CHRISTOPHER WORTH 
 
 A MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON 
 
 I.ATJi PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EUINKURU1I 
 
 COMPILED 
 
 FROM FAMILY PAPERS AND OTHER SOURCES 
 
 BY HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 MRS. GORDON 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, D. C. L. 
 
 KLU IOK ()!< TIIK NOCTKS AMJSROtSlANyK, MTO 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONK VOLUME 
 
 NEW YORK 
 W. J. WIDDLETON 
 
 (SUCCKSSOR TO J. S. REDFIELD) 
 
 1863. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1SG3, 
 
 BY W. J. \VIDDLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk s Otiice of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of 
 
 New York. 
 
 
 MOBEA & Mfl-LER STKKKoTYFEKfi. 
 
 15 Vandewater Street. 
 
 I HINTKU BY 0. A. ALVOKD. 
 

 U 
 
 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 JOHN WILSON was, confessedly, the greatest magazine writer 
 of his time. From the establishment of Blackwoo$s Maga 
 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 Blaclcwood, 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, Grabbe 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 impartiality. He 
 
 
11 PREFACE 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, 
 wicked, or tricky, in none. His home affections were deep- 
 rooted, and all who knew him loved him dearly. From the 
 wild mirth, which he delighted to throw into the immortal 
 " Noctes," 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 Blackwood? s Mag 
 azine, and particularly to the " Noctes." 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 " Noctes," 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 " Noctes 
 Ambrosianse," 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 
 after 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. 
 PHILADELPHIA, April 4, 1863. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE with much misgiving taken upon myself the duty of 
 writing 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 Blackwootfa 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. 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 I have availed myself of the letters of my father s principal 
 correspondents, 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 other 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 Bonhard, and Mr. John Boyd, Publisher, 
 I am obliged for their kindness in placing at my disposal the 
 correspondence connected with the publication respectively of 
 the Isle of Palms and of 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 Nieolson, Advocate, I am es 
 pecially indebted : his warm encouragement aided my labors, 
 and his judicious advice guided me in the arrangement of my 
 materials, 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 short of expectation, will prove ac 
 ceptable to my friends and that portion of the public who love 
 and respect the name of JOHN WILSON. 
 
 EDINBURGH, October, 1862. 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Paisley Nursery Amusements His First Fish Sermon Oure John s Teegar Mr. Peddie s 
 School Life in the Mearns Manse Pages 1-14 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GLASGOW COLLEGE. 
 1797-1803. 
 
 His Father s Death Enters College Professor Jardine Professor Young Diary in 1801 Por 
 trait by Eaeburn Student Life in Glasgow Fondness for Barley-sugar Walking Feats Es 
 say Writing Companions Letter to Wordsworth 14-b2 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 LOVE AND POETRY. LIFE AT OXFORD. 
 
 1803- 08. 
 
 Dychmont First Love Poems to Margaret Oxford Studies Expenses Commonplace-books 
 Cock-fighting Pugilism Leaping Reminiscences of Magdalen College by a Fellow-student 
 College Anecdotes 32-55 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 THE ORPHAN MAID. UNIVERSITY CAREER. 
 1803- 08. 
 
 Letters to Margaret and to Mr. Findlay Letter from Mr. Blair Letters to Mr. Findlay Let 
 ter from Mr. Blair Examination for his Bachelor Degree Letters to Mr. Findlay End of the 
 Love Story 55-77 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAY. 
 
 1807- !!. 
 
 Description of Elleray The Old Cottage The New House First Meeting with Wordsworth; 
 with De Quincey The Anglers 1 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 un to Lick" Gale House Its Inmates 
 A Ball; a Regatta, etc. Letter to Mr. Harden Letter to De Quincey Poetry Letters to Mr. 
 J. Smith, Publisher ... 77-104 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MARRIAGE. THE ISLE OF PALMS. 
 
 Letter to Mr. Findlay, on the day of his Marriage Letters to Mr. Smith about " The Isle of Palms" 
 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 Elleray Letter to De Quincey .................................... Pages 105-119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 LIFE IN EDINBURGH. THE BAR. THE HIGHLANDS. ELLERAT. 
 
 1815- ! 7. 
 
 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 
 Highlands 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 
 Dingwall Adventure at Tomintoul Mrs. Grant of Laggan s remarks on Wilson At Elleray 
 Patrick Eobertson ... ... 119-152 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD S MAGAZINE. 
 1817- 20. 
 
 His Connection with Periodical Literature Edinburgh Monthly Magazine "Letter to Mrs. Wil 
 son from Kinloch Kannoch Review of Lalla Rookh 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 Blackwood 
 Early Editors and Contributors The Scots Magazine A change in the Management Number 
 VII. The New Contributors The Scorpion The Leopard Mr. Lockhart John Wilson Mr. 
 Robert Sym James Hogg Mystifications Leigh Hunt and Sir J. G. Dalyell More Mystifica 
 tion Dr. James Scott, 1 Miller Street, Glasgow, alias The Odontist Captain 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 Playfair 111 Results Hypocrisy Unveiled Correspond 
 ence with the Author Letter from Mr. Morehead Letter to Mr. Morehead Letter from Jeff 
 rey, vindicating the Edinburgh Review from the Charge of Infidelity 153-198 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 
 
 1820. 
 
 Removes to Ann Street Sir Henry Raeburn Sir John Watson Gordon Sir William Allan- 
 Death of Dr. Thomas Brown Announces himself as a Candidate for the Chair of Moral Philos 
 ophySir 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. 
 Wilson 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 198-225 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 
 
 Ills 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 Eeminiscences of the winter of 1830 A Market-day at Tarland A kind 
 Teacher A Dinner at Gloucester Place His Class Saturday A Snow-ball Eiot Any Old 
 Clothes? "Sir Peter Nimmo" and the poet Wordsworth Dr. Syntax A "Conservative" Meet 
 ingPolitics in the Class Kev. Mr. Smith s Recollections of 1837 As a Lecturer His Course 
 for 1837-1838 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 1850-1 851 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 XI. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 
 
 1820- 26. 
 
 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 Laidiaw, 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 Party Politics 
 Literary Gossip Old Slop and the New Times A Daily Paper at the Breakfast-table, etc. 
 Letter from De Quincey Hill on Education The "Breeches" Eeview "A Confession" Acci 
 dent to Mrs. Wilson Letter to Mr. E. Findlay Death of Mrs. Wilson, Senior Letter from 
 Principal Baird Eemoval to Gloucester Place The Proposed Chair of Political Economy- 
 Letters from Mr. Patrick Eobertson, Mr. Huskisson, Mr. Canning, and Sir Eobert 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 Rmie/w 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 Wangh," etc. Notes to 
 Mr. Ballantyne Innerleithen Letter to Mr. Fleming, Eayrig, on " Christopher North," etc. 
 Letters to Mrs. Wilson Hartley Coleridge Contributions for 1828 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 299-328 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 
 
 1830- 32. 
 
 Home Life in Gloucester Place Letters to Mrs. Wilson from Penny Bridge and Westmoreland- 
 Homeric Papers Letter from Sotheby Letter from Miss Watson A Conservative Meeting 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 and Liberal Commentary Criticism on Tennyson Letter to Mrs. "Wilson on his Cruise with 
 
 the Experimental Squadron London Greenwich H. M. 8. the "Vernon" Sheerness 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 828-350 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1832- 37. 
 
 Letter from an Author to a Critic Political Feeling Paper on Ebenezer Elliot, and Letter from 
 him" Come and break a ton" of iron Letter from Mr. Audubon From Eev. James White 
 of Bonchurch Letters to James Hogg "The Shepherd s Reconciliation" An Autumn in 
 Ettrick Rover and the Witch Pets A Dog Fight 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 369-883 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1837- 44. 
 
 Depression of Spirits Life at Roslin 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 Note to Delta on the Dispersion of his Aviary Work for the 
 Tear Letters to Mr. Aird on Burns Had Burns Family Worship at Dumfries? The Pro 
 fessor s Study Writing for Black wood Habits of Composition Letter to Mr. Findlay from 
 Rothesay Cladich A Fairy s Funeral Letter to his Daughter describing Billholm Review 
 of Macaulay s Lays Letter to Dr. Moir 383-407 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE 
 
 1844- 48. 
 
 ( haracteristic Letters from John Gibson Lockhart The Kemp Absurdity Maga Novel Read 
 ing, etc. Letter to his son John on Domestic matters " The Kem n 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 1845 British Critics 
 Elleray 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 Melancholy Reflec 
 tionsLetter 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 Auld 
 Lang Syne" A Quaint Ballad" 407-482 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CLOSING YEARS. 
 
 1849- 54 
 
 - Dies Boreales" Rituals of the Church The Scottish Service Marriage of his youngest daugh 
 ter to Professor Ay toun Playful ways Toilet peculiarities His Watch Hat Snuff-box- 
 Gloves, etc., etc. Horror of Gas Love of ChildrenLetter 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 Kussell to the Lord Advocate, desiring 
 him to have the Queen s intentions mentioned to Wilson Eeceives the News Letter of Ac 
 knowledgment to Lord John Kussell Takes up his abode at Woodburn 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 Eepresentation 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 Kobert Findlay, 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 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 L Public Funeral and Proposed Statue 483 
 
 II. Correspondence relating to Janus 464 
 
 III. List of Professor Wilson s Contributions to SlacktooocTa Magazine from 1826 470 
 
 INDEX , . . .477 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 ABTI8T. PAGB 
 
 PORTRAIT FROM A PHOTOGRAPH (FRONTISPIECE), . D. o. HILL. 
 
 " THE STRICTURES OF THE EDINBURGH EEVIEW, CON 
 SIDERED AT A PRIVATE MEETING OF THE CAPUT," j. G. LOCKHART. 54 
 
 MR. PATRICK ROBERTSON, PROF. E. FORBES. 151 
 
 THE " LEOPARD," J. G. LOCKHART. 165 
 
 THE "SCORPION," DO. 169 
 
 A SCOTCH MINISTER, ...... DO. 173 
 
 A SCOTCH JUDGE, DO. 177 
 
 MR. GIBSON LOCKHART, DO. 185 
 
 SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, 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, where 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 affection 
 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 Gleriiffer 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 Elderslie ? 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 family residence, to which, 
 after the birth of John, their first son but fourth child, Mr. and 
 1 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson removed. It is a stately building, with large gardens, 
 and an imposing entrance. The windows to the back command an 
 extensive view of a beautiful undulating country, with the nearer 
 prospect of a woody vale and rich sloping fields, 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 
 wife, a lady of rare intellect, wit, humor, wisdom, and grace. Her 
 maiden name was Margaret Sym. Her brother Robert is not 
 unknown to fame, as the " Timothy Tickler" of the Nodes Ambro- 
 siance. 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 
 that 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 character in rearing a large family of 
 sons and daughters. 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 
 had taught them betimes the way that they should go.* 
 
 * It will not be out of place here to give the names of the ten children born to Mr. Wilson and 
 his wife: 
 
 1. Grace Wilson, married George Cashel, Esquire, Ireland; died, 1835. 2. Jane Wilson, died 
 unmarried, 1835. 3. Margaret Wilson, married John Ferrier, Esquire, W. 8., Edinburgh; died, 
 1881. 4. John Wilson, married Miss Jane Penny ; died, 1854 5. Andrew Wilson, married Miss 
 Aitken, Glasgow; died, 1812. 6. Henrietta Wilson, died young. 7. William Wilson, died in 
 infancy 8. Robert Sym Wilson, married Miss Eliza Penny. 9. Elizabeth Wilson, married Sir 
 John M n Neill, G. C. B. 10. James Wilson, married Miss Isabella Keith, Edinburgh; died, 1856 
 
BOYHOOD. 
 
 In his childish years, John Wilson was as beautiful and animated 
 a creature as ever played in the sunshine. That passion for 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 apron-strings. 
 He was but three years old when he rambled oif 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 go wans and the greensward, for he has 
 whapped him right over his head and far away, 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 dinner, 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 murderer, 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 
 favorite; they looked up to his superior intelligence, and wondered 
 at all he did. Of in-door amusements, 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 "WILSON. 
 
 d ceuvre. So much was it appreciated, that he was 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 other 
 servants assembled to listen to his warning voice. The text chosen 
 was one from his own fertile brain, drawn from that field of expe 
 rience in which he was already becoming an adept, and handled 
 not without shrewd application to moral duties. These 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 
 accomplishment he regretted in after life having laid aside, before 
 he had acquired sufficient skill to enable him 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 Mrs. 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. James 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. " Strange that, with all 
 our love of nature and of art, wo never were a painter. True that in boyhood we were no con 
 temptible hand at a lion or a tiger and sketches by us of such cats springing or preparing to 
 spring in keelivine, dashed off some fifty or sixty years ago, might well make Edwin Lamlseer 
 stare." 
 
BOYHOOD. 5 
 
 Peddle prepared him to enter upon more arduous studies. He left 
 the teacher of his childhood with regret. 
 
 The kindness and partiality 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 good 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 bis 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 aifairs. A surly or ignorant master 
 might scathe those blossoms, which a man of sense and reflection, 
 by his fostering care, would rear up till they became bright con 
 summate flowers of knowledge and virtue." 
 
 The Manse of the neighboring parish of Mearns was the next 
 place 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 w T hose house he- 
 passed many of his sweetest youthful days, and who regarded him 
 with a paternal, as he always looked up to him with a filial 
 regard." That warm heart was ever ready with its tribute of 
 aifection to the memory of good men ; and amid the tender recol 
 lections of the past, hallowed by sentiments f gratitude, no place 
 is more touchingly alluded to than " the dear parish of Mearns." 
 Whoever wishes to find a perfect 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 Jtecrea- 
 tions, particularly to the papers entitled " Our Parish," " Christo- 
 
6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 pher in his Sporting Jacket," and " May Day." From the latter 
 I cannot resist the quotation of the opening paragraph, perhaps 
 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 Highland 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 play were equally 
 enjoyed, and he threw his whole energy into the one or other in 
 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 Mearns stood to his pupils, is given in a note from 
 Sir John Maxwell of Pollok, 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, and vivacity of his character, that one morning, I 
 
BOYHOOD. < 
 
 having been permitted to go and fish in the burn near the kirk, and 
 1 laving caught a fine trout, was so pleased, that I repaired to the 
 minister s study to exhibit my prize to Dr. M Latcliie, who was 
 then reading Greek with him. He, seeing my trout, started up ; 
 and, addressing his reverend teacher, said, I must go now to fish. 
 Leave was granted, and I willingly resigned to him my rod and 
 line 5 and before dinner he re-appeared with a large dish of fish, 
 on which he and his companions feasted, not without that admira 
 tion of his achievement which youth 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 loved 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 was 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, Der Einzige, 
 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 
 things more sublime of rising, without strain or artifice, from the 
 level of common and material objects into the serene heights of 
 poetic, philosophic, and religious contemplation. Not in vain was 
 this brilliant youth, with his capacity for every form of activity, 
 bodily and mental, his passionate love of nature, and his deep rev- 
 
 * " Soliloquy on the Seasons," Wilson s Works. 
 
s 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 erence for all things high 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 puerility 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 boy is father of the man, 
 
 and thus libelling the author of their existence. . . . Not 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 procession. 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 
 off 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 
 the hand, yet impenetrable to the feet of fear as the stone dungeon s 
 
 * Wilson s Work*. 
 
BOYHOOD. 9 
 
 thraldom. If the mist had remained, that would have been nothing ; 
 only a still cold wet seat on a stone ; but as a trot becomes a gallop 
 soon, in spite of curb and rein, so a Scotch mist becomes a shower 
 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 wee Kit 
 quaked, and almost died within him in the desert. In this age of 
 Confessions, need we be ashamed to own, in the face of the whole 
 world, that we sat us down and cried ! The small brown 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, white-breasted peaseweep, walked close by us in 
 the mist ; and, sight of wonder, that made even in that quandary by 
 the quagmire our heart beat with joy lo ! never seen before, and 
 seldom since, three wee peaseweeps, not three days old, little bigger 
 than shrew-mice, all covered with blackish down, interspersed with 
 long white 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 we were Lord Eglinton s gamekeeper, 
 with a sudden shrill cry that thrilled to the marrow in our cold 
 backbone, flapped and fluttered herself away into the mist, while 
 the little black bits of down disappeared, like devils, into the moss. 
 The croaking of the frogs grew terrible. And worse and worse, 
 close at hand, seeking his lost cows 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 whole world was filled 
 with light. The frogs seemed to sink among the powheads ; as for 
 the red bull who had tossed the tinker, he was 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 
 pericranium, and the thin tail acock behind) ; and by-and-by step 
 ping into Hazel-Deanhead for a drap and a chitterin piece, by the 
 1* 
 
10 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 time we reach 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 little hot whiskey-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 season continued all the year. They 
 must have been of admirable materials and workmanship ; for 
 neither of them so much as once burst 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 discharge ; 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 thought by 
 us c an awfu scatterer ; a qualification 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, chuckystanes, 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 fire ; habits of 
 which it was impossible, for us at least, to break her by the most 
 assiduous hammering of many a new series of flints ; but such was 
 the high place she justly occupied in the affection 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 bond fide t go off, 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 
 girning, and head slightly averted over the right shoulder, till 
 Muckle-mou d Meg, who, like most other Scottish females, took 
 things leisurely, went off 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 which 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 past 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 
 senior; but in all games, in running, in jumping, in hockey, he was 
 the first and fastest ; and he could run faster, and walk longer than 
 
 * Wilsons Works. 
 
12 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 any of us." Another says : " He excited our admiration by his ex 
 cellence in fishing ;" while, 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 affectionate 
 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 proportion 
 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 
 Yearn, and nourished " a youth sublime " in the pure and healthful 
 atmosphere of the dear old Manse. 
 
 I pass with reluctance from this happy period, to which my 
 father s heart ever turned with a freshness of delight which years 
 and sorrows seemed only to increase. The chapter may fitly 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 mountain, we felt that most probably 
 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 passion, 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 obey. Our books were flung aside nor did our old 
 
BOYHOOD. 13 
 
 master and minister 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 with 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 affecting 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 with it no more. 
 The thoughts that possessed our most secret bosom failed not by 
 the least observant to be discovered in our open eyes. They who 
 had liked us before, now loved us ; our faults, 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 humblest 
 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 ; but in 
 one thing at least we were Spartans we revered the head of old 
 age. 
 
14: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " And many at last were the kind some the sad farewells, ere 
 long whispered by us 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. 
 
 GLASGOW 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 fell to the ground in a swoon, 
 and had to be carried away. Such an effect, on a frame more than 
 commonly robust, indicated a depth of feeling and passion not 
 often seen in our clime among boys, or, in its outer manifestations 
 
 * " Christmas Dreams," Wilson s Works. 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 15 
 
 at least, among men. The aspect and the character of Wilson have 
 sometimes suggested to the imagination those blue-eyed and long 
 haired Norsemen, who made their songs amid the smiting of 
 swords, who were as swift of foot and strong of arm as they were 
 skilled in lore and ready in counsel, fierce to their enemies, tender 
 and true to their friends. And this little incident reminds one 
 more 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 IT 9 7- 9 8, attending other classes in 
 due course down to 1803. During those years he resided in the 
 family of Professor Jardine, the same prudence which had dictated 
 the choice of his earlier instructors being here again conspicuous, 
 and the results not less satisfactory. His life in Glasgow was a 
 happy one ; and, under the combined influences of admirable pro 
 fessorial 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 aifection, 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 delightful illus 
 tration. To Jardiue, 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 Professor of Logic, the latter of Greek. 
 
16 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 said and did his words of kind praise and kind censure his grav 
 ity and his graciousness will no doubt be dwelt upon 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 : 
 
 " We 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 of 
 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 
 when 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 
 transport of sheer verbal ecstasy about the particle dpa, into an 
 ecstasy quite as vehement, and a thousand times more noble, about 
 the deep pathetic 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- 
 
 * Blackwood, July, 1818. 
 
 t "Homer and his Translators," Wilson s Works. 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 17 
 
 paneling 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 flames 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 companions 
 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 pages 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 Christopher 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 he never could do or say 
 anything outre or startling, can that be a good picture of him we 
 have seen and heard of as the long-maned and mighty, whose eyes 
 were " as the lightnings of fiery flame," and his voice like an organ 
 bass ; 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 primitive to heed 
 
 * Peter s Letters. 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 much the niceties of custom ? So people ask and think who 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, with 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 character that might surprise the unin 
 itiated even more than Raeburn s portrait. 
 
 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 
 stature above his years, combined with the knowledge of his good 
 prospects in life, made him an object of more attention than would 
 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. He 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 fact, 
 seem to regulate his minutest affairs, 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 
 
 notorious, and to a certain extent unimportant, alluding to names 
 of persons, the mention of which, 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, 
 were 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 4 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 different branches, has 
 ever been famous for bad voices, but good ears ; and we think we 
 hear 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 
 ours used to be at seconds! Yet the most woful failures were 
 rapturously 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 the 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 peculiar and appro 
 priate charms of their own ; as didst thou, Emily the Wild-cap ! " 
 
 " 1st of January, 1801. Union with Ireland celebrated; Castle 
 guns fired ; no illumination. Called on Mr. Sym (Timothy Tickler 
 of later date). 
 
 "2J of January. Ball at our house: danced with the Misses 
 M Donald, Corbett, Fairfax, 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 expenses 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 pervaded 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 
 the 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 good 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 , Alick Blair, sounding out, Ohon 
 a ree ! ohon a ree / Your grandmother ready dressed at her wheel 
 in the parlor, your aunts at their work, Blair announced in the din 
 ing-room, and me the only one who would join him. On entering, 
 I find him groping in the press and howking out a book, part of 
 which was read with his peculiar burr"* 
 
 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 ornee 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 Trials 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 fine 
 view of Both well 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 fuir- 
 haired, animated boy was my companion by the Calder, in races on 
 
 * The writer of this letter, Miss Catharine Sym, long known in Glasgow as one of its most 
 original characters, was the only unmarried daughter 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 ago, at eighty years of age, she returned to her nephew a correspondence, 
 and many juvenile manuscripts that had passed between them in the days of his boyhood. Not 
 long before his death he destroyed those papers, which, had they been extant, might have supplied 
 Bouie interesting materials for this part of the Memoir, 
 
22 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Dychmont Hill, on foot or with our ponies. Whatever he did was 
 done with all his soul, whether in boy s play or in those studies ap 
 pointed him by my uncle, Professor Jardine. His beaming coun 
 tenance and eager manner showed his deep interest in all he did. 
 
 "I recollect suffering 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 c 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-book to learn. 
 
 " lOtk. Began to learn the flute by myself. 
 
 " March 1 1 th. Patterson came to-day. Liked Patterson pretty 
 well ; agreed with him for sixteen lessons. Terms, a guinea. 
 Bought and paid a German flute. 
 
 " llth. 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 Elleray, 
 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 u 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- 
 
 * " North. Do yon like my voice, James ? I hope you do." 
 
 Shepherd. I wad ha e kent it, Mr. North, on the Tower o Babel, on the day o the great hub 
 bub. I think Soerates maun ha e had just sic a voice. Ye canna weel ca t saft for even in its 
 laigh notes there is a sort o birr; a sort o dirl that betokens power. Ye canna ca t hairsh, for 
 angry as ye may be at times, its aye in tune, frae the fineness o 1 your ear for music. Ye canua 
 ca t eherp, for it s aye sae nat ral; andflett it could never be, gin you were even gi en owerby the 
 doctors. It s maist the only voice I ever hoard that you can say is at aince persuasive and com 
 manding you micht fear : t, but you maun love "t" NocU. 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 23 
 
 yond vocal melody; his sweet, solemn voice filled the air with 
 sounds that, while they melted away, seemed still to linger 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 in the way some of his memoranda 
 are mixed up, in humorous contrast, the important and trivial side by 
 side. Thus we have 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 13th. Called on my grandmother; went to the sale 
 of books ; had a boxing-match of three rounds with Lloyd beat him/ 
 
 * 14th. 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 with 
 ease; found a sack on the road." 
 
 The result of the sale seems to have been most satisfactory. Two 
 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 Rambler, 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, 6d." This taste is fre 
 quently indulged ; the sum seems to increase too, by degrees, and 
 many a shilling was spent at Baxter s upon this favorite luxury, for 
 which 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. 
 
 "January \1th. Agreed to-day with Mr. Jardine to give up the 
 Greek class, as I am too throng. 
 
 "20tfA. General examination to-day; went to the Speculative 
 Society ; spoke as a stranger. 
 
 "21s. -Finished my exercise upon Logic. 
 
 " 23c?. Called upon my grandmother ; gave up the Greek pri 
 vate, finding I had too much to do this winter. 
 
 "February 5th. Finished my Socratic mode of dialogue to-day. 
 
V* MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " April 2 6 th Got the first prize in the Logic class. 
 
 " May 1st. Prizes distributed ; got three of them." 
 
 After this date there is no more allusion 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 effect 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 from 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 Napier ; tried him a race ; ran three miles on the Paisley 
 road for a wager against a chaise, along with Andrew Napier ; beat 
 them both" 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 shedding? 
 of the roads to Renfrew and Paisley, in two minutes within 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 
 fairly won. Nobody could match your father in the college garden 
 at hop, step, and jump. Macleod (now the Rev. Dr. Norman 
 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 4th. Finished my poem on Slavery. 
 
 " *lth. Began an essay on the Faculty of Imagination. 
 
 August llth. Finished the first volume of Laing s History of 
 Scotland. te 
 
 August 30th. Made considerable progress in my essay upon 
 Imagination ; finished the second division of my exercise. 
 
 * Mr. Kobert Findlay. 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 25 
 
 "31st. Stayed at home all day; wrote an account of the Mas 
 sacre of Glencoe." 
 
 "September IQth. 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, though 
 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 prominent position in the 
 world 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 
 Hill, 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 Mr. William Horton Lloyd, an Englishman of large 
 fortune (whose beautiful sister married Mr. Leonard Horner), Mr. 
 
26 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "William Dunlop, and Archibald Hamilton, a distant relative of my 
 father, who afterwards 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 signs of future greatness. Among the earliest 
 and most enthusiastic, but also most discriminating of their admir 
 ers, was young Wilson, who conveyed his sentiments to the poet in 
 a letter of considerable length, written in a spirit of profound humil 
 ity, at the same time with perfect independence of expression. It is 
 as follows : 
 
 " MY 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, will ever make me regard you with gratitude, 
 and the consciousness of feeling those emotions you delineate makes 
 me proud to regard your character with esteem and admiration. la 
 whatever view you regard my behavior in writing this letter, 
 whether you consider it as the effect of ignorance and conceit, or 
 correct taste and refined feeling, I will, in my own mind, be satisfied 
 with your opinion. To receive a letter from you would afford me 
 more 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 me; but still I would have the happiness to think that the 
 neglect even of the virtuous cannot extinguish the sparks of sensi 
 bility, or diminish the luxury arising from refined emotions. That 
 luxury, sir, I have enjoyed ; that luxury your poems have afforded 
 me, and for this reason I now address you. Accept my thanks for 
 the raptures you have occasioned me, and however much you may 
 be inclined to despise me, know at least that these thanks are sincere 
 and fervent. To you, sir, mankind are indebted for a species of 
 poetry which will continue to afford pleasure while respect is paid 
 to virtuous feelings, and while sensibility continues to pour forth 
 tears of rapture. 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 opinion, 
 admits of no doubt. Both the thoughts and expressions may be 
 tried by that standard. You have seized upon those feelings that 
 most deeply interest the heart, and that also come within the sphere 
 of common observation. You do nob write merely for the pleasure 
 of philosophers and men of improved taste, but for all who think 
 for all who feel. If we have ever known the happiness arising from 
 parental or fraternal love ; if we have ever known that delightful 
 sympathy of souls connecting persons 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 amiable 
 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 ought 
 to constitute the subject of poetry, and cannot fail of exciting interest 
 in every heart. But, sir, your merit does not solely consist in delin 
 eating the real features of the human mind under those different 
 
28 MEMOIR OF JOHN 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 effects 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 appeai-ances of external nature have 
 upon the mind when in a state of strong feeling. We must all have 
 been sensible, that when under the influence of grief, Nature, 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 effect. But you have not stopped here, 
 you have shown the effect which the qualities of external nature 
 have in forming 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. 
 This 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 various phenomena in the human 
 mind. It serves to explain those diversities in the structure of the 
 mind which have baffled 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. May not the 
 face of external nature through different quarters of the globe account 
 for 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 effects 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 effect 
 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 you ; and I trust 
 that if it be founded on nature, your mind, so long accustomed to 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 29 
 
 philosophical investigation, will perceive how far it may be carried, 
 and what consequences are likely to result from it. 
 
 a Your poems, sir, are of very great 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 affections 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. They show that such a thing as per 
 fect misery does not exist. They flash on our souls conviction of 
 immortality. Considered therefore in this view, Lyrical Ballads 
 is, to use your own words, the book which I value next to my Bi 
 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 much 
 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 this plan that, 
 in my estimation, you have surpassed every poet 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 opinion, 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 enter into the 
 
30 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 feelings of some of the parties concerned. On this principle, many 
 feelings which are undoubtedly natural, are improper subjects of 
 poetry, and many situations, no less natural, incapable of being de 
 scribed so as to produce the grand effect 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 with 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 the 
 end you intended to produce by it ; the affection of Betty Foy has 
 nothing in it to excite interest. It exhibits merely the effects 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 her. "We are unable to enter into her 
 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 affection is indeed 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 perfectly deplorable, and, in short, to me it appears almost 
 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 from the perusal of it, and the only cause I could 
 
GLASGOW COLLEGE. 31 
 
 assign for it was the one now mentioned. This inability to receive 
 pleasure from descriptions such as that of The Idiot Boy, is, I 
 am convinced, founded upon established feelings of human 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 this case you have delineated feelings 
 which, though natural, do not please, but which create a certain 
 degree of disgust and 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 well 
 managed, and serves to establish a very curious and important 
 truth. In short, every thing 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 are 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 form an improper opinion of 
 your genius. In reading any composition, most certainly the plea 
 sure we 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 who allow themselves 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 performance. I have seen a most excellent 
 painting of an idiot, but it created in me inexpressible disgust. I 
 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 effect in 
 
32 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN 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, arid make a fellow-creature happy, by dedicating a 
 few moments to the instruction of an admirer and sincere friend, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " PROFESSOR JARDINE S COLLEGE, GLASGOW, 
 
 24th May, 1802. 
 "WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Esq., 
 Ambleside, Westmoreland, England." * 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOVE AND POETRY. LIFE AT OXFORD. 
 
 1803- 08. 
 
 " THEN, after all the joys and sorrows of these few years, which 
 we now call transitory, but which our BOYHOOD 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 
 lasted, long, various, and agonizing, 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 we only these 
 incidental and sometimes imaginative allusions to guide us, no more 
 
 * The answer to this letter will be found at page 192, vol. i., of Memoirs of W. Wordsworth, 
 by C. Wordsworth, D. D., 1851. For the foregoing 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 whom it was addressed. 
 
LOVE AND POETRY. 33 
 
 could be said by the veracious biographer, than that, at the age 
 when nature so ordains, this ardent and precocious youth was pas 
 sionately in love. So brief and general a statement, however, would 
 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 has 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, " Drank 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 Hamilton, 
 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 
 2* 
 
34: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 banks of the Clyde and Calder were all the favorite walks of John 
 Wilson, for there were " Ha Iside," " Calder Bank," " Millheugh, ? 
 "Calderwood," and "Torrance," which, in later years, carried from 
 Dychmont 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 " orphan-maid" of "high talent and mental graces," with fascina 
 tion of manners sufficient to rivet the regard of a youth keenly alive 
 to 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 youthful companions. During winter they lived in the 
 College buildings, and were frequent visitors at Professor Jardine 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 gentler sex, and gives them an advantage in society rarely 
 possessed by boys at the same age. Thus Margaret, though no 
 longer a school-girl, was delighted to find a companion so congenial 
 as to excite at once her interest and friendship ; while young Wil 
 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 long ago 
 wrote its touching confession in these words : 
 
 " Brama assai, poco spera, e nulla chiede." 
 Trace this story further, and we see two years later that deeper 
 
LOVE AND POETRY. 35 
 
 feelings were brought into play ; and though the high-minded Mar 
 garet gave no assurance to her lover entitling him to regard her 
 heart as bound to him, it is at least apparent that when, at the end 
 of that time, he left Scotland for Oxford, their communings had 
 been such that the heart of the young poet looked back to them as 
 recalling memories of " unmingled bliss." There is in the essay on 
 " Streams" an imaginative episode, manifestly founded on reality ; 
 but as manifestly designed to be a skilful mystification of his real 
 and unforgotten experience. As he naively 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, and tears." 
 
