knees, from which they were both 
 reading. Such discussions as they had together hour upon hour ! 
 Shakspere, Milton — always the loftiest themes — never weary in 
 doing honor to the great souls from whom they had learnt so much. 
 Their voices were difterent too: Dr. Blair's soft and sweet as that 
 of a woman ; my fother's sonorous, sad, with a nervous tremor : 
 each revealing the peculiar character of the man. Much of the Pro- 
 fessor's deep thought and love of philosophy grew out of this friend- 
 ship. The two men were mutually invaluable to each other. The 
 self-confidence of the stronger man did not tyrannize over the more 
 gentle, whose modesty never sunk into submission, nor quailed in 
 presence of a bolder power. Their knowledge was equal ; the dif- 
 ference lay in their natural powers. The one bright, versatile, ai.d 
 resolute, has left his works behind bun; while the other, never
 
 ci'-osiNO y?:ars. 443 
 
 F:itisfif'(l, always doing and undoing, lias unfortunately given but 
 little to the world : and it is to be feared the grave will close over 
 this remarkable man, leaving no other trace of his rare mind and 
 delightful nature than that which friendship hallows in its breast. 
 The last visit Dr. Blair jtaid to his friend, their time was exclusively 
 devoted to the study ol' Milton, and the result of these hours finds 
 noble record in the "Dies Boreales." The subject is approachel 
 with a reverence such as ever marks a spirit willing to bow before 
 a great power. The inner purpose of the poet's soul claims the 
 critic's every thought, and he advances with well-ordered steps 
 from the beautiful portals, opened by invocation to the rau.*e, into 
 the heart of the splendid structure, leading his reader with unri- 
 valled skill into lofty chambers of thought and imagery. 
 
 It is now time to speak of those days in which the sand was run- 
 ning quickly down in the glass. A change which the eye of affec- 
 tion is not always the first to mark, could not, however, be con- 
 cealed from his family. In the winter of 1850, symptoms of break- 
 ing up of health obliged the Professor, for the first time, to absent 
 liimself from College duties. I have received an account of one 
 particular illness, the exact statement of which did not, at the time 
 it took place, come from his lips. Indeed, as his health decidedly 
 weakened, so did he in j)roportion try to rise above it. The same 
 interest in his work which kindled his energies in early years, 
 glowed Avith unabated ardor in old age. I give it as it was sent 
 to me :* — 
 
 " One day Professor Wilson was late in appearing ; perhaps ten 
 or twelve minutes after the class hour — an unusual thing with hitu, 
 for he was punctual. We had seen hira go into his private room. 
 We got uneasy, and at last it was proposed that I should go in, and 
 see what it was that detained him. To my latest hour I will re- 
 member the sight I saw on entering. Having knocked and received 
 no answer, I gently opened the door, and there I found the Profes- 
 sor lying at full length on the floor, with his gown on. Instinctively 
 I rubbed his head and raised it up, kneeling with the noble head 
 resting on my breast. I could not, of course, move. But in a few 
 minutes in came other students, wondering in turn what was keep- 
 mg nie, and we together raised the Proiessor up into his cliair. I 
 caught the words ' God bless you !' Gradually he got better, and 
 
 * By tho Urtv. A. B. Grosart, Kinross.
 
 44 -i MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "Nve forced him to sit still, and never dream of lecturing that day or 
 for a time. He was very reluctant to consent. I remember too tliat 
 "we spoke of calling a cab, but he said 'No,' it would shake him too 
 much. In about half-an-hour he walked home. We announced to 
 the class what had taken place, and very sore our hearts were. I 
 think the Professor remained away three weeks, and on his return 
 expressed glowingly and touchiiigly his gratitude to ' his dear 
 young friends.' " 
 
 This was his last year of public labor. The whole session had 
 been one of toil to him, and the exertions he made to compass his 
 work could not be concealed. 
 
 His last Medallist says :* — 
 
 "The end did not come till his work for that session Avas done. 
 On Friday he distributed prizes, and heard the students read their 
 essays; taking particular interest in those of one gentleman who, 
 with great ability, attacked his whole system, and of another who 
 fancied that he had discovered a via tn'idia between the two great 
 factions. Then he dismissed us, and the cheers and plaudits of his 
 class rang in his ear for the last time. On Monday I called to get 
 his autograph on one of my books ; but the blow had already to 
 some extent fallen, for he was unable even to write his name. Twice 
 after tliis I saw him, at his own request, and always on the subject 
 of his lectures ; for he was bent on what he called a ' reconstruction' 
 of his theory for the ensuing session ; while it was but too plain to 
 those around him that he was not likely to see the College again. 
 The old lion sat in his arm-chair, yellow-maned and toothless, pre- 
 lecting with the old volubility and eloquence, and with occasionally 
 the former flash of the bright blue eye, soon di'ooping into dullness 
 again. I still remember his tremulous ' God bless you !' as the door 
 closed for the last time. How different from that fresh and vigorous 
 old age in which he had moved among us so royally the year before !" 
 
 The relaxation of summer holidays brought no satisfactory im- 
 provement in his health. The truth lay heavy on his spirit — that 
 the usefulness of liis life was drawing to its close. Day by day some 
 strength went out of him, and he must bid farewell to " his children," 
 as he was wont to call his students. The freshness of his glory was 
 no longer in him ; '• the bow was not renewed in his hand." Long 
 and mournful meditation took possession of him ; days of silence re- 
 
 ♦ Mr. Taylor Innes.
 
 CLO^^INO YKAUS. 445 
 
 vealed the deptli of his sufferuig ; and it was only by fits and starts 
 that any thing like composure visited his heart. Still did he speak 
 of returning to his labors at the commencement of the session; and, 
 in order to regain strength, he proposed to make an excursion into 
 the Highlands, provided that a family party went with him. There 
 was no difficulty in arranging this; and in June, accompanied by 
 his two eldest daughters, his sons John and Blair, his son-in-law 
 Professor Ferrier, his brother James, and his niece Henrietta Wilson, 
 he set out for Luib ; at which rendezvous he was joined by Mr. 
 Glassford Bell and his eldest daughter. Luib, as we have seen from 
 his letter in 1845, is a pretty wayside hostelry in the central High- 
 lands of Perthshire, about seven miles beyond Killin. There we 
 encam])ed for a fortnight, encountering such caprices of weather as 
 generally pass over tlie mountain districts of Scotland. The more 
 adventurous of the party treated the weather with contempt, taking 
 long walks. Of these were Mr. James Wilson and his niece, who 
 wandered over large stretches of ground : but few of the others 
 could compare notes of adventure with them. Had my father been 
 able to endure fatigue, we too would have had something to boas*, 
 of; but he was unable to do more than loiter by the river-side close 
 in the neighborhood of the um — ^never witiiout his rod. Alas, how 
 changed the maimer of his sport from that of his prime ! We must 
 make use of his own illustration as he speaks of the past and present ; 
 for North's exploits in angling are varied enough to be brought for- 
 ward at any point of his life. He says to the Shepherd : — 
 
 "In me the passion of the sport is dead — or say rather didl ; yet 
 have I gentle enjoyment still in the 'Angler's silent Trade.'" So 
 seemed it then on the banks of the Dochart. 
 
 "But Heavens, my dear James! How in youth, and prime of 
 manhood too, I used to gallop to the glens, like a deer, over a hun- 
 dred heathery hills, to devour the dark rolling river, or the blue 
 breezy loch ! How leaped my heait to hear the thunder of the near- 
 ing watertall ! and lo, yonder flows, at last, the long dim shallow 
 rippling hazel-banked line of music among the broomy braes, all astir 
 ■with back-fii,s on its surface; and now the feed is on, teeming with 
 swift-shooting, bright bounding, and silver-shining scaly life, most 
 beauteous to behold, at every soft alighting of the deceptive line, 
 captivating and irresistible even among a shower of natural leaf-born 
 tii.'S, a swarm in the air from the mountain woods."
 
 4-16 mt:motr of john wilson. 
 
 A picture of the past visiting the j^resent, as time glides on, 
 making more pcrcej tible the cruel changes which come to mortal 
 strength. How now do his feet touch the heather? Not as of old, 
 with a boiinl, but with slow and unsteady step, supported on the 
 one hand by his stick, while the other carries his rod. The breeze 
 gently moves his locks, no longer glittering with the light of life, 
 but dimmed by its decay. Yet are his shoulders broad and unbent. 
 The lion-like presence is somewhat softened down, but not gone. 
 He surely will not venture into the deeps of the water, for only one 
 hand is free for "a cast,'' and those large stones, now slippery with 
 moss, are dangerous stumbling-blocks in the way. Besides, he 
 promised his daughters he would not wade, but, on the contrary, 
 walk quietly with them by the river's edge, there gliding "at its 
 own sweet will." Silvery bands of pebbled shore, leading to loamy- 
 colored pools, dark as the glow of a southern eye, how could he 
 resist the temptation of near approach ? In he goes, up to the ankles, 
 then to the knees, tottering every other step, but never falling. Trout 
 after trout he catches, small ones certainly, but plenty of them. 
 Into his pocket with them, all this time manoeuvring in the most 
 skilful manner both stick and rod; until weary, he is obliged to rest 
 on the bank, sitting with his feet in the water, laughing at his 
 daughters' horror, and obstinately continuing the sport in spite of 
 all remonstrance. At last he gives in, and retires. Wonderful to 
 say, he did not seem to suffer from these imprudent liberties. Occa- 
 sionally he was contented to remain away from the water, enjoying 
 the less exciting interest of watching others. His son John delighted 
 him by the great achievement of capturing two fine salmon, their 
 united weight being about forty-five pounds. It was a pleasant, 
 holiday-lime. There was no lack of merriment, and though my 
 father was not in his best spirits, he rallied now and then from the 
 gloom that oppressed him at the outset of the excursion. 
 
 On his return to Edinburgh, he was prevailed on by his brother 
 Robert to pay him a visit at Woodburn. While there, the painful 
 question of his retirement from public life was agreed on, and caused 
 him much mental distress. He sent in his resignation, after thirty 
 years' service. The remaining portion of this autumn was spent at 
 Billholm. His retirement from active life was a step that interest- 
 ed all parties, and Government was not backward in rewarding the 
 faithful services of one who, though not of their party, merited
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 447 
 
 grateful consiJeration. The following letters will explain my 
 words. One is addressed to Sheriff Gordon ; the other to James 
 Moncreiff, Esq., Lord Advocate: — 
 
 " GwYDYR House, "Whitehall, 
 August 30, 1851. 
 
 " My dear Gordon : — The enclosed will show you with what 
 great cordiality my suggestion has been received by Lord John, 
 and this post conveys directly to Professor Wilson an intimation 
 from Lord John Russell, conceived in terms which, I think, cannot 
 fail to be most gratifying to him, that the Queen has granted him 
 a pension of £300 a year. I have sent Lord John's letter direct, as 
 I think it will in that way best bear its real character of being a 
 spontaneous tribute by the Government and the country. 
 
 " And now let me say that nothing that has liappened to me since 
 I held office has given me so much real pleasure as being permitted 
 to convey to so old and steadfast a friend as yourself, intelligence 
 Avhich I am sure must greatly gratify you. I trust, under Provi- 
 dence, it may be fruitful to your illustrious relative of a long and 
 honored old age, and of comfort and happiness to all your circle. 
 Believe me ever, yours very sincerely, J. Moncreiff." 
 
 " HoLYROOD Palace, 28th August, 1851. 
 "My dear Lord Advocate : — I have complied at once with your 
 wishes, and immediately obtained the Queen's approbation. I send 
 the enclosed letter to you, that there may be no unfair suri)rise in 
 communicating the Queen's intentions to Professor Wilson. Be so 
 good as to take care that this letter is given him in such a manner 
 as may be most agreeable to his feelings. Yours truly, 
 
 "J. Russell." 
 
 As soon as Mr. Gordon received the intelligence that it had 
 pleased her Majesty to bestow her bounty on Professor Wilson, he 
 and I set off immediately to Billholra as messengers of the pleasant 
 news. We arrived there late at night, and found every one in bed. 
 The reason for our sudden appearance was not long in being made 
 known, and in a short time the whole household was astir. The 
 Professor rose from his bed, supper was set out before us, and a 
 very joyful repast we had ; every one expressing their graterul 
 pleasure at this unexpected recognition of his public services We
 
 44:8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 were scarcely inclined to retire to oiir rooms, and remained talking 
 till early morning. My father was much touched by the delicate 
 tact of Lord Jolm Russell's communication to the Lord Advocate, 
 couched in terms indicative of a tender nobility of soul. 
 
 I know not if the acknowledgment of her Majesty's bounty is a 
 fragment, or the whole of a letter addressed to Earl Russell, but it 
 came into my hands lately, and as being written by my father, I 
 imagine it was a copy of the letter sent, or at least part of it. 
 Whatever the case may be, it will at least be interesting, and I 
 therefore give it : — 
 
 " BiLLHOLM, Langholm. 
 
 " My Lord : — That her Majesty has been graciously pleased to 
 bestow on me, in the evening of my life, so unexpected a mark of 
 her bounty, fills my heart with the profoundest gratitude, which 
 will dwell there while that heart continues to beat. I beg your 
 Lordship to lay this its poor expression with reverence at her 
 Majesty's feet. 
 
 "For your kindly sentiments towards my professional and literary 
 charactei', I would return such acknowledgment as is due from 
 one who knows how to estimate the high qualities of the house of 
 Russell." 
 
 TVe remained a week or two at Billholm, my father returning 
 with us to Edinburgh. As winter approached, many a thought 
 crossed his heart of his lost labor, and cheerfulness was hard to keep 
 up. He seemed disinclined for any sort of amusement, and remained 
 within doors almost entirely; unable to find pleasure even in the 
 pastimes of his grandchildren, at one time so great an amusement 
 to him. Something of a settled melancholy rested on his spirit, and 
 for days he would scarcely utter a word, or allow a smile to lighten 
 up his face. He was as a man whose " whole head is sick and the 
 Avhole heart faint." That such a change for a time should take place, 
 was by no means unnatural. He was not yet stricken in years, the 
 glow within the great mind was still strong, but the pulses of life 
 were weak. So ardent and impulsive a nature could not be exjiected 
 to lay aside its harness without a pang. Religion alone supj)orted 
 him in the solitude of that altered existence. These dark clouds 
 were possibly as much due to his enfeebled health as to the belief 
 that the usefulne^is of his life was over. His brother Robert, who
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 449 
 
 had ever lovea him wilh the tendeiest affection, and who sought 
 by every means to soothe his spirit unci restore his health, projjosed 
 that he shoukl again make his house a home. lie did so, tal'ciiig up 
 his abode at Woodbnrii,* where, from the closing year of 1851 un- 
 til the autumn of 1852, he resided. If unwearied care and devoted 
 affection could have stayed the increasing malady, which with cer- 
 tain, though often invisible, steps was wearing him away, he had 
 never died. While under that kind roof, there were many days of 
 calm happiness, mingled with others sad enough. The restlessness 
 attending nervous disease is almost as distressing as pain ; of which 
 I believe he had but little during the whole course of his decline. 
 He rallied so far when at Woodburn as to be able to write his last 
 papers for Blackwood^ s Magazine — numbers IX. and X. of " Dies 
 Boreales." There was nothing in that house to disturb study when 
 he was inclined for it. He had a suite of rooms to himself; no 
 noise, no interruptions molested the quiet of his days. Pleasant 
 and cheerful faces surrounded him at a moment's notice. His 
 nieces rallied about him as loving daughters, often watching thiough 
 the weary hours of sleepless nights by his bed.>ide. Nothing was 
 wanting, yet did the heart "know its own bitterness," in those mo- 
 ments when the cruelty of his disorder laid hold of his spirits, and 
 plunged him, as he expressed it, into a state of " hopeless misery." 
 "Nothing," he said to me, "can give you an idea of how utterly 
 wretched I am ; my mind is going, I feel it." Then coming directly 
 to the burden of his soul, he would say, " Yes, I know my friends 
 thought me unfit to hold up my head in the class as I ought to do ;" 
 then continuing, with an expression of profound solemnity, "I have 
 signed ray death-warrant ; it is time I should retire." This was so 
 evidently a morbid state of feeling induced by disease, that, dis- 
 tressing as it was to those who witnessed it, one could not but feel 
 satisfied that ere long it Avould pass away, and a more placid frame 
 of mind ensue. When these brighter hours came — which they did 
 — nothing could be more delightful than his aspect, more playfully 
 charming than his spirit. He scarcely looked like an invalid, or 
 one who would be tormented by the fluctuations of moody humors. 
 Altogether there was a something about him diffennt from his 
 days of defiant strength. jNIassive as his frame still remained, its 
 power was visibly gone, and a gentle air of submission had takeu 
 
 * Mr. U. S. Wilson's residence, n^ar Dalkeith. 
 19
 
 450 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the place of that stately bearing. His step, that '^nce seemed to 
 ignore the ground beneath his feet, was feeble and unsteady. He 
 no longer had the manner of one who challenged the inroads of 
 time. In these moments lie presented a serene and beautiful picture 
 of calm and genial old age. He had not lost his interest in outwnid 
 things nor yet in those of literature. He writes the subjoined i)l.iy- 
 ful note to his son Blair, or rather causes it to be written. The 
 contents of it are evidence of how he intends to occupy his time: — 
 
 "WooDEUTiN, Dalkeith, Ath December, 1851. 
 