 Of his life, from the date last mentioned to the time of his leav 
 ing Glasgow for Oxford, I have unfortunately no memorial in the 
 shape of letters, his correspondence with his aunt already referred 
 to, who 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 which are two dedica 
 tory verses, is the inscription, "Poems on various subjects, by John 
 Wilson," with a poetical quotation below. On the next leaf is this 
 inscription : 
 
00 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 TO 
 MARGARET, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING LITTLE POEMS, 
 WHICH OWE ANY BEAUTY THEY POSSESS 
 
 TO THE DELICACY OF HER FEELINGS. 
 AND THE EMOTIONS SHE HAS INSPIRED, 
 
 ARE, AS A SMALL MARK 
 OF HIS ESTEEM AND REGARD, 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 BY HER WARMEST FRIEND AND SINCEREST ADMIRER, 
 
 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 MAKOARET. 
 
 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 speaks of grace and virtues such as thine ; 
 
 Blessed be those hours, when, warmed by love and thee, 
 
 I poured the verse in trembling ecstasy ! 
 
 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 Contents. Poem on the Immortality of the Soul. Henry and Helen; a Tale. Caledonia, or 
 Highland Scenery. Verses 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. Feeling 
 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. Lewis. The Pains of Memory. The Sun shines bright, etc. I know some people 
 in this world, etc. A Wish. The Child of Misfortune. Mary. To a Lady who said she was not 
 
LOVE AND POETRY. 37 
 
 in which there is not some fond allusion to the lady of his love, and 
 the blissful hours spent by her side. The verses are often common 
 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 sympa 
 thies even now. Occasionally the strain rises above mere versifica 
 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 a 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 bring forth the whole 
 energies of his many-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 hoary 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 Glasgow friends ; and, in 
 the month of June, 1803, he entered as a gentleman-commoner of 
 Magdalen College. Full of life and enthusiasm, tall, strong, and 
 graceful, quick-witted, well-read, and eloquent, of open heart and 
 open hand, 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 effect produced on his mind by 
 the ancient grandeurs of Oxford, naturally 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 future opened out before him, stretching upwards to the 
 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 Cmikstone Castle. 
 Lines written in Kemnore Hermitage. Lines written at Evening. Prince Charles s Address to 
 his Army before the Battle of Culloden. Who to the pomp of burnish d gold, etc. Petition of 
 the Mearns Muir. Lines written in a glen by moonlight. Answer to the aUwe Lines. The 
 Feelings of Love. The Farewell. 
 
38 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 kissed, ere we parted, the grass and the flowers with a show of 
 filial tears having 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, 
 their 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 youthful 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 wings ! They went and 
 they returned, and still their going and coming was blessed. But am 
 bition touched us, as with the wand 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 temples. Lo ! Zeno, with his 
 arguments hard and high, beneath the porch ! Plato divinely dis 
 coursing in grove and garden ! The Stagyrite 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 was our com 
 panionship of the dead!"* 
 
 Yet these new feelings, and all that fascination which belongs to 
 novelty in " men and manners," could not efface 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 Glasgow College as my mother, and I have almost a 
 son s affection for her. It was there I gathered any ideas I may 
 
 * Old North and Young North," Wilson s Works. 
 
LIFE AT OXFORD. 39 
 
 possess ; it was there I entered upon the first pursuits of study 
 that I could fully understand or enjoy ; it was there I formed the 
 first binding and eternal friendships ; in short, it was there I passed 
 the happiest days of ray life. 
 
 " I may even there have met with 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 had 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 well 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 memory 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 suffi 
 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 him 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 
 
 * His 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. 11 I am afraid the " neces 
 sary" 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 150, which 
 may be considered moderate. But not long after there occurs this significant note : " I find that 1 
 cannot balance my accounts, therefore will henceforth keep only general ones." 
 
40 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 higher things." 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 dissipation," if 
 so he might drown the memory of an insupportable grief. All such 
 excess, however, was alien to his nature, which from 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 studies, 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 was soothed or agitated by out 
 ward circumstances. Thus, in the midst of all his sorrows, he is 
 found throwing himself not unfrequently 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. Nothing, 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.* 
 
 * "Volume I." is prefaced in the follovring philosophical style, a few days after his arrival in Ox 
 ford : the elaborate plan of study indicated was not, of course, rigidly adhered to : 
 
 "In the following pages I propose to make such remarks upon the various subjects of polite 
 literature as have been suggested to my mind during the course of my studios, by thf perusal of 
 
LIFE AT OXFORD. 4:1 
 
 It will be observed, from the extracts I have subjoined, 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 resulting 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 excited by natural causes. Unlike most juvenile essays, they 
 display no affected 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-ideal, 
 afterwards in him exemplified, of what a critic should be, whose 
 judgments will live as parts 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, theology, and poetry, will be classed under separate heads ; and if my information upon the 
 useful and interesting subject of political economy can be reduced to any short discussions upon 
 disputed or fundamental principles, or to a collection of maxims, such as form the groundwork of 
 wider inquiries, observations upon the different theories of economists will form part of my pro 
 jected plan. In following out this general view, it will frequently happen that I shall have occa 
 sion to enter fully into the discussion of questions that have been merely suggested to me by the 
 allusion of authors; and, accordingly, essays of some length will constitute a considerable part of 
 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 the 
 general characters of mankind, or the particular 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 different periods, I shall be able to 
 estimate the progress I have made in intellectual acquirements, and the various changes that have 
 taken place in my modes of thinking and feeling. 
 
 "I shall learn to know myself. In future times it will be pleasing to behold what I once was 
 and what I once thought; and if I contemplate the acquirements of my youth with any thing liko 
 contempt, it will, I trust, proceed from a conviction of real superiority and virtue. 
 
 "MAGDALEN COLLEGE, .Time 8, 1803." 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON". 
 
 an essay out of the first of these two commonplace-books, " On the 
 Poetry of Drummond," showing a most discriminating appreciation 
 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 Egyptians 
 never been remarkable for poetry ?" a curious question, which, so 
 far as I am aware, has never formed the subject of special observa 
 tion. A considerable portion of the volume is occupied with a 
 translation of Sir William Jones s Observations on Eastern Poetry, 
 and of the specimens, which are very happily rendered. Under 
 date June 27th is the sketch of a proposed poem on the flight of 
 the Israelites out of Egypt, which does not appear, however, to 
 have been 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 ; Religious Worship ; The Old Ballad Mania ; The 
 Edinburgh Review ; The Study of History ; The Neglect of Genius 
 in Britain ; The Present State of Europe ; Longinus as a Critic ; 
 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 effusions and sketches for proposed poems, with which some 
 of the volumes are to a great extent filled, belong manifestly to a 
 
LIFE 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 which most bring 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 like 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 
 sensible fellow, and, from obscure hints 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 was sorry for, and a degree of 
 stupid obstinacy that I despised. This passed ; and speaking 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 my 
 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 when 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 compound 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 words 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 close student, and I believe the first scholar in 
 
44 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the College among the gentlemen-commoners. His father is the 
 best Greek scholar in England, and I have given this 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 good 
 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 limits of becom 
 ing mirth, I never spent an hour 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 familial- 
 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 clearness of perception and 
 correctness of knowledge, without which no mind perfectly per 
 forms its work. Accuracy may in fact be called the foundation and 
 the stronghold of all properly directed mental energy. There is no 
 fault 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 I am 
 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, when 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, must 
 be taken into account in estimating the use made of his powers. No 
 
LIFE AT OXFORD. 45 
 
 doubt conscious strength is in itself a spur to high achievements, 
 and the enviable possession of great gifts of rnind 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 was 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 should also have practically en 
 couraged and greatly enjoyed the ruder pastimes of wrestling, box 
 ing, and cock-fighting, may appear to some people anomalous. For 
 the notion is not yet wholly extinct, that a poet should be a delicate 
 and dreamy being, all heart and nerves, and certainly destitute of 
 muscles ; while the philosopher 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 father studied at Oxford, there were few young gentle 
 men, with any pretensions to manliness, by whom these now pro 
 scribed amusements were not zealously patronized. 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 
 
 * Although it has been said that the sage 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. He 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 Burgon s Life of 
 Tytler : " Drinking tea there (at Woodhouselee) 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 ! 
 We thought he spoke of the weather, which was beautiful ; but he went on to detail the intense en 
 
4:6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 Elleray 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 in them and their ways. I would 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 
 4 take, but boasted to have punished, or to have been punished by 
 Wilson of Matters." \ 
 
 One anecdote may suffice in illustration of this subject, having, I 
 
 joy ment he had had in a cock-fight. Mrs. Mackenzie listened some time in silence ; then looking up 
 in his face, she exclaimed in her gentle voice, Oh, Harry, Harry, your feeling is all on paper i 1 " 
 
 * A few years earlier a u main" was fought in the kitchen of the Assembly Eooms, then un 
 finished, between the counties of Lanark and Haddington, of which Kay gives a vivid picture, 
 photographing the better known cockers who were present on the occasion. 
 
 t Edinburgh Literary Gazette, vol. i., No. 6. 
 
LIFE 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 offered to fight him. The man made no objection to 
 the proposal, but replied 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 effect 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 
 Wilson 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 effected in this 
 department of gymnastics, and speaking 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 happened to turn up." 
 
 His most remarkable feat of this kind, the fame 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 
 
4:8 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, five feet eleven 
 inches, weight, eleven stone) was admitted to be (Ireland excepted) 
 the best far leaper 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 rubbish, and 
 complacently exclaim, " How characteristic ; so like the man." Few 
 men have had more fables thus circulated regarding them than my 
 father. Perhaps the most foolish story that was 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 to to. It was 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 mere romance, " the 
 baseless fabric of a vision." 
 
 A journal of his wanderings through Wales and the south of 
 
 * " Essay on Gymnastics. 1 " 
 
LIFE AT OXFORD. 49 
 
 England, the Lake District, the Highlands, 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 scrape." 
 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 Oxford was most extensive, 
 from the learned President of his College, Dr. Routh, 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 Barney, Reginald Heber; Mr. Sib- 
 thorpe, brother of the late Colonel Sibthorpe; Mr. N". Ellison, Mr. 
 Charles Edward Grey. None of these gentlemen was 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 by a con 
 siderable noise in the High Street. Coming forth to challenge the 
 authors of the unlawful uproar, he found that " Wilson of Magda 
 len s" was the 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 friends that purposed 
 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, until 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- 
 
 *" The Tipperary shillelaghs came tumbling about Tils nob as thick as grass. This is a 
 sweet pastoral image, which we ourselves once heard employed by a very delicate and modest 
 young woman in a cottage near Limerick, when speaking of the cudgels in an affray. A broken 
 head is in Ireland always spoken of in terms of endearment; much of the same tender feel 
 ing is naturally transferred to the shillelagh that inflicted it. God bless your honor 1 said 
 the same gentle creature to us while casting an affectionate look of admiration on our walk 
 ing-stick. You would give a swate blowioith it,." 1 " Blackwood, vol. v., p. 66T. 
 3 
 
50 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 son now living who could give so many details at the end of half a 
 century." 
 
 "I became acquainted with the late Professor Wilson at Magda 
 len College, Oxford, about the year 1807 or 1808. He had already 
 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 dessert, 
 to spend the evening, and to sup, etc. 
 
 " I am not able to say who were 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, Mr. Edward Synge, of the county of Clare, saw the most 
 of him. The fact is we were a\l pigmies, both physically and men. 
 tally, to him, and therefore unsuited to general companionship. It 
 was therefore in the conviviality 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 simplicity of 
 a child with the learning of a sage. lie 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 fashion 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. He de 
 lighted in discussions, and would often advance paradoxes, even in 
 
LIFE AT OXFOKD. 51 
 
 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 for a moment his imperturbable good temper. 
 He was certainly one of the most charming social companions 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 (not 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 was) 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 he was a 
 thorough unbeliever. He was, on the contrary, of a highly pious 
 and religious mind. I may sum up his characteristics, as they ap 
 peared to me, in a few words : simplicity, kindness, learning, with 
 chivalry / for certainly his views and sentiments were highly chiv 
 alrous, and had he lived in those days, he would 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 
 sider dress ? * Silk stockings, etc., etc., was the answer. The 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 his 
 
52 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 silk stockings, which he had very carefully drawn 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 that he would commence to 
 practise the French horn ! which he did accordingly, commencing 
 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 Wilson 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, 
 inquiring all about their respective journeys, why 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 what HE could be ! 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, 
 and smoking in the common room, to very late hours. I never 
 shall forget his figure, sitting with a long earthen pipe, a great tie 
 wig on ; those wigs had descended, I fancy, from the days of Addi- 
 son (who 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 ORPHAN MAID. 55 
 
 tobacco smoke) when smoking commenced, after supper; and a 
 strange appearance we made in them ! 
 
 " His pedestrian 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 had been ? He said, in London. When 
 did you return ? This morning. How did you come ? On foot. 
 As we all expressed surprise, he said : 4 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 him 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 had 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 MAFD. 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. Southwell s statement may seem an exaggeration ; 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. 
 Lockharfs Hogarthian sketches, 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 Review," 
 which appear to have excited so much dissatisfaction, were contained in two articles in the liewieio 
 of July, 1809, and of April, 1810, in which some of the weak points of the contemporary system of 
 education at Oxford were handled with a roughness characteristic of the criticism of that period. 
 
56 aiEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 can only be regarded with indifference by those who are dead to 
 the 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 forgetfulness are sought in the tumultu 
 ous excitements of life, it does not always follow that nature be 
 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 uno ed altro disio." 
 
 So was it with John "Wilson, to the 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 Bothwell 
 Banks. So little was 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, oftenor sinking 
 him into the deepest anguish, from which he at times sought escape 
 in assumed indifference or reckless dissipation. It shows how 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 in the 
 indulgence of a fond hope and engrossing passion, ending in a 
 sacrifice to duty such as few 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 OKPHAN MAID. 57 
 
 heart, while its brightest dreams are still objects of faith. It will 
 be seen from these letters how hard it must have been for him 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 Raeburn, 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 
 thing was much too genuine for that : 
 
 " MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD, June 12, 1803. 
 
 " 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 intermission, so rejoiced was I to hear from one so dear to 
 me as you are. Indeed I must confess that I was always afraid 
 you would not write me, although this was more an unaccountable 
 presentiment than an apprehension for wilich, 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 
 really will write me, and that, I trust, often. What a wretch, 
 therefore, would I be, were I to deprive myself of such a blessing 
 by my own foolishness ! When I read your letters, I will be with 
 you in spirit, notwithstanding the distance between this place and 
 Dychmont. My silence was far from proceeding out of forgetful- 
 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 my 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 hitherto I was not. 
 
58 MEHOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " Whenever I thought of writing to you, I thought of the 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 I could tell you that 
 forenoon I last saw you not to forget me when 1 was away. Your 
 letter has revived ine ; and if you have any regard for me, which 
 I believe you have, oh, write often, often ! You know I am un 
 happy ; comfort me, comfort me ! A few lines will delight me, 
 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 afford you any 
 pleasure, I will write as often as you choose a small mark of affec 
 tion surely to one, to serve whom I would endure any thing on the 
 face of the earth. It will also afford myself greater pleasure 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 thing that 
 distressed me, and even make me think less on those friends I had 
 left. 
 
 " Perhaps though you said this, you did not exactly think 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 people whose minds are at ease, a pleasant one ; but to me 
 it appears 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 contempt, 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, and, 
 added 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 OEPHAN MAID. 59 
 
 in, I 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 here, 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 voice, 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 w r ere when you 
 agreed at last to give it to me. Would to God it were here! 
 When, Margaret, you see how happy it will make me, how could 
 you refuse it ? And yet to give it me was 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 the 
 happiness I have felt when with you, or so much as dream the mis 
 ery I 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 
 was 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 twinkling. 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 promising to write me ; I was sad, but happy ; 
 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. 
 
60 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " Let none, not even Miss W., see this. Heaven protect you, my 
 dear Margaret, and love you as well as your affectionate friend, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 The plan here referred to was a romantic project which he had 
 entertained of going with the expedition 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 begun, before he left Glasgow, to disturb the current of his fe 
 licity. However extravagant the idea of a journey to Timbuctoo 
 may appear 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 writes 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 what 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 had 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 16, 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 wretched, and that I 
 am cut out from all the most amiable and celestial feelings of hu 
 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 few 
 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 that I can 
 not support. I started in the career of early life as fair as that of 
 any of my companions, and had, I confess, many hopes of being 
 something in the world. 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 upon 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. .1 will be glad to 
 see you, but the word happy will never again be joined to the 
 name of " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 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 time than 
 I have done, this suffering has not had the effect of making me look 
 gloomy disapprobation upon the happiness of others. I feel, if all 
 went well with me, I would be one of the happiest 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 something like happiness ; 
 for, wherever I see joy and peace, I take a sad delight in looking 
 at it. When your letters showed me how pleased you were with 
 your new situation, and that nothing disturbed you there, it gave 
 
O^ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 me much pleasure, therefore I hope you will not leave off that light 
 and happy strain which pervaded them. 
 
 " I know that you and I are sworn friends, and 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 whole 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 principle, 
 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 unpre- 
 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 him and the dear object of his anxieties. 
 
 " I have been expecting to hear from you for some time past ; 
 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 of 
 the Post-Office by the postage of one letter, which you will never 
 grudge to pay, when you have discovered the hidden soul whicK 
 pervades these effusions. I have lately returned from a walk ovei 
 a pretty wide extent of country, during which, if at particular times 
 blistered soles and stiff joints did not vastly increase the pleasures 
 
THE OKPHAN MAID. 63 
 
 of reflection, other moments amply recompensed me, and gave me 
 enjoyment, though not unalloyed, of as perfect a kind as the general 
 nature of frail humanity, assisted by the workings of particular 
 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 Oxford 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 friendship ; 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 every 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 world ; I have nothing to live for ; 
 all is dark, solitary, cold, wild, and fearful. When Margaret is 
 married, on that night that gives her to another, if I am in any part 
 of this island, you must pass that night with me. Blair 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 Margaret ; 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. Wlion I 
 
64- MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 consider the ways of Providence I am astonished. Whoever mar 
 ries her, let his virtues be what they may, I know he never could 
 make her as happy as I could. He 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, I 
 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 his breast by this outburst, he returns to his 
 walking : 
 
 " I had almost forgot our walking match. I went from Notting 
 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 Locksley Hall: 
 
 " Is it well to wish thee happy ? having known me, to decline 
 On a range of lower feelings, and a narrower heart than mine! 
 Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level day by day, 
 What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay." 
 
THE ORPHAN MAID. 65 
 
 " Isabella S., I understand, is married. I wish her all possible 
 joy. For God s sake, take care who thou fallest in love with! 
 I wish I had done so, faith ! 
 
 "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 employments. 
 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, 12th 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 breakfasted, 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 
 reasonings favorable to his happiness ; and that to touch on that 
 subject would be merely to give him occasion to overwhelm me 
 with one of those long bursts of passion and misery to which 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 affection for me, which would keep his mind in a 
 state of gentle feeling, and dispose it more easily to think happily 
 of himself. If we had been alone that night, I should have talked 
 
66 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 it all over with him. I am doubtful whether I ought to write to 
 him about it." 
 
 This affectionate friend did write to him on the subject, and a 
 few days later he again addresses Findlay: 
 
 "HiLL TOP, Sunset, Tuesday, 180-4. 
 
 " 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 must 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 every thing 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 hap 
 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. If 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 that 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 leaves no room for delusion, and in that situa- 
 
THE ORPHAN MAID. 67 
 
 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. 
 
 From this date down to September of the same year there is no 
 record of his doings. Blair writing 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 his studies, 
 and struggling as best he could to overcome 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. 
 
 " BOB, 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 -name, for the following books, until this time twelve 
 months, buy them, and send them dowmas 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 octavo; don t buy it unless in octavo. 3. Stewart s edition of Reid s Philosophy. This book 
 is only In octavo, therefore don t buy it unless in octavo. 4. Malthus s Essay on Population an 
 excellent 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. 8. All 
 Ritson s publications, except English Romances, and Essay on Abstinence from Animal Food. 
 
 9. Hartley on Man ; last edition in three vols. octavo, with notes by some foreigner or another. 
 
 10. Rousseau s Works, if cheap and complete ; thirty-four volumes, or perhaps less ; but complete, 
 certainly complete. 11. Rcguier s History, if tolerably cheap. 12. Turner s History of the An 
 glo-Saxons, three vols. 13. Any good edition of Gilbert Stuart s Works; also, Mallet s Northern 
 Antiquities, translated. 15. Bisset s History of this Country. 16. All Pinkerton s works indeed 
 you may buy, except his Geography. If possible, let them all be in boards. 
 
 " J. WILSON. 
 
 "MAGDALEN COLLEGE, March, 1804, 
 " Tuesday Evening. ," 
 
68 ^ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 John Finlay * is to come back with him. I expect to be in London 
 about the middle or end of January, and I suppose Finlay will 
 come while I am there, and we may settle him comfortably. Wil 
 son says, in speaking of some prize he means to undertake, that he 
 feels the vigor of his mind returning. God grant it ! If he will 
 promise 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 was seized with a fit of illness, which caused 
 much concern to his affectionate correspondents, Blair and Findlay. 
 He quickly recovered, however; and his brother Andrew, then 
 serving at Chatham, on board H. M. S. " Magicienne," writes to 
 Robert on 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 well w r hen Andrew came here, as bad luck would have 
 it, I was 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 
 months. 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 Ireland ; 
 that a considerable portion of the holidays was spent among the 
 Lakes ; and that there and then he seized the opportunity offered 
 i 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 young poet of great promise, author of Wallace, or the Vale of Ellerslie; 
 Historical and Romantic Ballads, etc. etc., was born in 1782, and died at Moffat in 1810. Wil 
 son wrote an account of his life and writings in lacA:tcood for November, 1817. 
 
UNIVERSITY CAHEER. 69 
 
 the overhanging of the clouds, which were deepening over his love- 
 prospects, though for a brief space breaking into delusive sun 
 shine : * 
 
 " 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 summer 
 in visiting Oxford, London, Scarborough, Harrowgate, Edinburgh, 
 and the various post-towns of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and 
 Lancashire. When it finally reached me, its visage was wofully 
 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 possession 
 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 which case you probably will meet with it soon in 
 Glasgow. 
 
 " 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 astonishing 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, Harrowgate, and the Lakes. The weather 
 has been sufficiently 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 ground 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 Shepherd, my life from eighteen to twenty-four 
 is an utter blank, like a moonless midnight; at other times, oh! what a refulgent day !" Noctea, 
 
70 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 not enter the army or navy, a thing which is now entirely impos 
 sible. While I keep moving, life goes on well enough, but when 
 ever I 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," but 
 to know also " madness and folly." The mention of Margaret is 
 briefer than hitherto, even slightly suggestive of constraint, and one 
 begins 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 fires 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 
 unbroken silence. 
 
 The next letter is addressed to Findlay, and dated 
 
 " OXFORD, April 13. 1806. 
 
 " MY DEAREST ROBERT : If I have not answered your letter so 
 soon as perhaps I should have done, it was neither from being in 
 different to the very agreeable contents of it, nor careless of that 
 happiness which 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 peace 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 unhappy enough, God knows ! and at other times tol 
 erably* comfortable. 
 
 " I believe 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 keep it. I have certainly led a 
 dissipated life for some time, but, 
 
UNIVERSITY CAREER. 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 perhaps 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 Torrance. If ever you see Margaret, I 
 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 the 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 sincere 
 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, 1806. 
 
 " MY DEAR BOB : I have long been conjecturing the reason of 
 your unconjecturable silence. What in the name of wonder are 
 you about ? I had a letter from Dunlop, telling me you proposed 
 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 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 Dunlop to come to Edinburgh, 
 except in the case of going to St. Andrews, which I strongly give 
 my vote against. " I am thine ever, 
 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 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 DEAR ROBERT : 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, which was to 
 come on in a few days. If his mind had had its former strength, 
 this, he said, would not have affected him, but after what had hap 
 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 
 ho had scarcely slept any night more than an hour or two. I wish 
 to know from you what it is that has happened 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 way 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 went 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 
 him 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 off. Indeed he 
 is given to sho>v 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 splendid 
 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 conferred) the public expression of our approbation and 
 thanks."* 
 
 * From subsequent testimonies regarding his Oxford studies and reputation, a few may in this 
 place be inserted. The Kev. Benjamin Cheese, who was his private tutor during the last two 
 years of his University course, thus referred to that period: "Among all my pupils I nevei met 
 with one who read with greater zest the sublime pages of the Greek tragedians, or penetrated 
 with the same rapid acuteness into the abstruse difficulties of Aristotle. The analyses which you 
 then made 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 regretting 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 
 appearance which you tJien 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 Russell, Fellow of Magdalen 
 College, "and by other members of the College in which we 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 
 small 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 he 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 have 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 Magdalen 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 acquirements. 
 I remember the satisfaction I generally felt at the appearance you made at the examinations in 
 classical authors, held 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 Rev. Charles Thorp, formerly a Fellow of University College, Oxford, says, " Your char- 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Little did these Examiners and admiring friends imagine with 
 what 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 /" 
 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 speechless 
 before their friend, " for they saw that his grief was very great." 
 
 What it was that had " happened with regard to her" to bring 
 him to this state of wretchedness, may be gathered from his own 
 letter, apparently written about the same time, to Findlay : 
 
 " October 19, 1807. 
 
 " MY DEAREST ROBERT : I have often wished to write to you, 
 but to such an intimate friend 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 yourself a student there, 
 before I had the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with you; an acquaintance I sought and 
 prized, and have always wished to improve. 1 "Those who, like myself," says Archdeacon 
 Burney, "loved and admired you at Oxford, would, I am sure, feel pleasure in bearing u just testi 
 mony to your acnteness of discrimination, your keen spirit of inquiry, your extended reading, 
 your copiousness in illustration, which even then rendered you eminent above your fellows." 
 " The course of studies at Oxford," says Sir Charles E. Grey (formerly of Oriel College, 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 en- 
 paging in the course that was opened for them with an ardor which it was not to be hoped could 
 be sustained for many years. With what eagerness and assiduity were the writings of the moral 
 philosophers, orators, historians, and tragedians of Greece and Rome read, and almost learned 
 by heart. The distinguished examination which you passed, the prize which you obtained, and 
 the general reputation which you acquired, are proofs that you were amongst the most successful 
 students of the day." 
 
UNIVERSITY CAEEEE. 75 
 
 " All this may be to you inexplicable ; that I cannot help ; that it 
 is the fact, I know to my sorrow. Blair is with 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." 
 
 " OXFOED, 1807. 
 
 " MY DEAE 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 annihilation, but spirits. 
 That blessed beverage played the devil with my intellects, and ab 
 solutely destroyed my capacity of distinguishing 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 what 
 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 ? I 
 have since written her, and hope whatever offences 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 fine thing; first kept me many 
 years in misery, and now 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 
 
76 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 - 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 
 subject; the enclosed letter may give you some faint idea of it, as 
 it is the mildest 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 
 feelings 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 inextricable 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 
 folly, and excess of fondness excess of despair. I am betimes the 
 most miserable and the happiest of created beings. So far 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 far as it made me a man of worse conduct than of 
 principles, I have yielded to the common effect 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 rendered impracticable, and Miss W. to die, an event which, I 
 trust in God, is far, far distant, God only knows what would 
 become of her." 
 
 In anticipation of these obstacles being removed, he turns his 
 thoughts to home, and addresses a beautiful short poem (" My 
 Cottage") to Margaret. His spirit then did 
 
LIFE AT ELLEEAY. 77 
 
 " Travel like a summer sun, 
 Itself all glory, and 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 my 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) reflec 
 tion. This 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 adieu 
 forever. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIFE AT ELLERAY. 
 
 1807-1811. 
 
 Lsr 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 
 
 * Miscellaneous Poems, 
 
78 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Alma Mater, to that lovely land where cluster the fair lakes of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland. Having selected a home on the 
 banks of Windermere, we find him there in the prime of youth, 
 with that keen nature of his alternating between light 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 life 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 faculty. 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] with 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-half 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 charac 
 ter of beauty rarely found in connection ; and yet each, by singular 
 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 presenting a limited scene of beauty deep, solemn, 
 noiseless, severely sequestered and other stations of a magnifi- 
 
 * Letter addressed to the Edinburgh Literary Gazette, 1829, a forgotten newspaper, of which 
 there were only two vols. published. 
 
LIFE AT ELLERAY. 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 you might expect on Ararat, or might 
 appropriately conceive on 4 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 nature 
 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 proportion 
 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 smoke 
 which 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 sepa 
 rately various in their forms, and all eminently picturesque, when 
 seen from Elleray, appear to blend and group as parts of one con 
 nected whole ; and, when their usual drapery of clouds happens to 
 take a fortunate arrangement, and the sunlights are properly 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 purchased 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 was a profusion of 
 
80 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 jessamine, clematis, and honeysuckle. A trellised entrance, cluster 
 ing with wild roses, led to the chief part of the dwelling. Beyond 
 the dining-room windows was the entrance to the kitchen and other 
 parts of the house, only differing 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 pro 
 tected by a fine old sycainore-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, picturesque 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 situation ; 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 glittering be 
 neath a noonday sun ; and Windermere as seen from Elleray 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, with some captive cloud 
 deep set in its light, a mountain base, or far-off pasture, the well- 
 defined colors of rich middle-distance creating impatience for a per 
 fect picture ; when all at once the obscuring vapors passed away, 
 and the whole 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. We 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 flat. " I abhor stairs," said he, " and there can be no peace 
 in any mansion where heavy footsteps may be heard over head. 
 Suppose 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," soliloquized the poet, 
 " not even in the days of the Druids, could there have been such another tree ! It would be easier 
 to suppose two Shaksperes. Yet I have heard people say it is far from being a large tree. A 
 small one it cannot be, with a house in its shadow an unawakened house that looks as if it were 
 dreaming. True, tis but a cottage, a Westmoreland cottage. But then it has several roofs shelv 
 ing away there in the lustre of loveliest lichens ; each roof with its own assortment of doves and 
 pigeons preening their pinions in the morning pleasance. Oh, sweetest and shadiest of all syca 
 mores, we love thee beyond all other trees !" 
 
LIFE AT ELLEKAY. 81 
 
 into a green-house, a conservatory of every thing rich and rare in 
 the world of flowers. Folding-doors are drawn noiselessly into 
 the walls as if by magic, arid lo! drawing-room and dining-room 
 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 five acres, just 
 sufficient for my nag and cow, form a magical circle into which 
 nothing vile or profane can intrude." 
 
 The new house at Elleray, 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 had 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 welcome 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- 
 wick, Charles Lloyd at Brathay, Bishop Watson at Calgarth, 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 part of 
 that year at Colerton, returning to Grasmere in the spring of 1808. 
 At his house there, towards the latter end of that year, Wilson met 
 
OZ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 De Quincey. Strange to say, they had, when at Oxford, remained 
 unknown to each other ; but here, attracted by the same influence, 
 a mutual friendship was not long in being formed, which endured 
 independent of years of separation and many caprices of fortune 
 till death divided them. The graces of nature 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 him, 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 peerless little vale, which you and Gray the 
 poet and so many others have joined in admiring as the very Eden 
 of English beauty, peace, and pastoral solitude you may possibly 
 recall, even from that flying glimpse you had of it, a modern house 
 called Allanbank, 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 the three 
 mountains Fairfield, Arthur s Chair, and Seat Sandal (the first of 
 them within about 400 feet of the 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 happened 
 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, I 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 
 
 * Disinterred from th columns of the Edinburgh Literary Gazette. 
 
LIFE AT ELLERAY. 83 
 
 a powerful expression of ardor and animated intelligence, mixed 
 with much good-nature. Mr. Wilson of Elleray* delivered as 
 the formula of introduction, in the deep tones of Mr. Wordsworth 
 at once banished the momentary surprise I felt on finding an 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 Allanbank, 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 appearance 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 person, lightness and 
 agility, or (in our Westmoreland phrase) lishness / he seemed framed 
 w T ith an express view to gymnastic exercises of every sort. . . . 
 Viewed, therefore, by an eye learned in gymnastic proportions, Mr. 
 Wilson presented a somewhat striking figure ; and by some people 
 he was pronounced with emphasis a fine-looking young man ; but 
 others, w T ho 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 handsome. 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 public 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 a 
 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 described them, I then 
 4* 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 
 humility and gravity with which he spoke of himself, his large ex 
 pansion of heart, and a certain air of noble frankness which over 
 spread every thing he said ; he seemed to have an intense enjoyment 
 of life; indeed, being young, rich, healthy, and full of intellectual 
 activity, it could not be very wonderful that he should feel happy 
 and pleased with himself and others ; but it was somewhat unusual 
 to find 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 were 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 with its furniture was carried by 
 twelve ponies. Among the gentlemen of the party were Wilson, 
 Wordsworth, De Quincey, Alexander Blair, two Messrs. Astley, 
 Humphries, and some others whose names have escaped notice. 
 After passing through Eskdale, and that solemn tract of country 
 which opens upon Wastwater, they there pitched their tent, and 
 roaming far and near from that point, each took his own way till 
 evening hours assembled them together. 
 