 " My deak Bi.air : — Anne's* fair hand holds the pen. The sup- 
 ply of books was most accejjtable. The volume of Pascal was right; 
 but I see there are two others by the same translator, viz., vol. 1st, 
 'Provinci;il Letters;' vol. 2d, 'Miscellaneous Letters.' Have you a 
 translation of Cicero's ' De Finibus ?' Is there a volume on Philoso- 
 phy by Price or Driiig? also by one Dymond, a Quaker? also by 
 one Oswald, a Scotchman ? Sir William Drummond's 'Academical 
 Questions?' That vol. of Lord Jeffrey's collected works containing 
 a Review of Sir Williana Drummond ? That vol. of Lord Jeffrey's 
 works containing a Review of Bishop Warburton ? Send the above 
 to my brother Robert. Come out, if convenient, on Saturday. 
 Yours affectionately, Joun "NVit-son. 
 
 " (Signed by order of the Presbytery.) 
 
 "jP. S. — You may give my regards to Mary, and perhaps to 
 Gordon, — Golly,f Adel, Pa, Charles Dickens, and the young lady. 
 
 "John Wilson." 
 
 He also kept himself au courant with public affiiirs by reading the 
 journals of the day. His political ardor was not so much abated as 
 to ])revent him from expressing his sentiments with his usual ani- 
 mation ; and ho found an oj)portunity of giving one last memorable 
 proof of his independence and magnanimity of spirit in favor of an 
 illustrious })olitical adversary. In 1852 the representation of the 
 city of E<linl)urgh became vacant by the dissolution of Parliament. 
 There were three candidates, and one of them was Thomas Babing- 
 ton Macaulay. During the summer the Professor was more than 
 usually feeble, selilom taking exercise out of doors, but preferring 
 
 * llis niece, the eldest daughter of Mr. U. S. Wilson, 
 t llis five K^'i'i'lchildreu.
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 451 
 
 tt, remain in his own room. Possibly the hmgiior of disoase made 
 exertion painful to him, for it was difficult to prevail on him, in the 
 latter portion of his life, to drive or even to sii in the open air. 
 Much to the surprise of the household, he one morning this sum- 
 mer exjiressed a desire to go into Edinburgh. Urifortunatelv, M". 
 Wilson's carriage was not at hand, some of his family having gone 
 into town to make calls. This contretemps it was suj^posed would 
 have diverted his intention to another day. Not so. He sent to 
 Dalkeith for a conveyance, and on its arrival set off with his servant 
 upon his mission, giving no hint as to its nature, but evidently bent 
 upon something of the most engrossing interest and anxiety to him- 
 self On arriving in Edinburgh he drove to Mr. Blackwood's, in 
 George Street, to rest before proceeding farther. Every one re- 
 joiced to see him ; and as he drove along many a respectful and 
 glad recognition he received, people wondering if he had come to 
 live and move among them once more. But what had brought him 
 through the dusty roads and hot midday sun ? He looked wearied 
 and feeble as he got into his carriage to drive away from George 
 Street, apparently without any particular object in view. So might 
 it have been said, for he had not mentioned to any one what had 
 brought him so far — far for an invalid, one who had almost risen 
 from a sick-bed. His mysterious mission to Edinburgh was to give 
 his vote for Thomas Babington Macaulay. When he entered the 
 Committee room in St. Vhicent Street, supported by his servant, a 
 loud and long cheer was given, expressive both of pleasure at seeing 
 him, and of admiration at the disinterested motive which had 
 brought him there. Mr. Macaulay's recognition of this generou"* 
 action supplies an interesting sequel to the incident : — 
 
 " Royal Hotel, Cliptox, 
 July IG, 1852. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Gordon : — I am truly grateful for your kindness 
 in letting me know how generous a part Professor Wilson acteil 
 towards me. From my school-days, when I delighted in the Ide 
 of Palms and the City of the Plague, I have admired his genius. 
 Politics at a later period made us, in some sense, enemies. But 1 
 have long entertained none but kind feelings towards him, and his 
 conduct on Tuesday is not the first proof which he has given that 
 he feels kindly towards me. I hope that you will lot him kn,)w
 
 452 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 how much pleasure and how much pride I felt when I learned he 
 had ijiven me so conspicuous a mark of his esteem. 
 
 " With many thanks for your congratulations, believe me, yours 
 most truly, T. B. Macaulay."* 
 
 This autumn my father's hand ceased forever from work. 
 Writing had now become a painful exertion, and nothing shows it 
 more than his manuscript. The i'ew notes he wrote at this time to 
 his son Blair, and now lying before me, are almost undecipherable, 
 the characters evidently written by ft weak and trembling hand. 
 There is nothing of moment in any of them ; but as they refer to 
 the work which occupied him at that time, I subjoin them with feel- 
 mgs of painful interest, as the last words his hand ever transcribed.! 
 
 Few as the words of these notes are, we can perceive that his 
 work is one of much interest to him, and that he is bestowing the 
 usual care on its preparation. 
 
 There is only one passage which I shall make use of from these 
 last articles, the Dies JSoreales. Xot because it is so beautiful in 
 itself, but by reason of the tender character of the subject. That 
 deep and lasting love whi("h the grave did not destroy — the lost 
 image of his wife — was an ever present tht'me for the exercise of 
 his soul's submission. Tempeied though his sorrow was, he carried 
 it in the recesses of his heart perpetually, and his last thoughts 
 have been embalmed in this tine passage. The forloi-n and widow- 
 ed heart speaks in every word : 
 
 " When the hand of Death has rent in one moment from fond 
 
 * Besides the laudatory critique of the Lai/s of Ancient Home in Blackwood, for December, 
 1S42, my father, unless I am misinformed, had once more at least acted a Kenerous part to a 
 political oppoiR-nt, by reviewinsf " Croker's Criticisms" on Macaulay's Engldiid, in two letters 
 adi'ressed to the e<litor of the Scolvman, April 18th and 2Sth, 1849, signed Aliqais. 
 
 " July 22(1. 
 , "Mv Dear I>laik: — I took from Gloucester Place three volumes of Milton, of which one 
 If tbe Second volume of ' Paradise Lost,' ith edition, Thomas Newton. It contains the first six 
 liooks, and the note and letter. The first volume must contain the first si.\. Can you get it for 
 me, and send it out without delay per train ? Yours affectionately, J. Wilson. 
 
 '* I want to have Addison's Kssay on 'Paradise Lost.' " 
 
 " WoonKtruM. 
 "My Dear Blair: — Your active kindness has done all that could be done about Milton 
 j/ook in my room for ' Payne,' Knight's ' Principle of Taste,' and for Kames's ' Klements.' 
 
 "■ Yours affectionately, J. Wilson." 
 
 " Woodhuun, Thurftday Afternoon. 
 "Mt Dear Blair: — Call at Blackwood's on your way to College (on Saturday), and ask .John 
 »r the Captain if they have a parcel /w me at Woodburn from the printer'H in the evening ; U 
 »o, you may stay and bring it by railway, the lati'st one going. 
 
 •' Yours atfectiouatcly, J. WiLSON."
 
 CLOSING YEAUS. 453 
 
 affection the happiness of years, and seems to liave left to it 1:0 
 other lot upon Earth than to bleed and mourn, then, in that deso- 
 lation of the spirit, are discovered what are the secret powers which 
 it bears within itself, out of which it can derive consolation and 
 peace. The Mind, toin by such a stroke from all those inferior 
 human sympathies Avhich, weak and powerless when compared to 
 its own sorrow, can afford it no relief, turns itself to that Sympa- 
 thy which is without bounds. Ask of the forlorn and widowed 
 heart what is the calm which it finds in those hours of secret 
 thought, which are withdrawn from all eyes ? Ask what is that 
 hidden j)rocess of Nature by which Grief has led it on to devo- 
 tion ? That attraction of the Soul in its uttermost earthly distress 
 to a source of consolation remote from Earth, is not to be ascribed 
 to a Disposition to substitute one emotion for another, as if it hoped 
 to find relief in dispelling and blotting out the vain passion with 
 which it labored before ; but, in the very constitution of the Soul, 
 the capacities of human and divine affection are linked together, 
 and it is the very depth of its passion that leads it over from the 
 one to the other. Nor is its consolation forgetfulness. But that 
 affection which was wounded becomes even more deep and tender 
 in the midst of the calm which it attains."* 
 
 All earthly things now wore for him a solemn aspect. His mind 
 was evidently inclined to meditate upon those truths by which re- 
 ligion exalts moi'al perceptions, and to bring all his force to test 
 how he could elevate the soul's aspirations before he retired from 
 the field in which he had so long hibored. lie humbly looked in 
 the coming days of darkness for the light that rises to the upright, 
 and hopefully awaited the summons that should call him to rest 
 from his labors, and enter into the joy of his Lord. 
 
 He remained at Woodburn until the end of the autumn of 1852. 
 Before he left it he had received visits from various old friends. 
 Among the last was his old partner in literature and all the wild 
 audacities of its then unlicensed liberty, John Gibson Lockhart. 
 Much changed he was ; more so even than his frieiul. It was a 
 kind and pleasant meeting. I had prepared Mr. Lockhart to find 
 juy father greatly altered, as we drove out together. He after- 
 wards told me he saw no change mentally, but considered him as 
 bright and freat as ever. Yet time had done much to destroy tho 
 
 * Dies Burealeti, Aiigiist, lbo2.
 
 454 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 fine frame of tlie one ; the lieart-cnergies and interests of tlie other ; 
 nor could it be but a nielanclu>ly retrospect Avliich crossed their 
 thoughts in h)oking back to llie days of gigantic strength in " life's 
 morning marcli when the spirit was young." There was the same 
 contrast between them as of yore, attributable to the different cou- 
 dition of their mental healtli. The indestructible buoyancy of my 
 father's spirit gave to his rauul an almost perennial freshness, and 
 be was not less susceptible to emotions of joy and sorrow than in 
 the passionate days of old. But now all within was tempered by 
 the chastening hand of time, and the outward expression showed 
 it. Tiicre was no more exuberant happiness, but a peaceful calm ; 
 no violent grief, but a deep solemnity. Mr. Lockhart, on the other 
 hand, seemed to live with a broken heart, while all about bin) had 
 a faded and dejected air. He spoke despondingly of himself. 
 Health, happiness, and energy, he said, were gone; he was sick of 
 London, its whirl and its excitements. 
 
 " I would fain return to Edinburgh," he said, " to be cheered by 
 some of your young happy faces, but you would have to nurse me, 
 and be kind to me, for I am aweary old man, fit for nothing but to 
 shut myself up and be sulky." He certainly looked very much out 
 of health and spirits at that time; indeed, he was like a man 
 weighed down by inward sorrow. The momentary vivacity which 
 lightened his countenance was almost more painful to witness than 
 the melancholy natural to it. Now and then, some of the old sar- 
 castic manner came across him, and as he sat at the writing-table, 
 with the once tempting pen and ink before him, one could fancy 
 him again dashing off- one of those grotesque sketches in which he 
 had delighted to commemorate friends and foes. But the stimulus 
 was gone. A few hours were spent together by these old friends, 
 during which there was much talk of bygone days. Tlviy parted 
 as they met, with kindness and affection, expressing hopes that re- 
 newed health might enable them to meet again. My father stood 
 at the door while J^ockliart got into his carriage, and watched him 
 out of sight. He never saw him again.* 
 
 As long as my father's mind remained unclouded, he continued to 
 take an interest in the welfare of his friends, participating with uu- 
 aftected sincerity in their pleasures, and rejoicing in their afiection. 
 The following little note to Mr. Robert Findlay, says more than 
 
 ♦ Mr. Lockbii: t Jiid ut A '.jbotsforci. Xovcmber 25, 1S54, about seveu months after the Prof' aa .i
 
 CLOSING YEARS. -l-oS 
 
 many words, and is significant of tliat love wliich was so large an 
 
 • clement of bis nature:* — 
 
 j 
 
 " My dkarest Robert: — I rejoice in my soul to k-arn that your 
 son Charles has married a wife to his own entire satisfaction, and I 
 trust to his father's, mother's, sisters', and brother's, and all friends. 
 Kindest love to Mrs. Findlay and the rest. God bless you, and 
 her, and them. Much love in few words. Your friend of friends, 
 
 " J. W." 
 
 And so with these kind words he took farewell of the friend, the 
 " brothel"," of his youth. What thoughts of the past would revisit 
 his memory in writing that liitle missive, we can imagine, taking him 
 back to the sunlit hills which enclosed the home of his prime, from 
 whence his " friend of friends" heard of a wedding morning, bright 
 as the good deserve, and radiant with happiness ; niore serene, 
 because it had come to close sorrow long and stoutly borne. 
 
 A yearning for home still lingered amidst the fading joys of 
 memory; and the old man, standing on the threshold of another 
 life, sighed to set his house in order. He must return to Edin- 
 burgh ; so, bidding adieu. to the kind brother who had so gently 
 met all the caprices of his illness, and to whom the happier condi- 
 tion of a docile spirit had endeared him more than ever, he left the 
 devoted circle of that household towards the close of the year 1852, 
 and once again established himself in Gloucester Place. 
 
 For the first few months after his return, he appeared to I'ally, 
 and gained strength ; so much so as to inspire his family with hopes 
 that better days were yet in store ; but, like the sudden reanimation 
 of a dying light, the glow proved tremulous and uncertain. Anx- 
 iety and watching still continued ; the gloom and depression of his 
 mind coming and going from time to time, leaving with the stni"-- 
 gle of each beating Avave, a melancholy evidence that a wreck lav 
 there. How was such a trial borne ? As all others had been. 
 Grief deep as death was overcome in the end by ))ationce. Tl.at 
 great and lustrous miiul felt day by day how its might was sinking ; 
 
 * Since I wrote the above this dear fiiend has also been laid in his grave. Mr. Robert Findlay 
 diid on the 2Tth of June, 1S6'2, having reached the advanced as;e of seventy-eight. As one of 
 my father's earliest and dearest friends, I would have respected his memory : but personal knowl- 
 edge of his high worth, and all those amiable qualities which endeared him to his family and 
 friends, claims expression of sorrow.
 