 The beauty of the scenes through which they rambled, the fine 
 weather, and, above all, that geniality of taste and disposition which 
 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 was written soon 
 after at Elleray, where Wordsworth was 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 much trying 
 and questioning, it was made out between them : 
 
 " The placid lake that rested far below, 
 Softly embosoming another sky, 
 
LIFE AT ELLERAY. 85 
 
 Still as wo gazed assumed a lovelier glow, 
 And seemed to send us looks of amity." 
 
 The troublesome line was 
 
 "Softly embosoming another sky." 
 
 In a letter I received from Dr. Blair, he says : " * The Friend 
 was going on at that time Coleridge living at Wordsworth s 
 Wordsworth making, and reading to us as he made them, the Son 
 nets to the Tyrolese, first given in The Friend ; and from Elleray 
 that winter went Mathetes. * I remember that De Quineey was 
 with us at the time. He may have given some suggestions besides, 
 but we certainly owed to him our signature." 
 
 Of my father s poetic compositions during these years I shall 
 speak presently. 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 
 life, viz., the habit of walking in solitude during the hours of night. 
 In spite of his generally even flow of good spirits, 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 afford. 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 mansion of 
 Brathay, the property of Allan Harden, Esq. 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 shadows of which he would 
 wander for hours, engaged in what he appropriately calls 
 
 "MIDNIGHT ADORATION. 
 
 "Beneath the full-orb d moon, that bathed in light 
 
 The .iiellow : d verdure of Helvellyn s steep, 
 My spirit teeming with creations bright, 
 I walked like one who wanders in his sleep I 
 
 * A letter on Education, the joint composition of Wilson and Blair, addressed to the editor of 
 " The Friend." 
 
86 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "The glittering stillness of the starry sky 
 
 Shone in my 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 life s perturbed wave 
 
 Had dimm d the blaze to sinless spirits given ; 
 But saw with joy, reposing on the grave, 
 
 The seraph Hope that points the way to heavea, 
 
 " The waveless clouds that hung amid the light, 
 
 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 snow, 
 
 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 soft bosom of affection turn I 
 
LIFE AT ELLEKAY. 87 
 
 " Then sinless 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 ! 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " 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 seem 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 TAKN, 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.* The one was a 
 man of genius and a poet, who lived among these mountains 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 accompanied 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 
 
 * Wordsworth and a brother who was afterwards drowned. 
 
88 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 act, they agreed to lay the foundation-stone of a little fishing-hut, 
 and this they did with tears. 
 
 " They 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 sweet 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 numerous boatmen required to man 
 these vessels there was one whose name became at Elleray familiar 
 as a household word the faithful Billy Balmer. Billy was 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 masts and sails, 1 60 ; ballast, 15-175 ;" " Eliza, 30 ;" 
 " Endeavor, 150 ;" "Palafox, 20;" "Jane, 180;" " additional Endnavor, 25 ;" " Cjyde, Bill} , 
 Snail, 10." The names of his sailing vessels were The Endeavor, The Eliza, The Talafipx, The 
 Koscoe, The Clyde, The Jane, The Billy, besidos a fine ten-oared Oxford barge, called Nil Timeo. 
 
LIFE AT ELLEKAY. OVJ 
 
 fall, and even later. There was not a more skilful boatman, or a 
 steadier steersman on the lake, and he was about the best judge of 
 a pretty craft and good sailing to be found. He could sing a sailor s 
 song, had an undeniable love of fun, understood humor, and felt the 
 difference of wit. 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 was 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 weather. 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 fancy to tempt the waters of Windermere, and setting off 
 with the never-failing Billy, they took boat from Miller-ground and 
 steered for Bowness. In a short time all knowledge of the point 
 to which they were 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," said my father in after years, " from our delightful dormitory till, about 
 twelve o clock, we heard the south breeze come pushing up from the sea. Then Billy used to tap 
 at our door, with his tarry paw, and wnisper, Master, Peggs is ready. I have brailed up the fore 
 sail; her jigger sits as straight as the Knave of Clubs, and we have ballasted with sand-bags. 
 We se beat the Liverpoolean to-day, Master. Then I rose." See also Wilson s Works. 
 
90 MEHOIB OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 place was found. They had been beating about Miller-ground all 
 the time, scarcely a stone s-throw from their starting-place. Billy s 
 account of the story was, "that Master was well-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 father 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 waters, 
 there was nothing for it but to swim through them ; and presently 
 he 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 Elleray. 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 young man, anxious for an introduction to Mr. Wilson, and as 
 yet pretty 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 Yale of Rydal, dividing it from Grasmere. Looking 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, however, all is mystery ; 
 
LIFE AT ELLEBAY. 91 
 
 but suddenly three horsemen double a turn in the road, and come 
 flying into sight with the speed of a hurricane, manifestly 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, charge up the hill, and speedily gaining the rear of the 
 bull, drive him at a gallop over the worst part of that impracticable 
 ground down into the level ground below. At this point 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 suddenly regain the terra firma^ 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 doubled the cape 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 
 into sight upon some accident or other) stood wondering in silence, 
 and saying to themselves, perhaps, 
 
 1 The earth hath bubbles as the water hath ; 
 And these are of them ! 
 
 " But they were no bubbles : the bull was a substantial bull ; and 
 took no harm at all from being turned out occasionally at midnight 
 for a chase of fifteen or eighteen miles. The bull, no doubt, used to 
 
92 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 wonder at this nightly visitation ; and the owner of the bull must 
 sometimes have pondered a little on the draggled state in which 
 the swamps would now and then leave his beast ; but no other 
 harm came 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 game 
 cocks ; these afforded 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, the day of the month, and sometimes even the hour of the 
 day being carefully specified.^ 
 
 In one of the MS. books containing 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 different kind. Along with 
 
 * Letter in Edinburgh Literary Gazette. 
 
 t Of this there are numberless indications in his works. Birds were h 8 special favorites, but 
 he was a general lover of animals, beasts, birds, and insects. Even that, to most people, un 
 pleasant creature the spider, was interesting to him ; and the Nodes 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, 230, 252, 262. Eegarding his qualifications 
 as 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 second-hand acts of memory ; 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 unusual degree; and another, 
 that this knowledge, having grown up under the inspiration of a real interest and an unaffected 
 love for its objects commencing, indeed, at an age when no affectation in matters of that nature 
 could exist has settled upon those facts and circumstances which have a true philosophical 
 value: habits, predominant affections, the direction of instincts, and the compensatory processes 
 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 uncommonly he is negligent or forgetful." 
 
 The following are some specimens from his memoranda: 
 
 " Small Paisley hen set herself with no fewer than nine eggs on Monday, the 6th of July. 
 Black Edinburgh hen was set on Tuesday, the 23d of June, with twelve eggs middle of the 
 day. Large Paisley hen was set on Wednesday, the 24th of June, with twelve eggs middle 
 of the day ; one egg laid the day after she was set. Ked 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 day 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 may st thou be, 
 That spends its life in beauty and in bliss; 
 
LIFE AT ELLERAY. 93 
 
 calculations of the number of lines to be allotted to various pro 
 posed poems, such as " St. Hubert," " The Manse," " The Ocean 
 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 hen," 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 sometimes 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 invited, and, after the sport, entertained at a 
 genteel supper served from Mrs. Ullock s. Wilson was the victor, 
 and won a handsome silver drinking-cup, 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 thee 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 
 
 1. A heavy cock from Dobinson 5 8 
 
 2. " " from Kecne 5 8 
 
 3. " " " 580 
 
 4. Piled cock, Oldfleld 520 
 
 "Lord Derby 1 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 Scotland by some worthy gentlemen of the old school. One Sunday, in St. 
 John s Chapel, Edinburgh, an old gentleman, a friend of my fathers, was sitting gravely in his 
 
94: MEMOIR 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 c 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 politi 
 cal friend 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 would 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, 4 White Lion, Bowness, he told 
 us with a downcast and serious countenance that Lord Lowther 
 would be ousted, for that the struggle, as far as he could learn, 
 would ultimately be between Thomas Ford of Egremont, and 
 William Richardson 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 his figure 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 describes in glowing 
 terms how much the success of the annual sports in the neighbor 
 hood was owing to his liberal encouragement. In some of his let- 
 seat, when a lady in the same pew moved up, wishing to speak to him. He kept edging cautiously 
 
 away from her, till at last, as she came nearer, he hastily muttered out : " Sit yont, Miss , sit 
 
 yont ! Dinna ye ken ma pouch is fu 1 o gemm eggs !" 
 
 * Blackwood, December, 1823. 
 
 t Wresttiana; or, an Historical Account of Ancient and Modern Wrestling. By William 
 Litt. 12ino. Whitehaven. 
 
LIFE AT ELLEKAY. 95 
 
 ters iii after years, we shall meet with allusions to this subject, 
 which he considered not unworthy of a special article in JBlacfcwood. 
 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 appropriately 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 falls. But he owned the Professor 
 was 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 quarters. 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 was 
 gay deed amang em. Then, nowt would sarra, 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 Rambles in the Lake Cvumtry. By Edwin Waugh. 12mo. London, Whittaker. 
 
96 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 gaily weel, an they said they d tak varra girt care on him. Then 
 he leaned back an called oot that they mun pull quicker. So they 
 did, and what does Wilson do then but topples ower eb m ov his 
 back i t watter with a splash. Then there was a girt cry " Eh, 
 Mr. Wilson s i t watter !" an yan click t, an anudder 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 him agean. But what, it was nowt but yan 
 ov his bit o pranks, he was snurkin an laughin all t time. Wil 
 son was a fine, gay, girt-h carted 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 " Hurry 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 fallin off their cheers wi fun. T 
 parson was quite astonished, an rayder vex t an all, but at last he 
 burst oot laughin wi t rest. He was like. Naabody could stand 
 it. . . . T seam neet there was yan o their wives cum to fetch 
 her husband heam, 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 was a life an murth 
 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 the ar 
 rival of a family of the name of Penny, who took up their abode 
 at Gale 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 frequent 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 AT ELLERAY. 97 
 
 of dress, she informs her that " the jacket has 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 ; Tie 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 place 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 Mend Charles 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 uncommon 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 further 
 information about Mr. Wilson. There had been a regatta at Win- 
 dermere : 
 
 " It proved universally pleasant. I think I never enjoyed any 
 thing 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 
 charmingly delightful evening. We are likely to have a most de 
 lightful acquisition to our society this winter in Mrs. and Miss 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 Elleray 
 all winter, which will make it very pleasant to us. I hope we shall 
 see a great deal of them. Mr. Wilson is flirting with a pretty little 
 widow who lives in Kendal. She is generally admired by the male 
 
98 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 part of creation, but not by our sex. I think her appearance is 
 very pretty, particularly her figure, but I think her deficient in 
 feminine propriety and modesty. Her husband has been dead some 
 years ; she was married at fourteen, and is still quite 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 j 
 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 deserves 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 which 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 worthy 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 woman 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 expedition 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 off 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 Cale 
 donian Mercury* gives some idea of the state of his mind and 
 prospects : 
 
 * Mr. Allan ,the proprietor, was Mr. Harden^ father-in-law. 
 
LITE AT ELLEKAY. 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 every thing that re 
 gards your happiness. That you are 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, and 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 aifection 
 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 where 
 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 will 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 politics 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 Grenville. 
 5 
 
100 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 tedious to enter into a detail of all unlucky causes which have occa 
 sioned this. Such as they are, they could not in the present junc 
 ture be avoided ; and I have at least the satisfaction to know, that 
 ray 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 very 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. We have made some progress in Spanish, 
 though not much, the perplexity attending our change of scheme 
 having occasioned some little interruption. I have written many 
 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 it be 
 considered as the affectionate 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, Avill 
 always afford me genuine satisfaction. 
 
 " While I write this, your paintings of Stavely and the Brathay 
 smile sweetly upon me, though all without doors is wild and stormy, 
 it being the most complete hurricane I ever saw at Elleray. The 
 windows of the parlor have, during the night, been almost entirely 
 destroyed, and the floor is literally swimming. I cannot conclude 
 without 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 daughter of his friend. 
 
LITE AT ELLEKAY. 
 
 About the same time he took an excursion into Scotland, 
 fore starting, he addressed De Quincey as follows : 
 
 101 
 Be- 
 
 " MY DEAE 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 with you to-morrow on foot through Kentmere 
 and Hawesdale 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, 
 
 "Jom* WILSON. 
 
 " ELLERAY, Saturday, 1809." 
 
 Of this pedestrian excursion we have a glimpse in the biographi 
 cal notice of his friend John Finlay, with whom they spent a few 
 hours at Moffat.f 
 
 I now come to speak of his poetry, and I am fortunately enabled, 
 from the preservation of his letters to his friend Mr. John Smith, 
 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 number of son 
 nets, composed in the autumn of that year, a selection from which 
 appeared among the miscellaneous pieces appended to The Isle of 
 Palms. 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. Although he was a man considerably under height and slender of form, he was capable 
 of undergoing great fatigue, and took constant exercise. The very fact of his being a walking 
 companion of Wilson s speaks well for his strength, which was not unfrequently taxed when 
 such a tryst was kept. Perhaps, in later years, of the two men he preserved his activity more 
 entire. 
 
 t Elackwood, vol. ii., p. 188. 
 
102 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 poem, parts of it apparently written down for the first time, and 
 other parts being final copies of the work as sent for revision to his 
 friend Blair. The alterations in the 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 intended to 
 embody in each particular poem. The prose outlines 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 poetry 
 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 The Isle of 
 Palms, 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 forty 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 particu 
 larize. I can furnish as many poems as will make a volume of 350 
 or 400 pages. As you have an opportunity of knowing the prob 
 able merit of any works of mine from Finlay, Blair, and others, I 
 ofier my poems in the first place to you. In a publication of such 
 
 * Dr. Blair, 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 glowing enthusiasm 
 than any of them. He might require a severe intellectual discipline and learned study to balance 
 that natural fire and energy for the composition of a great work. But he had both will and 
 ability for severe thought, and he had the capacity for searching and comprehensive inquiry, 
 and such a wonderful power 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 the 
 opinion of the man most familiar with my father s mind. 
 
LIFE AT ELLEKAY. 103 
 
 magnitude, I feel my own character 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 copyright of 400 
 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 wish 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 public notice. I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 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 
 seem that the publication of my poems must be deferred for a 
 considerable time. Perhaps, on the whole, this may be of advan 
 tage. 
 
 " I cannot believe that a volume of that size could be printed in 
 less than four months from the commencement of printing it. You 
 
104: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 will consider, therefore, of this hasty note, and arrange matters with 
 Ballantyne, etc., etc. I am, yours truly, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 In April, 1811, he writes from Elleray. 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 library should be without," Annual Registers, Par 
 liamentary Histories, Statistical Accounts, best editions of various 
 Classics in Russia, etc., etc. 
 
 "ELLERA.Y, 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 effect on several thousand of the 
 judicious part of the reading world. 
 
 u 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 build 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 all particulars from him. If any thing further 
 has occurred about his affairs 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 wish to part with, being either tired of them or hav 
 ing duplicates. 
 
 "The following is a list of some of the best. If they suit you, 
 you 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 marriage 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 will 
 be judicious. Remember that few are entitled to pass judgment on 
 poetry. I am, dear sir, yours very truly, JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " p. $ Should you ever publish any edition of any poet, and 
 wish for preface, etc., you know where to apply." 
 
MARRIAGE. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1811-1815. 
 
 ON the lltli of May, 1811, the following letter was written by 
 Wilson To his friend Mr. Findlay : 
 
 " AMBLESIDE, May 11, 1811. 
 
 " DEAREST ROBERT : I was this morning married to Jane Penny, 
 and doubt 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 pure, as from her Maker 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 say, adds a solemn 
 feeling to my dreams, and your most affectionate 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 his 
 marriage in terms more unaffectedly beautiful than these. In their 
 quiet depth of natural affection that inner spirit is truly revealed, 
 which, amid all varieties of energy and enjoyment, ever found its 
 most congenial life among the tender sanctities of home, and con 
 nected its highest delights with a genuine sense of religion. Thence- 
 
106 
 
 MEMOffi OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 forth 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 prove what they were, but by the solemn realization of 
 the high purpose for which they were given. 
 
 He did not make the usual wedding tour, but took his bride 
 directly to his cottage home. The fascination of his new life did 
 not, however, engross him to the exclusion of work, much 
 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. No doubt he lived both at Oxford 
 and Elleray with the free munificence of one who understood the 
 charms of hospitality, and the satisfaction of bestowing pleasure 
 upon others, but at neither period was he wasteful 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 for the future ; worldly matters 
 were in a smiling condition ; every thing around the young couple 
 was couleur de rose. Days passed away quickly ; nothing disturbed 
 the life of love and peace spent in that beautiful 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 
 
 That made Winander one wide wave of gold, 
 When first in transport from the mountain-top 
 He hailed the heavenly vision." 
 
 These 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 
 
107 
 
 seen, determined to give the world some fruit of his meditative 
 hours 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, which took place on the llth 
 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 my marriage, so that were the first poems of the collection 
 finished, I think I have MS. enough for a volume of 400 pages, 
 which 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 different subject, which I should 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 sufficiently 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 work. 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 preface 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. 
 5* 
 
108 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " With respect to the size of the volume, I am still partial to that 
 of Marmion ; or, if you choose, a little smaller, only as many or 
 more lines in each page. A thinly printed book of that size looks 
 very badly. There will be verses of many different 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 fix 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 shall never set 
 to with invincible fury. If the printing can commence by the be 
 ginning of October, the first book of the Isle 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." 
 
 "ELLERAY, KENDAL, September 17, 1811. 
 
 " DEAR 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, I 
 suppose the printer uses his discretion. 
 
 " I am going on correcting and writing, and certainly 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 proof-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.WILSON." 
 
 "ELLERAY, 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, 
 
109 
 
 and in manuscript, very perspicuous ; but they were written upon 
 principle, and will, I doubt not, give pleasure when the canto is 
 thought of together, 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 
 Blair, written over in the same manner, and think you may be ex 
 pecting it on Thursday. Indeed, fear not of having regular and 
 sufficient supplies. 
 
 " The whole Isle of JPalms is of a wild character, though, I trust, 
 sufficiently interspersed and vivified 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 nothing 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 think Ballantyne ought to print the work, if 
 you can make good terms with him. Blue stockings are dirty 
 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, and keep the devils 
 from getting cool. In ten days I shall have sent 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 
 talked to Parker about publishing some poems there, but, though 
 he was most willing to undertake it, I afterwards changed my mind, 
 for the University is but a dullish spot, though undoubtedly many 
 copies will be sold there. 
 
110 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " The whole copy shall be sent in Blair s writing, or in a hand 
 still better ; and if 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 coming here 
 soon. 
 
 "Poor Grahame, I hear, is gone; let me hear some particulars; 
 he was a truly estimable bc4ng." 
 
 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 will 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 will 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 first 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 sacred to the Memory of the Kev. James Grahame, author of The Sabbath, &c. A 
 man he -was to all the country dear. 1 4to. Glasgow : Smith & Son." 
 
"THE ISLE OF PALMS." Ill 
 
 tyne up with a long pole, and henceforth depend upon my being 
 punctual." 
 
 From 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 then 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 will be in my power to distribute a 
 few copies without suspicion ; and there is a bookseller in Kendal 
 who 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 commending 
 the Lines, which I understand are considerable favorites there, 
 though I find I am strongly suspected in that quarter. With respect 
 to giving my name, you may now use your own discretion." 
 
 At Christmas he was in Edinburgh at his mother s with his 
 young wife and her sisters. He writes to Mr. Smith : 
 
112 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 
 case, would you wish the lines on Grahame to be included ? Fer- 
 gusson, Cranstoun, and Glassford think them better than any thing 
 Grahame 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. Considerable expectations are formed here among 
 the blues of both sexes, and I am whirled into the vortex of fash 
 ion here in consequence. 
 
 " I shall say nothing to any one of the dedication. Send Mr. 
 M Latchie a copy of the 4 Lines, with the author s affectionate 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 Rev. Mr. Morehead is 
 " a great favorite ;" Mr. Jeffrey is a " horrid little man," but 
 " held in as high 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 Miss Joanna Baillie about this time, says: "The author of the elegy 
 xipon poor Grahame is John Wilson, a young man of very considerable poetical powers. He is 
 now engaged upon a poem called the Isle of Palms, 1 something in the style of Southey. He is 
 an eccentric genius, and has fixed himself on the banks of Windermere, but occasionally resides 
 in Edinburgh, where he now is. He seems an excellent, warm-hearted, and enthusiastic young 
 man: something too much, perhaps, of the latter quality, places him among the list of originals." 
 
113 
 
 After sundry delays from want of paper or other causes, the vol 
 ume duly appeared on the 20th of February, 1812, entitled, 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. 
 How the work was 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 great 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 ttate 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 
 papers, but not so often as many other volumes of far less moment 
 (poetical) ; and 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 will be wanting on your part to forward the sale of 
 the volume. It seems evident to me 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 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 is of more importance is the provincial sale in England. Consid 
 erable inquiry was made after them in Liverpool ; and had there 
 been copies there, many would have sold. And I think you shoulcj 
 still establish some correspondence with the booksellers there. 
 Two hundred of Crabbe s poems were sold in Liverpool. In Man 
 chester, 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 where they live. This I had proof 
 of from Liverpool in abundance. 
 
 " I have 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. Jeffrey likes it much ; but will very likely abuse it for all 
 that. I see it will be reviewed in the next Edinburgh Quarterly 
 Mevieio, but I suppose it is a despicable effort ; its praise or blame 
 will be alike indifferent. 
 
 "I find that people distrust their own 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 Isle ? 
 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 you desire, but 
 
" THE ISLE OF PALMS." 115 
 
 taking care not to write till you have time to send me a full and 
 long letter."* 
 
 In the next number of the Edinburgh Review appeared a criti 
 cism of the Isle of Palms, what publishers 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 approval 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 
 morning, and at eight I leave Edinburgh on a fishing 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 please yourself. The 
 other review is a masterpiece 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 
 will make the Isle hide 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. 23, 1812. 
 
 " MY DEAR SMITH : The day after I received your 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 disappointment of the author as to the early sale of the volume does not 
 seem altogether unreasonable, when we find that in Edinburgh, where the chief demand was to 
 be looked for, " the trade" received the work so cautiously, as the following " subscription list" 
 indicates : " The Isle of Palms, and other Poems. By John Wilson. Demy 8vo, retail at 12s. ; 
 under 10, 8s. 6d. ; above, 8s. A few copies .Royal 8vo at sub. John Ballantyne & Co., two hundred 
 copies, demy; Manners & Miller, twenty -five; Archd. Constable & Co., twenty -five copies; Jno. 
 Anderson, twenty-five copies ; Wm. Blackwood, six copies." 
 
 The last item in the list looks specially curious now ; but at that time Mr. Black-wood s busi 
 ness was in its infancy, and the future Christopher North was unknown to him. 
 
 About the same time Longman & Co. wrote to Mr. Smith, to report the London " subscrip 
 tion :" " We received a copy of Wilson s Poems from Ballantynes, and our clerk, who subscribes 
 our books, took it round the trade yesterday and this morning ; 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, though, from what you say of the merit of the work, and what we 
 hear of it from other quarters, we have no doubt of its selling very well here when it is known." 
 
 t His brother Andrew. 
 
116 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 mourn over their graves. I know that I tenderly loved my dear 
 brother, but his death has affected me more than I could have 
 imagined, and I yet feel as if I could never again be happy or 
 cheerful enough to resume my former occupations. 
 
 " I leave every thing relating to my poems to your own judg 
 ment. If they do not sell, my poetry never will ; for though I may 
 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 
 ultimately 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 reader s eyes the respect due to this solemn and surely 
 most heartfelt aspiration, that it is copied from a page, never meant for other eyes to see, be 
 ginning with so different a kind of memorandum as this" Small black muffled hen set herself 
 with about eight eggs on Monday night or Tuesday morning, 7th 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 season. 
 
" THE ISLE OF PALMS." 117 
 
 " On the death of Gough 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 Greek 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 
 were 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 was 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 nour 
 ishing condition. He 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 ?" in the affirmative, 
 when the majority of the Society voted with him. He only wrote, 
 it appears, one Essay for that Society on " some political institutions 
 
118 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of military origin," of which there are some traces in one of his MS. 
 books. 
 
 This happy life at Elleray was soon to come to a close. In the 
 fourth year from the date of his marriage, there came a calamity so 
 heavy and unlocked for that the highest fortitude was required to 
 meet it, as it was met, bravely and cheerfully. 
 
 The circumstances which occurred to make it absolutely neces 
 sary to leave Elleray were 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 part 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 wife and infant family : 
 
 "PENRITH, CROWN INN, 
 " Friday Evening, half-past Six, 1815. 
 
 " MY 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 during the night. The post-boy being about 
 
LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 119 
 
 to return to Ambleside, I gave Keir this note, which has 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 Elleray 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 VII. 
 
 LIFE IN EDINBURGH. THE BAR. THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 ELLERAY . 
 
 1815-1817. 
 
 JOHN WILSON S new home was now in Edinburgh. His mother 
 received him and his family 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 when 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 
 sa w her, altogether forget the effect 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, was washed, both 
 after breakfast and tea, and carefully put away by her own delicate 
 hands. Markets 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 well- 
 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 world ; 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. It is very doubtful if any lady of the 
 present regime could so wisely and peacefully rule the affairs of a 
 household as did this lady,f 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 family 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. 
 
 t Mrs. Wilson, senior, was a keen Tory; and it is told of her that on hearing of her son con 
 tributing to the Edinburgh Review, she said to him significantly, "John, if you 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 Reform 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, in the telling 
 of which, like all good grandams, she excelled. 
 
 So, to the pleasant house of his mother, No. 53 Queen street, 
 Wilson changed his abode from dear sycamore-sheltered Elleray. 
 
 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 " Hall of 
 Lost Steps." He did sometimes get cases, but when he found them 
 lying on his table, he said jocularly, when speaking of this after 
 wards, u I did not know what the devil to do with 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 DEAKEST 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 lameter^ 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 Knowe (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 the young men, afterwards distinguished, who passed about the same time, were John 
 Cay, Andrew Eutherfurd, P. F. Tytler, Sir William Hamilton, Thomas Maitland, Alexander Pringle, 
 Archibald Alison, Duncan M Neill, James Ivory, &c. 
 
122 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 There being no beds in his domicile, we last night came here, a 
 farmer 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, bald as 
 it is, I have the honor to subscribe 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 was soon literally covered. As the Shepherd afterwards said, 
 " Your creel was fu your shooting-bag fu your jacket-pouches 
 fu the pouches o your verra breeks fu half-a-dozen wee anes 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 streams 
 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 from 
 Edinburgh on a pedestrian tour through the Western Highlands. 
 That such a feat should be performed by a delicate young English- 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 123 
 
 woman was sufficiently astonishing. A little of the singularity, no 
 doubt, arose from the fact, that she was the wife of an eccentric 
 young poet, the strangeness of whose actions would be duly exag 
 gerated. Such a proposal, therefore, could not be made without 
 exciting wonder and talk 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 tour to the Highlands with his wife. This gentle 
 and elegant Englishwoman is to walk with her mate, who carries 
 her wardrobe and his own, 
 
 Thorough flood and thorough mire, 
 Over bush, over brier; 
 
 that is, through all the bypaths in the Central Highlands, where 
 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 fine 
 linen, as these have volunteered." 
 
 A few facts relative to this romantic walk are not, after a lapse 
 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 solemn oath to follow it." From Loch 
 Lomond westward to Inverary, and thence northward by Loch 
 Awe and Glen Etive, they wandered on halting when wearied, 
 either for a night, or a day or two, and always well received, 
 strangers though they were ; making friends too, in far-off places. 
 Through the wild rampant cliffs and mountains, which lend so awful 
 a grandeur to Glencoe, they proceeded to Ballachulish, billeting 
 themselves upon the hospitable household of Mr. Stewart, when? 
 6 
 
124: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 they received such kindness as made the remembrance of that family 
 a bright spot in the wanderings of memory many years after, and 
 meetings with 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 Inverary 
 and Dalmally. Loch Awe with its wooded shores, noble bays, 
 beautiful islands, and unsurpassed mountain range, topped by the 
 magnificent 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 laden with 
 their travelling gear, and his gentle wife carrying in her hand the 
 lighter portion of it. He 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, generous man, who though 
 singularly tolerant to others, cared not to measure any odds against 
 his own consciousness of power. It was on this first visit in 1815 
 that some of those incidents occurred which are not easily forgot 
 ten, in a country where 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 spot was beautiful ; the weather had been 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 HIGHLANDS. 125 
 
 hanging by a nail on the unmortared 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 bed, and served her with the utmost 
 good-nature. In Glenorchy, his time was much occupied by fish 
 ing, and distance was not considered an obstacle. He 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 found he had it not. Nothing 
 daunted, he walked back, breakfasted, got his fishing-rod, made all 
 complete, and off again to Loch Toila. He 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 off for his 
 home again with his fishing-basket full, and confessing somewhat 
 to weariness. Passing near a farm house whose inmates he kneAV 
 (for he had formed acquaintance with all), he went to get some 
 food. They were in bed, for it was eleven o clock at night, and 
 after rousing them, the hostess hastened to supply 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 the 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 poured 
 the remainder of the whiskey and milk into the bowl, and drank 
 that also. He then proceeded homeward, performing a journey of 
 not less than seventy miles.* 
 
 " On leaving the Glenorchy schoolhouse, they went 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 was 
 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 wet towards evening. As the 
 pedestrians reached the cottage drenched, on knocking at the door, 
 
 * This adventure is told, with a slight variation, by the Professor himself in hia " Anglirnania." 
 Wilson s Works. 
 
126 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 proprietor 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 w r ith 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 cairds 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 ." 
 
 The appearance of his companion contrasted strikingly with that 
 
 * Mr. William Stewart. 
 
 t Mr. Stewart calls it Tomintoul, but that must be a mistake, as at a subsequent date my father 
 speaks of it as a place visited for the first time. 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 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 surprised 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 they were 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. He 
 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 description 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 really could not form an opinion 
 of him. They arrived here late at night. The following day, and 
 greatest part of the night, he passed rambling among our glens 
 alone, and the day after, the whole 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 aiforded me, of enjoying what I should 
 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 MEMOLB OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the same time so much simplicity. His wanderings, etc., etc., made 
 some people in this quarter no matter who think him quite mad, 
 and they will not be persuaded to the contrary. The eccentricities 
 of a poet certainly do bear some resemblance to this at times, and 
 to say truth, Mr. Wilson has his good share of these. I was quite 
 tantalized the day he passed in the house that I was not able to 
 appear, and avail myself of so good an opportunity to become ac 
 quainted with him. I saw more of Mrs. Wilson, and was much 
 pleased with her. She made out her walks you see, and after this 
 you must allow woman to possess resolution and perseverance. I 
 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 beaux blush for their effeminacy." 
 
 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 Raimoch. 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 father made his 
 wife sit down among the moss, and taking off his coat, wrapped 
 her 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 off. 
 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 
 w^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 wastes 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 fastnesses. 
 
 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. 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 129 
 
 Mure of Caldwell, exclaimed, "Weel, I declare, she s come back 
 bonnier than ever !" 
 
 My father s own account of their adventures is contained in the 
 following letter to the Ettrick Shepherd, soon after his return, writ 
 ten evidently in the full enjoyment of the highest health and spirits, 
 to use his own phrase, " strong as an eagle :" 
 
 "EDINBURGH, September. 
 
 " MY DEAE 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 26th of August, sojourning in divers glens from 
 Sabbath unto Sabbath, fishing, 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 beginning of November. Now pause and attend. If 
 you will meet me at Moffat, on October 6th, 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 you, 
 and fish up Douglas Burn before you, next time I come to Ettrick. 
 
 I saw 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 Jeffrey leaves Edinburgh this day for 
 Holland and France. I presume, after destroying the king of the 
 Netherlands, he intends to" annex that kingdom 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 Murray, pray introduce 
 something about The City of the Plague, as I shall probably offer 
 him that 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 WILSON. 
 
 fine creature. I killed in the Highlands 170 dozen of tronts. One 
 day nineteen dozen and a half, another seven dozen. I, one morn 
 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 I was within 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 the acces 
 sion of George the Third. We were at Loch Katrine, Loch Lomond, 
 Inverary, Dalmally, Loch Etive, Glen Etive, Dalness, Appin, Balla- 
 chulish, Fort William, Moy, Dalwhinny, 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 liked in 
 Edinburgh. 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 4 Roderick is not a first-rate work ; the remorse of 
 Roderic is that of a Christian 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. Neither is 
 there national character, Spanish or Moorish. No sublime imagery; 
 no profound passion. Southey wrote 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. Unless 
 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 
 
 * Cona or the Vale of Clioyd, and other Poems. Edinburgh. 12rao. The author of this little 
 volume was Mr. James Gray, one of the teachers in the High School, an accomplished man, a 
 friend of my father s. He afterwards took orders in the Church of England, and was appointed 
 to a chaplaincy in India. He died in September, 1830. 
 
 t Wordsworth s "White Doe of Rylstone." 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 131 
 
 dying ; and Byron is married. Herbert* is frozen to death in Scan 
 dinavia. Moore has lost his manliness. Coleridge is always in a 
 fog. Joanna Baillie is writing a system of cookery. Montgomery 
 is in a madhouse, or ought to be. Campbell is sick of a constipa 
 tion in the bowels. Hogg is herding sheep in Ettrick forest ; and 
 Wilson has taken the plague. O wretched writers ! Unfortunate 
 bards! What is Bobby Miller sf back shop 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 !J 
 
 "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 
 was 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 always prosing about them. Methinks I 
 feel about objects familiar to infancy and manhood, but when we 
 speak of them, it is only upon great occasions, and in situations of 
 deep passion. Ossian was probably born in a flat country ! 
 