 456 MlOlom OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 while no outward complaint came to tell of the agony witliln ; but 
 eflbrts more trying and peri)lexing than can be told were made to 
 test the amount of power yet remaining. lie wonld read, or rathci" 
 cause to be read aloud, books upon the same subject, as differently 
 treated by their various authors, chapter by chapter. Philosojjhical 
 Works were tried tirst, but confusion was the result of tiiis process 
 of inquiry, as to liis mental strength. The attemjjt was too nmch. 
 With a sigh of despondency the volumes were laid aside, ordered 
 to be taken away, and were not again brought out. A short 
 l^eriod of repose, that might in ordinary cases have been beuelicial, 
 seemed only to fret and disturb him. There was no allaying that 
 long-fostered passion for communion with the immortals. Thus, 
 for a period almost covering the year, were such afflicting struggles 
 continued. Nothing was ever seen more touching than the gradual 
 undoing of that lofty mind ; the gradual Avasting of that powerful 
 strength. One looked on, and felt as David did of old when the 
 Lord's anointed fell. " How are the mighty fallen!" weve words 
 that sent a sound as a solemn dirge to our heaits. Yet was there 
 no rebellion in this desire to hold fast the gifts that were his from 
 heaven: who would part willingly with suc!i powers?* 
 
 Such usefulness w'as about to pass away : he had parted from 
 "his children." In the silence of his more composed hours, God be 
 praised, the " storm was tempered," and a quiet sunshine shed its 
 peaceful radiance over his spirit, nor have I reason to believe th:it 
 other than happy thoughts visited him, mingled with the brightest 
 and most joyous of the past —of those days when " our parish" was 
 little less than Paradise in his eyes. 
 
 Certain it was the "Mearns" came among tliose waking dreams, 
 and then he gathered around him, when the spring mornings brought 
 gay jets of sunshine into the little room where he lay, the relics of 
 
 ♦ I remember having once heard an instance of liis having effected a happy cure in a case 
 of severe mental trouble. The subject was a stiuk-nt whom he had recognized as showing 
 {freat promise in his earlier aireer, but whoso subsequent exertions had not answered his ex- 
 peetutions. Inquiring of tUe j'outh the cause of this falling off, he learned that his mind had been 
 overpowered, as many are on entrance into thinking life, by doubts and ditliculties leading to 
 darkness and disbelief, verging in despair. Fitful glimpses of light had crossed his dreary path, 
 but still he found no comfort or rest. The Professor listened to the taleof grief with tender sym- 
 pathy. His steady faith and long expiHenee. his knowledge of how doubts and fiars assail the 
 hearts even of the high and pure, enabled hi.n to enter into the very depths of that woo- stricken 
 Boul. With words of wisdom he consoled the wandering s])irit, while he led him l)y the power 
 of persuasion, the force of truth, and the tenderness of love, to the clear u]>per light, there leaving 
 him to the blessing of the Father. The clouds broke away, and the day-spring from on high 
 revisited that darkened spirit.
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 457 
 
 a youthful passion, one that witli him never grew old. It was an 
 affecting sight to see him busy, nay, quite absorbed, with the fishing- 
 tackle scattered about his bed, propped up with ]>illows — his noble 
 head, yet glorious with its flowing locks, carefully combed by at- 
 tentive hands, and falling on each side of his unfaded face. How 
 neatly he picked out each elegantly dressed fly from its little bunch, 
 drawing it out with trembling hand along the white coverlet, and 
 then, replacing it in his pocket-book, he would tell ever and anon 
 of the streams he used to fish in of old, and of the deeds he had per- 
 formed in his childhood and youth.* These precious relics of a by- 
 gone sport were wont to be brouirht out in the early spring, long 
 before sickness confined him to his room. It had been a habit of 
 many years, but then the " sporting jacket" was donned soon after, 
 and angling was no more a mere delightful day-dreara, but a reality, 
 "that took him knee-deep, or waistband-high, through river-feeding 
 torrents, to the glorious music of his rinming and ringing reel." 
 This outward life was at an end. With something of a prophetic 
 spirit did he write in former days, when he affected the age he had 
 not attained — how love for all sports would live in his heart for- 
 ever : "Our spirit burns within us, but our limbs are palsied, and 
 our feet must brush the heather no more. Lo ! how beautifully 
 these fast travelling pointers do their work on that black mountain's 
 breast ! intersecting it into parallelograms, and squares, and circles, 
 and now all a stoop on a sudden, as if frozen to death ! Higher up 
 among the rocks, and cliff's, and stones, we see a stripling whose 
 ambition it is to strike the sky with his forehead, and wet his hair 
 ill the misty cloud, pursuing the ptarmigan now in their variegated 
 suiiuner dress, seen even among the iinmelted snows. Never shall 
 Eld deaden our sympathies with the pastimes of our fellow-men any 
 more than with their highest raptures, their profoundest griefs." 
 Nor did he belie the words. 
 
 We were naturally desirous of keeping from his knowledge any 
 thing that would surprise hiin into agitation. This could not, how- 
 ever, always be done, for family distress, as a matter of course, he 
 must participate in. The day which brought us intelligence of Mrs. 
 .Uutherfurd's death was one of startling sorrow to him. His own 
 
 * A year or two earlier he writes to his youngest daughter: — " I took stock, ftnd find I have 
 fi)rly-fi)ur dozen inch Hies and tilty-six of stream flies. Of the latter six dnzeu are well adapted 
 for our river; but ' Lord Saltuu' is neiirjy done, and must be renewed. Into the Yarrow 1 shall 
 Uever ajjain throw a ily." 
 ID*
 
 458 MEMOIU OF JOHN WII.SOX. 
 
 widowed life had been one of long and faithful mourning; and tlio 
 beroavemi'nt which liis friend, Lord Ruthe:furd, was called uiioii to 
 endure, filled his mind with the most poignant pain, and it was with 
 difficulty Irc could banish the subject from his thoughts. Other 
 men's sorrovrs, in the unselfishness of his nature, he made his own. 
 More unbounded sympathy I never knew. Therein lay the feminine 
 delicacy of his nature, the power of winning all, soothing the sad, 
 encouraging the weak, scorning not the humble. With heart and 
 hand alike open, he knew and acted up to the meaning of one sim- 
 ple rule — Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you. 
 So, through another spring into summer, and once again to the 
 mellowed autumn and winter snows, he lingered on contented, al- 
 most cheerful, but also sometimes very sad. At such times he never 
 spoke. Can we doubt that these visitations of solemnity had a 
 meaning ? The veil which it had pleased God to draw over the 
 greater power of his mind had not left it Avithout a lesser light. He 
 still knew and loved his friends, and found pleasure in their occa- 
 sional visits. The presence of his children and his grandchildren 
 continued to cheer and interest him almost to the end. That silence, 
 so incomprehensible to common minds, looking too often for conso- 
 lation in the recited words of Scripture, which they convey to curi- 
 ous ears as expressing the last intei'est and hope of dying hours, 
 Avas no other than the composing of his spirit with the unseen 
 God. 
 
 There is little more to tell. The last time my father was seen of 
 familiar faces was on the 13th of October, 1853. I drove with him 
 to Mr. Alexander Hill's shop in Princes Street, in order to see a 
 painting of Ileriings' then being exhibited tlu>re. lie did not take 
 so lively an interest in the picture as I had anticipated, but soon 
 grew wearied, and evidently unable to rouse himself from a certain 
 air of indiiTerence which, when disappointed, he generally wore. 
 Yet he was not always untouched by the etforts which love made 
 to cheer and please him ; and his moistened eye told more than a 
 ■' ousand words how he felt and followed the little entertainments 
 A up for this end. Young children were at all times attractive to 
 him, and though now unable to do more than stroke their heads or 
 touch their little hands, still he loved to look upon them; smiling a 
 gentle adieu when their prattle became too much for him. One day 
 I thought to amuse him in one of his gloomy moments by intro-
 
 CLOSING TEAKS. 459 
 
 ducing his youngest grandchild, some four years of agf.', diessed as 
 "Little Red Riding-hood." This picturesque smalt figure, in a scar- 
 let cloak, with a shock of long curls hanging about his uieriy face, 
 made his entree into grandpapa's room, holding up in his chubby 
 hands a basket neatly adorned with leaves, ouy of which peeped 
 sticks of barley-sugar and other bon-bons. Trotting to the bedside 
 where the old man lay, he oftered his dainty repast with a sort of 
 shy fear that the wolf was actually there, and was greatly relieved 
 by the kind caresses and good welcome he received, observing 
 that grandpa{)a's hands were so white, and that he never once 
 growled. 
 
 The tender and anxious question Avhich he asked concerning 
 Robert Burns, "Did he read his Bible?" may, perhaps, by some be 
 asked about himself On a little table, near his bedside, his Bible 
 lay during his whole illness, and was read morning and evening 
 regularly. His servant also read it frequently to him. In the strong 
 days of his prime, he wrote, not without experience, these words 
 in reference to sacred poetry : — 
 
 "He who is so familiar with his Bible, that each chapter, open it 
 where he will, teems with household words, may draw thence the 
 theme of many a pleasant and pathetic song. For is not all human 
 nature and all human life shadowed forth in those pages ? But the 
 heart, to sing well from the Bible, must be imbued with religious 
 feelings, as a flower is alternately with dew and sunshine. The 
 study of The Booh must have begun in th& simplicity of childhood, 
 when it was felt to be indeed divine, and carried on through all 
 those silent intervals in which the soul of manhood is restored, 
 during the din of life, to the purity and peace of its early being. 
 The Bible to such must be a port, even as the sky — with its sun, 
 moon, and stars — its boundless blue — with all its cloud mysteries — 
 its peace deeper than the grave, because of realms beyond the 
 grave — its tumult louder than that of life, beca^fe heard altogether 
 in all the elements. He who begins the study of the Bible late in 
 life must, indeed, devote himself to it night and day, and with a 
 humble and a contrite heart, as well as an awakened and soaring 
 spirit, ere he can hope to feel what he understands, or to under- 
 stand what he feels ; thoughts and feelings breathing in upon him, 
 as if fi-om a region hanging, in its mystery, between heaven and 
 earth."
 
 400 MEMOIR >F JOHN WLLSON. 
 
 On Christinas day, 1853, he assembled around him his enlir? fam- 
 ily, sons and dauc,fhters, with their children, to spend the day in his 
 honse. It was almost merry. His servant decorated the rooms 
 with evergreens, and one little garland, with touching love, he or- 
 dered to be laid on his wife's picture, which hungover the chimney- 
 piece in his bedroom. He was unable to dine down-stairs, but we 
 visited him after diimer, and rejoiced in the cheerfulness that lighted 
 up his countenance. It seemed a harbinger of coming peace, and we 
 felt no strangeness in wishing him a happy Christmas, nor thought, 
 as we gazed upon that beautiful face, that the snows of another such 
 season would fall upon his grave. My brother John, with his wife 
 and Same of his infant fiimily, spent this Xew Year with him. This 
 was a great haj'j^iness ; and for some time the old fervor and anima- 
 tion of his spirit seemed to return. They remained with him to the 
 end. There were two subjects he had been wont to dwell on with 
 afftcting tenderness — the memory of his wife, and his beautiful 
 home on Windermere. Had they faded from his vision now, or 
 were they only more sacred as sights now connected with the glo- 
 ries of another world, purified in his thoughts from all earthly con- 
 tact, renewed in spirit and in beauty, just as his sight was about to 
 close, and his heart to cease from participation in things here be- 
 low ? I cannot say, but the name of "Jane" and of "EUeray" 
 never more escaped his lips. 
 
 Another spring is announced amid sunshine, and the cheerful 
 twittering of birds. Even in towns the beautiful influence of this 
 season is felt, for the very air has caught up the fresh loamy per- 
 fume from the far-off fields, and a feeling of exhilaration is partici- 
 pated in by all creatures. The languid invalid is not indifferent to 
 this emotion, and, with reanimated nature, new life invigorates 
 every sentient being. And so did we hope that this advent of 
 spring would cheer^and for a time console the heart of him whose 
 eyes, yet able to bflrr the light of day, were often turned from the 
 bed where he lay to the window, as if he wandered again in the 
 faintness of memory to the freedom of outward nature. But these 
 impulses were gone, and the activity which once bore him gladly 
 along to the merry music of streams " to Hnger by the silent shores 
 of lochs," rested now forever. On the 1st of April I received a 
 message tliat my father had become worse. I hurried immediately 
 to Gloucester Place. O.i entering the room a sad sight caught my
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 
 
 461 
 
 eye. He had risen to breakfast much in his usual state of health, 
 but, -while taking it, a stroke of paralysis seized him. When I ar- 
 rived, his bed was being prepared for him, and lie still lay in his 
 large chair. A mortal change was visible over his whole frame. 
 The shock affected one entire side, from his face downwards, and at 
 that moment he appeared quite unconscious. We laid him gently 
 in bed, composing that still poweiful-looking body as comfortably 
 as possible, and in a few moments the medical attendants arrived. 
 There was no hope given U8 ; his hour had come. All that were 
 near and dear to him were in the house. Not a sound was heard 
 but the lieavy and oppressed breathing of the dying man. No 
 change took place the whole of that day. His brother Robert 
 never left his bedside, but sat there holding the big hand, now 
 able only to return the pressure given it ; the last grateful sign of 
 still conscious love. 
 
 We all watched through the night while some hours of natural 
 sleep fell upon him. Next day the same sad scene ; no change ; 
 morning's dawn brought no comfort. It was now Sunday ; time 
 hurried on, and we still hoped he knew us as we laid our hands 
 upon his, but he was unable to speak. The only sign we had that 
 consciousness had not left him was, that he continued to summon 
 his servant, according to his old habit, by knocking upon the small 
 table at his bedside. Several times during the day he made that 
 signal, and on its being answered, I could not say that it meant 
 more than that he desired his servant should now and then be in 
 the room. She had served him long, faithfully, and with a true 
 woman's kindness. It was the only way in which he could thank 
 her. At five o'clock his breathing became more difficult. Evening 
 sent its deepening shadows across his couch — darker ones were 
 soon to follow. Still that sad and heavy breathing, as if life were 
 unwilling to quit the strong heart. Towards midnight he passed 
 his hand frequently across his eyes and head, as if to remove some- 
 thing obstructing his vision. A bitter expression for one instant 
 crossed his face — the veil Avas being drawn down. A moment 
 more, and as the clock chimed the hour of twelve, that heaving 
 heart was still. 
 
 The following lines came into my hands after ray father's death. 
 They were written in youth; but the fact that his prayer was grant
 
 462 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ed, makes these beautiful words, as it were, the parting fare'^vell 
 which his Ups were not permitted to utter to those he loved : — 
 
 " When nature feels the solemn hour is come 
 
 That parts the spirit from her mortal clay, 
 May that hour find me in my \s'eeping home, 
 
 'Mid the blest stillness of a Sabbath-day! 
 
 May none I deeply love be then away ; 
 For through my heart the husht though sobbing breath 
 
 Of natural grief a holy calm will send ; 
 
 With sighs from earth will heavenly voices blend. 
 Till, as on seraph fair, I smile on death. 
 
 Who comes in peace, like an expected friend. 
 Dipt in celestial hues the wings of love 
 
 Will o'er my soul a gracious shade extend ; 
 Wliilo, as if air were sun, gleams from above 
 
 The day with God, the Sabbath without end 1"
 
 I 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 I. 
 
 PUBLIC FUNERAL AND PROPOSED STATUE, 
 
 I AM indebted for the following account to a friend : — 
 
 "On the 7th of April, 1854, the mortal remains of Professor Wilson were laic 
 in the Dean Cemetery. Seldom has such a procession wended through the streets 
 of Edinburgh as passed, in ihe soft sunshine of that April afternoon, from Glouces- 
 ter Place up Doime Terrace, Moray Place, and Randolph Crescent, on to that lovely 
 sequestered ground, where now repose a goodly company of men whose names will 
 not soon die — Jeffiey, Cockburn, Rutherfurd, Thomas Thomson, Edward Forbes, 
 David Scott, John Wilson, and his well-loved brother James. Students were there 
 from many a distant place, who had come to pay the last tribute to 'the Professor,' 
 whom they loved, and, for old Scotland's sake, were so proud of. Tears were shed 
 by manly eyes ; and none were there who did not feel that the earth closed, that 
 day, over such a man as the world will not soon see again. 
 
 "That Edinburgh, ricli in monuments for a northern city, should unhesitatingly 
 determine to add to these a statue of John Wilson, was most fitting and natural. 
 The resolution was not only at once formed, but speedily acted upon. Shortly after 
 his death a public meeting was held, the Lord Provost (M'Laren) presiding, at 
 which it was formally resolved that such a statue should be erected ' on a suitable 
 and conspicuous site.' A committee was appointed with that view, consisting of the 
 Right lion, the Lord Justice-General (M'Neill), Lord Neaves, Sir John Watsox 
 Gordon, P. R. S. A., R. A., Mr. John Blackwood, Mr. Robert Chambers, JSIr. P. S. 
 Fraser, and Dr. John Biirt. Much time was necessarily occupied in the receipt of 
 subscriptions, and other arrangements; but early in 1857, the committee found 
 themselves in a position to commission Mr. John Steell, R. S. A., Her Majesty's 
 Sculptor for Scotland, to execute a bronze statue, ten feet in height, with a suitable 
 pedestal, to be placed at the north-west corner of East Princes Street Gardens. 
 The statue is now approaching completion: and will be erected on the appointed 
 site a few months hence. As the work has not yet, however, left the artist's 
 studio — has not, indeed, received the final touches from his hands — it would be 
 presumptuous to speak of it further than to say that it promises to prove worthy 
 alike of the sculptor, of his noble subject, and of the very 'suitable and conspic- 
 uous site' it is destined to occujiy. In a representation of a man whose notable 
 poi'son is so fresh in the recollection of many hundreds of his fellow-citizens, exact
 
 464 APPENDIX. 
 
 portraiture was indispensable; and it was well that the sculptor, In presenting to 
 us that memorable figure in his habit as he lived, was able also, even by faithful ad- 
 herence to tliat habit, to attain much of the heroic element. The careless ease of 
 Professor "Wilson's ordinaiy dress is adopted, with scarcely a touch of artistic 
 license, in the statue ; a plaid, which he was in the frequent habit of wearing, sup- 
 lilies the needed folds of irapery, and the trunk of a palm-tree gives a rest to the 
 figure, while it indicates, commemorativcly, his principal poetical work. The lion- 
 like head and face, full of mental and muscular power, thrown shghtly upward and 
 backward, express fervid and impulsive genius evolving itself in free and fruitful 
 thought — the glow of poetical inspiration animating every feature. The figure, tall, 
 massive, athletic; the hands — the right grasping a pen, at the same time clutcliing 
 the plaid that hangs across the chest, the left resting negligently in the leaves of a 
 half-open manuscript ; the limbs, loosely planted, yet firm and vigorous ; — all cor- 
 respond with the grandly elevated expression of the countenance. To his contem- 
 poraries the statue will vividly recall Professor Wilson, at once in his everyday as- 
 pect, and as he was wont to appear in his class-room or on the platform, in the very 
 fervor of his often fiery oratory; while to succeeding times it will preserve a vivid 
 and worthy representation of one who, apart from all his other claims to such com- 
 memoration, was universally recognized as one of the most striking, poetic, and 
 noble-looking men of his illustrious time." 
 
 II. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO JANUS.* 
 
 Me. Lockhart to Mr. Boyd. 
 
 " Chikpswood, 4th September. 
 " Dear Sir : — I am much surprised at the Professor's silence. However, time 
 must not be lost needlessly, so I .send you to be put up in slips, 1st, ' Thoughts on 
 Bores,' which paper is by Miss Edgeworth, who, I believe, will allow that to be 
 said when you publish )'our volume. 
 
 " 2d, Hints on the Universities ; .3d, Rabbinical Apologue ; 4th, Maxims from 
 Goethe; 5th, Ordeal by Fire ; 6th, Five Sonnets from the German. 
 
 " I have chosen these as they would illustrate the different methods of printing 
 to be employed in the book. You will consult only your own convenience as to 
 your choice of that, or those to be put in slips at present. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. G. L." 
 Wilson to the Same. 
 
 " Wednesday, Two o'clock. 
 "Dear Sir: — I send the revised sheets corrected for press. I have seen Mr. 
 Lockhart, and find you have an Arabian tale of his in hand, which put in any- 
 
 • ■■' Janus, or the Edinburgh Literary Almanac." Oliver & Boyd, 1826. Foolscap, 8vo. 
 
 I
 
 APPENDIX. 46 5 
 
 where you choose, either after or before the order I gave you in my last note. The 
 Bohemian Gardener' is not finished, I understand, so it can go in afterwards. Do 
 not set into form the Sceptical Estimate of the Fine Arts. Mr. Lockhart leaves 
 town to-morrow, and I believe he intends to alter a little the poem on Lord Byron 
 Brown on Beauty may be put into forms ; a few corrections will be made on it. 
 Make a new paragraph near the beginning, ' When we speak of the emotion,' &c. 
 
 " Tours truly, 
 
 " J. "Wilson." 
 
 "Wilson to Mr. Boyd. 
 
 " Ellerat, Kendal, 
 Thursday, 6th October, 1825. 
 
 " Dear Sir : — Along with this you will receive three papers, two of them com- 
 plete, and one not so. The incomplete one is ' Poetry and Prose,' of which I will 
 send the conclusion in a few days along with a quantity of matter. 
 
 " Whatever arrangement Mr. Lockhart may have made about the upmaking of 
 the articles, you will follow it. If he has made no arrangement final and decisive, 
 then I think his own ' Hints' would open the volume as well or better than any 
 thing else, being excellent in itself, and on a subject of great interest ; then might 
 follow the other articles sent by him indifferently, or in any order. After these 
 may come my two papers entitled ' Rise and Decline of Nations,' and on the ' Prime 
 Objects of Government,' which set up into forms, and send to me without delay 
 per mail, letting me know, by letter, the day they leave Edinburgh. 
 
 " They shall be returned instantly, corrected for press. Send also the incom- 
 plete Essay on Poetry and Prose along with them. I shall leave Elleray on the 
 27th, and be in Edinburgh on the 29ih ; but you had better send me the articles 
 without delay, as you will be receiving copy from me before I come down, and 
 instantly after. I shall send four short tales in the manner of ' Lights and Shadows,' 
 which you will make up as they arrive, either after my other articles or on any 
 other plan, for the order signifies nothing. Owing to the lengtli of several of the 
 articles, the volume should be 530 pages, that shorter and lighter articles may have 
 room. The volume will conclude with a poem of mine in four parts, of a romantic 
 character, of which I will send you the first part along with my next packet. 
 
 " I have written to Mr. Lockhart by this day's post, informing him of the con- 
 tents of thi§ letter. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 "John "Wilson." 
 
 The Same to the Same. 
 
 "Ellerat, IGth October, 1825. 
 " Dear Sir : — Yesterday I sent per coach three articles for Janv.<!, and I have 
 got so many more finished, or in hand, that I wish to see Mr. Lockhart before I 
 send them to you. 
 
 " I am not without hopes of seeing him hero in a few days; but, at all events, 
 shall know what articles he has done in addition to those he sent you. From 
 the list of articles he sent mo a few ilays ago, which he is doing, or to do, and 
 from those I have in hand, the volume cannot easily be less than 5J0 pages,
 
 466 ATPEXBIX. 
 
 which, since there are to be no embellishments, mar probably be got up so as to sell 
 at the price you would like to fix. I shall be in Edinburgh on the 29th, and the 
 printing may then go on as rapidly as you choose, as I shall have more copy than 
 can be used for this volume. 
 
 "You will oblige me greatly by sending me a bill for £150, which I could dis- 
 count at Kendal, at Messrs. Wakefield. Tliis would be a great convenience for 
 me, just at present, on the eve of my leaving the neighborhood. This request is 
 rather before date, but I will send my receipt for the money, and in final settle- 
 ment consider the former. 
 
 " As I leave this on Thursday, the 27tli, I hope to hear from you a few days 
 before in answer to this 
 
 " I am, my dear sir, yours very truly, 
 
 "JoHs Wilson." 
 
 Mr. Lockhaet to Mr. Boyd. 
 
 " CiHEFSWOOD, Saturday Evening. 
 
 " Mt dear Sm : — ^I was just about to lose all patience, or to take it for granted 
 the Professor was defunct, when I received this evening a letter from him, in 
 which he announces his having sent to you thrte articles, and his mtention to send 
 more in a few days. He also says he has told you to begin the volume with 
 my ' Hints on Universities.' Since he tlunks so, so be it. After the ' Hints,' 
 please set up in the following order : — 
 
 " Article 2. Ordeal by Fire ; 3. Specimens of the Rabbin Apologue ; 4. Sonnets 
 from the German ; 5. Thou hts on Bores ; 6. Maxims, after which (as mentioned 
 on the sUp) the httle article ' Leaves,' now sent ; 7. Then set up one of the Pro- 
 fessor's articles, a longish one, whichever of the three you hke; 8. Then the 
 Friesland Proverbs, now sent ; 9. Moustache, now sent ; 10. The Player and his 
 Poodle, now sent; 11. The Return, from Goethe, now sent ; 12. Jews of Worms, 
 now sent; 13. Another of Mr. Wilson's articles, now sent; 14. To Death, from 
 the German, now sent; 15. Glasgow Revisited, now sent; 16. Maclean of Aros, 
 now sent ; IT. Serenade, from Goethe, now sent; 18. Another of the Professor's 
 articles, now sent; 19. Song of the Gipsy King, now sent; 20. Inscription at 
 Hoch-heim, now sent; 21. Epitaph of De Ranzau, now sent; 22. Epigrams, now 
 sent ; 23. Essence of the Opera, now sent ; 24. Ballad from the Xorman French. 
 
 " In regard to all these you need not bother yourself with slips, but set up in 
 sheets. That sent as specimen is most beautiful, and I never saw proofs that 
 needed so Utt'.e correction. I am called from home for some days, but if I be 
 not back very soon I shall let you know where to address (when I am concerned 
 with the correcting of them). In the mean time, don't send any to this place until 
 you hear from me. I have corrected the proofs formerly sent, so that you may at 
 once go on as merrily as you choose. 
 
 " Of course you will send the Professor proofs of every thing. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. G. Lockhaet. 
 
 "From Mr. Wilson, 17th October, 1S25:— 
 
 " JLntipathies ; Dante and Milton ; on the character Buonapartda"
 
 APPENDIX. 467 
 
 Wilson to the Same. 
 
 "Elleray, Saturday, Ortoher 22, 1825. 
 
 "Dear Sir: — Manj- thanks for your kind letter, and cuclo-sure of £150 on ac- 
 count of Janus. 
 
 " In sheet 6, I agree with the compositor that the white lines should be taken 
 out. Fill up the space with the ' Player and Poodle,' and ' The Return.' After 
 the article on the Rise and FaO of Nations, ' German Sonnets,' and a pretty poem 
 in print, now sent; then on the ' Prime Objects of Government ;' tlien Milton and 
 Dante, Buonaparte, and Antipathies, and any other short articles. These last three 
 I have not yet received, but put them into forms, for very few corrections will be 
 made on them. Then prose and poetry, which I now return corrected, and without 
 any addition, as the intended conclusion forms another article, which I now send 
 incomplete, entitled ' Sceptical Estimate of the Fine Arts,' wliich put int<» slips. 
 ' Brown on Beauty,' now sent, j'ou will put up into forms after the other mentioned. 
 That will bring the forms to about 240 pages, I suspect. I will send more ilS. 
 without much delay. The order I have sent of the short articles is of no con- 
 sequence, if you have set up in forms in any other order ; but keep it if you have 
 not. The next 60 pages will be pathetic and picturesque tales. After that, 50 
 pages of lively articles, all written by me. Mr. Lockhart will then contribute a 
 hundred pages of excellent articles, and the remainder also I expect will be good. 
 The volume should not be less than 550 pages, which I hope you can afford at 
 twelve shillings. I delaj^ed writing for two posts, in hopes of getting the three 
 aiticlcs, but they have not come to hand. I will be in Edinburgh on the 29th, in 
 my house in Gloucester place, so send nothing here after receipt of this. 
 
 " I am, dear sir, yours truly, 
 
 " Joiix "Wilson." 
 
 "Wilson to Mr. Boyd. 
 
 "Gloucester Place, 2d Ktvemler, 1825. 
 
 "Dear Sir: — I got home this evening, after a melancholy delay of some days 
 at Hawick, owing to the sudden and alarming illness of Mrs. "Wilson. Thank God, 
 she is wonderfully recovered, and restored to a state free from all danger. 
 
 " I shall correct all revises to-morrow, and send them to you before dinner. 
 
 " I send you some more MS., namely, ' Pins,' ' Antiquity,' ' Love Poetry,' ' Preface 
 to any New Work of Imagination.' These may go into forms forthwith after 
 ' Beaut}^' ' Medals,' and the two poems in the same hand, from some quarter un- 
 known to me, you had better put up after the articles before mentioned, and in 
 forms at once. They are good articles, and such a correspondent deserves en- 
 couragement. The other articles are not good, but I know the quarter from which 
 one of them comes, and will write to the author, who is a man of genius. By tho 
 time the MS. now sent is in types, I shall send you more ; and I have reason to think 
 what will add greatly to the value of Janus. Remember not to scrimp it, and I 
 presume it will be in time if shipped by the end of the month. I shall see Mr. 
 Lockhart to-morrow at one o'clock. 
 
 " Wtdnesday Morning. — I wrote this last night. 
 
 " Yours truly, J. "Wilson."
 
 46S APPENDi:^. 
 
 To THE Same. 
 
 " nth Nbi-ember, 1826. 
 " De.vr Sir : — T have hardly liad a moment to myself since I saw you, but hope 
 in two days or so to have a little leisure. I have corrected or looked at the two 
 poems. You will correct A's sheets b^' his MS. No word yet from the Opium-Eater. 
 " I hope to send some MS. in a couple of days, as not much time now remains. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "John "Wilson." 
 
 To THE Samd. 
 
 "Dear Sir: — Set up as much of the enclosed as will finish the half-sheet in 
 question. Send the half-sheet itself to-morrow to the class-room, at one o'clock, 
 for correction, and along with it all the enclosed MS., for I want it to go on with. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. Wilson. 
 " Thursday, nVi November, 1825. — P. S. — I will send back the other things to- 
 morrow, for I cannot lay my hands on them just now." 
 
 To THE Same. 
 
 " 2lst November, 1S25. 
 "Dear Sir: — I send the conclusion of the tale (Miles Atherton). After it, set 
 up 'Ilaco's Grave,' the 'Home Star,' 'To the Spirit of Healtli,' 'Genius.' After 
 these a paper now sent about Cambridge. The paper on ' Crusades' I wish put 
 into slips. The other may go into forms at once. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. Wilson." 
 
 To THE Same. 
 
 " 6 Gloucester Place, 
 26th November, 1825, 
 " My dear Sir: — I have been hindered by many causes, among the worst my 
 wife's indisposition, from doing what I intended. I am in daily expectation of 
 hearing from Mr. Lockhart of the Opium-Eater. I can have now no hope. I shall 
 do four Lights and Shadows, and Mr. Lockhart will be sending in something good 
 to conclude. Send down to-morrow night, and you will get whatever is ready. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " John Wilson." 
 
 To THE Same. 
 
 " 28(71 November, 1825. 
 " Dear Sir : — Enclosed is the corrected sheet, also three articles. The first, 
 entitled ' Action and Thought,' will follow what is already in hand. 
 
 " Neithei of the other two articles, ' Country Life' and ' Something Scottish,' is 
 finished, but set them up. and the conclusiou will bo sent to j'ou in the afternoon. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "J. W."
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 469 
 
 To THE Same. 
 
 " 28th November, 1825. 
 " Dkae Sir : — I send corrected slips. After it set up the article on the ' Study 
 of History,' on which I took much pains for another work that will not bo gone 
 on with. After it the other article now sent. 
 
 " Then will come four stories, making about twenty-six pages ; and Mr. Lock 
 hart, I hope, will send what will conclude the tottle (with 550) of the whole. I 
 have been cruelly interrupted in all my work by Mrs. Wilson's indisposition. But 
 Bhe is pretty well to-day. Yours truly, J. W." 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Hints concemmg the Universities. 
 
 Church Service for the Ordeal by Fire. 
 
 Specimens of the Rabbinical Apologue. 
 
 Sonnets from the German of Gliick. 
 
 Thoughts on Bores. 
 
 Maxims — from Goethe. 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 On the Rise and Decline of Nations. 
 
 Old Freezeland Proverbs. 
 
 Moustache. 
 
 The Player and his Poodle. 
 
 The Return — from Goethe. 
 