 " Scott 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 Waverley, so I 
 presume the South Highlanders despise G-uy Mannering. 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 my snuff-box in your cottage. Take care 
 of it. The Anstruther bards have advertised their anniversary ; I 
 forget the day. 
 
 * The Honorable William Herbert, Dean of Manchester, died in 1847, in his 70th year. He 
 was author of several volumes or translations from the Icelandic and other northern languages. 
 The poem here referred to is evidently " Helga," which was published in 1S15. 
 
 t One of the principal Edinburgh booksellers. 
 
 % An excusable challenge. The "Address to a Wild Deer" is one of his happiest compositions. 
 
 For a very different and more serious criticism of Ossian s Poems by Mm, see Mackwood?* 
 Magazine for November, 1889. 
 
132 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I wish Lieutenant Gray of the Marines* had been devoured by 
 the lion he once carried on board his ship 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 offence against good morals ? If you did not, neither did I. 
 Indeed it is, on many accounts, exceedingly improbable. 
 
 " Yours, truly, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 Apparently the Isle of Palms had by this time made way with 
 some 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 Palms, which I wish to publish 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, with Mrs. Wilson, and am strong as an eagle." 
 Having received no reply, he wrote a few days later : 
 " I felt myself bound by friendship and other ties to acquaint you 
 with my intention before I communicated 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 is 
 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 
 any number of pages the publisher may think fit, from three to four 
 
 * Charles Gray, author of several Scotch ballads, poems, and songs. He died in 1851. 
 t William Tennant, Professor of Oriental Languages in St. Andrews ; Author of " Anster Fair;" 
 died iii 1843. 
 
ELLERAY. 133 
 
 hundred, so as to be sold for twelve shillings, and to be a counter 
 part of the Isle of Palms. 
 
 " The first and longest 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 1665, and the poem is intended to give a general 
 picture of the situation of a plague-struck 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 this 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 the sole responsibility of the 
 publication, which was ultimately undertaken by Constable, along 
 with whose name those of Smith and of Longman appeared on the 
 title-page. Shortly after this communication my father paid a visit 
 to Elleray, probably for the purpose of inspecting the state of the 
 place, and making arrangements for letting it. On the 31st of Oc 
 tober he reports his progress to his wife : 
 
 " ELLEBAT, Friday night, Oct. 31, 1815. 
 
 " DEAREST JANE : I am not to blame for not having written 
 before this night, owing first to a mistake about the post-night ; 
 
134: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and secondly, to the want of sealing-wax or wafer ; so, if angry, 
 pray become appeased. On Monday I reached Penrith, the weather 
 being coldish 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 whom 
 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 Somerville 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 
 young Bingham of Kendal, two well-known cockers. 
 
 * A favorite pony. 
 
ELLERAY. 135 
 
 " De Quincey will accompany me to Scotland ; but I will write 
 about his rooms in a day or two. 
 
 " I have not yet been in the new house. The 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 affection, 
 
 " 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 Plague. In January, 1816, he was 
 again at Elleray, and thus relates his adventures to Mrs. Wilson : 
 
 "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 with me, which I think I told you before. 
 Going down to their house I fell upon 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 
 fall, 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 in 
 two hours I was seated in the kitchen of Mr. Dobson 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 in 
 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 thoughts of pursuing my journey till daylight, so 
 
136 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 I supped and went to bed. Next forenoon at eleven o clock, a party 
 of men arrived from Ambleside with the Coroner, and I found from 
 them that the road though difficult was passable, so I faced the hill 
 and arrived safe at Chapman s in two hours and ten minutes, hav 
 ing slid along with great rapidity. The thaw was beginning, and 
 had I waited another day, the snow would 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 Nab, 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, and 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 lonesomeness 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. 6d. books in general. I put your name into the 
 title page, which I shall ever be happy to do on similar occasions. 
 
 " These failures in Glasgow will not be favorable to me as an 
 author." 
 
 The reception of the volume was altogether favorable ; and it was 
 recognized as indicating a marked increase of power and discipline 
 
LIFE IN EDINBURGH. 137 
 
 in the mind of the author. With the exception of that first sugges 
 tion of the subject already referred to, I find no allusion to the 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," "The 
 Convict," "Solitude," and "The Farewell and Return." 
 
 In the next number of the Edinburgh Review, the volume received 
 a friendly criticism from the hand of Jeffrey, who, in reply to a 
 letter from the author, unfortunately not extant, addressed the fol 
 lowing interesting letter to him : 
 
 " MY 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 possible 
 to deal with them with the same severe impartiality with which 
 works of equal literary merit, but without that attraction, might 
 probably be treated. Nor do I think that this is desirable or would 
 even be fair ; for part, and not the least part of the merit of poetry, 
 consists in its moral effects, 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 which 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 
 comply 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 
 what I can to let you have nothing more than justice, and save you 
 from having any other obligations to your critic than for his dili 
 gence and integrity. 
 
138 
 
 MEMOIB OF JOHN 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, I 
 love and honor the feelings by which I think your judgment has 
 been misled, and by which I most readily admit that your conduct 
 should be governed. I assure you I am 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 
 down as sure proof of moral depravity, and utter want of all good 
 affections. I should be sorry that any good man should think this 
 of me as an individual ; as to the opinion that may be formed of my 
 critical qualifications, it is impossible for any one to be more indif 
 ferent than myself. I am conscious of being quite sincere in all the 
 opinions I express, but I am the furthest in the world from thinking 
 them infallible, 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. I 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. JEFFREY. 
 
 " 92 GEORGE STREET, Saturday Evening." 
 
 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 North" 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 profession. 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 139 
 
 Again and again he 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 April, 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 Kemble. 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 another steamboat, 
 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 Inverary, and was obliged 
 to stop in a small cottage there. On Saturday, I fished up 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 wel 
 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 write to 
 day informing Menzies of my mishap. Is not this a severe trial to 
 one s temper ? 
 
 * A member of the Scottish bar, who married a sister of my father s friend, William Duulop. 
 
140 MEMOIR OF 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 difficulty 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, by Inverary, On 
 Wednesday the 8th, write to me at Miss Sym s, Glasgow, where I 
 will be on the 10th, and at Edinburgh, on Saturday the llth, prob 
 ably about 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 little 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 a:reein<r with 
 
 O & 
 
 that of the above letter : 
 
 " At a point on the 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 stirred in 
 him. He joined the group ; talked with them and leaped with 
 them. They were rejoicing in their sport, when he, finding him. 
 self 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 would rather that 
 the accident had happened to one of themselves, and they procured 
 a cart in the neighborhood 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 me that her mother remonstrated 
 often, but in vain ; for he would fish, though scarcely able to limp ; 
 
 * Then Miss Campbell, daughter of Mr. Campbell, of Achlian. 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 141 
 
 and one day, as lie was fishing from the shore, 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 and 
 manageable. 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, then 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 
 plump richt oot o sight, till the Highlander on Ben Cruachan 
 thocht him drooned. No he, indeed ; sae he takes to the sooming^ 
 and strikes awa wi ae arm, for the tither had baud o the rod ; and 
 could ye believe t, though it s as true as Scripture, fishing a the 
 time, that no a moment o the cloudy day micht be lost ; ettles* at 
 an island a quarter o a mile aff, 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 clud, has hy ticket 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 Nbctes 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 lapse of a week he again writes : 
 
 " DEAREST JANE : The Devil is a letter-sorter at the Edinburgh 
 Post-Office, so your Glenorchy letter of Thursday has not been sent 
 to the place of his birth. The Inverary one I got on Saturday, 
 which told me of your welfare, and the brats, which is enough. 
 Where the other is gone is known only to the old gentleman, who 
 will assuredly be hanged one day or other. 
 
 * Directs his course. t Nodes. 
 
14:2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I promised not to write any more ; 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 Robert will 
 explain to you). 
 
 " I tried a day s fishing in Loch Awe, and killed a dozen fine 
 ones. Yesterday I rode Achlian s charger to Craig. Ah 1 here are 
 well, and desire their love to you. Miss Campbell has been poorly, 
 but mends apace. I have received most hospitable welcome. I 
 slept last night in our old room. To-day I limped up to Molloy 
 with my fishing-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. Miss 
 JM Intyre, with whom we dined, desires her love. Dr. M Intyre 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. In 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, Monday, lid July, 1816. 
 
 " DEAREST 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, Monday, I walked up to the 
 wooden bridge and fished there, killing fifteen dozen. Unluckily 
 the family from home. On Tuesday I dined with Captain Archi 
 bald Campbell and his fair daughters at their cottage. We visited 
 on Loch Fyne side, and met a pleasantish, smallish party. On 
 Wednesday I left Inverary at a quarter before four in the morning, 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 
 
 with young James M Nicol, brother to Miss M Nicol, and fished 
 some moor farms about eight miles off; sport but moderate; 
 fatigue great ; slept like a top. On Thursday I dined with Mr. 
 M Gibbon, the clergyman, who lives in that t nice place beyond the 
 wooden bridge. Passed a most social evening, and stayed all night. 
 On Friday I went to another class of moor farms, about eight miles 
 from the wooden bridge, along with young Mr. Bell ; had very 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 supper, 
 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 Hayfield, and dined with Mr. M Neill, of 
 that place.* In the evening a most terrific thunder-storm. 
 
 " To-day fished in Loch Awe ; bad clay ; 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 Rnnnoch 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 l Ramillies till -I return. But I do not countermand 
 you, nor will I be the least angry if you do go. Bless the small 
 creatures. Everlastingly yours, J. WILSON." 
 
 " ACHLIAN, August 2, 1816. 
 
 U 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 
 I 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 Rannoch, in Glencoe, and other glens near it; at the 
 foot of Loch Ericht, and the country round Loch Treig ; I have 
 
 * "My poor dear old friend M Neill, of Hayfield. God rest his soul! It is in heaven. At 
 ninety he was as lifeful as a boy at nineteen." Noctc.". 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 seen great scenery, undergone hardships, and am in good health. 
 I returned to Achlian a few days ago, but the post was one day 
 missed, and I sent this by a private hand to Dalmally, 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 fix, 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 llth, so it is not 
 so long since I went away as you said in your letter. 
 
 " I suppose Cadell wished to see me about the Edinburgh Re 
 view. This is conjecture. What he calls agreeable to me may turn 
 out to be supercilious praise, 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 ! 
 
 " DEAKEST 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 have 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 Kenzie : 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 145 
 
 "MlLLBANK, DlNGWALL, 
 
 Wednesday, 13th August. 
 
 " MY DEAKEST JANE : I wrote you last from Abergeldy, and I 
 am afraid you may have been longing for a letter before this reaches 
 you. Such, I hope, 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. On 
 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 three 
 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 place 
 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. M Kenzie 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 unwell, and 
 likely to be so. That last letter was dated Friday, August 8th. 1 
 am miserable about them. To-morrow, that is, Thursday, August 
 14th, and that one day, I must rest here, for the fatigue I have 
 lately undergone has been beyond any thing I ever experienced. 
 On Friday, the 15th, I shall start again, and hope to be at Achlian, 
 
 * Of this place be says in the Noctes : " Drinking, dancing, swearing, and quarrelling goinj 
 on all the time in Tornintoul, James, for a fair there is a wild rendezvous, as we both know, sum 
 mcr and winter; and thither flock the wildest spirits of the wildest clans." 
 
146 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Dugald Campbell s, by Inverary, in a week from that time. So 
 immediately on receiving this, which 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 time 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 fatigue, 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 pray 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 am instantly 
 to return home. No 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 ! 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 North, 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 some 
 memoranda about it. He had been fishing in the Dee, and by 
 accident came to a fair at Tomintoul, where he saw a poor man 
 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 putting off his coat and giving 
 this fellow a thrashing, but on picking up the coat he found it rifled 
 of his pocket-book, containing all his money but a very few shil- 
 
THE HIGHLANDS. 147 
 
 lings ! In this state he left for Can-bridge, where he passed 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 following 
 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 learning, 
 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 that 
 Catherine is said to have had over that wonderful savage the Czar 
 Peter. 
 
 "Pray look at the last Edinburgh Review, and read the favorable 
 article on John Wilson s c City of the Plague. He is the person 
 in question." 
 
148 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 In the month of September he again visited Elleray, accompanied 
 by the eldest of his little girls. On his way he wrote to his wife : 
 
 " PENRITH, Friday, September 2 Ota, 
 Evening, Nine o clock, 1816. 
 
 "DEAREST JANE: We got safely to Hawick about ten o clock; 
 found a comfortable room and fire; supped, and went to bed. 
 Maggy and Mary Topham* 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 imme 
 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. Nothing 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 off a 
 lock of her hair to keep. Merit 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 to 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 affectionate husband, 
 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 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-moid. 
 
ELLEKAY. 140 
 
 Robertson s* infinite delight ;" " the next day De 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, u 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 warm-hearted of 
 men. He was born in 1793 ; called to the Scotch bar in 1815 ; elected Dean of Faculty in 1842 ; 
 raised to the bench in 1843; died in 1855. Lockhart wrote many a rhyming epitaph upon him, 
 one of which is quoted elsewhere. On another occasion, he is reported to have written, " Peter 
 Robertson is a man " to use his own favorite quotation, " cast in Nature s amplest mould. He is 
 admitted to be the greatest corporation lawyer at the Scotch bar ; and he is a vast poet as well as 
 a great 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 laughing 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 through my head; 
 And I thought unto myself, thinks I, Where was it I did dine ? 
 With whom ? Oh, I recall the name, twas Baron Brandywine. 
 
 " Let me see : Oh, after turtle we had punch, the spirits rain, 
 And, if I m not mistaken, we had iced hock and champagne, 
 And sundry little sundries, all which go to make one merry, 
 An intervening toss, or so, of some superb old sherry. 
 
 " Well, then, to be dramatic, we must needs imbibe a dram 
 (A very sorry sort of pun the perpetrator Sam) ; 
 And then to port and claret with great industry we 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. 1 
 
 I think I detect Mr. Lockhart s hand in the following good wishes : 
 
 " Oh, Petrus, Pedro, Peter, which you will, 
 Long, long thy 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, exhaustless main, 
 With thee disporting on its joyous shore, 
 Of that glad spirit quaffing 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. 
 
 will write thee 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. 28th, 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 off on Thursday. If it can go by post, 
 Avrite 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 Robertson, Esq. From a sketch by the late Professor Edward Forbes. 
 
MAGAZINE. 153 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 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 the 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 
 Avoiid of letters; and enough for his fame, that amid the haste and 
 exigencies of incessant periodical composition, he wrote such things 
 as no other man but himself could have written, and which will be 
 read and delighted in as long as the highest kind of criticism and of 
 prose-poetry are valued among men. Periodical literature, it seems 
 to me, was precisely 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 civilization 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 Black- 
 wood s Magazine. 
 
 Before, however, entering on the less peaceful events which follow, 
 let us have a glimpse of him once more rod in hand, and knapsack 
 on back away in the heart of the Highlands towards the close of 
 July, 1817. This time, however, he was burdened with a new load, 
 
154 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 for he carried besides his wardrobe and fishing-basket, a parcel of 
 books. He had, in fact, come bound to produce an " article" for the 
 Edinburgh Monthly 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 Rookh," of which the first part had appeared in June. 
 The following letter is the only memorial of this expedition: 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : 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 
 Tumrnel (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 bed sober. 
 (Friday.) I have breakfasted with him, and fished; good sport, 
 though, as 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 oif 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 
 ture. No mistakes now. Write long and witty letters. The weather 
 lias 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 happy. 
 Heaven bless you forever, and believe me thy loving and grateful 
 husband. 
 
 KINLOCH RANXOCH July 27, 1817." 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 155 
 
 Here also may come in two pleasant letters from 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 Blackwood: 
 
 " CRAIGCROOK, IQth 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 that 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 ^Lan in our journal. When I apply 
 for assistance to persons in whose talents and judgment I have as 
 much 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 quite 
 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 has 
 roused me to the resolution of procuring something more worthy of 
 the subject for the Edinburgh, and there really is nobody but your 
 self to whom I can look with any satisfaction for such a paper. 
 
 "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 
 may be either very curious or very delightful. I intended some 
 thing of this sort when I began 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 WILSON. 
 
 " Now, pray, do not refuse me raslil j. 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. 
 
 " Independent 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 
 life 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 you come 
 on Monday or Tuesday ? Any other day that may be more conve 
 nient. If you take my proposal into kind consideration, we may 
 talk a little of the drama ; if not, we will fall on something else. 
 Believe me always very faithfully yonrs, " F. JEFFREY. 
 
 "Send your answer to George Street." 
 
 The fact that my father agreed to contribute to an organ which 
 soon after became the object of determined hostility in the periodical 
 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 different subjects in organs of 
 the most hostile opinions is one which is now so universal among 
 men of the highest character in the world of letters, that it needs 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 
 offered to review Coleridge in a friendly manner, which, taken in 
 connection with the fact that a fierce onslaught on that poet appeared 
 in the Number of Blackwood at that very time in the press, may 
 furnish matter for unfavorable judgment to any sympathizers in the 
 angry feelings of that 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 my lather s generosity and kindliness of nature on the real 
 
157 
 
 facts of his life, without keeping any thing in the background that 
 throws light upon them. The following is Jeffrey s reply to his 
 communication, which I regret has not come into my hands : 
 
 " CRAIGCROOK, llth 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 possible, 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 nattering 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 take 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 man. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 7* 
 
158 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Of the subjects spoken of or contemplated, 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 Edinburgh Review. 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 father, in reply to a letter 
 in the Edinburgh Magazine criticising the poet s strictures on the 
 Edinburgh ^Review 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 saying 
 
 little or nothing of the 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 Burns, 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 think 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. 
 
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 me in 
 
 peace and felicity, and that you have resolved to dirty your fingers 
 no more with the quarrels of magazines and booksellers. God bless 
 you! " Very truly yours, F. JEFFREY." 
 
 My father s connection with Blackwood s Magazine was such as 
 to make it absolutely necessary, in any record of his life, to give 
 some account of the rise of this 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 was heartily believed. It is, indeed, impossible 
 for us at this time to realize 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, who 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. Brougham. We cannot con 
 ceive why a poet should be stigmatized as a base and detestable 
 character, merely because he was a Cockney and a Radical ; nor 
 can we comprehend how gentlemen, aggrieved by articles in news 
 papers or magazines, should have thought it necessary to the vin 
 dication of their honor, to horsewhip or shoot the printers or editors 
 of the publications in which such articles appeared. Yet in 1817, 
 and the following years, we find such to have been the state of 
 things in the capital of Scotland. Not only was society actually less 
 civilized ; but politics, which now 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 
 
 Whig and a rascal, and vice versa. If you were a Tory, and 
 wanted a place, it was the duty of all good Tories to stand by you ; 
 if you were a Whig, your chance was small ; but its feebleness was 
 
160 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 all the more reason why you should be proclaimed a martyr, and 
 all your opponents profligate mercenaries. If I exaggerate, I nm 
 open to correction ; but such appears to me to have been the pre 
 vailing tone among the men who figured most actively in public life 
 about the time to which this chapter relates. In literature, at that 
 time, the Edinburgh Review was supreme. Its doctrines 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, these were becoming insufferably tiresome to the Tory 
 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. Jeffrey, 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 vig 
 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 Cleghorn,f 
 who had acquired some literary position as editor of a Farmers 
 Magazine, and Thomas Prmgle,| 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 establishing some new journal, was 
 then a serious reality; 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 of the origin and suggestion to Hogg. Vol. i^ 
 p. 230. 
 
 t Mr. Cleghorn was more fortunate in his financial than his literary undertakings, having 
 been the founder of the Scottish Provident Institution, by whom a monument to his memory has 
 boon erected in the Edinburgh Warriston Cemetery. He died in May, 1883. 
 
 $ Author of Narrative, of a Residence in South Africa, Ephemeridex, <&c. ; born 1789, died 1884. 
 
 By a curious coincidence both these gentlemen were lame, and wont on crutches, an infirmity 
 to which ludicrous but most improper allusion is made in the Chaldee MS., where they are de 
 scribed as coming in " skipping on staves." 
 
161 
 
 almost " doited " publication. 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 April, 
 1817, under the title of 27ie Edinburgh Monthly Magazine. The 
 contents w t,. e varied and agreeable, but no w T ay 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 different views of what the Magazine ought 
 to be made. There was no definite arrangement for the payment 
 of contributors. 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 reply to the charge of hav 
 ing supplied no money to the editors, that during the six months 
 of their connection, he " had paid them different sums, amounting 
 to 50." He adds, " They will tell you I never refused them any 
 money they applied for. They may perhaps say the money was for 
 contributors ; 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 
 
 * This economical style of work contrasts curiously with the munificence subsequently prac 
 tised in connection with the Magazine, A few years after this, I find Wilson informing a con 
 tributor, " Our pay is ten guineas a sheet," a rate since that time nearly doubled. 
 
162 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 as partner and publisher, advertised in the June number of the 
 Magazine that its publication would be discontinued at the end of 
 three months from that date. The editors, thrown adrift by this 
 coup, immediately offered their services to Messrs. Constable and 
 Co., as editors of a new series of the Scots Magazine, to appear 
 under the title of The Edinburgh Magazine ; while Mr. Black- 
 wood, after some contention and correspondence, agreed to pay his 
 quondam partners 125 for their share in the copyright of the Ed 
 inburgh Monthly Magazine* In acquiring the copyright of the 
 Magazine, Mr. Blackwood determined 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 timejBlack- 
 woocTs Edinburgh Magazine (No. 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 offend the most zealous partisan of the Blue and Yellow. On 
 the contrary, the opening article of No. I. was a good-natured eulo- 
 gium on Mr. Francis Horner ; the Edinburgh 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, elaborately commonplace and complaisant, and, in fact, 
 every thing was exemplarily careful, correct, and colorless. No.YIL 
 spoke a different 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 offence 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 demanded was 300, but according to the publisher s accounts, submitted 
 to the law-agent of the editors, the success of the work had not been such as to justify that es 
 timate. The accounts showed that so far from having made profit, the publisher was nearly 
 140 out of pocket, and that, " even if the whole impression were sold off, there would not be 
 70 clear profit." According to this estimate, which seems to have satisfied the agent (no other 
 than the afterwards celebrated George Combe), the half share of the editors at the most would 
 have been worth 35. What the number of copies printed was I have no means of knowing; 
 it was, probably, not large, and the fact that the whole impression was not disposed of, gives some 
 ground for the belief that the publisher had reason to be dissatisfied with the management. 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOc s MAGAZINE. 163 
 
 author a miserable compound of " egotism and malignity."* The 
 second was an even more unjustifiable attack on Leigh Hunt, who 
 was spoken of as a " profligate creature," a person " without rever 
 ence either for God or man." The third was the famous " Chaldee 
 Manuscript," compared with which the sins of the others were al 
 most pardonable in the eyes of a great portion of the public. The 
 effect 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 ammunition 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 JBlackwood^ s contributions consisted of mere 
 banter and personality. These would have excited but slight and 
 temporary notice, had the Bulk of the articles not displayed a rare 
 combination of much higher qualities. Whatever subjects were 
 discussed, were handled with a masterly vigor and freshness, and 
 developed a fulness of knowledge and variety of talent that could 
 not fail to command 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 : 
 * This is indeed the only one of all the various sins of the Magazine for which I am at a loss 
 to discover 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 jeud es})rit, the history of which 
 will be fonnd sufficiently 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 shouts 
 of laughter, 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 William Hamilton, who also exercised his wit in writing a verse, and was 
 so ajnused by his own performance that he tumbled off his chair iu a fit of laughter. 
 
MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 modicum of abuse in the pages of his Magazine. But he had a dif 
 ficult task in accommodating the inclinations of his fiery associates 
 to the dictates of prudence and justice ; appreciating highly, as he 
 did, their remarkable talents, and unwilling to lose their services, 
 it required great tact and firmness to restrain their sharp pens, and 
 he 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 was necessary. It might 
 suffice for the public to know, from the allegorical descriptions of 
 the Chaldee MS., that there was 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 persoii- 
 
 * 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 be 
 seen by a considerable number of the old readers and admirers of the Edinburgh Review seem 
 to have been at the bottom of the aversion which the writers who established Blackwood a Ma 
 gazine had against it ; but their quarrel also included a very 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- 
 disant 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 
 so many ways, talents on all hands acknowledged to be great. And had they gone about the ex 
 ecution of their design with as much candor 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 inexperienced men, who, although passionately fond of lit 
 erature, and even well skilled in many of its finest branches, were by uo 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 temper, with many other 
 weapons of offence, which, although sanctioned in former times by the practice of the heroes in 
 whose repositories they had found them rusting, had now become utterly exploded, and were re 
 garded, and justly regarded, as entirely unjustifiable and disgraceful by all who surveyed with 
 modern eyes the arena of thei: exertions." 
 
Mr. Wilson, aha* "The Leopard." 
 
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 this fact I have abundant proofs. Suffice it that contribu 
 tions from Wilson s own pen have been altered, cut down, and kept 
 back, in compliance with the strong will of the man whose name on 
 the title-page of the 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 : 
 
 " Sin : I enclose a letter for your Magazine from the same 
 anonymous writer who sent you a communication relative to a new 
 translation of the Psalms. If these communications are inserted, 
 and I feel some confidence that they are fitted for a work like the 
 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. Probably enough, some of 
 the anonymous correspondent s contributions gave rise to those dif 
 ferences of opinion between the publisher and the editors, which 
 ended in their separation. One cannot but suspect that the writer 
 
168 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of the paper referred to in the following " Notice to a Correspond 
 ent" was either the Leopard or the Scorpion : "The paper on Crani- 
 ology by Peter Candid would have appeared 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 cautious 
 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 Edinburgh Monthly 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 the editor, and that in these early days of the Magazine the 
 ruling principle seemed to be that every man fought for his own 
 
 * The Crawiad, or Spurzheim Illustratad. A Poem in Two Parts. 12mo. Blackwood. 
 Edinburgh, 1817. " The Craniad is the worst poem we have now in Scotland. The author has 
 it in his power at once to decide the great craniological controversy. Let him submit his skull 
 to general inspection, and if it exhibit a single intellectual organ, Spurzheim 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 by my father, and 
 filled with " skeletons" of proposed articles. Of these sketches, however, the much mutilated 
 volume contains none, tho existing contents being almost entirely poetry. 
 
Mr. Lockhart, alias u Tho Scorpiot 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 171 
 
 band, and was surrounded with a cloud of secrecy even from his 
 fellows, it will appear 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 adopted the latter course is, I think, no stigma 
 on his character; and in after days, when his influence in the 
 Magazine had become paramount, he made noble amends for its 
 former sins. 
 
 The staif of contributors whom Mr. Blackwood had contrived 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 Oalvinus, for their supposed association with the wicked 
 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 Sharpe, Sir 
 William Hamilton, and his brother,! the author of Cyril Thornton. 
 But though all these and more figured in the list 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 his desire to review Coleridge favorably in the Edinburgh may have 
 arisen from a wish to do justice to that great man, the opportunity for which he was denied in 
 the pages of Blackwood. 
 
 t Thomas Hamilton wrote several works besides Cyril Thornton ; among others, Annals of 
 tlie Peninsular Campaign, and Men and Manners in America. He died in 1842, at the age of 
 fifty-three. 
 
 % That saloon 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 dilettanti 
 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 Eeekie music; for unless occu 
 pied in the recesses of the premises with some other business, it is here that he has his usual 
 station. He is a nimble, active-looking man of middle age, and moves about from one corner to 
 
172 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 could have little idea of their power of work, or of the formidable 
 manner in which it was being exercised. That blue-eyed and 
 ruddy-cheeked poet, whose time seemed to hang lightly enough 
 upon his hands, did not quite realize one s idea of the redoubtable 
 ciitic whose "crutch" was to become so formidable a weapon. 
 Nor did his jaunty-looking companion, whose leisure seemed to be 
 wholly occupied in drawing caricatures,* appear a likely person, 
 when he sauntered home from Princes street, to sit do\>^ to a 
 translation from the German, or to dash off at a sitting " copy " 
 enough to fill a sheet of Blackwootf s 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, which 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 which 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 ; 
 
 another with great alacrity, and apparently under the influence of high animal spirits. His com 
 plexion is very sanguineous, but nothing can be more intelligent, keen, and sagacious than the 
 expression of his whole physiognomy ; above all, the gray eyes and eyebrows, as full of locomo 
 tion as those of Catalan ["Peter s Letters, vol. ii., pp. 1ST, 188. 
 
 * It is said, with what truth I know not, that clever as Mr. Lockhart was with both 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 taking 
 notes during a trial, his pen must have been busily employed in photographing all the parties 
 engaged, judge, counsel, and prisoner. I avail myself of this opportunity to insert here two 
 specimens of his wonderful power, one tal<en from the Bench, and another from the Pulpit. 
 
A SCOTCH MINISTER. 
 
 " When last in Scotland I was advised to look about among the pulpits, to try 
 whether any living specimen could be found resembling the ancient Scottish 
 worthies. I did so, but was not successful." Dr. Ulrick Stemetare on the 
 Natural Character of the Scott. Macfowood, voL iv., p. 829. 
 

175 
 
 and a sort o lauch about the screwed-up mouth o him that fules 
 ca ed no canny, for they couldna 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 nattering to himself. 
 
 Wilson s appearance in those days is thus described in Peter s 
 Letters by Mr. Lockhart : " In complexion he is the best specimen 
 I have ever seen of the genuine or ideal G-oth. 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, pra3lio 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 thocht, 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 when 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 unmistakable per 
 sonality. 
 
 Such were the two principal contributors to Blackwood when it 
 broke upon the startled gaze of Edinburgh Whigdom, like a fiery 
 comet " that with fear of change perplexes monarchs." Not with 
 out reason did the adherents of the " Blue and Yellow" wish ill to 
 the formidable new-comer, for, apart from its undeniable offences 
 against good feeling and taste, 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 
 
 MP]MOIB OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 larity, and in the course of a few years t became recognized 
 throughout Britain as the most able and interesting periodical work 
 that had ever been published. 
 
 In noticing the early contributors, it would not do to pass over 
 Mr. Robert Sym, whose pseudonym of " Timothy Tickler" 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 youthful 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. Nay, I don t believe that North has, would, 
 or durst put a single sentence into his mouth that had not proceeded 
 out of it. No, 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 the 
 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 ultimately it became, not only a 
 complete and well-contested race, but a trial of strength to deter- 
 
 * But all the papers in Blackwood, signed " Timothy Tickler," were not written by Mr. Sym, 
 Mr. Hogg notwithstanding. 
 
A SCOTCH JUDGE. 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD 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 Sym 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 J3lacJcwood 
 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 herrings 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. S., 
 
 And ambitious to thrive, 
 Even his foes must confess 
 Cheated no man alive. 
 
 " Neither harried poor gentry 
 
 Of house or of land, 
 Nor bolted the country 
 With cash in his hand. 
 
 " Where tall as a steeple, 
 And thin as a shadow, 
 He towered o er the people 
 
 In the Links or the Meadow. 
 
 (Chorus.) With a pipe in his cheek 
 
 And a goblet before him, 
 Every night of the week 
 In saecula sseculorum." 
 
 Mr. Sym was born in 1750 and died, in 1844. 
 
180 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 munications,* but to put forth their jfettt: cC esprit occasionally under 
 cover of the 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 was 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 
 to the Magazine. The Shepherd was naturally anxious to know 
 whose the tremendous articles were that made so much sensation 
 monthly, and having found by experience that he could extract no 
 information out of Sym or Wilson, he would repair to Lockhart to 
 ask him, awaiting his reply with fixed eye and a beating heart : 
 " Then, with 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 
 
 * Tn the early numbers of the Magazine 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 remarkable persons in all quarters of the empire. There was really so 
 much variety and individuality imparted to these imaginary characters that it was very difficult 
 to perceive that the same writer was assuming the guises of William Wastle, Esq., and Dr. 
 Ulrick Sternstare, and Philip Kcmpferhausen, and the Baron Lauerwinkel. 
 
 t His expressions of opinion on the subject varied according to his mood, but his sober judg 
 ment of the matter is on record in his own words: "My friends in general have been of opinion 
 that he (Wilson) has amused himself and the public too often at my expense; but, except in one 
 instance, which terminated very ill for me, and in which I had no more concern than the man 
 in the moon, I never discovered any evil design on his part, and thought it all excellent sport. 
 At the same time, I must acknowledge that it was using too much freedom with any author to 
 print his name in full to poems, letters, and essays which he himself never saw. I do not say he 
 has done this, but either ho or some one else has done it many a time." This was written in 1832. 
 Of Wilson s own kind feeling to Hogg, see letter of 1888. 
 