 The Jews of Worms in the year 1348. 
 
 Marco Bozzaris. 
 
 On the Prime Objects of Government. 
 
 Dante and Milton. 
 
 Napoleon. 
 
 Antipathies. 
 
 To Death — from the German of Gliick. 
 
 Glasgow Revisited. 
 
 Lament for Maclean of Aros. 
 
 Serenade — from Goethe. 
 
 Poetry and Prose. 
 
 Song of the Gypsy King. 
 
 Inscription on a Tombstone in the Ch irch- 
 
 yard at Hoch-heim. 
 The Epitaph of De Ranzau. 
 Epigrams, &c. 
 The Essence of Opera. 
 Song from the Norman- French. 
 The History of Alischar and Smaragdine- 
 
 The Western Campaign. 
 
 Brown on Beauty. 
 
 Antiquity. 
 
 Pins. 
 
 Love Poetry. 
 
 A Preface that may serve for all Modern 
 
 Works of Lnagination. 
 Medals, or Obverses and Reverses. 
 The Beasts versus Man. 
 Stanzas on Freedom. 
 Saturday Night in the Manse. 
 Daniel Cathie, Tobacconist. 
 On the Death of Lord Byron. 
 The Bohemian Gardener. 
 Miles Atherton. 
 Haco's Grave. 
 The Home Star. 
 To tlie Spirit of Health. 
 Genius. 
 
 New Buildings at Cambridge. 
 The Crusades — Chivalry — Fiction. 
 Observations on the Study of History. 
 Influence of Luxury on Religion. 
 Action and Thought. 
 Country Life. 
 Something Scottish. 
 Effect of Growing Prosperity. 
 The Transport. 
 Pastorall; extracted from Uranus amj 
 
 Psyche, a MS. religious poem.
 
 470 
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 in. 
 
 LIST OF PROFESSOR WILSON'S COXTRIBUTIONS TO BLACKWOOD'S 
 MAGAZINE FROM 1826* 
 
 1826. 
 January. Nine pages of Preface, 
 
 Christmas Gifts, 
 February. Birds, . . . , 
 
 Moore's Sheridan, 5 pages — Gait, 5, besides omissions — Croly, 
 
 Noctes, 
 March. Cottages, 
 
 Saint and Demon, . 
 
 Remains of Wolfe, 
 
 Byron Papers, . . . 
 
 Naval Sketch-Book, 
 April Streams, .... 
 
 Noctes, 
 June. Meg Dods' Cookery, 
 
 Wilson's Ornithology, 
 
 Noctes, 
 Julj. Hints for the Holidays, 
 
 Noctes, 1 5 — Moir or Hogg, 3, . 
 
 Aug. P. 1. Gymnastics, . 
 
 Wilson's Ornithology, 
 2. Hints for the Holidays, 2, 
 
 Letter to Mrs. M. on the Seies, 
 
 The Four Shops, 
 Sept. Hints for the Holidays, 3, 
 
 October. Noctes, 16^ — Hogg, 1| — Mr. C. Croker, 1* 
 November. Glance over Selby's Ornithology, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Christmas Presents, entd. Mr. Wilson, 
 
 December. 
 
 1827. 
 January. 
 March. 
 April. 
 May. 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Do. . . . 
 
 May Day, 
 June. Persian Women, , . 
 
 Aird's Characteristics, 
 
 The Navy, No. 1, 
 June. P. 2. Cruickshank on Time, 
 
 PoUok's Course of Time, 2— Aird, 10, 
 
 Richardson's Sonnets, 
 
 Dr. Phillpott's Letters, . 
 
 The Reigning Vice, 
 
 Noctes, 
 July. Real State of Ireland, 
 
 Cyril Thornton, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 • I had hoped at one tirnn to be able to give a complete Ust of my father's contribntions from 
 the commencement of the Magazine, but "the materials for fi.ving the authorship with certainty, 
 in every instance, do not exist 
 
 PiiGES. 
 9
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 471 
 
 1827. 
 Sept. Moore's Epicurean, 
 
 October. The Traveller's Oracle, 
 
 Sciimelzle's Journey, 
 
 Montgomery's Poems, 
 November. Preface and Review of Chroniclea, 
 
 lleber's Kymns, 
 
 1828. 
 January. 
 
 February. 
 
 March. 
 
 April. 
 
 May. 2 
 
 June. 
 
 July. 
 
 August. 
 
 Sept. 
 
 October. 
 
 November. 
 
 December. 
 P. 1. 
 
 1829. 
 January. 
 March. 
 April. 
 May. 
 
 Christmas Dreams, 
 
 Christmas Presents, 
 
 Health and Longevity, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Postscript, 
 
 Leigh Hunt's Byron, 
 
 Sir J I. Stuart's liook, 
 
 Anatomy of Drufikenness, 
 
 Life of Eurns, 
 
 Noctes, No. 36, L. 1.3, with pieces from Hogg, 
 
 Old North and Young North, 
 
 The Man of Ton, 
 
 Wilson's Illustrations, 
 
 Dr. Pliillpotts, 
 
 Monkeyana, 
 
 Iluskisson's Complete Letter-Writer, 
 
 Bremhill Parsonage, 
 
 Salmonia, 
 
 Christopher in his Sporting Jacket, 
 
 Noctes, 20i — 17— White, 3— Hogg, 1, 
 
 Interscript and Postscript, 
 
 Noctes, 21 — Mr. Coleridge, 12 — Mr. Johnston, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Sir R. Inglis's Speeches, 
 
 Sacred Poetry, 
 
 Edinburgh Sessional School, 
 
 Noctes, 
 Do. 
 Do. 
 
 Note, 
 Sept. P. 2. Loves of the Poets, 
 
 Furness Abbey, 
 
 Noctes, 
 December. Noctes, 
 
 The Annuals, 
 
 1830. 
 January. 
 
 Feb. 
 
 March. 
 
 April 
 May. 
 
 Education of the People, 
 The Age — a Poem, 
 
 1. The Fall of Nineveh, 
 The Young Lady's Book, 
 
 2. Banwell Hill, 
 Moore's Byron, 
 
 Do. do. 
 Annals of PeninsJar War, 
 Notice, 
 Noctes, . . 
 
 Do. 
 
 0. Croker, 
 
 ,4, 
 
 PAOKS. 
 
 . 29 
 2(U 
 
 . 22' 
 20| 
 
 . 52 
 17
 
 472 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1830. 
 June. The Christian Tear, 
 
 On the Punishment of Death, 
 
 The Mariner's Return, 
 
 Noctes, 
 July. Bear-Hunting, . 
 
 Sadler on Balance of Food, 
 
 Notice to Correspondents, 
 August The Great Moray Floods, 
 
 The Lay of the Desert, . 
 
 Wild Garland, etc., 
 2. Wild Fowl Shooting, 
 
 Colman's Random Records, 
 
 Clarke on Climaie, 
 
 Noctes, 43— L. 9— Hogg, 2, 
 September. Day at Windermere, 
 October. The Moors, 
 
 Expiation, 
 November. Noctes, 
 December. Winter Rhapsody, 
 
 1831. 
 January. Noctes, 
 
 L'Envoy, 
 February. Noctes, 
 
 2. Winter Rhapsody, 
 
 Mr. Sadler and Edinburgh Reviewer, 
 March. Noctes, 
 April. Sotheby's Homer, 
 
 Noctes, 
 May. Reformers and Anti-Reformers, 
 
 Sotheby's Homer, 
 June. Edinburgh Election, 
 
 Lord Advocate on Reform, 
 July. Sotheby's Homer, 
 
 Audubon's Ornithological Biography, 
 Ang. 1. Audubon and Wilson, 
 
 Unimore, 
 2. Friendly Advice to the Lords, 
 
 Greek Drama, No. 1, 
 Sept. An Hour's Talk about Poetry, 
 
 American and Whig on the Bill, 
 October. Tod's Rajast'han, 
 November. Noctes, 
 December. Sotheby's Homer, 
 
 Curliana, 
 1832. 
 January. Protestant Affairs in Ireland, 
 
 Reply to Lord Brougham, 
 February. Sotheby's Homer, 
 
 Noctes, 
 P. 2. L'Envoy, 
 March. Balance of Parties, 
 April. American Poetry, 
 
 Miss F. Kemble's Tragedy, 
 Noctes, 
 May. Tcnny.'50n's: Poems,
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 473 
 
 I 
 
 1832, 
 June. 
 
 July. 
 
 A.UgU3t. 
 
 November. 
 
 1833. 
 January. 
 Feburary. 
 March. 
 April. 
 
 P. 3 
 
 May. 
 
 June. 
 
 July. 
 
 August. 
 September. 
 
 October 1. 
 
 2. 
 November. 
 
 December. 
 
 1834. 
 January. 
 
 February. 
 
 March. 
 
 April. 
 May. 1. 
 
 June. 
 July. 
 
 kngust 
 
 Christopher at the Lakes, " . 
 Living Poets and Poetesses. 
 Maid of Elvar, 
 Griffin's Remains, 
 Christopher at the Lakes, 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 Upper Canada, . . 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Characteristics of Women, 
 
 Do. . 
 
 Do. 
 The Factory System, 
 Characteristics of Women, 
 Motherwell's Poems, 
 Devonshire and Cornwall, 
 On Poor Laws and Ireland, 
 Twaddle on Tweedside, 
 Greek Anthology with Hay, 
 Loch Awe, . . 
 
 Sir Henry Blackwood, 
 Greek Anthology with Hay, , 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 Northern Lighthouses, . 
 
 Greek Anthology, 
 Morning Monologues, 
 False Mediums, 
 America, No. 2, 
 
 English Cathedral Establishments, 
 The Hindu Drama, 
 Spenser, No. 1, 
 Retribution, 
 Greek Anthology, 
 
 Sotheby's Odyssey, . 
 
 Hindu Drama, 
 
 Odyssey, . 
 
 Aria, 
 
 Whig Prosecutions of the Press, 
 
 Refutations of Stewart, 
 
 Conspiracy against Mr. Sheil, 
 
 Baron Smith, 
 
 Loudon on Education of Gardeners, 
 
 Admission of Dissenters, 
 
 Stephen Oliver on Angling, 
 
 Moral of Flowers, 
 
 Poetry of p]bonezer Elliott, 
 
 Combinations, 
 
 Noctes — Hogg and Mag. 12, 
 
 Aurora — A Vision, 
 
 Christopher on Colonsay, 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 Noctes — Hogg, a small part, 
 
 Do. 
 Campbell's Siddons,
 
 '17-i 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1834. 
 September. 
 
 October. 
 
 November. 
 
 December. 
 
 1833. 
 January, 
 
 Campbell's Siddons, 
 
 Edmund Spenser, 
 
 Glance at the Noctes of Athenaeus, 
 
 Coleridge's Poetical Works^ 
 
 Koctes, . . . 
 
 Spenser, 
 
 Do. . . . 
 
 Orphan's Song, 
 JNoctes, &c., 
 
 Edmund Spencer, Part V., 
 
 Audubon's Ornithological Biography, 
 
 Noctes, etc., 
 Feb. 1. Bishop of Exeter and Lord John Russell, 
 
 Ruscoe's Poems, 
 
 Koctes, etc., 
 2. Ancient Scottish Poetry, No. 1, Dunbar, 
 
 Dana's Buccaneer, . 
 March. Shall we have a Conservative Government? 
 
 Edmund Spenser, Part VI., . 
 May. Wordsworth's New Volume, 
 
 Eemale Characters in our Modern Poetry, No. 
 July. Life of Edmund Kean, 
 
 Tomkius on the Aristocracy of England, 
 
 Anniversary of Waterloo, 
 
 Stoddart's Angling, . 
 August. Auglimania, 
 
 Eemale Characters in our Modern Poetry, No, 
 
 Clare's Poems, 
 ■ Wilhs's Poems, 
 
 The Doctor, Eirst Dose, . 
 September. The Modern Dunciad, 
 
 De Bereugcr's Pielps and Hints, 
 
 Justin Martyr and other Poems, 
 
 The Doctor, Second Dose, 
 
 Sacred Poetry of Seventeenth Century, . 
 
 October. 
 November, 
 
 1836. 
 January. 
 February. 
 March. 
 May. 
 June. 
 
 July. 
 
 August. 
 
 September. 
 
 October. 
 
 November. 
 
 December. 
 
 18.37. 
 J.'uiuary. 
 February. 
 
 BaiUie's Dramas, 
 
 Do. 
 Sw^an's Views of the Lakes of Scotland, 
 Alford's Poems, 
 The ilotaphysician, No. 1, 
 Definitions of Wealth, . 
 The Siller Gun, . . . 
 
 The Metaphysician, No. 2, 
 
 Do. " 3, . 
 
 Do. " 4, 
 
 Do. " 5, , 
 
 Do. " 6, 
 
 Do. " 7, . 
 
 Epigrams of Theocritus, . 
 
 The Mountain Decameron, . . 
 
 Do. 
 The Metaphysician, No. 8, . 
 
 27 
 7
 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 475 
 
 1837. 
 
 
 TAGES. 
 
 March. 
 
 The Birth-Day, . . . • 
 
 24 
 
 April. 
 
 Our Two Vases, 
 
 . 20 
 
 October. 
 
 Do. .... 
 
 24 
 
 November 
 
 . Poetry by Our New Contributor, 10 — Sterling, 16^ 
 
 . 10 
 
 18:58. 
 
 
 
 February. 
 
 Loss of Our Golden Key, 
 
 . 33 
 
 April. 
 
 The Latin Anthology, 
 
 44 
 
 May. 
 
 Our Two Vases, 
 
 . 28 
 
 June. 
 
 Our Two Panniers, .... 
 
 32 
 
 July. 
 
 Extracts, .... 
 
 . 20i 
 
 August. 
 
 Christopher in His Cave, 
 
 17 
 
 September. Christopher among the Mountains, 
 
 . 32 
 
 October. 
 
 A Glance over Thomas Warton, 
 
 20 
 
 November 
 
 Our Pocket Companion, . 
 
 . 29 
 
 December. 
 
 Tupper's Geraldine, 
 
 13 
 
 1839. 
 
 
 
 February. 
 
 New Edition of Ben Jonson, . 
 
 25 
 
 April. 
 
 Christopher in his Alcove, . . . 
 
 . 33 
 
 May. 
 
 Our Descriptive Poetry, 
 
 13 
 
 July. 
 
 The Antediluvians, or the World Destroyed, 
 
 . 25 
 
 August. 
 
 Our Pocket Companions, 
 
 23 
 
 November. 
 
 Have you read Ossian ? . 
 
 . 22 
 
 1840. 
 
 
 
 March. 
 
 Leigh Hunt's Legend of Florence, . 
 
 . 16 
 
 1842. 
 
 
 
 December. 
 
 Lays of Ancient Rome, . . . . 
 
 . 22^ 
 
 184.'5. 
 
 
 
 February. 
 
 North's Specimens of the British Critics, 
 
 . 26 
 
 March. 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 32 
 
 April. 
 
 Do. do. 
 Extracts from the Drawer of our "What-not. 
 
 . 26 
 
 May. 
 
 North's Specimens of British Critics, 
 
 . 30 
 
 June. 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 23 
 
 July. 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 . 15 
 
 August. 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 28 
 
 September. 
 
 Do. do. 
 
 . 23 
 
 1848. 
 
 
 
 October. 
 
 Byron's Address to the Ocean, 
 
 . 16 
 
 1849. 
 
 
 
 June. 
 
 Dies Boreales, . . . . . 
 
 . 26 
 
 July. 
 
 Do. .... 
 
 32 
 
 August. 
 
 Do. .... . 
 
 . 28 
 
 September, 
 
 Do. .... 
 
 28 
 
 November. 
 
 Do. .... . 
 
 . 35 
 
 1850. 
 
 
 
 April. 
 
 Dies Boreales, No. 6, . . . 
 
 . 32 
 
 May. 
 
 Do. ... 
 
 18 
 
 October. 
 
 Do. . . . . . 
 
 . 20 
 
 1852. 
 
 
 
 August. 
 
 Chi istopher under Canvas, . • . 
 