 $ Hogg s Memoirs 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 181 
 
 Cay, or James Wilson, or that queer, fat l body, Dr. Scott, and 
 sometimes on James and John Ballantyne, and Sam Anderson, and 
 poor 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 up 
 their minds to act on O Doherty s principle, of never denying any 
 thing they had not written, or ever acknowledging any thing they 
 had. 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 Noctes 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 find from Leigh Hunt s " Correspond 
 ence," recently published he wrote to Lord Jeffrey the letter given 
 below. J Which of the writers in JBlackwood perpetrated this very 
 wicked joke I know not, but its point lay in the fact that Sir J. G. 
 Dalyell, with whose name so great a liberty had been taken, was 
 perhaps of all men then in Edinburgh the one who, as a good Whig, 
 regarded BlackwoocVs Magazine with most abhorrence. A cor- 
 
 * Hogg s Memoirs. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 $ " BEAK SIR : I trouble you with this, to say, that since my last I have been made acquainted 
 with the atrocious nonsense written about me in JBlacfowood s Magazine, and that nothing can 
 be falser than what is said respecting iny having asked and pestered Mr. Hazlitt to write an article 
 upon my poem in the Edinburgh Review. I never breathed a syllable to him on the subject, as 
 anybody who knows me would say for 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 Erchom 
 (Graham ?) Dalyell, advocate, the author of which tells me at last that he is the writer of tho 
 article, and that he did not mean to attack my private character! He only attacked the bad prin 
 ciples I evinced in my writings. You may conceive by this that this letter is a strange mixturo 
 of affected airs and real paltering. I have written this evening to Edinburgh, according to tho 
 signature, to ask whether Mr. Dalyell (if there is such a person) avows himself the author of the 
 letter. But I am taking up your time with these matters. I merely wished, in the first instance, 
 to state what I have mentioned above. 
 
 "Believe me, my dear sir, most sincerely yours, 
 
 " 18 LISBON GROVE, 1817." " LEIGH HUNT. 
 
 8 
 
182 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 respondent informs me that he recollects well Sir John coming to 
 him in a state of violent agitation, to show the letter he had just 
 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 unscrupu 
 lous trick. 
 
 But the most elaborate and successful of these mystifications, of 
 all which I suspect the invention must 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 fat, 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 Blackwood 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, Glasgow," 
 was a name and address as well known as that of Mr. Black wood 
 himself. The ingenious author had contrived to introduce so many 
 of the Doctor s peculiar phrases, and references to his Saltmnrket 
 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 had been held up to ridicule, under a most horrible disguise, in the " Chaldee MS.," for 
 which, however, he had the satisfaction of receiving 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 popular, 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. Lockhart was 
 the author. 
 
 "CAPTAIN PATCH S LAMENT. 
 
 " Touch once more a sober measure, and let punch and tears be shed, 
 For a prince of good old fellows, that, alack-a-day, is dead 1 
 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 Captain Paton no ino ! 
 
183 
 
 the acute publisher, John Ballantyne, Hogg relates, was so con 
 vinced 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 snuff-color, or a modest genty drab ; 
 The blue stripe in his stocking 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 see 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 snuff-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 I 
 
 " 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! 
 
 " 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 Captain 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-field 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 Captain Paton no mo ! 
 
 " But at last the Captain sickened, and grew worse from day to day, 
 And all missed him in the coffee-room, from which he now stayed away ; 
 On Sabbath, too, the Wee Kirk made a melancholy 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 Eam s-horn kirk ; tis the way we all must go. 
 Oh, we ne 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 JBlacJcwoocV s Magazine, and received a complimentary din 
 ner, which he accepted in entire good faith, replying to the toast of 
 the evening with all the formality that became the occasion. 
 
 But the spirit of fun and mischief that prompted these outrageous 
 jokes did not confine itself to practising them on the outer world. 
 The overflowing satire of the inventors was turned by them even 
 upon one another. In a very clever but rather tedious composition 
 of Lockhart s, called the "Mad 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 than 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 Wilson shines 
 
 More o er a bowl of punch than in his lines." 
 
 It is said that my father chanced to see the proof-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 and Schlegel, 
 
 Klopstock and Wieland, Kant and Mendelssohn, 
 All high Dutch quacks like 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 supporters 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, jolly boys, and let punch and tears be shed, 
 For this prince of good old fellows that, alack-a-day, is dead 1 
 For this prince of worthy fellows, and a pretty man also, 
 That has left the Saltmarket in sorrow, grief, and woe I 
 For it ne er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!" 
 
 For a complete copy of this lyric see Elackwood, vol v., p. 735. 
 
Mr. Gibeon Lockhart, alias Baron Lanerwinkel, alias William Wastle, alias Dr. Ulrick 
 Sternstare, alias Dr. Peter Morris, etc., as sketched by himself. 
 
LITEEATUEE. BLACK WOOD S MAGAZINE. 187 
 
 and Hunt might have been overlooked by the Edinburgh public ; 
 but the Chaldee MS., though in reality a joke in comparison, raised 
 a storm of solemn indignation, which it required all the courage 
 and energy of the publisher to bear up against. In a second edition 
 of the Magazine, which was very rapidly called for, the obnoxious 
 article was withdrawn,* doubtless much to the disappointment of 
 purchasers. 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. 
 Sharpe, 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 Mandeville is by 
 Mr. Lockhart. There is something besides of Mr. 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 
 Mr. W. are those On Truth, the Fudge Family in Paris, Childe 
 Harold, canto 4th, and Horace Walpole s Letters. The letter to 
 
 * The folio wing note was prefixed to the November number: "The editor has learned with 
 regret that an article in the first edition of No. VII., which was intended as a jen-d esprit, 
 has been construed so as to give offence to individuals justly entitled to respect and regard; 
 he has, on that account, withdrawn it in the second edition, and can only add that, if what has 
 happened could have been anticipated, the article in question certainly never would have appeared. 11 
 
188 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Dr. Chalmers is by Mr. Lockhart. I am not quite sure if Mr. W. 
 will have 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 if 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, whom 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 7 , a disgusting, vulgar, 
 conceited writer, 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 Mr. 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 Magazine, 
 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 names. There were articles 
 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. Olinthus Petre, T. C. D., by 
 
 * Blackwood, January and March, 1818. 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 189 
 
 Ensign O Doherty, by Mordecai Mullion, and a host of others too 
 numerous to mention. The variety and mystification thus produced 
 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. After aD, 
 and giving their full weight to the censures which were justly in 
 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. Jeffrey was 
 a more gentlemanly Whig than Mr. Brougham ; that Sydney Smith 
 grinned more good-humoredly than Sir James Mackintosh, and so 
 forth, but 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 think, 
 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 appeared in 1818, 
 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 altogether wanting in the vigorous youth 
 of journalism, and some of the ablest periodicals that have ever appeared have incurred the most 
 censure in this respect The Edinburgh Review cannot by impartial judges be pronounced to 
 have been immaculate. The Quarterly is open to the same remark ; and Prater s Magazine, 
 that most philosophic and well-conducted periodical, for some time seemed bent on out-doing the 
 early style of Blackwood, after its older sister had subsided into propriety and self-restraint 
 
 t This mischievous composition professed to be a translation from a German periodical (a lit 
 erary stratagem, by the way, which probably set the example which Mr. Carlyle, among others, 
 has turned to such frequent and effective purpose), and was thus introduced : "The Konigsberg 
 Keview, conducted by the late ingenious M. Mundwerk, was a few years ago very much admired 
 in Germany by numerous readers, who took delight in seeing infidel and unpatriotic opinions 
 maintained by men of acknowledged wit and talent Strange as the circumstance may appear. 
 
190 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 a previous letter under the signature of " Idoloclastes," a strong 
 remonstrance had been addressed to Dr. Chalmers on his support 
 of the Edinburgh Review, in which, with great professions of re 
 spect and admiration both for Chalmers and Jeffrey, there was 
 mingled a most offensive 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 were 
 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 Scorpion. For calm, concentrated sting it 
 would be hard to find six pages to match the Letter of the Baron 
 Lauerwinkel.f The very natural indignation excited by this attack 
 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 Hypocrisy unveiled and Calumny detected, in a Re 
 view of Ulackwoocrs Mayazine. The author wielded a powerful 
 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 periods 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 clergymen of the 
 Lutheran Church. One of these was the late celebrated preacher, Hammerschlag (Dr. Chalmers 
 was here pointed at), another was Professor Laugner of the University of Konigsberg. The in 
 dignation of the zealous and worthy Baron von Lauerwinkel was excited," &c. 
 
 * Professor Playfair was parish minister of Liff and Bervie from 1773 to 1782. He became 
 assistant to Professor Ferguson in 1785, and in 1805 resigned the chair of Mathematics for that 
 of Natural Philosophy, which he occupied till his death, in 1819. 
 
 t Much as 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, Calviniis, already 
 referred to, had inflicted not less than five pamphlets on the public, addressed to Dr. M Crie and 
 Dr. Andrew Thomson on their sinful alliance with Blackwood*8 Magazine. In thundering sen 
 tences, garnished with plentiful texts of Scripture, he calls upon them to " remember the fate of 
 that priest who associated himself with the infidel compilers of the Encyclopedie? and hopes that 
 no priest in this country is willing to let it be supposed that he receives wages from a till that is 
 replenished by the dissemination of blasphemy. Similar remonstrances and insinuations were 
 very frequently levelled against Dr. Brewster; and there can be no doubt that such attacks were 
 calculated to provoke retaliation. 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 191 
 
 But much of his censure went home to the mark, and he pledged 
 himself, in conclusion, 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 the 
 pamphlet received these communications as might have been ex 
 pected, he declined to reveal his identity, but printed the corres 
 pondence.! 
 
 * In furtherance of this purpose he announced as preparing for publication "A Letter to the 
 Dean and Faculty of Advocates on the propriety of expelling the Leopard and the Scorpion from 
 that hitherto respectable body." 
 
 t From the Scotsman, Saturday, October 24, 1818: 
 
 " To the Author of Hypocrisy Unveiled. 
 
 " SIR : As it is no part of a manly disposition to use insulting epithets to an unknown enemy, 
 who may perhaps 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 that situation might probably not be felt to carry with them any degradation to him, 
 and 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 cannot continue in 
 it without the consciousness of cowardice. I therefore request your 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 I may exact satisfaction from you for the public insults you have offered tome, 
 
 "53 QUEEN STEEET, Friday, Oct. 23, 1818." " JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " To the Author of Hypocrisy Unveiled. 
 
 " SIK : I have no wish to apply epithets of insult to you till I know who you are. If you 
 suppose yourself to have any claim -to the character of a gentleman, you will take care that I be 
 not long without this knowledge. I remain, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "23 MAITLAND STREET, Thursday, Oct. 22, 1818." " J. Gr. LOCKHART. 
 
 " To John Wilson. Esq.. Advocate. 
 
 " Friday, 23d October. 
 
 "SIR: The note which I understand to have been forwarded to you by my publisher, will 
 have explained why I did not receive your communication till within these few hours. 
 
 " If you & not a principal conductor or supporter of Blackwood s Magazine, you have no 
 reason for addressing me. If you be not the author or furnisher of materials for an attack on 
 Mr. M Cormick, which you yourself stated to be highly unjustifiable, and of which you denied 
 all knowledge upon your honor ; if you be not the author of a most abusi-ve attack on your 
 friend, Mr. Wordsworth; if you did not, by an unfounded story, prevail with Mr. Blackwood s 
 former editors to insert that attack; if you be not the secret traducer of Mr. Playfair, Mr. Haz- 
 lilt, and Mr. Coleridge: if you be not the wanton and cruel reviler of those gentlemen named 
 in my pamphlet, with whom you had lived in habits of friendship ; if you be not one of the 
 principal vomitories of that calumnious and malignant abuse which has, through the medium of 
 Mackwood s Magazine, been poured out on all that is elevated, worthy, or estimable ; if you 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 only of the 
 writer or writers who have committed these enormities. But if all or any of these things apply 
 
192 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 When Mr. Lockhart found that the author would not reveal 
 himself, he appears to have concerned himself no more about the 
 matter, but to have relieved his feelings by caricaturing all the 
 parties concerned in his friend s literary " Ledger" " The Leop 
 ard " and " The Scorpion," as drawn in the " Ledger" will be found 
 on pages 165, 169. 
 
 The following admirable letter, addressed at this time to my 
 father, 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 you, in that case you have lost every claim to the character of a gentleman, and have no right 
 whatsoever to demand 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 shall be redeemed. 
 
 " Do not think that I shall be deterred, by any threat, from discharging the duty I have thus 
 imposed on myself, or that I shall be so weak as, by a premature avowal of my name, to deprive 
 myself of the means. 
 
 " Prove to the satisfaction of the public that the charges which I have made are unfounded, or 
 that they do not apply to you; or, as you yourself ask of Mr. Hunt: Confess that you 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 throbbing!* of a contrite spirit, 
 the first to meet your challenge, if then renewed, shall be, sir, your, etc., 
 
 "THE AUTHOR OF HYPOCRISY UN VEILED. 
 
 " P. 8. As Mr. Lockhart obviously acts in concert with yourself, I have made the same answer 
 to him which I now make to you." 
 
 * This estimable man was for many years an Episcopalian clergyman in Edinburgh. He was 
 presented to the rectory of Easington, Yorkshire, in 1832, and died there in December, 1842. 
 
 Mr. Morehead, 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 Constable s Magazine; 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 JBlackwood s Magazine, gave 
 offence to Mr. Morehead, 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 peace were observed, as their friendship remained unbroken. A notice of Mr. More- 
 head is made a dozen years later in a Nodes, which exhibits my father s real estimate of the author 
 of Dialogues on Natural and Revealed Religion. 
 
 " Shepherd. I love that man." 
 
 "North. So do I, James, and so do all that know him personally his talents, his genius, and, 
 better than both, his truly Christian character, mild and pure." 
 
 " Shepherd. And also bricht." 
 
 "North. Ye*, bright : 
 
 In wit a man simplicity a child. " 
 
 Noctes, May, 1S30. 
 
LITEKATUKE. BLACKWOOc s MAGAZINE. 193 
 
 " Sunday Evening. 
 
 " MY DEAR WILSON : I trust you will forgive me for addressing 
 you on a subject which has been running in my head all week, and 
 has incapacitated me, I believe, from reading or writing, for when 
 ever I attempted either, your image, or the image of some other 
 person or thing connected with JBlackwoocFs Magazine, immedi 
 ately took its station 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 appear to be giving advice or 
 intermeddling in an affair with which I have 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 refrain from saying something to you, though 
 perhaps it may be rather incoherent, on the unpleasant circumstan 
 ces of the last week. That blame must attach to you and your 
 friend Lockhart for the delinquencies of Blackwood 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 conception 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 different 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 
 I cannot say that the world is unjust in this retaliation. 
 
 " The person who has written the anonymous letter to you does 
 not act perhaps in the most chivalrous manner possible, not to let 
 himself be known ; but I rather think he is in the right, and as I 
 am one of those people who are disposed to believe all things, I 
 
194 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 imagine he is really what he gives himself out to be a person un 
 connected 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, my 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 find 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 that you are anxious to root out of the world 
 false sentiments in politics and religion, with a perfect unconcern 
 who may entertain them. This is the best view to take of you ; 
 and in this kind of crusade, you are heedless what shock you may 
 give to individuals, whose 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 arrows 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 Jacobins and infidels as it can, I suppose 
 the character of that publication 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 supposed 
 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 
 
LITERATURE. BLACKWOOD s MAGAZINE. 195 
 
 drift of the politics of the Edinburgh Review is felt by the nation 
 to have on the whole a good tendency. If you and your friend per 
 sist in writing in J3lackwood s Magazine, I exhort 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 which 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 temperate, and give 
 that Review the credit which it deserves, and speak 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 hVve 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, Wednesday, 1817. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : Your message to me from Mr. Napier would 
 have been perfectly satisfactory, even had I had any suspicion that 
 he was the author of the pamphlet. But knowing Mr. Napier to 
 be a gentleman 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 was the author of that pamphlet, the 
 question would have been accompanied with an ample apology for 
 putting it, for, without that, the question would itself have been 
 
196 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 an insult. Assure Mr. Kapler of this, and that I am sorry he should 
 have been put under the necessity by disagreeable and stupid 
 rumor of disowning that of which I know his nature to be inca 
 pable. Had I suspected Mr. Napier, and yet "alluded" to him as 
 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, this villa- 
 nous and lying pamphlet has been read by you with feelings, and 
 has left on your mind 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 : 
 
 "CKAIGCROOK HOUSE, 13th October, 1818. 
 
 " MY 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 Edinburgh Review; and though nobody can know better 
 than I do, that nothing was less in your contemplation in writing 
 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, if I had not a still 
 more awkward and far more painful 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 
 friend Mr. Play fair, in my judgment so unhandsome and uucandid, 
 
197 
 
 that I 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 differ 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 natter myself that I do not violate the 
 courtesy which I unfeiguedly 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 
 has 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 think must be felt by every one of its candid 
 readers. 
 
198 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " In the second place, I say it is false that Mr. P. lent his support 
 to the Review 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 support 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 father s 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 Black- 
 wood and its principles, and was resolved to stand by them at all 
 hazards. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ANN STREET. MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 
 
 1820. 
 
 AN 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 public 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 he 
 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 
 vulgar in his eyes. For fundamentally, though that I know is not 
 the general opinion, he was as much a philosopher 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. And when free from the bias of passion or preju 
 dice, his judgment was most accurate. Caprice or change in regard 
 to principles, or persons, or tastes, was no part of his character. 
 
ANN STREET. 199 
 
 Faults of temper and intolerance sometimes glared 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 disgust, affected him painfully; 
 and if but for a short time exposed to any such annoyances, no self- 
 control prevented him 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, we 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 three girls,* left 
 his mother s house, 53 Queen street, and set up his household gods 
 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 up a total of 195, with the triumphant 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 Elleray. But the limita 
 tion of their resources had, from the beginning, brought with it 
 neither 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- 
 
 * Their names, in the order of their ages, were as follows: John, born April, 1812; Margaret. 
 July, 1813; Mary, August, 1814; Blair, April, 1816; Jane Emily, January, 1817. 
 
200 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ers of work, and his deep affection for his wife and children was a 
 mighty stimulus to exertion. My mother, on the other hand, along 
 with a singular sweetness of disposition, possessed great prudence 
 and force of character ; she entered, as her letters indicate, into all 
 that concerned her ^husband with wife-like zeal, and her sympathy 
 and counsel were appreciated by him above all else that the world 
 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 they 
 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 family, that dignified 
 old gentleman stood, himself a very picture, his fine intellectual 
 countenance lightened by eyes most expressive, whose lambent glow 
 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 his 
 footsteps to fame. 
 
 Sir John Watson Gordon lived with his father (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 him into 
 prominent comparison with the best English painters of the day 
 was a portrait of my sister, when seven years of age a beautifully 
 colored and poetically conceived picture. 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 time, to give evidence to the world, by the admirable vigor 
 and truthful individuality of his portraits, that his eminence is in 
 creasing with his years. 
 
 Another illustrious name is to be numbered in that coterie of 
 artists. William Allan (who also attained the honor 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 an 
 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 the 
 pleasant reunions that took place in those days under Professor 
 Wilson s roof, where might be seen together Lockhart, Hogg, Gait, 
 Sir William Hamilton, his brother, Captain Thomas Hamilton, Sir 
 Adam Ferguson, Sir Henry Raeburn, 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 contemplated that as 
 an object of ambition. His aspirations were in a very different 
 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, made 
 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 study par excellence, and when the prospect opened to him of 
 being able to cultivate that study, not merely as a field of analytical 
 skill, but as a means of practically influencing 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 Edinburgh became vacant by the lamented death of Dr. Thomas 
 Brown. The contest which ensued has had few parallels even in 
 the history of that University, whilst the patronage lay with the 
 Town Council, whose members had 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 these 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 the 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 afforded 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 eccentric young man of very 
 athletic and jovial tendencies. How these qualities affected his 
 position as a candidate will speedily appear ; but all other distinc 
 tions were 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, Blackwood s Magazine, a 
 man therefore who needed no further testimonial of being at least 
 an assassin and a reprobate. He, forsooth, a Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy, a successor of Dugald Stewart! The thing was mon- 
 
Sir William Hamilton, at Orford. From a sketch by Mr. Lockbart. 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 205 
 
 strous ; an outrage on decency and common sense. Such, 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 of 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 Whigs 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 which 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 testimonials 
 which 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 sanguine, 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 conclusion, 
 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 
 decency, to read the Chaldee MS. ; the pilgrimage to the Kirk of Shotts ; the attacks on Messrs. 
 Wordsworth, Pringle, Dunbar, Coleridge, and others ; to weigh and consider the spirit 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 fill the chair of Moral Philosophy, and to confide to him the taste, the moraJs, 
 and the characters of the rising generation." 
 
 When the election was over, the public were informed, through the same channel, that the con 
 duct of the electors bad " stamped indelible disgrace on the Town Council," and that though it 
 was a prevalent opinion that they were already as low as they could be in the estimation of 
 their fellow-citizens, the proceedings of that day had shown this conclusion to be erroneous, j.nd 
 demonstrated that there is in the lowest depth a lower still 
 
206 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 get such an honorable situation, 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 principal men here on the Gov- 
 ernment side are most anxious for his success ; and even if he should 
 be disappointed, the handsome manner in which 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 from it. He 
 was brother of the Miss Brown whom you may remember seeing 
 here, and the authoress of Lays of Affection. 
 
 " If I have any thing 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 opponents at present are few, and the most formid 
 able is Sir William Hamilton, who is not a Government man, but 
 others may start more appalling. Malthus is one talked of, and Sir 
 James 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 immediately 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 Blackwootfs Magazine, 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." 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY 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 opposition 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 literary offences, the attack 
 was directed against his moral character ; and it was broadly insin 
 uated that this candidate for the Chair of Ethics 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 appears, 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 
 felt these malicious attacks may be judged from the following letter 
 to his friend the Rev. John Fleming, of Rayrig, Windermere : its 
 manly spirit and noble 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 persons 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 opponents, 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 upon Wednesday, the 19th of July, and the contest lies 
 between Sir William Hamilton, Bart., a barrister 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 support 
 of Government, as far as their influence can be legitimately exer 
 cised, and of many of the most distinguished independent men in 
 Scotland. My friends are all sanguine ; many of them confident ; 
 and I myself entertain strong, and I think well-grounded hopes of 
 success. My enemies have attacked my private character at all 
 
208 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 points, and within these few days, have not scrupled to circulate 
 reports that I am a bad husband and a bad father. I confess that 
 this has affected me greatly ; as, whatever my faults or errors may 
 have been, it is true as holy writ that I do tenderly love my wife and 
 children, and Avould willingly lay down my life for their sakes. I 
 need not say that such base insinuations have roused the indignation 
 of my friends ; but though calumny 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. Now 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 by 
 writing 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, 
 foil to give me indescribable pain. I am, my dear sir, ever yours 
 affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 Mr. Fleming s reply is not extant, but the answer to a similar 
 request addressed to Mrs. Grant of Laggan may be given as a cu 
 riosity in literature, being, it is to be hoped, the last specimen that 
 will be seen of such a testimonial to any candidate for a professor 
 ship. My father wrote to Mrs. Grant as follows : 
 
 " Sunday Afternoon. 
 
 "MY DEAR MADAM: During the course of the canvass in which 
 I have for some time past been engaged, I am sorry to know that 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 209 
 
 many calumnies have been industriously circulated against my pri 
 vate character. Among others, it has lately been insinuated that I 
 am a bad husband, a bad father, and, in short, in all respects a bad 
 family man. I believe that I may with perfect confidence assert, 
 that whatever may be my faults or sins, want of affection for my 
 wife and children, my mother, sisters, and brothers, is not of the 
 number. My whole happiness in life is centred in my family, whom 
 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 
 hundred anonymous slanders will fall before 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 
 \vhatever 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, "Jom* WILSON." 
 
 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 un 
 clouded 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 portion of connubial felicity; and I 
 always believed her to be the tranquil and happy wife of a fond and 
 faithful husband, domestic in his habits, devoted to his children, 
 and peculiarly beloved by his brothers and sisters, and his respect 
 able and venerated parent. Often have I heard your sisters talk 
 
 
210 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON*. 
 
 with the warmest affection of you, and praise you, in particular, for 
 your fond and unremitted 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 : 
 
 "EDINBURGH, Sth July, 1820. 
 
 " MY LOED PROVOST : Some unfavorable reports having been 
 circulated with great industry respecting the character of John 
 Wilson, Esq., at present candidate for the Chair of Moral Philoso 
 phy, now vacant in this University, I use the freedom to address 
 your Lordship in a subject interesting to me, alike from personal 
 regard to Mr. Wilson, and from the high importance which, in 
 common with every friend to this city, I must necessarily attach 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, are too much unconnected 
 with each other to make it possible they would or could unite their 
 false testimonies, for the purpose 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 
 talents, I can only say that I should have conceived myself guilty 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 211 
 
 of a very great crime, had I been capable of recommending to the 
 Moral Philosophy Chair, a scoffer at religion or a libertine 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 which 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. He 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. Wilson seems well entitled to despise the petty scandal 
 which, 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 up 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 weighing the 
 character of a candidate, otherwise qualified to execute an impor 
 tant trust, the public will never be deprived of his services by im 
 posing upon him the impossible task of showing that he has been, 
 at all times and moments of his life, as wise, cautious, and temper 
 ate as he is in his general habits, and his ordinary walk through 
 the world. 
 
213 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I have only to add, that supposing 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 declaration, 
 and that of those who best know him, that he is altogether inca 
 pable either of composing parodies upon Scripture, of being a 
 member of any association for forwarding infidelity or profaneness, 
 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 misrepresented 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 that 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 Philosophy, and that in spite 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 puffing 
 down with a face of delight to tell me that c 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 Whigs they come in for a 
 proper share of her notice : 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY 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 Mr. 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 meanness and wickedness I could not give you any 
 idea of were I to write a ream of paper in the cause. In the num 
 ber of Blackwood s Magazine last published they got a rap on the 
 knuckles, just as hints as to what they may expect in future if they 
 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 hour 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 subsequent meeting of Council 
 was ignominiously defeated. The principal figure in that scene is 
 a certain Deacon Paterson, who appears for once on the stage of 
 history, armed with a " green bag," the contents of which were to 
 annihilate the new Professor s reputation and quash 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 Maga 
 zing, drawn in lively colors, from which we can only find room for that of "The Odontist:" 
 " The reputed author of the TesUmoniwni is a good-natured dentist, who lives in Glasgow, 
 whose name is James Scott, and who is the only Scotchman I know, with a very few exceptions, 
 that can understand or relish a joke, and all thejjeuo; d esprit in Blackwood" 1 8 Magazine he enjoys 
 exceedingly, though, poor man, he could not write a/ line if his salvation depended upon it. ... 
 The Jurist, who coined the rhymes in praise of lackwood, is one of the great lawyers here, 
 a Mr. Cranstoun." 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 forthwith disappeared into oblivion, in the midst of a hearty chorus 
 of hisses. 
 
 My father lost no time in addressing himself to his important 
 labors, and applied in all quarters, where help was to be relied 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. John Smith, the Glasgow publisher : 
 
 " 53 QUEEN STREET, July 22. 
 
 " MY DEAR 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. Nothing 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 Natural 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 Mr. Smith : 
 
 " MY DEAR 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 rescind 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 speech, full of all 
 manner of calumnies against me, during which he was repeatedly 
 called to order even by some of my opponents. At last, a vote 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIK. 215 
 
 of censure upon him was 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, arid to give vent to the wrath of 
 party feeling. 
 
 * 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 labors, and this might be aided by a sight 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 personal 
 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 the 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 incessantly. His portrait 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 make 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 has 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 
 
 * Professor of Moral Philosophy in Glasgow, under whom he had studied in 1801. 
 
216 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 was so able to assist him, as Alexander Blair. To him he un 
 bosomed himself in all the confidence of friendship, and in several 
 long and elaborate letters too long to be given entire entered 
 minutely into his plans for the course, asking for advice and sugges 
 tions with the eagerness and humility of a pupil to his 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."* Then will 
 commence his own course in good earnest ; six or more lectures on 
 the physical nature of man ; then twelve more, " though for no cause 
 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 may 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 them ; and perhaps in six lectures, something eloquent and pleas 
 ing might be made out." Let Blair consider the subject. That 
 brings us up to forty lectures. Then comes the moral nature, the 
 affections, and conscience, or " whatever name that faculty may be 
 called." Here seems fine ground for descriptions of the operations 
 of the passions and affections, and all concerned with them. That 
 requires twelve lectures at least ; " indeed that is too few, though, 
 perhaps, all that could be 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 course, I am informed, was more valued by his 
 Students. His lecture on Socrates, in particular, was considered one of his masterpieces in elo 
 quence and pathos. 
 
THE MOEAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 217 
 
 fifty-eight in all. The rest of the course will embrace fifty lectures 
 respecting the duties of the human being. " I would fain hope that 
 something 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 mean 
 time consider every thing, and remember how short the time is ; and 
 that unless he does great things 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 with a " God bless you!" 
 and the next begins with a recommendation to Blair to read Stew 
 art s argument against the Edinburgh Reviewer s assertion, that 
 the study of Mental Philosophy has produced nothing, and imparted 
 no power. He thinks " that both Jeffrey and Stewart are wrong, 
 probably, however, Stewart most so ;" but Blair must examine it, 
 "for it is 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, 
 I 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 department 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 will 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 works, 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 him in 
 Blaclowood, on Berkeley s Philosophy, were, I believe, referred to by Sir William Hamilton as 
 admirable specimens of metaphysical discussion. 
 
218 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I believe he followed the French, for he hated Reid. But though 
 an acute man, I cannot think he had any wisdom ; he was contin 
 ually nibbling 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, and in general, to show frequently a metaphysical power, 
 of which, perhaps, Stewart himself does not possess any very extra 
 ordinary 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 his profound and varied study of philosophy, ancient and 
 modern. Of these letters I have no specimen 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 imagination were concerned. Every thing historical 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 219 
 
 and applied to nations gives a lecture instant effect. Whatever 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- worship 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 with 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 Avhich 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 worship 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 forty 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, 
 funerals ; the English service, so affecting and sublime, and the 
 Scotch service, silent, wordless, bare, and desolate dust to dust in 
 the speechless, formless sorrow of a soul. In that endless emana- 
 
 * He had, however, if I am not mistaken, described such a scene with exquisite fidelity, in 
 Peter s Letters, vol. iii., p. 75. 
 
220 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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, then the heart of that 
 nation runs 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 superior. 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, which 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 ar 
 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 probably 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 important 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, unmingled 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 in the soul 
 of many, most men. I once saw, in a dream, a most beautiful 
 flower, in a wide bed of flowers, all of which were beautiful. But 
 this one flower was especially before my soul for a while, as I ad- 
 
 * This subject is beautifully treated by him in the first number of the " Dies Boreales." 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 221 
 
 vanced towards the place where they all were growing. Its char- 
 ncter 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, I 
 am unable even to reconceive to myself what it was, whether alto 
 gether different from the other flowers, or of some perfectly glo 
 rious representation of them all ; not the queen of flowers, but 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 different 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 
 beholding 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 flowers, themselves most 
 fair, that lay, a usual spring assemblage in a garden where human 
 hands worked, and mortal beings walked, among the umbrage of 
 perishable 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 me 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 
 kindliness, but scarcely call for publication here. So far as the 
 order of the course was concerned, my father preferred to follow 
 his own plan, as sketched in his first letter to Blair. To that plan, 
 
222 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 I 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 interesting occasion, 
 and when it is the professor s first appearance the interest is of 
 course intensified. The crowd that assembled to hear my father 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 we 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 the 
 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 with 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 
 unanimous burst of applause. Those who came to scoff 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 inter 
 rupted in the midst of an eloquent peroration by the sudden entrance 
 of Dr. Monro s tall figure enveloped as usual in his long white 
 
 * The author of The Two Cosmos : MS. letter. 
 
THE MORAL PHILOSOPHY CHAIR. 223 
 
 greatcoat to announce that his hour had come. Pulling out his 
 watch, the unsympathizing anatomist addressed him : " Sir, it s past 
 one o clock, and my students are at the door; you must conclude." 
 The orator, thus rudely cut short, had some difficulty in preserving 
 his self-possession, and, after a few sentences more, sat down. 
 