 . 30 
 
 
 Dies Boreales — The Last, . . . 
 
 M
 
 INDEX 
 
 
 Accident to >frs. Wilson, 2T6, 277. 
 
 to Mrs. Gordon, st-nior, 401. 
 
 Aclilian. vi.sits to. See CampbfIL 
 
 Aini, ThoHiiis, 299, 819,415. 
 
 letters to, on Burns, 394-39C. 
 
 on the Festival, 4? 7, 418. 
 
 Alison, .'Sir A., HI, 121,415. 
 
 Allan, Mr., of the Coleiioriian 3fercury, 98. 
 
 Allan, Sir William, 201, 413. 
 
 Aml)lesi(le, fair at, 309, 310. See EUeray. 
 
 America and the Americans, 426. 
 
 Anderson, Samuel, ISI. 
 
 Anecdotes of College life, 49-65. 
 
 Anglers' Tent, the, 84. 
 
 Aji]L,'ling;, early fondn«s for, 8, 4, 7, 12. See 
 Fishing Excursions. 
 
 his last "cast," 446. 
 
 Animals, love of — 
 
 the peaseweep in the moor, 9. 
 
 eock-flghtin};, 45. 
 
 — — spiders ami their habits, 92. 
 
 game-cocks, 92, 116. 
 
 ponies and cows, calves and pigs, 297. 
 
 chickens and dogs, 379. 
 
 the dog Kover and the witch, 371, 372. 
 
 — — two [>et dogs shot, 386. 
 
 list of dogs, 889. 
 
 his four-footed friends, 890. 
 
 Bronte, Tor}-, and Grog, 3^9-392. 
 
 his "aviary" in the back -green, 392-394. 
 
 interference in behalf of an ill-used horse, 
 
 424, 425. 
 
 Anuiterndry, The^ an annual of Allan Cun- 
 ningham"s, 314-318. 
 
 " Apperdeen stockingks," 237. 
 
 Aristocracy, the, Wilson admired from a dis- 
 tance, 427. 
 
 Art, love of, 427, 428, 458. 
 
 ABtley, the Messrs., 84. 
 
 Audubon, John James, the ornithologist, 361, 
 3(3;3, 304. 
 
 "Auld lang syne," as sung by Wilson, 431. 
 
 Authors, calamities of, 303, 304, 398, 899. 
 
 " Aviary," the, 392. 
 
 treatment of its Invalids, 393. 
 
 Awe, Loch, 139-142, 154, 400-402. 
 
 Aytoun, I'vofessor W. E., 233. 
 
 marriage ot^ to Jane Emily Wilson, 434. 
 
 Babirs, the Professor's " way" of cai-rying, 437, 
 
 438. 
 Bauhelor degree, examination for, at Oxfiird, 
 
 72-74. 
 
 Baillie, Joanna, 112. 
 Baird, Principal, 222. 
 
 letter trom, 277. 
 
 Ballantynes, the, 108, 103, 110, 112, 115, 181, ISJ, 
 
 3(18. 
 Balmer, Billy, a boatman on Windermere Si-00 
 
 134, 130, 149, 212. 
 
 Some account of, 438—440. 
 
 Bar, Scottish, called to the, 117, 121. 
 
 Barlier, Samuel, 297, 308, et seq. 
 
 Barley-sugar, fondness for, 23, 389. 
 
 Barlow, Mrs., 809, 330. 
 
 Barton, Mr., \-V\ 
 
 Baxter, Mr., 134. 
 
 Bell, Henry Glassford, 3)7, 318, 421. 
 
 Bell. Mr., 143. 
 
 Ben Cruachan, 124. 
 
 Bentham, Jeremy. 274, 275. 
 
 Beresford, Admiral Sir J., 345. 
 
 Berkeley's philosophy, papers on. In Black- 
 
 uood, 217. 
 Bible, remarks on the, 459. 
 Blllholm, the residence of his son John, de- 
 
 8crii)ti(m of, 404-406. 
 
 a summer at, 407. 
 
 letter to, 413, 414. 
 
 visits to, 4oS, 447. 
 
 Bl.-ickwood, < aptain, 349. 
 Blackwood, Sir Ilenrv, 843. 
 Blackwood, John, 46.8. 
 Blackwooil, William, 115, 164, 167. 
 
 his saloon described by Loekhart, 171. 
 
 letters from, 259, 260, 264-270, 2b9-290. 
 
 his illness and death, 874-378. 
 
 BlnckicoocCs Mugnzine versus Edinburgh Re- 
 view, 156, 164, 175. 
 account of the rise of the Magazine, 160 
 
 102. 
 
 its early defects, 164. 
 
 contributors to, 171. 
 
 fictitious names used in, 176, 180. 
 
 troubles occasioned by its assaults, 1S4-I9S. 
 
 Wilson's allegiance to, 258. 
 
 his contribuiions to, 294, 313. 329, 334, 835, 
 
 361, 8T8, 394. 400, 400, 420, 422. 
 
 bis last papers, 449. 
 
 For titles of contributions see Ai'pendi.\ 
 
 111., 470-475. 
 Blair, Dr. Alex.ijider, 2.'), 98., 
 lettei-8 to Findlay on Wilson's attachment 
 
 to Margaret of Dychmont, 65-73. St£ Love 
 
 episode. 
 
 visit to Elleray, ^ S5. 
 
 lett*T from, 117.
 
 4:78 
 
 INUKX. 
 
 Bkiir, D. . A.; corriS[uin(lcnce ^vitll,whcn pre- 
 paring Mi)r;il i'liilosoiiliv Littnres, '.'lO-'J'il. 
 
 iiiontioiH'd, ;}41, 30."). 41(1, 441. 
 
 iicciiiiipauic'f Wilson to llic lli;:hlii:i(ls, 418, 
 
 419. 
 
 reminiscences of his friendship with AVil- 
 
 son. 441-443. 
 
 Blantvre Priorv, 2t. 
 
 Hoatini;, love of, SS-90. 
 
 BothwcU 15ank.s, 3T, 56. 
 
 Boxins — Wilson "a varra bad un to lick," 23, 
 45, 95. 
 
 Boyd, John, 2S2. 
 
 Boyhood, 1-14. 
 
 " Breeches Keview,'^ the. 276. 
 
 Brewster, Sir I)avi<i, 171, 411. 
 
 " Britisli Criti(^s," North's Specimens of thf, 420. 
 
 Bridi;es, David. 202. 
 
 Bronte, the do-:, 8S9. • 
 
 Brougham, Lord. U4, 252, 409, 411. 
 
 Brown, J)r. .Inhn. 292, 8T2, 8T3. 
 
 Brown, Teter. llishop of Corlv. 220. 
 
 Brown, Dr. 'Ilioiiias, 202, 206, 222, 22S. 
 
 Browne, Dr. .lames, editor of the Caledonian 
 Mercui-ii, 82H. 
 
 Bryant, .Jacob. 219. 
 
 Bull inidniirht chase of a. 00-92. 
 
 Bull {John) Miiytieine, 2T1, 2^7, 288. 
 
 Burke and Hi.re, the Edinburgh murderers, 321, 
 390. 
 
 Burnev, Charles Parr, Archdeacon of Colchester, 
 49, 7'4, 345. 
 
 Burns Festival, 415-418. 
 
 Burns, Kobert, l.V. 
 
 essay on, 394. 395. 
 
 Burnside, Mary, the fiiend of the "Or[)lian Maid," 
 395. 
 
 Burt, Dr. .John, 4C.3. 
 
 Burton, John Hill, his reminiscences of the 
 Professor and his class, 231-243. 
 
 .«yron. Lord, 131, 158. 
 
 paper on his "Address to the Ocean," 422. 
 
 v^AH-DRivERS on the look-out for Wilson, 423. 
 
 Cadell, T., 144, 200. et seq. 
 
 Caird, the i;reat, and his wife, 127. 
 
 Calder Bank, 21,34 
 
 Calderwood, 34. 
 
 C'uliuii ii.i. attack by, ou Drs. M"Crie and Andrew 
 
 'J'hoin.^on. 171,190. 
 Campbell, t'aptain Archibald, 142. 
 Campbell, Diiu'ald, of Aehlian, 125. 
 
 visit to, 139-144, 146. 
 
 Campbell. Thomas. 34.5,358, 379. 
 CannitiK, George, 271. 
 
 letter IVom, 281, 
 
 visit to Elleray, 2S4, 285. 
 
 mentioned, 2S7, 288. 
 
 Carlisle, s|)orts at, 94. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, letter from, 322, 323. 
 
 Carter, a speeeliless. looking after the Professor 
 
 with his horse, 424, 425. 
 Ciisliel, Mis. (.Orace Wilson), 2, 857. 
 Cay. Sheriir. 121, 181,411. 
 "Chaldee Manuscript." 103, 171, 187. 
 Chambers, Kobert, 436, 4li3. 
 Cliannini,', Dr., 426. 
 Cheese, lie v. Benjamin, 73. 
 Children, tl.t I'rofessor's love of, 437, 489, 458, 
 
 460. 
 Ohristm.as vacations, 10, 20; his last Christmas 
 
 diiy, 460. 
 
 " Christopher North," 257. 
 
 letter on, 305. 
 
 portrait of, in his Sporting Jacket, 423. 
 
 Church service, Scottish, 4!«, 434. 
 
 "City of the Plague," publication of, 133, 137. 
 
 /Sec (list) 117. 
 Cladich, 401. 
 
 CU-liorn, James, lGO-162. 
 Cocklnirn, Lord, 3&7, 429, 463. 
 <_'oek-lit:hting. 45, 40. 
 
 Cocks, eslabli-^hment of, nt Elleray, 46, 92, 9& 
 t'odrington. Sir Edward, 35(1. 
 Colburn, Henry, 272. 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley, 307, et geq., 811, 312, 332. 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. SI, 184, 135. 
 
 his /iiogriiphid Literaria, 1G2. 
 
 review of his poetical works, 378. 
 
 College life at Glasgow, 14-26. 
 
 at Oxford, 37-77. S>-e Oxford. 
 
 Collier, Sir i'., 341, li aeq. 
 
 "Colonsay, Christopher on," origin of, 297, 
 
 29a 
 Combe, George, 162. 
 Commonplace-books, begun at 0.\ford, plan ol^ 
 
 40-43, 67. 
 
 extracts from, in prose and verse, 85-83. 
 
 Comi)osition, habits of, 398-400. 
 Constable, Arcliibald, 115, 133, 162, 283. 
 Cooj), the, in the attic, 398. 
 Copleston, liev. Edward, 220. 
 "Copy, copy !" 398. 
 Craiistoun, "Mr., 112, 213. 
 (.:ritic, Wilson as a. 299, 359, 360. 
 Croker, John Wilson, 271, 273. 
 (,'ruikstone, 87. 
 Cunningham, Allan, 270. 
 
 letters from, 313-313. 
 
 Cupple, Mr., extract from his " Memorial" of 
 
 Wilson, 3&6. 
 Curwcn, William, 134, 136. 
 
 Daltell, Sir .J. G., 181, 182. 
 
 Dasent, Dr., 48. 
 
 Death of a sister, 14. 
 
 — - of Wilson's father, 14, 15. 
 
 of his mother, 277. 
 
 of his wife, 382, 3tv3. 
 
 of Profe.-sor Wilson, 461. 
 
 "Delta," Kee Moir, Dr. 
 
 De Qiiineey, Thonuis, remarks of, on Wilson'9 
 
 I)Ugilisiicand leaping attainments, 46-48. 
 
 on his friends at Oxford, 49. 
 
 description of Elleray, 78, 79. 
 
 first mtx'ting with Wilson, S2-S4. 
 
 story of the bull-chase, 90-92. 
 
 remaiks on Wilson as a naturalist, 92. 
 
 letters to, 101, 1 18, 324-826. 
 
 mentioned. 134, 135, 149, 171, 224, 284, 279, 
 
 291. 830, -141,408. 
 
 letter from. 274-276. 
 
 friendship wi;h Wilson, 326-328. 
 
 De Tabley, Lord, 321. 
 
 Diary in 1801, 17. ^ee Memorandum-book. 
 
 Dicken.s, Charles, 45, 388. 
 
 public dinner to. 400. 
 
 " Dies Boreales," composition of the, 432, 4.33. 
 the last contributions to Jilackwooil, 449, 
 
 452, 453. 
 " Dilettanti Club," 184. 
 "Dim acclivitv,'" the, 421. 
 Disraeli, jiiniamin, 293. 
 
 Dixon, Kev. liichard, T8.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 479 
 
 Dobson, Mr., 135. 
 
 Dogs, the. at Thirlstane Castle, 371-373. 
 
 iiiifcdote of two shot at lioslin, ii86. 
 
 list of Wilson's dojrs, ys'J. 
 
 Doiiirh's, Mr., of (iiasgow, his //■acn« with Mr. 
 
 J}lack«oo(l, IhS. 
 Dow, John, 270. 
 Dovic, John, 409, 410. 
 Doyle, Kichard, 41)<J. 
 
 Drawing, early attempts at, 4. iS^eArt. 
 Dress, pec-uliarities of. 428. 
 Drovers, Kin^' of the. Wilson's match with, in 
 
 a Highland villase, l'i7. 
 Dnimmond, Mr. Home, 49. 
 Dainfries. visit to, :WG. 
 Duncan, Thomas. Wilson in his studio, 428. 
 Dundas, Admiral, 354. 
 Dundas, Kol.ert, '279. 
 Dunda.s, William, 279. 
 Du Perron, Cardinal, as a leapcr, 47. 
 Dimlop, William, 24, 26, 72, 139. 
 Dunlops, the. of Garnkirk, 2. 
 Dvchmont, 22. 
 -^— the ladies of, 33-37. 
 
 Eaki;t companions, 25, 2G. 
 
 "Edderline's Dream,"' 31()-ai8. 
 
 Edireworth, Miss, 2(i2, 292. 
 
 Edinlnirgh, removal of the family to, 118-121. 
 
 Ami street and its associations, 19S-201. 
 
 removal to Gloucester Place, 278. 
 
 Eilinlmrgh Monthly Mitgazine, 154, 160-162. 
 Editiliiirgh Review, strictures of, ou educiition 
 
 at O.xford, 55. 
 
 '• Isle of Palms" reviewed in, 115. 
 
 Wilson's contributions to, 120, 158. See 
 
 Jeffrey. 
 
 review of the " City of the Plasue/' 137. 
 
 the lierieio versus Bktcticood, 156, 164. 
 
 EUeray, purchase of, 68, 69. 
 
 descri[ition of, by De Quincey, 78, 79. 
 
 society in the district, SI, 96. 
 
 excursions around, S4, 87, S3, 149, 150. 
 
 boating on Windermere, 88-90. 
 
 regattas, 97, 28.5. 
 
 plans of composition .at, 116. 
 
 ileparture from, 117-119. 
 
 visits to, 133-136. 148-150, 259, 269. 
 
 tlie new bi)use at, 269. 
 
 visit of Sir Walter Scott, 284, 28.5. 
 
 letters to Mrs. Wilson and familv from, 
 
 294-297, 307-311, 331, 332 ; to SheriH" Gordon, 
 
 420, 421. 
 
 intention to let, 30.5. 
 
 visits in 1845 and 1848, 420, 422. 
 
 resylution not to return, 422. 
 
 Elliot, Kbenezer, the Corn-Law Khj-mer, 361- 
 
 36;l. 
 Ellison, Nathaniel. 49. 
 
 Eliiquence, the Gormandizing School of, 262. 
 £<]uestriaii adventure, 90. 
 
 EAir.Y, funeral of a, described, 40'2, 403 
 
 Fairy-land. Lavs from. 256. 
 
 Fani. the dog,'372, 389. 
 
 Father, death of Wilson's. 14, 15. 
 
 Ferguson, Dr. Adam, 223. 
 
 Fersusson, Sir Adam, 201. 262, 263. 
 
 Pergusson, James, 112, 139. 
 
 Ferher, Professor, 16,3, 294. 330. 
 
 miirriajje of, to Miss Wilson, 836. 
 