 The first 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 
 Professor that if he made the exertions he had promised, and de 
 meaned himself as became the successor of Ferguson, Brown, and 
 Stewart, his past errors might be forgotten, and he might obtain 
 that public confidence which was 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. 
 He 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 
 Avhich 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 peculiar, his most prized title ; the Chair is the place where he 
 feels his highest work to be. I believe the prejudices and hostility 
 which obstructed his way to it, however triumphantly overcome, 
 threw their shadows forward 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 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of lectures contained more poetry than philosophy. He was him 
 self aware of this, and refers to it in a letter to De Quincey, in 
 which 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, his poetical and literary 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 metaphysician as well as a brilliant humorist. But among 
 his 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 
 power. " 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 spoken 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 with 
 which he grasped at any question put to him gave his manner a 
 quickness and animation of expression that at tirst 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 with 
 a brief letter, addressed to his friend Mr. Smith, on Christinas day, 
 1820: 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : If you can send me instantly, i. e., by the re- 
 
THE 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 have 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 learn, my 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, teU me how you are, and what doing. Yours very truly, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 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 teacher of moral 
 philosophy I am not speaking, and cannot pretend to give any 
 critical estimate. I leave that to more competent hands. 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 difference between one teacher 
 
226 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 find another. Here was a poet, an orator, a philosopher, fitted in 
 any one of these characters to excite the interest and respect of 
 youthful hearers. But it was not these qualities alone or chiefly 
 that called forth the affectionate homage 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 respected and admired. No man ever had a 
 deeper and kindlier sympathy with the feelings of youth ; none 
 could be prompter and sincerer to give advice and assistance when 
 required. Himself endowed with that best gift, a heart that 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 
 University Almanac, as delivered in the session 1838-4, apparently the same in arrangement as 
 originally determined on in his consultations with his friend Blair. In what year he remodelled 
 his course, having previously remodelled his views on the great question of the nature of the 
 Moral Faculty, I have not ascertained. It was at least subsequent to the year 1S37, 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 PHILOSOPHY. 
 " This Class 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 law 
 from any authority, but endeavors to deduce it from principles 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 such a law ; and 2d, The relations in which he is placed ; his nature and his relations 
 concurring to determine the character of his moral obligations. 
 
 " When the nature of man has been considered, 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 principles we shall have obtained will assign. 
 But when we shall have gone over the examination of his nature, the mere statement of his re 
 lations 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 separate 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 necessarily take place upon its being known. There are 
 difficulties and impediments which arise in the weaknesses, the passions, the whole character of 
 him who is to perform it. Hence there arises a separate inquiry into the means to which man is to 
 
THE PROFESSOR 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 obligations. There must be a resolved and deliberate 
 subjection of himself to the known Moral Law ; and an inquiry, therefore, into the necessity, 
 nature, and means of Moral Self-government, will furnish the Third and last Division of the 
 Course. 
 
 " In the First Division of the Course, then, we consider the constitution of the Human Being. 
 He has a PHYSICAL NATURE, 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 MORAL NATURE by which he communi 
 cates with God ; he has a SPIRITUAL ESSENCE by which he is immortal. 
 
 "All these natures and powers, wonderful in themselves, are mysteriously combined. The 
 highest created substance Spirit, and Matter the lowest, are joined and even blended together in 
 perfect and beautiful UNION. 
 
 " We begin by treating generally of his PHYSICAL CONSTITUTION and POWERS, and showing 
 that much of his happiness it may be of his virtue is intimately connected with their health 
 ful condition, as there is a mutual reaction between them and his highest faculties. The APPE 
 TITES are explained, and the phenomena of the SENSES ; and pains taken to put in a clear light 
 the nature of SIMPLE SENSATION, before proceeding to illustrate the THEORY OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 "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 itself 
 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 OP ASSOCIATION. 
 
 "We are then led to inquire what is the FACULTY OF THOUGHT itself; and if the different 
 operations of JUDGMENT, ABSTRACTION, and SEASONING- 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 into the sources 
 of the SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL, an attempt made to define GENIUS and its province, and illus 
 trations are given of the PHILOSOPHY OF 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 CON 
 SCIENCE. Is it SIMPLE or COMPOSITE ? NATURAL 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 PRINCIPLE, 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, and are the sources of the happiness, the sorrows, and 
 the unfortunate errors of human life. These numerous principles, which have been classed in dif 
 ferent manners by Ethical writers, but of which no classification is adequate to represent 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 order, which, whether metaphysically just or not, ap 
 pear to afford facilities for analyzing the processes of nature. 
 
 " In treating of Man as a SPIRITUAL BEING, we consider the doctrines of the IMMATERIALITY 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. 
 
 " The Second Division of the Course comprehends an inquiry into Man s BELATION.S AND Du 
 ties. His first RELATION is as a creature to the MAKEK AND GOVERNOR OF THE WORLD, and 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 these various reminiscences I shall give three, in the order of the 
 dates to which they respectively relate, viz., 1830, 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 place, what we are able to know of the 
 Attributes of that Great Being to whom he owes his FIRST DUTY, a duty which is the foundation 
 of all others. 
 
 " 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 Understanding 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 doctrines 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 them from the 
 absolute necessity of things, prior to all consideration of the effects in which they are manifested, 
 the ARGUMENT or DEMONSTRATION d priori. The other method is that to which nature con 
 tinually constrains us, which may be going on in our minds at every moment, an evidence and 
 conviction collecting upon us throughout life. It deduces the Existence and Attributes of God 
 from their effects in his works, which our Reason can ascribe to no other origin. It reasons from 
 effects to the cause, and is therefore termed the ARGUMENT d posteriori. 
 
 "The great points established by both these modes of argument are, in the first place, the Ex 
 istence of God, his Power, and his Wisdom. These may bo 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 Eighteousness. 
 
 "And here it appears necessary to vindicate the argument of the Evidence of Design from the 
 misrepresentations and sophistries of certain writers by whom it has been impugned, and to ex 
 pose the unphilosophical and impious spirit of their skepticism. 
 
 "When we have considered the grounds on which our natural reason is convinced of these attri 
 butes, the relations of Man to God are manifest, and his Duties rise up in all their awful magni 
 tude to our minds. 
 
 " From this part of the Second Division of our Course, which belongs to Natural Theology, wo 
 go on to consider the RELATIONS AND DUTIES OF MAN TO ins FELLOW-CREATURES. 
 
 "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 PUBLIC or PRIVATE, and, in another, as they are 
 simply NATURAL, 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, household, and kindred, as a son, a father, a brother, a kinsman, a master, a servant, a 
 friend. Under each of these relations, the particular circumstances attending it, Avhich constitute 
 the grounds of obligation, are considered, and the duties arising from them explicitly and fully 
 stated, under the head of HOUSEHOLD LAWS. 
 
 "By the PUBLIC RELATIONS, we are led to consider him as a Member of a Political Body. 
 There is here a twofold relation that of RULERS AND SUBJECTS. We shall have to treat of the 
 DUTIES belonging to both; as of Rulers, their first and especial duty to maintain the INDEPEND 
 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 ORIGIN AND 
 GROUNDS OF GOVERNMENT ; the PRINCIPLES OF LEGISLATION ; the PRINCIPAL FORMS which PO 
 LITICAL GOVERNMENT has assumed among different nations ; and their various adaptation to the 
 essential ends for which they were constituted. 
 
 " In this Division of the Course, all those various Theories are strictly examined, which have 
 been offered at different time.3, 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 
 losophy of Greece. 
 
THE PKOFESSOK AND HIS 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 a while 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 him 
 to the spot, where he soon discovered something very wrong, and 
 a degree of injustice being perpetrated 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 
 u in position;" and, before his unknown 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 with 
 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, somewhat cautiously, after the manner of their country, said 
 they 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 
 some of the chief Means by which Individual and National Virtue and Happiness may be strength 
 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 contains a hundred Lectures. 
 
 w Each alternate year the Professor delivers a Course of Fifty Lectures on Political Ecoromy. 
 He follows, in a great measure, the order observed in the Wealth of Nations; and, in explaining 
 the doctrines of SMITH, compares them with those of EICARDO." 
 
230 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 was not right to believe every thing ; and that 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 offence, 
 and gave him such a taste of his fist as won t soon be forgotten ; 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 
 delighted 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 was called ; 
 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 satisfactory 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 holiday-time relates to a later period, when 
 maturer years had invested the Professor with a more patriarchal 
 dignity and sedateness. True to his love for spring, he had selected 
 
THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 231 
 
 that season for an excursion to the pastoral vales of Yarrow and 
 Ettrick, where glittering rivers, 
 
 "Winding through the pomp of cultivated nature," 
 
 attracted more than one poet s admiration; for if Wordsworth sang 
 in 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 wander a day with 
 him " 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 overlooked ; 
 joyously and pleasantly passed 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 this would 
 bring benefit with it not less lasting, than when, in graver state, he 
 prelected, ex cathedra, to his assembled class. 
 
 We get an idea of what that class was from the folio wing recol 
 lections, which Mr. John Hill Burton has kindly sent to me. He 
 says : 
 
 " I first saw and made the acquaintance of Professor Wilson 
 
232 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 when I joined his class in 1830. The occasion was of much more 
 interest to me than the usual first sight of an instructor by a pupil. 
 I do not know if there be any thing of the same kind now, but in 
 that day there was a peculiar devotion to Blackwood l 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 writing 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 physical 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 appearance. 
 
 " 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. When 
 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 
 Tarland was in those days not a place to be easily forgotten. On 
 the border of the Highlands, it had been a great mart for smuggled 
 whiskey ; and though the reduction of the excise duties had spoiled 
 that trade, custom continued it for a while in a modified shape, and 
 the wild ruffianly habits it had nourished were still in their prune, 
 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 
 unusual geological phenomenon is developed, or the professor of 
 anatomy might conduct his inquiries into some abnormal structure 
 
THE PROFESSOR 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 1 , and he believed he did so not unsuc 
 cessfully. Here there 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, 
 he 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 him. 
 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 miscellaneous Highlanders dispersing home 
 wards ; and as all were anxious to bear a hand, the small group 
 increased into a sort of procession, and the Professor reached his 
 abode, wherever that might be, at the head of a sort of 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 Moral 
 Philosophy. We now sailed easily into conversation, and went ofl* 
 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 I became accustomed ; he was always ready to give people 
 credit for extensive learning. There w T as 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 
 
234: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to Sir William Hamilton, who knew all about it ; he did afterwards 
 speak to him accordingly, somewhat to my surprise, as I thought 
 he would be unlikely to remember either me or my talk and I 
 thus made an acquaintance which afterwards strengthened into an 
 admiring friendship for that great man. Then another point came 
 up, on which De Quincey 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 said to dwell any 
 where. Suppose then I should come and dine with them ? That 
 would be my best chance of seeing De Quincey. That it was 
 quite right to take advantage of this frank invitation, and, an ob 
 scure stranger, to catch at an opportunity of thrusting myself on 
 the hospitalities 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, with immense 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " 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. Him, 
 however, I did not see. The Opium-Eater was supposed to be 
 somewhere about the premises, but he chose neither to appear in 
 the drawing-room nor the dining-room, and years passed before I 
 became acquainted with the most peculiar man of genius, in Britain 
 at least, of the age. Otherwise, there was good company, hand 
 somely housed, and entertained 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 popular 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 PKOFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 235 
 
 " Among my own contemporaries were some representatives of 
 young Edinburgh, of whom a word or two presently, and a Pole> 
 who happened 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 aBsthetic 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 my contemporaries. With all the diffi 
 culties of language against him, he carried off from young Edinburgh 
 the first prize 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 
 dictionaries 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 testi 
 mony to my bare respectability; no name, even of a common 
 friend, to bring our conversation to an anchor with. This success 
 seems far more surprising when looked back upon than it was felt 
 at the time. Young people read in novels of such things, and there 
 fore are not astonished by them ; but in after life they become 
 aware of their extreme uncomrnonness. 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 remember 
 pretty distinctly a good-humored and kindly pleasantry of the Pro 
 fessor s at that first dinner. I have mentioned that there were 
 some representatives of young Edinburgh present. I do not know 
 
MEMOIR 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 them 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 North, 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 Literary Journal, or the University Album. 
 Whether it were the inheritance 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 coming into all this brilliant 
 light, out of the Boeotian darkness of Aberdeen, was conscious of 
 being contemplated with compassionate condescension. "VVe 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 first among us in learning and accom 
 plishments, as well as in the means of using them. He well justified 
 our expectations by his subsequent career, sadly impeded as it was 
 by bodily ailments, which brought it to an untimely close. 1 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 with them, it came to pass that, in our after- 
 dinner talk, I 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 
 very 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, the 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 powerful, playful, good-natured mastiff 
 taking his sport with a snarling cur. As I shall have to mention more 
 especially, this 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 
 experience, 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 shaft from the Pole, finding mark 
 he never meant, and piercing 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 4 Apperdeen was verray illoustrious 
 for the making of stockingkg? After 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 incident I 
 remember distinctly, but I am sure I shall be unable to tell it to 
 any effect. Some priggish remarks having been made by some one 
 on the power of exhaustive 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. He began calling to 
 him by the ordinary names, John, James, William, Thomas, and 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 JOHN WILSON. 
 
 one, for the attendant darted forward. It was, in fact, in obedience 
 to a sign by a guest that he was wanted, but it came in immediate 
 response to a thoroughly unconventional designation, Beelzebub, 
 Mephistophiles, or something 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. 
 
 " But 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 and repute as Archibald Swinton, now Professor of Civil 
 law ; the clever Pole I have already referred to ; John Walker Ord, 
 who showed poetic powers which promised a considerable harvest ; 
 and Thomas Todd Stoddart, who had won laurels, and thoroughly 
 enjoyed them, 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, 
 rewarded the student with what duty seldom brings, the enjoyment 
 of an oration alive with brilliant and powerful eloquence. 
 
 " Saturday was a great day of enjoyment of a more egotistic kind. 
 Then he spoke on the essays he had received. He gave us a breadth 
 of topics, and allowed us wonderful 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 imparted to the youth to hear his own 
 composition read out from that high place, and commented on with 
 earnestness, and not without commendation. The recollection of 
 these days sometimes also recalls Boswell s garrulous account of his 
 first symposium with Johnson. The Orthodox and High Church 
 sound of THE MITEE ; the figure and manner of the celebrated 
 Samuel Johnson ; the extraordinary power and precision of his 
 conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted 
 as his companion, produced a variety of sensations, and a pleasing 
 elevation of mind beyond what I had ever before experienced. 
 But our elevation Droceeded from entirely intellectual sources, 
 
THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 
 
 239 
 
 wiWout the aid of the other stimulants which contributed to Bos- 
 well s glory. Altogether, that class was a scene of enjoyment 
 which remains in my mind entirely distinct from even the plea- 
 santer portion of other work-day college life. 
 
 " The class was a very large one. I have referred to the Professor s 
 peculiar power of preserving discipline, or rather of keeping up good- 
 humor, gentlemanly fellowship, and 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 
 not 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 insurrection, 
 merely because snow was on the ground, appeared to be a silliness 
 utterly incomprehensible. This snow-ball affair 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 speech to 
 us on the conclusion of his daily lecture. He did not condemn 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 illustrious 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 working away till they were covered with snow, 
 panting with fatigue and glowing red with the exertion, they both 
 stopped, and laughed loud in each other s face ; just such a laugh 
 as he must have then expressed, did the Professor force upon his 
 class. Then came his contrast between such a scene and a fracas 
 in the dirty streets, where low-bred ruffians took the opportunity 
 
240 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to get out some bit of petty revenge or of mere wanton cruelty, 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 affair 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 Pentlaud 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 saying, Any 
 old clothes ? It was said that the way in which the Professor on 
 such an occasion turned round on the intruder, and said, * Yes ; have 
 you any ? had such an effect, that the word was passed through 
 the tribe, and he never was again addressed by any of its members. 
 
 " I remember a very strong negative testimony- to this peculiar 
 power, in the circumstance of his entire freedom from the persecu 
 tions of two licensed tormentors, who were the terror of all the 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 was put by 
 tricky students, that made the standing grief of the professors. 
 One of them was called Sir Peter Nimmo, a dirty, ill-looking lout, 
 who had neither wit himself, nor any quality with a sufficient 
 amount of pleasant grotesqueness in it to create wit in others. I 
 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. He 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 with 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 symptoms 
 of strong measures. I suppose he sometimes got a meal that way, 
 
THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 24:1 
 
 following an old Scottish saying about taking the bite with, the 
 buffet. He always called himself Sir Peter. It was said that a 
 man of high title had professed to "knight him in a drunken frolic. 
 He 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. He 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 portfolio 
 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 
 preposterous decoration, when he would stand exhibiting himself 
 wherever a crowd happened 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 
 find. 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 pre 
 sumed that in church he limited himself to the former function. If 
 it grew dark, he would solemnly draw from his pocket a small taper 
 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 
 shed around a degree of restless mirth which spoiled many a lecture, 
 10* 
 
242 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 4 
 
 and must have sadly jumbled the devotions of the church-goers. I 
 believe every professor received a full share of this man s attentions 
 except Wilson. His literary ally, the Professor of Civil law, a man 
 endowed with a great fund of humor, which, however, he could not 
 convert like him into defensive armor, suffered 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 
 exemption, in which his brethren must have 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, J3lacJcwood s 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 other as we passed ; and if a few words 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 mild political partisanship of the present 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 multitudes, when it occurred to attempt a 
 Tory meeting the word Conservative had not then been invented. 
 A question arose among us whether they 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-sided demonstrations of the strength of a 
 
THE PKOFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 243 
 
 party, was not then understood, and they were confounded with 
 meetings of representative bodies, where strength is tried by dis 
 cussing and voting. A friend of the Professor s, older than the 
 youngsters of his class, but a good deal younger than himself, was 
 known strongly to favor an invasion of the meeting from our side. 
 He called on the Professor 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 influence of party, without in 
 the least degree putting in question the sincerity of his attachment 
 to his own side. He made in the class just one allusion to politics, 
 arid 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 Professor. 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 strangers, to those who 
 never saw his grand and noble form excited into bold and passion 
 ate action behind that strange, old-fashioned desk, nor heard his 
 
 * The Eev. William Smith, of North Leith Church. 
 
244: 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN 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 would be widely 
 different, and yet they would not, taken all together, exhaust the 
 subject, or supply a complete representation 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 swayed 
 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 1837-8. 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 fluency. 
 
THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 245 
 
 " Iii 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 power. 
 
 " 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) riding 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 
 workings 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 proportionally greater or less degree, attends the 
 consciousness of possessing power. Even in lower creation we see 
 this feeling of pleasure shown. The eagle evidently enjoys a deep 
 sensation of pleasure as he cuts his unmarked path 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. The 
 child too attains a never-failing source of pleasure on his first con- 
 
246 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 scionsness of possessing powers, and he is overwhelmed with grief 
 and vexation when he meets with any obstacle which presents an 
 insurmountable obstruction to his free and unfettered exercise of 
 these powers. 
 
 " 4 All the principles which the human being possesses have been 
 given to him. for the purpose of enabling him to fight 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, w T hen crowned with success, should afford him pleasure. 
 The woodsman who is engaged in felling pines in the awful depths 
 of the American forest, derives pleasure from the consciousness of 
 power, 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 be, 
 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 the 
 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 
 stout-hearted effort to relieve themselves from them ; as, for instance, 
 
THE PEOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 247 
 
 in 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 
 strength 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 gorge ousness of ornamental tapestry, listening to the 
 soft sounds of sweetest music playinr 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 doubling 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, where 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 compose 
 or fill up the busy scene around it. The barbarous savages of one 
 tribe have taken captive the chief of another engaged in deadly hos 
 tilities with them. They have not impaled him alive. That would 
 be to consign him 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 
 energy in uttering a most diabolical yell, on witnessing their victim 
 first feel the horrid proofs of their resentment, and now, 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 
 menting 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 
 
24:8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOX. 
 
 smile which is extorted by excruciating pain, and forms the fit ac 
 companiment of a groan, but he smiles with joy as he chants his 
 death-song. He thinks with pride and joy on the heroic deeds he 
 has performed ; how he has roamed from sunset to sunrise through 
 the forest depths, and changed the sleep of his foemen into death. 
 He beholds on all sides dancing around him the noble spirits of his 
 heroic ancestors ; and nearest to him, and almost, he imagines, 
 within reach of his embrace, he sees the ghost of his father, who first 
 put into his hand and taught him the use of the scalping-knife and 
 tomahawk ; who has come from the heavens far beyond the place 
 of mountains and of clouds to quaff the death-song, and to welcome 
 to the land of the great hereafter the spirit of his undegenerate son. 
 The chief is inflamed with a glorious rapture 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; 
 lie consented to die, but he scorned to complain." 
 
 " c 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 off 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 off; England s king will 
 be my patron and my friend." He often after spoke of this ray 
 which did indeed blaze forth, and lighted his path to renown, till 
 the noble watch-word of Trafalgar insured his last and crowning 
 
 
THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. M9 
 
 triumph, and the name of Nelson was known as widely as the name 
 of England. 
 
 " This faint 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 the slightest conception of 
 the transcendent power and overwhelming eloquence with which 
 it was delivered, or of its electrifying effects upon the audience. 
 The whole soul of the man seemed infused into his subject, and to 
 be rushing forth with resistless force 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 
 pin 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 repeated by every 
 voice, till the roof rang again, and Sir William Hamilton, not less 
 enthusiastic in his applause than the very youngest of the students 
 behind him, actually stood up and clapped his hands with evident 
 delight and approbation. 
 
 " I have heard some of the greatest orators of the day, Lords 
 Derby, Brougham, Lyndhurst; Peel, O Connell, Shell, Follett, Chal 
 mers, Caird, Guthrie, M Neile ; I have heard some of these in their 
 very best styles make some Of their most celebrated appearances ; 
 but for popular eloquence, for resistless force, for the seeming inspi 
 ration that swayed the soul, and the glowing sympathy that en 
 tranced the hearts of his entire audience, that lecture by Professor 
 Wilson far excelled the loftiest efforts of the best of these I ever 
 listened to ; and I 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 lectures on, (1.) Jealousy, which, 
 was illustrated by a very splendid and elaborate analysis of the 
 character of Othello, in which the erroneousness of the common idea 
 
250 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of the Moor as a mere victim of the green-eyed monster was very 
 clearly and convincingly exhibited ; (2.) The Love of Pleasure ; (3.) 
 Hope ; (4.) Fear ; (5.) Happiness or Misery in this Life 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 Affections 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 patriotism. 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 
 all at home, and the deep 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 Night. We had the beautiful pic 
 tures of filial affection drawn by Sophocles and Shakspere respec 
 tively in Antigone and Cordelia, extemporaneously, but most effec 
 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 Clytemnestra Agamem 
 non ^Egisthus Orestes Good old Homer who never nods 
 LHysses Achilles Peleus The Meeting of Laertes and Achilles 
 The Lake Poets Southey and Wordsworth Apples 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 had then parental affection copiously illustrated in a 
 series of lectures containing highly-wrought pictures of an outcast 
 mother sitting begging by the wayside, of emigrant mothers about 
 to be devoured in a "burning 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 Shakspcre s character of Constance, 
 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, Thorn- 
 son, and Coleridge. This part of the course was wound up by three 
 very able lectures on Patriotism, during the delivery of the last of 
 which one of the few memorable * scenes during the session occurred 
 in the class. The Professor 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 Chenevix 
 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 4 the great Demosthenes of Ireland, the ruler of seven millions 
 of the finest peasantry in the world, had presumed to say at a pub 
 lic meeting that the reason Scotland had never been conquered was 
 that Scotland 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 became 
 for a few minutes something like Babel or a bear-garden. For a 
 little the Professor looked calmly on ; but at last, fairly roused by 
 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 spur 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 Ireland ; and in castigation of those of his students that 
 had hissed him, launching all the shafts of his raillery, and these 
 
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 political 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, in which that subject was treated in 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-minded study of the works of all the 
 
 * The obnoxious reference to the " Liberator" appears to have been subsequently omitted from 
 the 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 the day 
 about Progress, March of Intellect, &c. Mr. Nicolson gives me the following extract from his 
 notes of the lectures (1848-9), immediately preceding a quotation from M. Chenevix on the benefits 
 of public instruction as the surest basis of stable government : "These sentiments are not tho 
 growth of late years, as some contemptible persons would seem to insinuate." 
 
THE FKOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 253 
 
 greatest authors, were of the most decided and purely beneficial 
 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 ears 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 frankness of 
 nature and manner, but more than ever convinced of his vast and 
 
254 MEMOIR 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 which 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 Affections and the Imagination, that he adopted a looser style 
 of treatment, and wandered freely over a more inviting field. But 
 it is not enough to say that he was thoroughly 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. Alexander Taylor Iiines, who says in reference to that distinction: "He was specially 
 kind to me, as the youngest who had ever attained that honor, much coveted at that time as 
 coming from himself; for when the University offered to give a prize to his class, he declined 
 to discontinue his own, and still year by year awarded Professor Wilson s Gold Medal, 1 giving 
 the other separately or cumulatively." 
 
THE PKOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 255 
 
 Eudaimonism was in fact a sublimed Utilitarianism ; so refined and 
 sublimed that it might have appeared quite a fair 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 which impressed most those who most differed from him ; 
 and at the same time with a perception of the status qucestionis, 
 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 appearance 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 faces, 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 with 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 upper lip curving with every wave of 
 thought or hint of passion, and the golden-gray 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 1830, alluded to by Mr. Burton, Mr. Nicholson says, 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 about ten minutes from the close of the hour, and 
 proceeded to the door. He found some difficulty in opening it, and was returning 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 1 No, sir, 1 was the an 
 swer. Then you will have the kindness to wait till the close of the lecture. 1 The experiment 
 of leaving the class before the termination of the hour was not likely to be again attempted, after 
 such an exhibition." 
 
256 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 as when he spoke of Alexander, clay-cold at Babylon, with the 
 world lying conquered around his tomb, or of the Highland hills, 
 that pour the rage of cataracts adown their riven cliffs, or even 
 of the human mind, with its primeval granitic truths, the grand 
 old face flushed with the proud thought, and the eyes grew dim 
 with tears, and the magnificent 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 XL 
 
 LITEEART AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1820- 26. 
 
 IN July, 1819, the following announcement appeared in the Book 
 lists : " In the press, Lays from Fairy Land, by John Wilson, au 
 thor of c 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, however, 
 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 un- 
 
 * Unless I except a previous poem, " The Fairies, a Dreamlike Remembrance of a Dream," in 
 the Magazine for April, 1818, with the signature of K, evidently his. The subject was a favorite 
 one with him. In one of his Essays there ia a very beautiful and fanciful description of a fairies 
 burial. 
 
LITERARY 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 
 Ensign O Doherty, in the Magazine for 1821, when the Professor 
 was doubtless still hard at work on the Passions and the Moral 
 Faculty. After " touching off" 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 
 Blackwood 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 efforts 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 was natu 
 rally believed to be under the editorial sway of the hand that first 
 subscribed the formidable initials of " Christopher North." The 
 first conception of that remarkable personage was, however, as 
 purely mythical as the " Shepherd" of the JVoctes, and " 0. 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 which 
 had distinguished the Magazine from the beginning. But it was 
 11 
 
258 
 
 HEMOLK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 true, nevertheless, that the reins of practical government were 
 throughout in the hands of the strong-minded and sagacious pub 
 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 influence 
 of his chief contributors, his was no merely nominal management, 
 as even they were sometimes made to experience. 
 
 The relation between him and my father, 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 their 
 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 
 papers of the late Arthur Austin." Some of these had appeared in 
 Jllackwood under the signature " Eremus," which will also be found 
 affixed to several poems in the very early numbers of the Magazine. 
 
 * "Of all the writers in it(the Magazine), I have done most for the least remuneration, though 
 Mr. B. and I have never once had one word of disagreement on that subject." MS. letter of Wil 
 son, dated 1833. 
 
LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 259 
 
 These beautiful tales have acquired a popularity of the 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 fidelity, 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 his 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 loved 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 hear 
 from him, the study for a time was deserted for the fields. 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 
 fashion. From these letters may be gathered the true relation of 
 Wilson to Blackwood^s Magazine. On the 15th 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 the last moment for any thing 
 of yours, I am keeping the Magazine back, and have resolved 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 
 ered 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 
 
 Arableside coacli by Mr. or Mr. Jackson. I hope you have 
 
 received them and the former parcel. 
 
 " Quentin Durward is to be out on Tuesday, when I will send it 
 to you. Reginald* is not quite finished, but will be all at press in 
 a day or two. Mr. Lockhart has done Barry Cornwallf and Tim sJ 
 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 legal 
 proceedings against the London publisher of the Magazine, Mr. 
 Oadell, 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 wrote to Edinburgh, giving a 
 very grave and circumstantial account of the visit he had 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 concluding 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 : 
 
 "EDINBURGH, Friday, June, 1823. 
 
 " M!Y DEAR 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 we should at this time 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. 
 
 * Reginald Dalton. By Mr. Lockhart. 
 
 t Tke Flood of Thessaly, The, Girl of Provence, and other Poems. By Barry Cornwall Svo- 
 % A. soubriquet for Mr. Patmore, the reputed author of Letters on England. By Victor Count 
 de Soligny. 2 vols. 1823 ; and My Friends and Aoquwmtaneea. 3 vols. 1854 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 261 
 
 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 publisher 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, 17 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 will 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, poor as I am, I know I would rather pay any thing than be 
 placarded as the defendant in such an action. 2c?/y, Suppose he 
 wishes to challenge the author. He cannot send a message to you, 
 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 cannot 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 CadelPs 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. 
 
 "jP. S. Reginald Dalton\ is doing very well. The London 
 subscription was 831, which Ebony thought great for a three- 
 
 * The number of the Liberal, I presume, containing an article on the Scottish character, in 
 which the Blackwood writers are compared to "a troop of Yahoos, or a tribe of satyrs." 
 t Reginald Dalton and Adam Bkvir were anonymous novels written by Mr. Lockh^rt. 
 
262 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 volume affair. In a new magazine (Knight s) set up by the 
 Etonians, there is an article on Lights and Shadows, Adam 
 Blair, etc., in which you are larded tolerably, and but tolerably, 
 and the poor 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. Rich and Poor* is a clever 
 book, but very methodistical. I have read about half of it. I wil/ 
 write you a long letter, 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 Blackwood s Magazine 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 without which he could not have written : 
 
 " Who is Mr. D. Abercromby ? You have little sympathy for 
 a brother glutton. What would you think of the Gormandizing 
 School, No. 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,f f r the materials. No. III. Peter Robertson ; No. IV. 
 c Wull. Miss Edge worth is at Abbotsford, and has been for some 
 time;} 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 
 
 * Rick and Poor, and Common Events, a continuation of the former, anonymous novels, which 
 were ascribed to Miss Annie Walker. 
 
 *t Mr. David Bridges, dabbed 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 Letters, vol 
 ii., p. 280. 
 
 % Miss Edgeworth s visit was in August, 1823. "Never did I see a brighter day at Abbotsfora 
 than that on which Miss Edgeworth first arrived there ; never can I forget her look and accent 
 when she was received by him at his archway, find exclaimed, Every thing about you is ex 
 actly what one ought to have had wit enough to dream. 1 "Scoffs T^ife. 
 
 Sir Adam Fergusson, the schoolfellow of Scott, died on Christmas day, 1854. Mr. Chambers 
 remarks, in a biographical sketch of the good old knight, published shortly after his death, that 
 many interesting and pleasant memories hovered around the name of this flue old man, and 
 
LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 263 
 
 UnknowD, are too mucli for any company. Tom Purdie is well, 
 and sends his compts. ;* so does Laidlaw.f I have invited Hogg to 
 dine here to-morrow, to meet Miss Edge worth. She 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 Mrs. Wilson in good 
 health next 12th of November, till when I shall remain your silent 
 and aifectionate brother-glutton, J. G. LOCKHAKT. 
 
 " IV. J3. 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. Miss Edge worth 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 say 
 he had sat on the knee of David Hume." He was about a year older than Sir Walter. 
 
 * Scott s faithful servant, and affectionately devoted, humble friend, from the time that Tom 
 was brought before Sir Walter in his capacity as Sheriff, on a charge of poaching, and promoted 
 into his service, till his death, which took place in 1829. A full account 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 amanuensis; and in this case "the manly kindness and 
 consideration of one noble nature was paralleled by the aifectionate devotion and admiration of 
 another." His family still retains as sacred the pens with which he wrote Ivanhoe to his mas 
 ter s dictation ; and he used to tell that at the most intense parts of the story, when Scott hap 
 pened to pause, which he very seldom did, running off, as he said, "like lintseed oot o 1 a pock," 
 Laidlaw eagerly asked, "What next?" "Ay, Willie man, what next! that s the deevil o t!" so 
 possessed with the reality of the talc was the busy penman. It is a curious subject how much 
 and how little an author such as Scott can control his own creatures. If they live and move, 
 they possess him often as much as he them. That "shaping spirit" within him is by turns 
 master and slave. Some one asked the consummate author of Esmond, " Why did you let Es 
 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 V T OU, James, were the herd in the hill. Oh me ! those sweet, sweet days o 1 langsyne. 
 Jamie. Here s Willie Laidlaw s health, gentlemen !" Noctes. 
 
 Mr. Laidlaw died in 1845. 
 
 $ Wordsworth. 
 
264: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "EDINBURGH, September 6, 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 this a very strong number, I have put nothing up yet till I see 
 what you and Mr. Lockhart send me. He 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 6th, but in the beginning of the week I must be getting on. I 
 rely so confidently upon you doing all that you can, that I feel 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 article ; 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 pretty 
 well. 
 
 " Your friend, Mr. Lowndes from Paisley, was inquiring for you 
 here to-day. I had a letter this morning from Mr. Blair, in which 
 he apologizes for not having fulfilled his engagement, and says, It 
 has not been neglect of your claims, to which I have devoted botli 
 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 teh 1 him not to be over-fastidious, 
 and point out to him something he should do. I have sent Mr. 
 L[ockhart] to-day Alaric sf paper, in which there is a grand puff 
 of Maga ; he will forward it to you. 
 
 " Maginn writes me in high glee about this number, and says he 
 
 * A review of Hayley s Memoirs, Art. X., September, 1823. 
 t Alaric A. Watts, then editor of the Leeds Intelligencer. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 265 
 
 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 Horning, September 20, 1823. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : Before coining home last night I got all to 
 press, so that I will be able to send you a complete copy of the 
 Number with this, by the mail to-day. You will, I hope, find 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, f and 
 Bartlemy Fair, by a new correspondent, whom I shall tell you 
 about 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 
 four forms to press ; I wish now I had waited another day, and kept 
 The Man-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 
 
 afraid you will blame me, but first hear me. When I first read 
 your terrible scraping of 1 enjoyed it excessively, but on see 
 ing it in types, I began to feel a little for the poor monster, and 
 above all, when I considered that it might perhaps so irritate the 
 creature as to drive him to some beastly personal attack upon you, 
 I thought it better to pause. I felt quite sure that if published in 
 its present state, he would 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 as 
 one would not like to hear it said that you were the author o 
 
 * Art. Lin the ^timber. 
 
 t Art II. a review of Blunt s Vestiges of Ancient Manners, <&o, 
 $ Art. IV. "Time s Whispering Gallery." 
 11* 
 
266 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 There was no time for me to write you with a slip, and I sent it to 
 
 Mr. , begging him to consider it, and write me if he thought 
 
 he could venture to make 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 
 thought 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 Cobbett 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 book. 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 perhaps 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 will 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 i 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 advices were not lost on the writer, 
 t The " Murderers" did not appear. 
 
LITEKAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 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 4 Tennant, but I have not got Martin 
 set up yet. When you noticed Gait s Ringan Gilhaize, you would 
 recollect, I dare say, 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 l 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 giv<e me his remarks on it very soon. I am truly thankful 
 he has not thought of laying his pluckless paws on c Reginald Dai- 
 ton. There really ought to be a splendid article on Reginald. I 
 shall be very anxious till I hear from you, how you like this number. 
 
 " W. BLACKWOOD." 
 
 "EDINBURGH, October 18, 1823. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : 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 Noctes 
 AmbrosianceJ and wrote Mr. L. to insert a few words more in the 
 Noctes with regard to it. He did not, however, think this neces 
 sary. Every one will be in raptures with Isaac Walton ; and the 
 Noctes is buoyant, brilliant, and capital from beginning to end. 
 
268 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Well might you 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 divide it. The other article is an account of Raymond Lulli. 
 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 Gilhaize. 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 advise 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 Southey. 
 
 t Percy Mallory, 3 vols., 12mo., published in December, 1823. It Avas written by Dr. James 
 Hook, Dean of Worcester, brother of Theodore Hook. He was also author of Pen Owen, &c. 
 Born 1T73, died 1828. 
 
LITEKAKY 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 far 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 brandies 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 favorite as the old cottage ; which, had 
 it been lost sight 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, 6th May, 1824. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : I had so much to do yesterday that I had not 
 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 fairly 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 number, but 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 Rock. This is 
 the way the book should be treated. We have plenty of the seri 
 ous materiel in Mr. R. s article, and if you would only take up the 
 
 * One of Wilson s tales. It was not published until the following June, 1825. 
 
 t The Professor s brother-in-law, no ,v Sir John M Neill, G. C. B. ; at that time in Persia. 
 
270 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 EEGENT 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 Morris* (not the Dr.), Botherby, Lady Davy, Lady 
 C. Lamb * * * * (I copy these stars from a page in Adam Blair), 
 Miss Baillie, old Gifford, Matthews, Irving, Allan Cunningham, 
 Wilkie, Colburn, and Coleridge. The last well worth all the rust, 
 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 London, was born in 1745, and died on July 11, 
 1838, ninety-three years of age ! Mr. Lockhart s parenthetical reference to the Doctor is, of course, 
 to his own nom de plume as Dr. Peter Morns, of Pensharpe Hall, Aberyswith. The following 
 allusion to the " Captain" is taken from M. Esquiros 1 English at Home : 
 
 " Among the last names connected with the Beef-steak Club figures that of Captain Morris. 
 He was born in 1745, but survived most of the merry guests whom he amused by his gayety, his 
 rich imagination, and his poetical follies. He was the sun of the table, and composed some of the 
 most popular English ballads. The Nestor of song, he himself compared his muse to the flying- 
 fish. At the present day his Bacchic strains require the clinking of glass, and the joyous echoes 
 of the Club, of which Captain Moms 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 charms 
 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 as a visitor 
 in 1885, and the members presented him with a large silver bowl bearing an appropriate inscrip 
 tion. Although at that time eighty-nine years of age, he had lost none of his gayety of heart. 
 He died a short time after, and with him expired the glory of the Club of which he had been 
 one of the last ornaments. Only the name has survived of this celebrated gathering where so 
 much wit was expended, but it was of the sort which evaporates with the steam of dishes und 
 bowls of punch." 
 
 t An Edinburgh short-hand winter. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 271 
 
 Gillman s one of these days. Irving,* you may depend 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 women mad, as the roar of a noble bull does a field of kine ; 
 but beyond this he is nothing, really nothing. He has no sort of 
 real earnestness, feeble, pumped up, boisterous, overlaid stuff 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 has spoken to me about the concerns and prospects of 
 our friend. My belief is, that he has come over by Croker s advice to 
 assist Theodore in Bull,^ 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 this 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 kindly after you, and 
 mentioned that he had had ,the pleasure of making acquaintance 
 with Mr. Blackwood, a very intelligent 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 Hazlitt s article on the periodicals being in the Edin 
 burgh Review, and that it was put there by Thomas Thomson and 
 John A. Murray, who were co-editors, while the king of men 
 
 * Edward Irving, the celebrated preacher, was at this time sailing onwards on the full tide of 
 popularity. Mrs. Oliphant, in her recent biography, writes thus regarding his famous sermon 
 preached during this year to the London Missionary Society : " There can be little doubt that it 
 was foolishness to most of his hearers, and that after the fascination of his eloquence was over, 
 nine-tenths of them would recollect, with utter wonder, or even with possible contempt, that 
 wildest visionary conception." 
 
 t A weJl-Jtnown Whig lawyer. 
 
 \ The John Bull newspaper, edited by Theodore Hook. 
 
 Afterwards Lord Murray. 
 
272 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 was ill Switzerland.* Wordsworth is in town at present, but con 
 fined with his eyes. I thought it might appear obtrusive if I called, 
 and have stayed away. John Murray seems the old man ; the 
 Quarterly 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 No. of Ebony is fair, but not first-rate. Your 
 talk of Murders is exquisite, but otherwise the JSToctes too local by 
 far. Maginn 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 Quincey is not here, but expected. Yours, 
 
 "J. G. L. 
 
 " I don t hear any thing of Matthew WaM 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 number Blackwood, 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 
 calculate 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 years, no fewer than five heirs of the royal line should 
 
 * From Mr. Innes s Memoir of Thomas Thomson, I see that the editorship of the Edinburgh 
 fievieic was left in his hands more than once. " This foremost of Kecord scholars, the learned 
 legal antiquarian, and constitutional lawyer," died in 1852, aged eighty-four. 
 
 t The History of Matthew Wal I, a novel by Mr. Lockhart It waa reviewed in the May num 
 ber of JJlaclcwood. 
 
LITEKARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 273 
 
 pass away, leaving a clear and uninterrupted passage for the Prin 
 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 about getting some literary articles for the JVew Times. 
 I saw Old Slop, 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 doubt Stoddart is by far the most respecta 
 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 newspaper, 
 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 would have no objection to receive 
 the JVew 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 repay him by a dozen half-columns 
 half of these may be puffs 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. 
 
 " London is deserted by the gentlefolks in the Christmas holidays, 
 so that I have little news. I 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. 
 
 t Sir John Stoddart (at this time editor of The New Times, a morning paper, which was 
 started about 1817, and continued until 1828) was born in 1773, and died in 1856. Besides hia 
 political writings, he was the author of Remarks on Local Scen&ry and Manners in Scotland 
 in 1799 and 1800. 2 vols. 1801; An Essay on the Philosophy of Language; and some trans 
 lations. In the political caricatures .and satires of that day, he was continually introduced aa 
 Dr. Slop." 
 
274 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 hands ; he promising to exert himself to the utmost whenever the 
 high and mighty with whom the decision rests should come back 
 to London. I think, upon the whole, that there 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 in health, and better in other 
 respects, than when I left you. May this year be happier than the 
 last ! Yours always, J. G. LOCKHABT." 
 
 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 " London ;" for obvious reasons, that great world was 
 a safer seclusion than even the Vale of Grasmere : 
 
 "LOXDON, Thursday, February 24, 1825. 
 
 " MY DEAR WILSON : 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 had established 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, his book has just been reviewed 
 in the last Edinburgh Review (of which some copies have been in 
 town about a week). 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 
 by Mr. Jeffrey. Now Hill, in common with multitudes in this 
 
 * The work referred to here is, " Plans for the Government and Liberal Instruction of Boys iu 
 large numbers, drawn from Experience." 8vo. London. 182-3. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 275 
 
 Babylon who will not put their trust in Blackwood as in God 
 (which, you know, he ought 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 Blackwood may come as Nemesis, and 
 compel him to regorge any puffing and cramming which Tiff 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 affront 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 News 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 work 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), to get it softened. On the whole, I suppose no such 
 article is likely to appear. But to oblige Hill I make the applica 
 tion. He has 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 (AV!IO are accomplished young men, I believe) being en 
 gaged in it. They have already had one shock to stand : a certain Mr. 
 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 made a 
 fortune and finished his studies is become an immense authority 
 as a political and reforming head with Bentham, etc., as also with 
 the Westminster Jteview, in which quarter he is supposed to have 
 
276 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the weight of nine times nine men ; whence, by the way, in the 
 circles of the booksellers, the Review has got the name of the 
 Breeches Review. 
 
 " 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 affections 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 the war with the wretched 
 business of hack author, 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 abut. 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, Ky- 
 dal Nab, 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 young friends, 
 whom I remember with so much interest as I last saw them at El- 
 leray, and am, my dear Wilson, very affectionately yours, 
 
 " THOMAS DE QUINCEY." 
 
 In the following letter from my father to his friend, Mr. Findlay, 
 of Easter Hill, he refers to the death of his venerable mother, whicK 
 took place in December, 1824. The accident to my mother, to 
 which allusion is made, occurred in the previous summer ; he was- 
 driving with her and the children one day in the neighborhood oi 
 Ambleside, when the axletree gave way, and the carriage was ovwr 
 
 * To the very last he asserted this, but the habit, although modified, was never abandoned. 
 
LITERARY 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 ROBERT : 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 happy 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 eame accident : 
 
 " UNIVERSITY CHAMBERS, July 23c7, 1824. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : In the first place, to begin methodically, I beg to congratulate you on the 
 hair-breadth escape which the newspapers told 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 and translations for 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. Hemans and Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, lately, in 
 addition to those which I had formerly from Miss Joanna Baillie, &c. 
 
 " I am at present 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 religious instruction chiefly, in 
 the Highlands and Islands. In three contiguous parishes there is a population of about 20,000, 
 and above 18,000 of these poor people have never been taught to read. In another district about 
 47,000 out of 50,000 have not been taught. Ought these things so to be ? 
 
 " I am particularly interested in the state of lona. Ill supplied with a single school, it has no 
 place of worship. The minister is bound to preach to them only four times in the year. Ho 
 preaches on a hill-side, and from that neighboring coast of the mainland; he has an audience on 
 that hill-side of never less than 1,000 persons. This is the state of lona, from which came at a 
 remote day to our mainland the light of literature and religion. I wish you would write a pe 
 tition by lona for consideration and help. St. Kilda s privations have been supplied by public 
 sympathy and bounty. Let us not neglect lona, amid the ruins of which whose plaids would 
 not grow warmer Y 
 
 " I am, with great regard, yours most faithfully, 
 
 "GEORGE BAIBJ>." 
 
278 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 looks well, but is not so, and many a wretched 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 read the account 
 with peculiar pleasure, and especially your speech and Dr. Macgill s. 
 Whatever was in your hands could not be otherwise than proper 
 
 and right. I have been much worried with my own affairs, 
 
 having entangled me in much mischief, even after he had ruined 
 me, but I am perfectly reconciled to such things, and while my wife 
 and family are well 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 Circus into Lord Moray s grounds. This 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. Mention this in any 
 quarter. Remember me kindly to your excellent wife. Your 
 family is now most anti-Malthusian. Believe me ever, my dearest 
 Robert, your most affectionate friend, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 The house in Gloucester Place was completed and ready for habi 
 tation in 1826, and thenceforth was his home during the remainder 
 of his life. 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 Mr. J. 
 R. M Culloch, then editor of the Scotsman newspaper. Wilson s 
 professorship combined 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 
 succeeded in crushing the project. After this controversy (which 
 
 * Professor Jardine. 
 
LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 279 
 
 included a sharp pamphlet, in which the Professor, under the nom 
 de plume of Mordecai Mullion, dealt somewhat freely with Mr. 
 M Culloch), 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 proposed Chair : 
 
 " EDINBURGH, Tuesday, \th June, 1825. 
 
 " MY 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 perilled 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 without 
 leaving Elleray. 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 cottage to 
 come down here at present, nor how you can be of any further ser 
 vice than 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 in 
 sane ass, , started. I am in hopes you will hear soon. Both 
 
 Hope and Robert Dundas are anxious to do all in their power, and 
 expect this plot will be defeated ; but I see no way of preventing 
 
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 feel the insult thus oifered 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 OP TRADE, 15th June, 1825. 
 
 " SIB : 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 
 pui-pose 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 difficulty 
 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 Academicus not recommend a compli 
 ance 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. 
 
LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 281 
 
 " I must therefore refer you, as one of that Senatus 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. HUSKISSON." 
 PROM MR. CANNING. 
 
 " FOREIGN OFFICE, June 21, 1825. 
 
 " DEAR SIK : 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. CANOTNG. 
 
 "MR. PROFESSOR WILSON." 
 
 FROM SIR ROBERT PEEL. 
 [Private. } " WHITEHALL, June 21, 1825. 
 
 " SIB : The project of establishing a new and separate Profes 
 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 was absolutely necessary for the pur 
 poses for which it professed to be instituted, and that the just privi 
 leges of other professors were not affected by it. I have the honor 
 to be, sir, your obedient servant, ROBERT PEEL. 
 
 " PROFESSOR WILSON, ETC., ETC., Edinburgh." 
 
 He 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, that 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 as " speedily to be published, in one vol., 8vo., Prospecting 
 of a Course of Moral Inquiry vby John Wilson, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the Qniver- 
 Bity of Edinburgh;" this book, however, never appeared. 
 12 
 
282 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 tributed 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 already been published, Lights and Shadows, Margaret Lynd- 
 say, and The Foresters, and two volumes of poems, no separate 
 works of his appeared until the Recreations of Christopher North, 
 in 1843. That he did not carry out his intention of preparing his 
 Outlines is cause of regret. 
 
 O 
 
 The next letter from Mr. Lockhart contains some reference to a 
 literary project, of which the first idea appears to have originated 
 with him. The 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 fact 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 plan was suggested ap 
 parently 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 Amulet, and Friendship 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 were 
 mistaken. Lockhart and Wilson undertook the editorship, and 
 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 8th (Starting). 
 "MY DEAR WILSON: T am exceedingly sorry to find myself 
 
 * Several letters on the subject have been sent me, through the kindness of John Boyd, Esq., 
 of the firm of Oliver & Boyd, the publishers of Janus, which show the interest and zeal with 
 which the work was carried through. 
 
LITER ABY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 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 have seen Dr. Graham and David Ritchie to-day. They 
 both are in spirits about the affair 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. In 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 therefore 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 number of ar 
 ticles, is at liberty to divide the space among them 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, Hobbes, Dr. Reid: Would you take in 
 hand to give him two or three pages each (double columns), con 
 densing the most wanted popular 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. 
 
 " Pray 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: MEMOIR OF JOHN 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, 
 greeting. Yours affectionately, J. G. LOCKHAKT." 
 
 About that time there was no small excitement at Elleray in the 
 anticipation of a visit from Sir Walter Scott, x 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 WILSON : 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. We 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 Mrs. Wilson is thoroughly restored. I have heard from 
 nobody in Scotland but my wife, who gives no news but strictly 
 domestic. Perhaps this will not reach you in time to let us find a 
 line at Kendal informing us of your arrangements. Yours always, 
 
 "J. G. LOCKHAKT." 
 
 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 AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 285 
 
 mere we were received with the warmth of old friendship by Mr. 
 Wilson and one whose grace and gentle goodness could have found 
 110 lovelier or fitter home than Elleray, except where she now is."* 
 
 Ah 1 honor was done to the illustrious guest, and my father ar 
 ranged 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 rapid splashing 
 of innumerable oars, made up a dazzling mixture of sensations, as 
 the flotilla wound its way among richly-foliaged islands, and along 
 bays and promontories peopled with enthusiastic spectators."! 
 
 My father invited various friends from Scotland at this gay and 
 notable time, to join in the general welcome given to Scott ; among 
 others, he asked his old and esteemed friend the Professor of 
 Natural History, Mr. Jameson, J who was reluctantly detained by 
 his duties as editor of The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal : his 
 letter is of sufficient interest to be given here : 
 
 "MY DEAK SIK: I have delayed from day to day answering 
 your kind 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 this season. My 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 Red Sea. 
 They have been in a state of semi-insurrection against me for some 
 
 * Life of Scott. 
 
 % Professor Jameson died in 1853, cetat eighty. 
 
286 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 time, owing to the putting off of the expedition, but are 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 I presume does not exclude a professor may be in many places 
 at the same time. I w T as 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 Elleray.* 
 
 " All here join in best wishes to your family and Mrs. Wilson, 
 and believe me to remain yours faithfully and sincerely, 
 
 " ROB. JAMESON. 
 
 " My dear sir, I hope you will not forget your promise of a paper 
 for The Edinburgh Philosophical 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 : 
 
 " CIUEFSWOOD, Wednesday, 1825. 
 
 " MY DEAR WILSON : I have received your letter, and shall not 
 say more in regard to one part of its contents than that I am 
 heartily sensible to your kindness, and shall in all time coming re- 
 
 * This refers to a practical joke of Mr. Lockhart s, but not known at the time to have origin 
 ated with him; a joke which might have ended in painful results had it come imtimeously to 
 the ears of any one nearly connected with its object. It was no less than a formal announcement 
 of Professor Wilson s sudden death in the leading columns of TJie Weekly Journal, along with a 
 panegyric upon his character, written in the usual style adopted when noting the death of cele 
 brated persons. I have not been able to find the paper, but I believe it was only inserted in a 
 very few copies. On a later occasion Mr. Lockhart amused himself in a similar manner, by ap 
 pending to a paper on Lord Robertson s poems in The Quarterly Reti&w, the following distich : 
 
 " Here lies the peerless paper lord, Lord Peter, 
 Who broke the laws of God, and man, and metre." 
 
 These lines were, however, only in one copy, which was sent to the senator; but the joke lay in 
 Lord Robertson s imagining that it was in the whole edition. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 28 7 
 
 spect most religiously the feelings which I cannot but honor in you 
 as to that matter. I hope I may be as brief in my words about 
 Mrs. Wilson. I trust the cool weather, and quiet of a few weeks, 
 will have all the good effects you look forward to, and that I shall 
 have the pleasure of seeing you all well and gladsome, in spite of 
 all that hath been in the month of November. As for you, I do 
 think it is likely we may meet earlier. All I know of Canning s 
 motions is, that Sir W. Scott expects him at Abbotsford 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 offer 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 field-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 grappled with without that full flow of vigor necessary for any 
 thing like writing 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 
 
 * The soubriquet by which Mr. Blackwood was known by his contributors. 
 
288 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 sole man of the John Bull Magazine ; a most infamous 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 when he has nobody near 
 
 him, as is the case at present cuts and maims keeps back, etc., 
 etc. ; in short, is utterly disgusting. 
 
 " You will have perceived 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 affectionately always, J. G. LOCKIIAET." 
 
 It appears that Mr. Canning did not visit Abbotsford, and the 
 anticipated opportunity 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, aUas Ensign O Doherty, alias Luctus, alias Dr. Olinthus Petre, Trinity 
 College, Dublin, &c., &c., was born at Cork in 1794, and died in London in 1842. This versatile 
 writer and singular man of genius began to contribute to Blackwood in November, 1819. Dr. 
 Moir 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 Leslie v. Hebrew. Although he continued to write for Slack- 
 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 informed by Mr. Blackwood that the Doctor arrived in 
 Edinburgh on Sunday evening, and found his way out to Newington, where he then resided. 
 It so happened that the whole family had gone to the country a few days before, and in fact the 
 premises, except the front gate, were locked up. This the Doctor managed, after vainly ringing 
 and knocking, to open, and made a circuit of the building, peeping 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 temptations were allowed to prowlers in Ireland. 
 
 " On the forenoon of Monday he presented himself in Princes 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 that 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, demanding the name of the writer, as 
 he had received sundry notes from Mr. Blackwood, telling him the circumstances; and on Mr. 
 Blackwood appearing, the stranger apprised him of his wish to have a private conversation with 
 him, 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 Irishmen, and come for no good purpose, 
 doubtless. 1 
 
 u You are Mr. Blackwood, I presume, 1 said the stranger. 
 
 " I am, answered that gentleman. 
 
 H I have rather an unpleasant business, then, with you, he added, regarding some things 
 which appeared in your Maga/ine. They are so and so, would you be so kind as to give me 
 the name of the author? 1 
 
 * Dublin University Magazine, January, 1844, which contains the fullest account of Maginn a life and writing* I have 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 289 
 
 the Nodes in particular, where the character of the composition 
 allowed most freedom 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. Black wood s candidature for the office of 
 Lord Provost, in which he was unsuccessful. 
 
 " EDINBURGH, August 22, 1825 
 
 U MY DEAR Sin: I received your packet in time, and I hope 
 you will find the whole correctly printed, though I was obliged to 
 put to press in a great hurry. I only got Maginn s Song on Satur 
 day night, after I had put the sheets to press. 
 
 " On Thursday I received from him some more of the JVoctes, 
 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 with his 
 libels upon the King. I have written him that it really will not do 
 to run a-muck in this kind of way. I hope you will, on the whole, 
 
 " That requires consideration, 1 said Mr. Blackwood ; and I must first be satisfied that 
 
 " Your correspondent resides in Cork, doesn 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 purpose and who you are. 
 
 " You are very shy, sir, said the stranger ; I thought you corresponded with Mr. Scott, of 
 Cork, mentioning the assumed name under which the Doctor had hitherto communicated with 
 the Magazine. 
 
 "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 with that gentleman; I am that gentleman. 
 
 " Such was the whimsica.1 introduction of Dr. Maginn to Mr. Blackwood ; and after a cordial 
 shake 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 1824, 
 about the time Mr. Lockhart writes of him, he was appointed foreign correspondent of The Rep 
 resentative; 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. He assisted, as Mr. Lockhart 
 says, Theodore Hook, in the John Bull, and obtained so much reputation as a political writer, that 
 on the establishment of the Standard, he was appointed joint editor of the latter. He was ul 
 timately connected with the foundation of Eraser s Magazine, in 1830, and along with Father 
 Mahony, Mr. Hugh Fraser. and others, gave that periodical his heartiest support He was then 
 in the zenith of his fame, and his society courted; but in 1834 he was again corresponding with 
 Mr. Blackwood, dating his contributions from a garret in Wych street, Strand, and from this time 
 till his death his condition was one of wretchedness. 
 12* 
 
290 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 like this number, and that you will be in good spirits to do some 
 thing 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. 
 
 u I am, my dear sir, yours truly, W. BLACKWOOD." 
 
 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 Janus, which began 
 to be printed early in September, and was published about the close 
 of November, 1825. 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 ascertaining the contributions of the 
 two principal writers, a list of which will be found in the Appendix. 
 The 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 : 
 
 i( GLOUCESTER PLACE, No. 8, Friday. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : On my arrival here, a few days ago, I found 
 in the hands of Messrs. Oliver and Boyd, an extract from a tale in 
 tended for Janus. As I take an interest in that volume, I trouble 
 you with a few lines, as I know your handwriting. 
 
 " I had intended writing to you to request a contribution to Ja 
 nus, 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 have 
 about 120 pages of my own MS., and of a friend, to send in a few 
 days, which, owing to peculiar circumstances, must make part of the 
 volume, so that 470 pages may be supposed 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 that something of yours should be in 
 this volume, and if it be possible, there shall be, if you wish it. 
 
LITERACY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 291 
 
 " The funeral scene is certainly good, natural, and true, and as 
 part of a tale, I have no doubt it will be effective. Standing by 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. 
 
 u I had in my possession, some time ago, a MS. volume of yours 
 containing several prose 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, there 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 pleasure. Had I that volume I 
 would select a tale from 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. 
 
 "Should the volume prove an annual, I hope you will contribute. 
 
 " This is not a confidential communication. Mr. Lockhart and I 
 have no objections to be spoken of as friends and contributors to 
 JanuSj 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, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 On her way to Edinburgh from Elleray, my mother was taken 
 alarmingly ill, and was for 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 their appearance. The work at last came out in the form of 
 a very finely-printed small octavo volume of 542 pages, which was 
 sold at the price of 12s. There were no embellishments beyond a 
 vignette representation of the two-faced god, and no names were 
 given on the title-page or in the table of contents. The preface an 
 nounces that the volume is intended to be the first of a series, to be 
 published annually early in November. It never went, however, 
 beyond its first number, not having received encouragement enough 
 
 * This appeared in the volume under the title, " Saturday Night in the Manse." 
 t Probably "Daniel Cathie, tobacconist." 
 
292 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 to warrant the risk of a second trial. As the publisher dealt lib 
 erally with the authors, we may infer that the book did not pay so 
 well as it might have done with poorer matter and a lower 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 facetiousness of genuine humor ; as free from dulness 
 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 WILSON : 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 imme 
 diately^ 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 affirmative. I did not choose to press him, but said what I 
 could 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 sagacity of the canine race, with a delicacy of perception and cunning workmanship of 
 thought truly admirable. " Bab" and " Moustache," in their devotion of purpose, would per 
 fectly have appreciated each other; but, alas! the faithful companion of " Ailie," and the brave 
 " Moustache," must remain for ever the heroes of their own tales. These are not dogs to be met 
 with every day; they come, like epic poems, after a lapse of ages, and like them are immortal, 
 t Probably refers to Murray becoming the London publisher of Janua. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 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 MS. be 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 I know the deepness of my own prejudice against metaphysical 
 essays, and would fain hope it is not largely 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 
 Blackwood, but au contraire^ and certainly nothing to diminish 
 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 belief is that he has been living on the stock bequeathed by 
 Gifford, 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 newspaper concerns seem to go on flourishingly. 
 The title, I am rather of belief, will 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, every thing goes on smoothly. I have 
 the kindest letters from Southey, and indeed from all the real sup- 
 
 * Murray s newspaper concerns did not go on "flourishingly," as may be gathered from the fol 
 lowing note: "With Mr. Benjamin Disraeli for editor, and witty Dr. Maginn for Paris Corres 
 pondent, John Murray s new daily paper, The Representative (price Td.), began its inauspicious 
 career on the 25th January, 1826. It is needless to rake up the history of a dead and buried dis 
 aster. After a short and unhappy career of six months, The Representative expired of debility 
 on the subsequent 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 excellent opening for a new daily paper, he of Albemarle street would shake 
 his head, and with rather a melancholy expression of countenance, pointing to a thin folio on his 
 shelves, would say, Twenty thousand pounds are buried there. " "Histories of Publishing 
 Houses," Critic, January 21, 1800. 
 
294: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 porters of the Review. Give my love to Cay, and do now write, 
 write, write to yours affectly., J. G. LOCKHART." 
 
 Daring 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 during 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 Sheriff that year at the Lancaster Assizes, which accounts 
 for the allusions to the trials, besides that some of them excited un 
 usual interest. 
 
 "KENDAL, 22d August, 1826, 
 Tuesday Morning, Half-past Ttiree. 
 
 " MY DEAREST 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 this 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 hanged 
 yesterday (Monday), and I have just been assured that the brother 
 Wakefield, who was to have been tried on Saturday, has forfeited 
 
LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 295 
 
 his bail, and is off, fearing from, the judge s manner that he 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 
 being a hole in my lecturing pantaloons. All the silver fell out of 
 the one pocket, which Blair picked up, but the sovereigns had 
 dropped 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, 
 
 " Joim WILSON." 
 
 "KENDAL, August 23, 1826, 
 Wednesday Night, 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 my 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, write 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 Elleray, I shall write an admirable epistle. 
 " Your affectionate husband, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " Love to Johnny, Mary, limbs, and George Watson." 
 
 * The two Mackeands were brothers, who had committed an atrocious murder on the inhabit 
 ajjts of a wayside inn, in Lancashire. The " brother Wakefield" was no less a person than Edward 
 Gibbon Wakefield, whose shameful deception wove a strange romance around the life of Helen 
 Turner, aad furnished to the annals of law one of the most peculiar cases that has ever been 
 recorded. 
 
296 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "ELLERA.Y, August 2th, 1826, 
 Thursday forenoon. 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : I shall give you a sort of precis of our 
 movements. On Tuesday morning, at nine o clock, we left Kcndal 
 In an open carriage, 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 j ust walked out. Theplants 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 Edinburgh 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 bad, 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 Polington), Colonel 
 Lowther, Henry Lowther, Howard of Levens, Colonel Wilson, Noel 
 of Underlay, Bolton, the little Captain, and fifty-six others. It went 
 off with eclat, 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 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 297 
 
 to it. The ball in the evening was apparently a pleasant one, but 
 thin, as it was only fixed that morning that there was to be one. 
 At twelve o clock the mail came in, and I went down myself to the 
 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 
 oif my soul. God bless you ! I returned to the inn, and Barber 
 took me immediately in his chaise to Elleray, which we reached 
 about two, and had a little supper; he then went 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 him to get off without fine. How absurd altogether the 
 quarrel originating in Catholic Emancipation. I shall probably go 
 to Penny Bridge on Saturday, but will write again to-morrow, so 
 send to the Post-Office on Saturday evening, and on Sunday too, 
 for letters are not delivered till Monday. But be sure you, or Mary, 
 or Johnny, or George Watson, write every night, till farther orders. 
 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." 
 
 The " 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 prepossessing 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 directions, 
 frequently coming to Elleray. 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, half jestingly propos 
 ing a match between it and the above-mentioned " thoroughbred." 
 
298 MEMOIR OF JOHU WILSON. 
 
 Mr. Douglas was delighted to meet with an adventure so entirely 
 to his taste, so then and there the day and hour was fixed for the 
 match to come off a fortnight from that time. 
 
 It is a long-ago story, but I well remember the excitement it cre 
 ated in the m&nage at Elleray, and the unusual care bestowed upon 
 the cob, how his feet were kept 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 top of a wall that separated us from the road, 
 and where we could see the starting-point, " Colonsay" was led in 
 triumph 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 pace 
 very fairly matched, at least so it seemed 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 ruin 
 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 how 
 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 DOMESTIC LIFE. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1827- 29. 
 
 ONE who knew my father well, said, "That in the multiform 
 nature of the man, his mastery over the hearts of ingeneous youth 
 was one of his finest characteristics. An essay or poem is submitted 
 to him by some worthy young man, he does 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 faults. 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 that worth ; but, this done, woe be to the luckless piece of prose 
 or numerous verse ! Down goes the scalpel with the most minute 
 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 affection 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 
 uary, 1827, to his friend Dr. Moir : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : Allow me to write you a kind letter, sug 
 gested by the non-insertion 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 think you and I have no doubt about the soundness of my 
 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 Aird s Memoir of D, M. Moir. 
 