 Findlay, Robert, 24, 2.5. 
 
 correspondence with, on the Orphan Maid, 
 
 60-77. (See Love episode.) 
 letter to, on his marriage with .Miss Penny, 
 
 10.5. 
 letter to, on the death of Mrs. Findlay, 
 
 senior, and of Mrs. Wilson, senior, 277, 278. 
 
 mentioned, 329. 
 
 note to, 3W). 
 
 letter to, from Rothesay, 400. 
 
 invited to the marriage of John Wilson, 
 
 jun., 421. 
 letter to, congratulating him on his eon's 
 
 marriage, 455. 
 
 his <leath, 455. 
 
 Fiiilay, Ji>hn, a young poet, 68, 71, 101, 104. 
 
 Finlay, Mr., of Glencorse, 121. 
 
 Fish, the first, 3. 
 
 Fishing excursions — to the Tweed and Tarrow. 
 
 121. ^ 
 
 to the Highlands, 126. 
 
 to Loch Awe. 13^^142. 
 
 to the wilds of Kannoch, 1.54. 
 
 to the Dochart, 418, 419, 445. 
 
 his last excursion, 445, 446. 
 
 FK-mi'is, Rev. John, of Ravrii;, 81. 
 
 letters to, 207. 208, 804-^^o7, Su'C, 821. 
 
 Forbes. Professor Edward. 151. 
 
 " Foresters, The," 268, 269. 28'2. 
 
 Fortune, unencumbered, 39. 
 
 circumstiinces connected with the loss of 
 
 it, lis. 
 Eraser, P. S., 433, 46:3. 
 Fraset's Mugiiziue, 189, 289, 366, 870. 
 Free I'rade, views on, 279, 301, 802. 
 Friend, The, a serial of Coleridge's referred to, 
 
 85. 
 
 GAisFonD, Dr. Thomas, 50. 
 
 Gale House and its inmates, 96, et aeq. 
 
 Gait, John. 201, 267, 268. 
 
 'Mian:,'!!-! bodies" from the South, 126. 
 
 Garnet, William, 149, 290, 309, 310, .331. 
 
 Gas ver-sm Candle, 39!). 40(t. 436. 
 
 "(lemm eg^rs. .-i ponclilu' o'." 94. 
 
 Gibb, Mr., an Edinburgh artist, 320-322, 333. 
 
 Gill. Mr., 112. 
 
 (Jillies, R. P., 160, 161, 168, 171. 
 
 Gipsie.s, the llowitts' story of his joining a gang 
 
 of, 48. 
 (iladslime.W. E., .33.5. 
 (ilasgow I'liiversitv, enters, la 
 
 colleire life, 14-26. 
 
 recollections of, 38, 39. 
 
 Gla.ssford, iMr., Wi. 
 
 (ileniller, 1. 
 
 Gloucester Place, removal to new house in, 
 
 •• Gold Medal, Professor AVilson's," 254. 
 
 Gordon, Sir John Watson, 200, 46.3. 
 
 Gordon, Mrs., senior, accident to, 401. 
 
 (iordon, John Thomson, 238. 
 
 marriage of, 3S6. 
 
 letters to, 41.5, 416, 420. 
 
 letter to, from the Lord Advocate, inti- 
 mating the grant of a jH-nsion to Wilson of 
 £300 per annum, 417. 
 
 Gordon, Juhn, 322. 
 
 ••Goulilen Vanitee, The;" music and words of 
 this quaint ballad, 4^31-433. 
 
 Graham, Dr., 283. 
 
 Graham, Sir James, 356, 411.
 
 480 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Gralianie, Rev. James, author of " The Sabbath," 
 publiiation of •■ Lines" to his memory, 110- 
 112. 
 
 Grandfather, Wilson as a, 487, 438, 463, 459, 
 4tiU. 
 
 Grant, Mrs., of LajTsan, 123, 126, 147, 208-210. 
 
 Ci rants of Lilforchy, 140. 
 
 Gray, Jauies, author of " Cona," 180. 
 
 Gray, Lieutenant Charles, 132, 841. 
 
 Greave, Mr., 134. 
 
 Grenville, Lord, 99. 
 
 Grev, Sir Charles E., 49, 74. 
 
 Grieve, John, 121, 127. 
 
 letter to. on Hogg's dispute with Black- 
 wood, 30S-3T0. 
 
 Gn.g, the dog, 391. 
 
 Gro-sart, Ilev. A. B., of Kinross, his account of 
 an illness of the Professor, 44-3, 444. 
 
 Haddington, Lord, 841. 
 
 Hall, Mrs. S. C, 358. 
 
 Hallani, Henry. 3TS. 
 
 Ilall^ide, Professor Jardine's residence, society 
 and (liversioni* at, 21. 2^ 34. 
 
 Hamilton, Archibald, 26. 
 
 Hamilton, Captain Thom.TS, 171, 1S8, 201. 
 
 Hamilton, Sir William, 121, 163, 171, 201. 
 
 contest with, for the Chair of Moral Phi- 
 losophy, 202, et netj. 
 
 at Wilson's lectures, 24.5, 249. 
 
 Harden, Allan, of Brathay, 85. 
 
 letter to, 99, 100. 
 
 Harden, Captain, of Altnagoich, 154 
 
 Hawick fair, adventure at, 229, 230. 
 
 Hay, An<Irew,34l. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, 181. 
 
 H. B. political sketches, 409. 
 
 Health ^Mvin^ way, 443, et aeq. 
 
 residence at Woodburn, 449-455. 
 
 return to Edinburgh, 455. 
 
 p.aralytic stroke, 461. 
 
 Heber, Reginald, 49. 
 
 Helensburgh, regatta at, 379. 
 
 Herbert, William, Dean of Manchester, 131. 
 
 Highlands, tour in the, 71. 
 
 pedestrian tour, accompanied by Mrs. Wil- 
 son, 122-129. 
 
 toui of 1816, 139-147. 
 
 of 1817, 153, 154. 
 
 short excursion in 1S36, after the Paisley 
 
 festivities. 381. 
 
 and again in 1841, 400, 401. 
 
 his last excursion to, in search of health, 
 
 445 
 
 Hill, b. O., his calotype of Wilson, 411, 423. 
 Hogg, James, the Ettrick Shepherd, Tisit to, 
 
 121. 
 
 letters to, 129-132, 36,>-36S 
 
 writes for the Edinbtirgh Magazine^ 161, 
 
 and (or BlackiciMd, 171, 179, 181. 
 
 letter IVotn, 319,320. 
 
 his quarrel with the Blackwoods, 365- 
 
 371. 
 Home, Wilson at, 328, 329, 38S, 389. 
 Home, Professor James, 222. 
 " Homer and his Translators," Essays on, 335. 
 Hook, Dr. James, 2(58. 
 Hook, Theo<lore, 271,318. 
 Hope, Captain, 308. 
 
 Hope, Captain (Experimental Siiuadron). 341. 
 Hope, Professor T. C, 222. 
 Uuruer, Francis, 102. 
 
 Homer, Leonard, 25. 
 
 Howitt, William and Mary, 48. 
 
 Hume, David, 263. 
 
 Humility, his, in speaking of himself, 4u3. 
 
 Humor, Wilson's, 422, 423,428, 429. 
 
 Humphries, Mr., S4. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, attack on, in Blockwoody 163, 181 
 
 182, 26(1, 261. 
 
 review of his Legend of Florence, 400. 
 
 Huskisson, W.. letter from, on the proposal foi 
 
 a separate Chair of Political Economy, 280. 
 
 281. 
 '•Hypocrisy Unveiled," the pamphlet bo culled 
 
 and its author, 190-192. 
 
 Inkstand, the Professor's, 486. 
 
 Innerleithen, residence at, 304. 
 
 Innes, Alex. Taylor (his last Medallist), remi- 
 niscences of the Professor and his class, 254- 
 266, 444. 
 
 Ireland, rambles in, 68, 69. 
 
 visits to his sisters in, 115, 857. 
 
 Irving, Kev. Edward, his preaching described, 
 271. 
 
 " Isle of Palms," original draught of, 43. 
 
 correspondence on its publication, 101-104, 
 
 107-116. 
 
 Ivory, James (Lord), 121. 
 
 Izett, Mrs., 127, 129, 154, 867. 
 
 Janus, publication of, 282-284, 290-292. 
 
 correspondence relating to, 464—169. 
 
 contents of, 469. 
 
 Jameson, Professor Kobert, 171, 222. 
 
 letter from, 285, 286. 
 
 Jamieson, Mrs., author of "King Charles's 
 Beauties," 358. 
 
 Jardine, Professor George, residence in the 
 family of, 15, et neq. 
 
 first published poems dedicated to, 113, 
 
 his " Hints" for Moral Philosophy Lectures, 
 
 221. 
 
 mentioned, 278. 
 
 Jefl'rey, Lord, 112. 
 
 his review of the I«le of Palms, 115. 
 
 visit to the Continent, 129. 
 
 letter on Wilson's poems, 137, 138. 
 
 letter from, on Contributions to the Edin- 
 burgh Tievieu; 155. 
 
 letter vindicating the Review from the 
 
 charge of intidelity, 196-198. 
 
 reunion-^ at his house, 3s7, 888. 
 
 his evening receptions, 429. 
 
 Jenner, Dr., of O.vford, 62. 
 
 Jones, Sir William, 42. 
 
 KfcAN, Charles, 139. 
 
 Keepudke, The, an annual, 316-318. 
 
 Kemp affair and Scott Monument, 408, et ^tq. 
 
 Kinnaird, Mr., 44. 
 
 Knox, Mr., 14S. 
 
 Ladies and Politics, 386-339, 361. 
 
 Laidlaw, (Jeorge, of Kint.iil, 147. 
 
 Laidlaw, Mr, of Traijuair Knowe, 121. 
 
 Laiillaw, William, Scott's amanuensis, %iA, 
 
 Lake escapade^ 8S, et ite-tj. 
 
 '■ Lalla Kookh," review of, 164. 
 
 Lamb, Charies, 44, 26a, 341, SCO.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 481 
 
 "Lament, Captain Paton's," — versos by Lock- 
 hart, attributeii to the Odoutist, lS'i-184. 
 
 Landon, Miss, 35S. 
 
 Leaiiinp, attainini-nts in, 47, 48. 
 
 Lectures on Moral Philosophy, preparation of, 
 215-225. 
 
 "Leopard, the," 164, 16S. 
 
 Lewis, Mr., 44. 
 
 " Lights and Shadows," publication of, 25S, 259, 
 2S2. 
 
 Liston, Eobert, the celebrated surgeon, consult- 
 ation with, 375, 876. 
 
 Literature and politics, 159. 
 
 Litl's Wreniliitna, 94. 
 
 Llovd, Charles, of Low Brathay, 81, 97, 111, 136, 
 836. 
 
 Lloyd William H., 25. 
 
 Lockhart, Captain, 180. 
 
 LocUhart, J. G., 121, 149, 171-175. 
 
 letters from, 26ll-2G;i, 27t>-272, 273, 274, 2S2- 
 
 2S4, 2!S6-2SS, 292-294. 324, 40S-413. 
 
 becomes editor of the Quarterly Remew, 
 
 292. 
 
 his last interview with Wilson, 453, 434. 
 
 his death, 454. 
 
 London, visits to, 55, 425. 
 
 Love episode in early life : Margaret of Dych- 
 
 ; mont, 32-37. 
 
 "— — poems dedicated to, 85-37. 
 
 letters addressed to, 43. 44, 57-60. 
 
 letters on, to Fiudlay, 60-65, 6t>-71, 74-77. 
 
 correspondence between Blair and Findlay, 
 
 65-68, 72, 73. 
 
 Lowndes, Mr., 264 
 
 Lowther, Lord, 94, 294, 296. 
 
 Lubienski, Leon Count, a Polish student, 235, 
 237. 
 
 Luib, visits to, 418, 419, 445. 
 
 Lyndsay. Mr., brother-in-law of Professor Jar- 
 dine, 21. See Palmes. 
 
 Macaulat, T. B. ; his Lays criticized, 400, 406. 
 candidate for the representation of Kdia- 
 
 burgh, 450. 
 Wilson's mysterious mission to Edinburgh 
 
 to vote for, 451. 
 letter to Sheriff Gordon, expres.sing his 
 
 kindly feelings towards the Professor, 451, 
 
 452. 
 Macculloch, Horatio, 407. 
 Machell, James P., 96, 294. 
 Mackenzie, Henry, the "Man of Feeling," anec- 
 dote of, 45, 46. 
 
 referred to, 171. 
 
 Mackintosh, Sir James, 206, 255. 
 
 Maclaren, Charles, editor of the Scotsman, 
 
 323. 
 Macleod, Rev. Dr. Norman, sen., 24. 
 M'CuUoch, J. U., editor of the /Scotsman, 278. 
 M'C^rie, Kev. Dr, 171, 190. 
 M' Donald, Lawrence, 234. 
 M'Gil)bon, lie v. Mr., 143. 
 M'liityre, Dr., 142. 
 
 M'Kenzie, Alex., of Dingwall, 144-147. 
 M'Laren, Duncan, 463. 
 M'Latchie, Uev. Dr. Goorge, of Mearns, Wilson's 
 
 second instructor, 5-S, 112, 329. 
 Ar.Neill, Mr., of Hayfield, 143. 
 M'Neill, Duncan, Lord Justice-General, 121, 
 
 463. 
 M'Neill, Sir John, 2, 2C9, 414. 
 M'Nicol, James, 143. 
 
 Magdalen College, see O.Tforrt. 
 
 Maginn, Dr. William, 27", 288, 239, 298, 364 
 
 Maitland, Sir F., 354, 356. 
 
 Maitland, Thomas, 121. 
 
 Malo.ilm, John, 2:i4. 
 
 Malcolm, Sir P., 340. 
 
 M.iltluis, Kev. T. K., 206. 
 
 " .Mansie Waugh," 302. 
 
 Margaret of Dychmont, see Love episode. 
 
 Marriage, 105, 106. 
 
 of his daughters Margaret and Mary, 8S6. 
 
 of his son .John, 421. 
 
 of his daughter Jane Emily, 4'J4. 
 
 '• Mathctes," a letter on Education by Blair and 
 Wilson, 85. 
 
 Maulo, Hon. Lauderdale, 430. 
 
 Maxwell, Sir John, of PoUok; his reminiscences 
 of Wilson at Mearns, 6, 7. 
 
 Mearns manse, education at, 5. 
 
 physical features of the parish, 5, 6. 
 
 reminiscences of, T, 8, 456, 457. 
 
 ac'-ount of his feelings on bidding it fare- 
 well, 12-14. 
 
 Melville, Lord, 274, 279. 
 
 Memorandum-book, an early, 17, 83. 
 
 extracts, 20-26. 
 
 Menzies, Mr., 154. 
 
 '• Mill, a little," 229. 
 
 Miller, Kobcrt, bookseller in Edinburgh, 131, 
 133. 
 
 Millheugh, 34. 
 
 Moir, Dr. (Delta), 279, 288. 
 
 letters to, 290, 291, 299-303, 393, 894, 407. 
 
 MoncrielT, James (Lonl Advocate), his letter to 
 Sheriff Gordon intimating the grant of a pen- 
 sion to Wil.son of £:300 per annum, 447. 
 
 letter from Lord John Itussell to, on the 
 
 pension, 447. 
 
 Monro, Dr. Alex., Pi-ofessor of Anatomy, 222. 
 
 Montrose, Marquis of, 2. 
 
 Monument to Professor Wilson, 463, 464 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 44, 269, 270, 289. 
 
 Moors, -'Wee Kit" lost on the, 8-10. 
 
 Moral Faculty, oiigin of the. 254. 
 
 Moral Philosopny Chair in Edinburgh Univer- 
 sity : becomes a cantlidate for, 202. 
 
 his competitors, 202, 206. 
 
 Whig opposition, 202, 206. 
 
 his moral character attacked, 207. 
 
 preiiaration of lectures. 214-225. 
 
 the opening lecture, 222, 223. 
 
 syllabus of his course, 226-229. 
 
 reminiscences by old students of the Pro- 
 fessor and his class,' 23 1-256. 
 
 his last year of public labor, 443, etseq. 
 
 resignation of his chair, 446. 
 
 corri-spondence relating to the Qtieen's 
 
 pension, 447, 448. 
 
 Morehead, Kev. Kobert, 111, 112, 192. 
 
 letter from, on the attack on Playfalr, 198- 
 
 195. 
 
 letter to, on the same, 195l 
 
 Morris, Captain Charles. 270. 
 
 Mournins, wearing of, 424. 
 
 Moxon, Edward. 341. 
 
 ".Muckle-mou'd Meg" of the Mearns manse, 10 
 11. 
 
 Muir, Leezy, in search of Wee Kit, 9. 
 
 AJure, Mrs., of Caldwell. 129. 
 
 Murray, Kev. Geor:,'i'. of Haliniirlellan, 896. 
 
 Murray, John A. (Lord), 2Tl, ;i>7. 
 
 Murray. John, piibliiher, 272, 292,293. 
 
 Music, love of, 22, 431.
 
 482 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Mvlne, Dr., 264. I 
 
 Mylnc, Professor .Tames. 215. | 
 
 MysUticalion connected with BlackwooiTs Mag- 
 \tzine, 11)3-107, lbO-lS2, ISti, IS'J. 
 
 Nai'ier, Andrew, 24. 
 
 N:il>ier, Miicvey, 196. 
 
 Niuiiralist, quulificjitions as a, 92, 93. 
 
 Nalure, coininunioii with, 401. 
 
 Naval experience, 340-359. 
 
 Keaves, Lord, 4t)3. 
 
 Newby, James, 93. 
 
 Nowdigate prize at Oxford, 78, 74. 
 
 Newton, Mr., 316. 
 
 Nicolsou, Alexander, reminiscences of the 1 ro- 
 
 fessor ami his class, 252, 255. 
 " Niintno, Sir Peter," an eccentric visitor of the 
 
 College classes, 240. 
 
 his interview with Wordsworth, 241. 
 
 Nursery, pulpit oratory in the, 8, 4. 
 
 O'CoNNEi.i., Daniel, reference to, in a Lecture, 
 and its effects on the class, 251,252. 
 
 " Odontist, The," 1S2-1S4, 218. 
 
 O'Doherty, Ensign, ISS. 
 
 Old Clothes—-' Have you any?" 240. 
 
 Old Slop and the Xew Times, 273. 
 
 Orator, Wilson's power as an, 249. 
 
 Or<l, John W., 23s;. 
 
 "Ori.han-maid," the, of Dychmont, 83-35. hee 
 Love episode. 
 
 "Outlines of a Course of Moral Inquiry, pro- 
 jected, 2bl. 
 
 Oxford : entered at Magdalen College, 37. 
 
 recollections of, in after life, 37, 38. 
 
 studies and manner of life at, 39-77. 
 
 expenditure at, 39. 
 
 sketches of companions, 43, 44. 
 
 amusements at, 45, et xeq. 
 
 friends and acqu.aintance at, 49. 
 
 - - - reminiscences of a fellow-student, 60-56. 
 
 - - -long solitary rambles, 62-64. 
 
 examination for Degree of Bachelor. 
 
 72-74. 
 
 Facet, Sir C, 354, 356. 
 Paisley, town of, 1, 2. 
 
 public dinner, 379-381. 
 
 Palmes, Mrs. (Margaret Lyndsay), 21. 
 Paralysis, seizes with a shock of, 461. 
 Paralytic affection of the right hand, 400,422. 
 Park, .\lungo, Wilson's project of accompanying 
 
 him to Africa, 59, 60. 
 Parliament-House life, 125. 
 Paterson, Deacon, and his "green bag, m Ldin- 
 
 burgh Town-Couneil, 213-215. 
 Patous (Captain) Lament, 182-184. 
 Pearson, Mr., 135. „ ,. , ^ , 
 
 Peddie, James, Wilson's first English teacher, 
 
 Ped^strianism, feats of, 24, 65, 62- 64, 101, 122, et 
 . »(■[„ 41."), 
 Peebles, an adventure at, 122. 
 Peel, Sir liobert, letter from, 2S1. 
 
 reception of. in Glasgow, Ssl. 
 
 Penny, Jjimes, 104. , ^^ ^ 
 
 Penny, Miss Jane, first meetings with, 96, et seq. 
 
 ^fe Wilson. Mrs., junior. .^-r icc 
 
 Penny, Miss, letters of Mrs. T\ ilson to. 187, Ibb, 
 
 2U5 206, 212 :a04, 313, 318, 328, 829, 381. 
 
 Penny Rridgc, Wilson's visits to, and letters 
 from, 329, 330, 3:;2-3:U .SV^tlleray. 
 
 Periodical literature, Wilson's connection with, 
 153, «<«*(/., 399. 
 
 Peters Letters, quoted, 16, 17, 164, 171, li'2, 
 
 Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh, presi- 
 deiuv of. 420. 
 
 Phv.sieid eliaraeteristies, 39, 44-48. 
 
 •■l'i/./.aiitrv," the liish. 251. 
 
 Plans of composition : List of Subjects for med- 
 itation, 116. 1 17. , . nl I 
 
 Playfair, Professor John, attiicked in Black- 
 wood, \^<i, 190. 
 
 the excite-ment caused by it, 190-19O. 
 
 Poetry, earl V love of, 22, 26-32. 
 
 MS. volume of. dedicated to " Margaret, 
 
 verses from commonplace-book, 85-87. 
 
 correspondence as to his first publication, 
 
 101-104, 107-116. 
 
 propose(l poems, 116, 318. 
 
 a second volume contemplated, 132. 
 
 publication of, 132, 133, 136. 
 
 subseiiuent poems, 818, 819. 
 
 l)riiiciples oli 422. 
 
 Poets, criticism on the, 130, 131. 
 
 Political Economy, proposal for a separate Chair 
 
 of, 278-281, 833. 
 Politics and Literature, 159, 160. 
 
 ami>ng students, 242, 24:5. 
 
 Poor, kindness to the, 385, 3b6. 
 Portraits of Wilson; by Uaeburn, 17. 
 
 Hill's calotype, 411. t , ^ 
 
 Portrait of Christopher in his Sporting Jacket, 
 
 428. 
 Power, the love of, illustrated, 245-249. 
 Pringle, Alexander, 121. 
 Prinicle, Mrs., 134 
 Prinijle, Thomas, 161, 162. 
 Printers' devils, 304,398, 399. 
 Proet.ir, mode of shutting up a, 49. 
 Pseudonyms of Lockhart, 180, 185. 
 Pugilistic skill, 46, 47, 229. 
 Purdie, Tom, 263. 
 
 Quarterly Review, Lockhart becomes editor of, 
 292, et seq. 
 
 Kakburn, Sir Henry, Ids portrait of Wilson, 
 
 mansion at St. Bernard s, 200. 
 
 Regattas at Windermere, 97, 285. 
 
 at Helensburgh, 379. 
 
 " Eei)resentativc" newspaper, 293. 
 
 lUchmond, Mr., 122. 
 
 Uitchie, David, 283. 
 
 Uitson, William, 95, 96, 184. 
 
 Itobertson, Patrick (Lord), 121, 149, 151, loO, 409. 
 
 letter from, 279, 2S0. 
 
 Lockhart's joke on, 286, 
 
 his mock-heroic speeches at social gather- 
 ings, 430. 
 
 Kog-r, Kab, In search of little Kit, 9 
 
 Itoslin, life at. after his Nyfe s death. 384-3J0. 
 
 Uouth, Dr. M. J., President of Magdalen Col- 
 Rover, the dog.' and the witch, 871, 872, 889. 
 
 Russell, Lord John, 411. , 
 
 letter to the Lord Advocate on Wilson a 
 
 pension. 447.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 483 
 
 Eussell, Lor<! John ; 'Wnson's letter to, 443. 
 Russell, Itev. William, 73. 
 Riitlierfurd. Andri-w (Lord), 121, 387, 463. 
 dcuth of Mrs. liulherfurd, 457, 458. 
 
 "Bailor's Life at Sea," a favorite song of the 
 
 Professor's. 431. 
 Saturday in tlie class, 238, 239. 
 Scandler, Dr., 1!U. 
 Schotky, John, 376. 
 "Scorpiiin, the," 164, 16S. 
 Scott, Dr. James, of Glasgow, " the Odontist," 
 
 181, 182-184, 213. 
 Sox.tt, Sir Walter, 112, 130, 171. 179. 
 letter to the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, 
 
 recoinmen<liii<r Wilson for the Chair of Moral 
 
 Philosopliv, 210-212. 
 
 his vi.sil t(. Klleray.284, 285. 
 
 ScoW Mayiiziue. 160. 
 
 Sharpe, (.:. Kirkpatrick, 171, 1^7. 
 
 '•Shaving" and its iiiterruptioii.s, 4.?5. 
 
 Sheplitrd, (r., Wilsons e.xaniiner at 0.^ford, 73. 
 
 "Sliiells, Tibby," visit of the Professor and his 
 
 students to, 231. 
 Sibthorpe, Mr., 49. 
 
 Smith, Dr. (Jolin, of Inverary; his reminiscen- 
 ces of Wilson, 124-126, 140, 141. 
 Smith, John, publisher in Glasgow, 71. 
 letters to, on the publication of his poems, 
 
 101-104, 107-116. 
 
 ottered a second volume, 132, 13.3, 136. 
 
 letters on the Moral Philosophy Chair, 214, 
 
 21.5, 224, 225. 
 Smith, Kev. William ; his reminiscences of the 
 
 Professor and his chiss, 243-254. 
 Snow-ball riot, 289, 240. 
 Social hours aX Maudlin^ 50, 51. 
 Social meetings, reminiscences of, 429-431, 
 Sonnet on the hour of death, 462. 
 Sotheby, William, 72. 
 
 letter from, 335, 836. 
 
 Southey, llol)ert, SI, 130,314, 316. 
 
 Southwell, It. II., reminiscences of Wilson at 
 
 Oxford, 50-55. 
 Spain, expedition to, meditated, 98, 100. 
 Sparrow, a domesticated, 389, 438. 
 Sl)cculative Society, 117. 
 Speed in composition, .899. 
 Spenser, series of papers on, 873. 
 Spiders and their habits, 92. 
 Sporting-Jacket, the Professor in his, 229. 
 
 portrait of, 428. 
 
 Sports, early development of his passion for, 8, 
 
 4, II, 12, 24,45. 
 
 pugilistic skill, 46, 47. 
 
 attainments as a leapor, 47, 48, 95. See Pe- 
 
 destriariism. 
 
 skill in wrestling, 45, 94, 95, 127, 810, 830. 
 
 yachting, 379. 
 
 Sqiiadron, Experimental, cruise with the; let- 
 ters to Mrs. Wilson during, 340-359. 
 Stanley Shaw, 1. 
 
 Statue, i)ro|)08ed,of Wilson, 463, 4f4. 
 St. M ary 's Loch, the Professor and his " children" 
 
 at, 231. 
 6t.-ell, John, R. S. A., 463. 
 Stewart, Dugald, 20^, et xeq. 
 Stewart, Mr., of Inverhadden. 1.54. 
 Stewart, Mr., of Uallaohuli.sh. 12-3. 
 Stewart, William, autlior of Highland Sketcries, 
 
 126. 
 Buewart, Sir Henry, 807. 
 
 Stoddart. Sir John, 273. 
 
 Stoddart, T. T., 238. 
 
 Street scene, a, 424, 43.5. 
 
 Strolling jduyers, 48. 
 
 Stud, tit, character as a, 'ee College life. 
 
 Stiulents, intereouise with, 231, 234-239. 
 
 care in e.xamininL' their essays, 253. 
 
 Study, the Professor" s, 31)6. 397. 
 
 Swiuton, Professor Archibald, 23S. 
 
 Syms. the. 2. 
 
 grandfather and grandmother of Wilson, 
 
 20, 21. 
 Svm, Catharine, 21.140. 
 Sym, Robert ("Timothy Tickler"), 2, 20, 176, 
 
 179. 
 Synge, Edward, 50. 
 '•Syntax, Dr.," an Edinburgh character, 241, 242 
 
 Talfoukd, Sir Thomas Noon, letter from, on his 
 absence from the lUirns Festival, 416, 417. 
 
 Tarland, niarket-ilays at, •23'2. 
 
 T.iylor, Misses, 134. 
 
 "Teogar, oure John's," 4. 
 
 Tennant, Professor William, of St. Andrews, 
 13-2. 
 
 Tennvson, Alfred, review of his Poems, 3S9, 
 34o; 
 
 Thirlstane Castle, a summer at, 371-374. 
 
 Thomson, Rev. Dr. Andrew, 171, 190. 
 
 Thoms<<n, Thomas, 271, 27'2, i&i. 
 
 Thorp, Rev. Charles, 73. 
 
 "Timothy Tickler," see Sym, Robert 
 
 Tinkers, adventure with, 140. 
 
 Tipperarv shillelaghs, 49. 
 
 Tt.ilette, peculiarities of Wilson's, 435. 
 
 Tonantoul, 126, 14.5. 
 
 a<iventun' at the fair, 146, 14T. 
 
 Torrance, 34, 71, 77, 
 
 Tory, anecdotes of the dog, 390, 891. 
 
 "Ti-ials of Margaret Lyndsay," 282. 
 
 Tytler, Fraser, 121, 171. 
 
 Ullock, Mrs., 134, 185. 
 
 W.,Miss, of Dvchmont, 8.3, 84. 
 
 Wakelield, Edward Gibbon, 294, 295. 
 
 Wales, excursion in, 67. 
 
 Warden, Mr., 346. 
 
 Wardlaw, Rev. Dr., 214. 
 
 Wateh. the Professor and his, 435, 436. 
 
 Watson, liishop, 81,114. 
 
 Watson, George, 205, 297. 
 
 Wats.iU, Richard, 90, 93, 321. 
 
 Watson, Miss I)., letter from, 886, 337. 
 
 Watts. Alaric A_ 264, 317. 
 
 Waugh. Edwin, 95. 
 
 Whics, their opjiosition to Wilson when can- 
 didate for the Chairof Moral Philosophy, •202. 
 20(5. 
 
 White, Rev. James, of Bonchurch, 864,365. 
 
 ^\ ilkie. Sir David. 31(i. 
 
 Wilson, Andrew. '2, 115. 
 
 Wils.n, Blair, 4;}4. 
 
 letters to, 808, 809, 48S-441, 450, 452. 
 
 Wilson, James, 171. 
 
 Wilson, Robert Sym, of Woodburn, 446. 
 Wilson, Mrs., senior, family of, 2. 
 
 renio\es with the family to Edinburgh, If 
 
 her domestic management, 119-121. 
 
 herdeath,276,277,
 
 484 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 "Hilson, Mr8.. jnnior, 105, 106, 112. 
 
 her pedestrian tour in the Highlands. 122- 
 
 129. 
 
 .-iccitlcnt to, 276, 2T7. 
 
 1-tters to her sister, Miss Penny, 187, ISS, 
 
 20:. 20C, 2J2, 32>. .3>9, 3S1, 3s2. 
 
 her <i.-:ith, 3v2, 3s>3. 
 
 Wilson Faniilv, 2. 
 Wilson's Hal!,' Taisley, 1. 
 Wlnderuiere L-ilie, 69, 78. 
 
 boatini; on, *S. 
 
 regattas at. 97, 2S5. 
 
 Woodburn. visit to his brother at, 446. 
 
 takes up his abode there, 446-455. 
 
 Wordsworth, William, letter to, 26-32. 
 
 Wordsworth, William ; first meeting with, 81. 
 
 his "White Doe," 130. 
 
 Jeffrey's estimate of his poetry, 138. 
 
 mentioned, 312, 817. 
 
 "Writing for Blackwood," its significance in tho 
 family, 897. 
 
 Tareow, e.\ctirsion to the, 121. 
 
 York, Dnke of, 271. 
 
 Young, Professor, of Glasgow, 15, 16. 
 
 Wilson's reminiscences of, 10. 
 
 first published poems dedicated to, 118. 
 
 Youth, remarks on the importance of this p* 
 riod of life, 8. 
 
 THE END.
 
 
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