300 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the mindful hearts of thousands, and becoming embodied with the 
 corpus of true English poetry. The character and the fame of many 
 of our finest 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 the days and years proceed. 
 
 " Hitherto, I have not said as much as this of you publicly, and 
 for several good reasons. First. It is best and kindest to confer 
 praise after it is unquestionably due. Secondly. You, like myself, 
 are too much connected with the Magazine to be praised in it, ex 
 cept when the occasion either demands it or entirely justifies it. 
 Thirdly. Genevieve is not my favorite poem, because the subject is 
 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 proper time has come ; and, lastly, As often as I feel inclined, 
 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. Blackw r ood s letter, or 
 he has altogether misconceived the very few 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 
 some most potent form indeed. That is all I said to Mr. Black- 
 
LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC 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 characteristically Christopherish, and therefore, with all 
 its merit, would not have greatly delighted the readers of c 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 then, 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 much, I will venture to say a little more, well 
 knowing that my criticism will not offend, 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 
 North 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 age 
 was a bad joke at the first, worse when repeated in a Christmas 
 Carol for 1827-28. The whole 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. 1ST. would have breathed out himself on such a topic, 
 if at all. Perhaps I dislike twenty-eighth stanza, because I am by 
 no means sure of its political economy, and never can join in the cry 
 
 * Then follows a minute criticism of the poem, stanza by stanza, too detailed to be given entire. 
 A few touches may suffice, indicating that in politics the extreme opinions of Christopher North, 
 as expressed in Elacfcwood, were not always those of John Wilson. 
 
302 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 in the 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 much of our enemies abuse 
 against us. Thirty-fourth opens inefficiently with Eldon. He is a 
 fine 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, and A, and C. N"., 
 and J. W. 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, although 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 was 
 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 know 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 inimitable, 
 
 * The Life of Mansie Waugh, Tailor in Dalkeith. 12mo. Edinburgh, 1828. A work full 
 of humor, and abounding in faithful sketches of Scottish life and manners. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 303 
 
 and better than Gait s very best. That it should have stopped if the 
 fault of Mr. Blackwood is to me inexplicable and very displeasing, 
 and I have more than once said so to him, for nothing better 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 teeth, 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 
 bed for you, otherwise I would not ask you at so late an hour. 
 
 " I am yours affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 With the above exception, the memorials of this year are con 
 fined to the pages of jBlackwood, to w T hich he contributed in one 
 month (June), when a double number was published, six of the 
 principal articles. How little he thought of knocking off a Nodes 
 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 objec 
 tion to be introduced as a member? Would your brother? Of 
 course 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 New Shop to dinner." 
 
 The following note to the same gentleman may come in as a 
 minor illustration of the " calamities of authors :" 
 
 " Last night about eleven o clock, I got two proofs to correct, 
 which took me nearly three hours. 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 supper 
 for no end whatever, instead of indulging in it before breakfast. 
 
304 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Yet to get on is, I understand, of great importance. Here, then, 
 are hours on hours lost, not by me assuredly ; then by whom ? 
 
 " Why the devil does not the devil hasten himself of an August 
 morning ? What right can any devil, red-hot from Tartarus, have 
 to disturb me, who never injured him, for three long hours including 
 midnight, all for no purpose but to make me miserable? 
 
 11 1 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, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " 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 from 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 Napoleon, 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 through 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 fishing, or rambling over the hills to St. Mary s Loch, and not 
 unfrequently spending a day at Altrive with the Ettrick Shepherd. 
 He had intended, in the following year, to let Elleray; but not 
 having found a suitable tenant, he spent the autumn there himself 
 with his family. 
 
 From a letter to his friend, the Rev. Mr. Fleming of Rayrig, 
 
LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 305 
 
 written in the spring of 1828, it will be seen how fondly he clung 
 to the place, after having made up his mind as a matter of duty to 
 sacrifice the pleasure of spending his summers there. Referring in 
 this letter to the Magazine, he says : 
 
 " Of JBlackwood" 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, perhaps the 
 chief, and have all along been so, but never received one shilling 
 from the proprietor, except for my own compositions. Being gen 
 erally on the spot, I am always willing to give him 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 measure the parent never 
 theless, nor am I ashamed of the old gentleman, who is, though 
 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 Elleray, if I can get a suitable tenant, for three years. 
 My children are all just growing up, and I cannot remove them 
 from Edinburgh, nor can I leave them, even if the expense of hav 
 ing two houses were such as I could prudently encounter. I have 
 therefore brought my mind to make the sacrifice of my summers, 
 nowhere else so happy as on the banks of beautiful and beloved 
 Windermere. My visit is chiefly 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 present, where it would be of ad 
 vantage to my interests and that of my family ; or if there be any 
 13 
 
306 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 objection to your informing 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 the 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. 
 
 " Mr. would act for me, I know, but , like other idle 
 
 people, is too free of his tongue about my intentions, of which ho 
 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 nature. 
 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 from the 
 most dreadful of all fears, and I trust in God that the fits will 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 
 Eileray and stay a day or two with them, while they will be but 
 too happy to be again at sweet Rayrig. 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 
 offended by it for some years to come. A curious enough book on 
 transplanting trees has been published here lately, which I will 
 
LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 307 
 
 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 in church. Your affectionate friend, 
 
 WILSON." 
 
 As soon as his college duties were over, he set out for Elleray. 
 He writes from Bowness to my mother, May 16, 1828 : 
 
 " MY DEAR TUKKESS : 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 twelve-pound 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 paper of a bluish sort, and don t 
 doubt that I will like the room the better for its being entirely 
 your taste, carpet and all. Johnny may go to the fishing whenever 
 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 feet 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 d"n the Lutwidges, whom we saw. They 
 are all well she looking very beautiful, and in the family-way of 
 course. On the Edmunds, too. We called on the Norths, and 
 were most kindly received. I left the girls there, and proceeded 
 to Grasmere, along the new road by the lake-side, which is beauti 
 ful. Found Hartley Coleridge, a little tipsy, I fear, but not very 
 
308 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 much ; went with him to Sammy Barber s. Sammy was delighted 
 to see me. He has unroofed his house, and is raising it several 
 feet. He has built a bed-room for himself, thirty feet long, by 
 twenty wide, with two fireplaces, 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 in 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 walked 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. Neither Wellock nor M Neil has appeared, and I 
 shall wait for them no more. 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 WILSON." 
 
 The following letters show how well he knew to adapt his com 
 munications to the taste of his correspondents : 
 
 TO HIS SON BLAIR. 
 
 "ELLERAY, Friday Afternoon, May 23, 1828. 
 
 " MY DEAREST BLAIE : Your very entertaining and witty letter 
 came in due course at the breakfast hour, and made us all laugh 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 Mary rides him very gently and not 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 309 
 
 too fast. Maggy rides a chestnut cow, which 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. I 
 fear the latter kills small birds. The young thrushes have flown, 
 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, we 
 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. Harrison from Ambleside dined with us. To-day we 
 are all going to drink tea with 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 mamma and all yourselves. To-mor 
 row we are going down to Penny Bridge, and will return on Mon 
 day or Tuesday. On Wednesday, 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 happy to hear 
 you and Johnny are good boys. Tell Johnny I am very angry 
 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 Penny Bridge. 
 I am, my dear little boy, your most loving and affectionate father, 
 
 "THE OLD MAN." 
 
 TO HIS SON JOHN. 
 
 " ELLERAY, 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 Mr. Gunn 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. Richard Sowden dined with me at 
 
310 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Elleray on that day, and kept furnishing me with his talk till one 
 o clock in the morning the girls "being at the Miss 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 fling 
 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 c 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 family 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 met 
 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 Umbs. Your 
 affectionate father, JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " The cross lines are for your mamma." 
 
 "MY DEAREST JANE: I intend riding into Kendal on Wednes 
 day, to meet our Edinburgh 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 LIFE. 311 
 
 sponge out of Ebony. I shall also send to Robert for the 10, in 
 case you have not got it. I will write to you on Thursday, fixing 
 the day for our return, The girls are both well, and everybody is 
 kind to them. They are just gone to call at Calgarth, with Alicia 
 Taylor on horseback, with John Alexander with them on foot. 
 Owen Loyd, and Joseph Harding, and some others, are to dine 
 with us to-day. Summer is come, and really the most beautiful 
 time of the year is past. Write to me on Sunday evening, for we 
 shall not leave this till Tuesday, at the earliest. If you write the 
 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, first good 
 day. I am glad to hear such good accounts of him. Keep sending 
 me the Observer and Evening Post. My 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 chimney-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 was 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 happiest moments \vere those spent at Elleray. My father 
 had a great power over him, and exerted it with kind but firm 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 promised 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 pres 
 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, 
 
312 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 until the sound of his far-off footsteps gradually died away in the 
 distance, and he himself was hidden, not in the groves of the valley, 
 but 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, and who never ceased 
 to love him. 
 
 Every one loved Hartley Coleridge ; there was something in his 
 appearance that evoked kindliness. Extremely boyish in 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, and a 
 countenance almost sad in expression, was relieved by the beautiful 
 smile which lighted it up from time to time. The tone of his voice 
 was musically soft. He excelled in reading, and very often read 
 aloud to my mother. The contrast between him and the 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 phil 
 osophical interest perhaps the madness of Hamlet, or whether or 
 not he was a perfect gentleman they would pour forth such tor 
 rents of eloquence that those present 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 
 Professor s athletic form, stately and free in action, and his clear 
 blue eyes and flowing hair, contrasting singularly 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 true 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 repose 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 Wordsworth.* 
 
 * Hartley Coleridge, son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, born 1796, died 1851. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LD7E. 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," "Christmas Dreams," "Health and Longevity," " Salmo- 
 nia," and " Sacred Poetry." My mother, writing to her sister in 
 September, asks her: "Have you read Black wood 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 course 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 that 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 
 accomplishments (drawing, fencing, and dancing) are only recrea 
 tions, but there is no harm in them ; and I believe a greater blessing 
 cannot befall 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 nattering, but she has a 
 way of saying things that appears as if they were not nattering. 
 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." 
 
 The four following letters from Allan Cunningham tell their own 
 story: 
 13* 
 
314: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "27 LOWER BELGRAVE PLACE, 
 IWi September, 1828. 
 
 " MY DEAK 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 wife and children, arid 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 cannot, therefore, say that I can 
 pay you for Edderline s Dream ; but I beg you will 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 proprietor ; for, when he sees 
 that Sir Walter Scott, Professor Wilson, Mr. Southey, Mr. Lock- 
 hart, and one or two more, are resolved to support me, he will com 
 prehend that the speculation will be profitable, and close with me 
 
 * The Anniversary. 
 
LITEEAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 315 
 
 accordingly. Do, I beg and entreat of you, agree to this, and say 
 so when you write. 
 
 " Forgive all this forwardness and earnestness, and believe me to 
 be your faithful servant and admirer, 
 
 "ALLAN CUNNINGHAM." 
 
 "27 LOWER BELGRAVE PLACE, 
 November 7, 1828. 
 
 " MY DEAR FEIEND : 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 6,000 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. The 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 two 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 ah 1 the friends round me that I can. 
 I have been with our mutual friend Lockhart this morning, and we 
 have made the following arrangement, 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 rne on the same terms, and 
 to the same extent, I shall consider myself fortunate. It is true 
 you kindly promised to aid me with whatever I liked for next year, 
 and desired me not to talk of money. My dear friend, we make 
 money of you, and why not make some return ? I beg you w^ill, 
 therefore, letting bygones be bygones in money matters, join with 
 Mr. Lockhart in this. I could give you many reasons for doing it, 
 all of which 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 
 4 Edderline, and many other things equally delightful, can prevent 
 this, and to him I look for help. 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " I shall try Wordsworth in the same way. I am sure of Southey 
 and of Ed. Irving. I shall limit my 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 
 engraved 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 plates, 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 Eddeiiine s Dream the noblest 
 poem in any of the annuals. This makes me happy ; it puts us at 
 the head of these 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 to 
 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 
 sively for that publication. I know his poetic contributions, and 
 fear them not when I think on c Edderline. 
 
 " I hope you will not think me vain, or a dreamer of unattainable 
 things, when I express my hope of being able, through the aid of 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 317 
 
 my friends, to maintain the reputation of my book against the fame 
 of others, though 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 l Edder- 
 line would make my fortune, and if I could obtain it by May 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 BELGRAVB PLACE, 
 12th December, 1828. 
 
 " MY 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 Journal* 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 my 
 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 will 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, 4 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 Keepsake 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 purpose, as cold as a December snail. I had to-day 
 
 * The Edinburgh Literary Gazette, 
 
318 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 
 him for his good opinion by sending him a trifle some time soon for 
 the paper. 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 the only literary work this year that had requested the Profes- 
 sors 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 Hare-Bells," written for Tfie 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 affairs of literature was not long a binding link ; letters were 
 forsaken for law, and, after a few years practice in Edinburgh, Mr. 
 Bell removed to Glasgow, having obtained a Sheriffship in that 
 important city, where he has long enjoyed the respect due to an 
 admirable 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 surprise. 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 
 JBlackwood^ entitled, An Evening in Furness Abbey, or some 
 thing of that kind. It will be too long for you to read, but perhaps 
 Ann will do so, and tell you what it is about." From the publica- 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 319 
 
 tion of this 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, " Unimore," 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. f " The Manse" was another 
 subject he used to speak of, adding jocularly, " he was obliged to 
 leave that, owing to the Disruption"^ 
 
 How far we have got beyond the days when criticism of the 
 Ettrick Shepherd required remonstrance to subdue it, may be gath 
 ered from the next letter, received during this holiday time at 
 Elleray : 
 
 "MOUNT BENGER, August 11, 1829. 
 
 " MY DEAR AND HONORED JOHN i I never thought you had been 
 so unconscionable as to desire a sportsman on the llth 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 pease weeps 
 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 North and Black wood, 
 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 faces around me ; but this is not 
 the season for in-door enjoyments; they must be reaped on the 
 
 * Contrasting his present experience with his early poetic dreams, he says : 
 
 " Those days are gone, 
 
 And it has pleased high Heaven to crown my life 
 With such a load of happiness, that at times 
 
 My very soul is faint with bearing up the blessed burden." . . . 
 
 t He corresponded with Mr. Aird a good deal on this subject. His letters are too lengthy for 
 insertion, but it is refreshing to find in them an occasional hearty outburst of indignation 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 
 risings up of men s fiercest and fellest passions were not wrong." 
 } The split in the Church of Scotland in 1843. 
 
320 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 wastes among the blooming heath, by the silver spring, or swathed 
 in the delicious breeze of the wilderness. Elleray, 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 foUowing 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 sufficiently 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 different ways, with the view 
 of returning on Tuesday, but see not how I can effect 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 w r ho accompanies 
 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 him 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 him 
 on Saturday night, and would have immediately written to you, but 
 expected 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 family you choose, will be with you on Tuesdny ; and 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 321 
 
 if Tuesday be a bad day, so that Mr. Gibb cannot draw, and the 
 distance be such as I can accomplish, I will exert some of my activ 
 ity, a little impaired now, though not to any melancholy extent, and 
 appear at Rayrig at five o clock. 
 
 " It would have been pleasant had the three friends met, in a 
 quiet way, at Rayrig ; and I do not doubt that, in spite of all, we 
 might have been even happy. But our meeting was prevented. 
 Watson, I am sure, regretted it ; and as for myself, I trust you 
 will believe in the warmth and sincerity of my affection. 
 
 " With regard 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 
 uninterrupted conversation. But I never yet recollect a single con 
 versation 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 some point con 
 nected with, perhaps, 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 Lord 
 De Tabley joined in with certain remarks right enough, perhaps, 
 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- 
 
 * Burke and Hare, who were tried in Edinburgh, in 1829, for a series of murders perpetrated 
 for the purpose of supplying the medical school with anatomical subjects. See Noctes Ambro- 
 siance. -190. 
 
322 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 morously described, was taken to Westmoreland by Professor Wil 
 son, in order to make drawings for an 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 introduction, 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. 
 
 " CKAIGENPUTTOCK, DUMFRIES, 
 19to December, 1829. 
 
 " MY 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 jfawor, that 
 warm hearts may welcome in the cold ]STew-Year, and the voice of 
 poetry and philosophy, nwneris 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 would 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 nightly to Dumfries, and two stage- 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 coaches every alternate day to Thornhill ; from each of which places 
 we are but fifteen miles distant, with a fair 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 Thornhill, 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 Blackwood, 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 me. 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 
 the other still continues to edit.* Sir William Hamilton s paper 
 on Cousin s Metaphysics I read last night ; but, like Hogg s Fife 
 warlock, my head whirled roun , and ane thing I couldna mind. 
 cur as hominum ! I have some thoughts of beginning to pro 
 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 off, 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 literary Scotland there was not one such 
 other man as ! a thing in which, if would do him 
 self any justice, I cordially agree. Believe me always, my dear 
 sir, yours with affectionate esteem, THOMAS CAKLYLE." 
 
 * One of the pleasant little incidents of those agreeable times, when it wae considered necessary 
 that the editors of the Scotsman and the Caledonian Mercury should exchange shots to vindicate 
 a fine-art criticism. The principals wore Mr. Charles Maclaren and Dr. James Browne. The 
 "hostile meeting " took placo at seven o clock in the morning, on the 12th of November, 1829. 
 
324: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 About this time I find another letter from Mr. Lockhart, referring 
 to the contest for the University of Oxford in 1829, when Sir Robert 
 Peel was unseated : 
 
 " LONDON, 24 SUSSEX 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 when f You will see Blanco White s 
 review ere this reaches you. I think it won t do, being full of cox 
 combry, and barren of information, arid in all the lighter parts 
 mauvais genre. 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 effectual 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 me near 
 100 ; more than I care for Peel, Inglis, and the Catholic Question, 
 triajuncta in uno. The 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 weak, as he had calculated on forcing, through the 
 No 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. LOCKHART. 
 
 " 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 in a previous chapter : 
 
 " Sunday Evening, June, 1829. 
 
 " MY DEAR DE QUINCEY : 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 intimation 
 thereof, as an excursion or two among the mountains, ere summer 
 fades, would be pleasant, if practicable. 
 
LITERARY AND 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 part 
 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 happiness. 
 
 " 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 
 had never read, except an extract or two in Britton s Beauties of 
 England. If you think me a good private character, do say so ; 
 and if in my house there be one who sheds a quiet light, perhaps 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 Lights and Shadows, Margaret Lynd- 
 say, T/ie Foresters, and many articles in Blackwood (such as Selby s 
 Ornithology *), I have wished to speak of humble life, and the 
 elementary feelings of the human soul in isolation, 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 there ? 
 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 man, being formed in kindness and affection, will gratify 
 me far beyond the most boundless panegyric" from anybody else. I 
 feel that I am totally free from all jealousy, spite, envy, and un- 
 
 * November, 1826. 
 
326 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 charitableness. I am not so passionate in temper as you think. In 
 comparison with yourself, I am the Prince of Peacefulness, for you 
 are a nature of dreadful passions subdued by reason. I wish you 
 would praise me as a lecturer on Moral Philosophy. That would 
 do me good ; and 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 believe 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 fine 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 his personnel 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, command over all minds ; the ignorant were 
 silenced by awe, and the refined fascinated 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 LIFE. 327 
 
 have 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 first taken possession of. Wilson loved hina 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 night. 
 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 prepared for him, 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 night into day. 
 His tastes were very simple, though a little troublesome, at least to 
 the 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, had he been addressing a duchess, he could scarcely 
 have spoken with more deference. He would couch his request in 
 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 
 from attending to matters of overwhelming importance, if you do 
 not remember to cut the mutton in a diagonal rather than in a lon 
 gitudinal form." The cook a Scotchwoman had great rever 
 ence for Mr. De Quincey as a man of genius ; but, after one of 
 these interviews, her patience was pretty well exhausted, and she 
 would say, " Weel, I never heard the like o that in a my days ; 
 the bodie has an awfu sicht o words. If it had been my ain mais- 
 
328 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ter that was wanting his dinner, he would ha ordered a hale table- 
 fu wi little mair than a waff 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 thinking 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 tmfrequent sight to find him in his room lying upon 
 the rug in front of the fire, his head resting upon a book, with his 
 arms crossed over his breast, plunged in profound slumber. For 
 several hours he would He 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 off, my father arranged his supper par 
 ties so that, sitting till three or four in the morning, he brought Mr. 
 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 CRUISE WITH 
 
 THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 
 
 1830- 37. 
 
 IN 1830, we get some glimpses of home life in Gloucester Place, 
 from 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 Quincey died at Edinburgh, December 8, 1859. 
 
LITEKAKY AND DOMESTIC LITE. 329 
 
 not be disappointed indeed. I do not think Mr. Professor can re 
 fuse them, but I have not yet had time to talk the matter over with 
 him; for at the time the letter came he was particularly 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 perambulate 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 JBlackwood 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;" 
 u The Wild Garland, and Sacred Melodies ;" " Wild Fowl Shoot 
 ing ;" " Colman s Random Records ;" " Clark on Climate ;" " Noc- 
 tes, No. 51." My mother, while 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 
 larly 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 must 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 shops here, 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 BRIDGE, Tuesday, September, 1830. 
 
 U 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 Elleray (that is, I and Maggy, 
 14 
 
330 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and James Ferrier) this forenoon. There is a ball at Mrs. Ed 
 mund s (the Gale !) to-night, where we shall be. On Thursday, 
 there 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 alone to Edin 
 burgh. 
 
 " From 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-party of twenty-four, where I presided. On Friday, a sort of 
 small regatta took place. A repast at three o clock was attended 
 by about seventy-five ladies and gentlemen, and the ball in the 
 evening was, I believe, liked by the young people. The worstling 
 took place during two hours of rain and storm. The ring was a 
 tarn. Robinson, the schoolmaster, threw Brunskil. and Irvine threw 
 Robinson ; 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. I think 
 her also grown tall. She is a quarter of an inch taller than Mrs. 
 
 Barlow. Colonel B lost his wife lately by elopement, but is in 
 
 high spirits, and all his conversation is about the fair sex. He is a 
 pleasant man, I think, and I took a ride with him to Grasmere t oth 
 er day. The old fool Avaltzes very well, and is in love with Maggy. 
 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 limbs. 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 affectionate husband, 
 
 " J. WILSON." 
 
 A few days later he writes : 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 331 
 
 " ELLERAY, Monday Afternoon, 
 October, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : The ball at Ambleside went off with great 
 eclat, Maggy being the chief belle. The Major 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 me 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 my 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 rheumatician ; a fowl 
 boiled. I got your kind letter yesterday. Love to Moll and Umbs. 
 God bless you ! I am, your affectionate husband, 
 
 " JOHNNY WILSON." 
 "ELLERAY, Monday, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : I had a letter this morning from Maggy, 
 dated Saturday, Bangor Ferry, all well ; and I suppose 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 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " It was a delightful day 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 presume the floods in Morayshire were in high 
 health and spirits. We lay on sofas all day. To-day, Monday, 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 oa 
 Thursday night, and I shall get it on Saturday, on which day I 
 shall probably leave Elleray, 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 Uinbs. 
 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 : 
 
 "PENNY BRIDGE, Sunday, 26th Sept., 1831. 
 
 " MY DEAR JANE : I delayed visiting this place with Mary till I 
 could leave Elleray, without interruption, for a couple of days. T. 
 Hamilton stayed with us a fortnight, and, as he came a week later, 
 and 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 has one of the family been out of doors. They are all well, in 
 cluding Mrs. and Miss Hervey, who have been staying about a 
 month. It now threatens to be fair, and I purpose setting off by 
 and by on foot to Elleray, a walk of fifteen miles, which perhaps 
 may do me good ; but if I feel tired at Newby Bridge, I will take 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 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 Rayrig 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 first, 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, I 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 you 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 mouth before 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 pain 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 them. I should like to have a few kind lines 
 from you, written on Monday, the evening you receive this, and 
 sent to post-office then. I may, or rather must miss them, 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 Blackwoods, as I wish to be at home a day or two incog. I 
 shall get my room done up when I arrive, which will save me trou 
 ble perhaps afterwards in looking out for papers. Mary is getting 
 fat, and looks well, and the boys are all right. I am, my dearest 
 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 4 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 foal, 
 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. Weir must 
 have been a bore. I like Otter ; Starky is in treaty for Brathay for 
 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 not wonder, 
 
 * The myrtle was my mother s favorite plant. 
 t A spaniel belonging to my mother. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 335 
 
 as he had already written twenty articles during 1831, five of which 
 were in the August number. 
 
 During this year, too, he commenced those noble critical essays 
 on " Homer and his Translators,"* which scholars have remarked 
 " contain the most vivid and genial criticisms in our own or any 
 other language."! I believe deep 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 GROSVENOR PLACE, October 8, 1831. 
 
 " 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 promise solemnly given to the public, that the vases of good 
 and evil, impartially poured 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 me. 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 gratify 
 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 
 to 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 appeared in April, followed by Numbers 2 and 8, in May and July. In August, a 
 critique on the Agamemnon of <Eschylus interrupted the essays, but they were resumed again in 
 December, continued at intervals from 1832 to 1834, making in all seven papers. 
 
 t Gladstone s Studies on Home/) and the Homeric, Age. 
 
336 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " You must not, you cannot leave your work incomplete. How 
 resist the night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses ? Hector 
 bursting the rampart Juno and the Cestus Hector rushing on, 
 like the stalled horse snapping the cord The death of Sarpedon 
 The consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the 
 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 ? No, no, no. 
 
 " In sooth, I must say, I had hope that at Christmas I might have 
 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 favor of hearing from you. I remain, 
 my dear sir, most sincerely yours, WM. SOTIIEBY."* 
 
 Miss Watson, the writer of the following letter, was a lady whose 
 name can scarcely be permitted to pass without some notice. She 
 was eldest daughter of the Bishop of Llandaff, and a woman of high 
 mental attainments. When my father resided as a young man in 
 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. Mr. De Quincey, in writing of Charles 
 Lloyd, and mentioning Miss Watson as his friend, says she " was an 
 accomplished 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 both sides were 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 
 habitually melancholy, and her health delicate. She has long since 
 found repose. The speech which she alludes to in her letter, was 
 
 * William Sotheby, born November 9, 1757; died December 30, 1838. 
 
LITERARY 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 
 ments upon the eifect of the reform measures in the contemplation 
 of Government : 
 
 "December 3, 1831. 
 
 " MY DEAB PROFESSOR : I suppose it is to yourself I owe the 
 Edinburgh 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. Bolton 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 drink 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 
 French Revolution. Is it possible that the system of equality (at 
 which a child of five years old might laugh) can still delude the 
 minds of men now? I have no news worth sending ; all is quiet. 
 The cholera frightens no one. We laugh at it as a good joke. God 
 help our merry hearts ! there is something ludicrous in it, I suppose, 
 Avhich 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 affectionately, D. WATSON. 
 
 " Kind remembrances to Mrs. Wilson and Margaret. It is bitter, 
 bitter cold in this pretty house. As for you and the Shepherd (to 
 whom I would send my thanks for the most gratifying letter I ever 
 received, 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 see 
 it in Blackwood. 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 
 4 Noctes. Write one, and let it be a good one. Wordsworth says 
 4 that the booksellers are all aghast ! and that another dark age is 
 coining on. I think he is not far wrong. He is a wonderful crea 
 ture when he will deign to be what nature made him, not artificial 
 society. He read one of his poems to me. The subject was some 
 
338 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 gold-fish, but the 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 now 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." 
 
 The 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 the 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 
 indifferent to such subjects, there are a hundred other duties he must 
 perform far more important ; he may be reading ONE BOOK, which 
 tells him in what happiness consists, but to which I have seen but 
 few allusions made by the reformers in modern times. In reading 
 those weather-stained pages, on which, perhaps, the sun of heaven 
 had looked bright while they had been unfolded of old on the hill 
 side 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 everlasting, to those little turbulences which now 
 
LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 339 
 
 agitate the surface of society, but which, I hope, will soon subside 
 into a calm, and leave the country peaceful as before."* 
 
 I fear, however, his political opponents, in that time of madness, 
 did not look upon his words with the same loving eyes as his ami 
 able correspondent, 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 need 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 find 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 into 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 see 
 that its whole merit, which 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 
 eyes which fill young pupils 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 
 future Laureate, that the day would come when, beneath sun and 
 
 * Edinburgh Advertiser, Nov. 29, 1831. 
 
 t Poems, chiefly Lyrical. By Alfred Tennyson. London : E. Wilson. 1830. 
 
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 was 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 botheration I should be exposed to, I hardly think I should 
 have left Edinburgh. Every day gives a different account of the 
 movement of the squadron. The Vernon, who is at Woolwich, 
 was 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 CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 
 
 " You did late review my lays, 
 
 Crusty Christopher ; 
 You did mingle blame with praise, 
 
 Kusty Christopher: 
 When 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 are Free ;" " Love, Pride, and Forgetful- 
 ness;" Sonnet, "Shall the hag Evil," &c. ; " The How 1 and the Why; " "The Kraken," &c., &c., 
 are all consigned to oblivion, or to our acquisitive brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, who 
 may have preserved these youthful effusions in the American editions. 
 
CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 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 
 4 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, the 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-day 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 Friday, 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 off) have to tell you all our 
 future intentions. Meanwhile it is reported that the cholera is on 
 board 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 have heard again from Johnny. I will send you in iny 
 next my direction when we set sail ; and I am not without hopes 
 the squadron may land me in Scotland. Some say there will be 
 fighting, and that the 4 Vernon will lead the van, being, though a 
 frigate, as powerful as a line-of-battle ship. I will write to Ebony 
 about money for the house after I hear from Maggy, and hope you 
 will go on pretty well till I return. Tell Maggy to be civil to BOB, 
 
 * Charles Gray, see p. 132. 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and he will be my banker for small sums. I will also send a receipt, 
 which you will get on the 6th of August, for 30 odd; but I will 
 explain how in my next. 
 
 "Take good care of all yourselves, and be good boys and girls. 
 Love to Mag, Moll, and Umbs. As for Blair, he cuts me so up 
 that I fear to send him even my compliments. I am glad to hear 
 of Moll s voice being high. Keep Mag to the guitar and new songs. 
 Yours ever affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 The next is to his daughter Mary : 
 
 " UNION HOTEL, CHARING CROSS, 
 
 July 16, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAR MARY : I have received your kind epistle, and am 
 rather pleased to find you all well. I write these few lines in a 
 great hurry, to tell you to wrap up in a parcel, two silver soup 
 spoons, two tea-spoons, and two 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 telling you of our 
 intended motions, as we hope to be off by the 26th. Don t believe 
 any thing about the Yernon 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. WILSON. 
 
 "No. 2 PARK TERRACE, GREENWICH, 
 
 Friday. 
 
 U MA BONNE 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 family. The 
 master thereof is a Frenchman, and a Professor of Languages, and 
 the house swarms with frogs, that is, children. I pay fourteen 
 shillings a week for lodging, which is a salutary change from the 
 hotel. I dine with Tatnal or Williams, or at a shilling ordinary, 
 
CKUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADKON. 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 gun- 
 carriages 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 fight ? My own opinion is, that we are 
 going to cruise off 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 tins on Monday morning, and I hope some of you will 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 Veruon, 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, 84, 
 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 capsize in a squall. This is all owing to her incom 
 parable beauty. You have just to imagine the Endeavor magni- 
 
344 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 fied, and you see her hull, only she is sharper. She is very wide 
 in proportion to her length, and also deep ; so the devil himself 
 will not be able to upset 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 
 doubt arose from the dreadful heat of the weather 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 Maggie 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, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 " SHEERNESS, 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 we are weighing anchor from Sheerness 
 for the Nore, and that to-morrow we set sail down the Channel, 
 either for Cork or Madeira, or somewhere else, for nobody knows 
 where. I never knew what noise was, till I got on board the Ver- 
 non. But all goes on well ; 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 
 6th. But I will send it first port we touch on. Meanwhile Maggy 
 must, when necessary, get a small supply from Bob. 
 
 " You will not think this short letter unkind, for we are ordered 
 off in half an hour. You may depend on my next being rather 
 
 * One of the dogs. 
 
CEUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 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 cross 
 it all over. Enclose it (directed to me in H. 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 Burney 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, 29th July, in tow of two steamboats, 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 place ; but it is somewhat 
 dullish, though the docks, etc., are splendid. On Tuesday, 31s, we 
 took our guns on board, fifty 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 pleasant 
 party of males and females. We had music and dancing, and the 
 family proved agreeable and amiable. At midnight we reached the 
 Vernon, all tolerably steady, that is to say, Mr. Massey, the first 
 lieutenant, the captain, and myself. 
 
 " On Wednesday, 1st 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 frigates, 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 proceeded to a village wayside inn, where 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 we slept comfortably. This walk gave us a view of the Vale of 
 Alesford and the richest parts of Kent. 
 
 " On Thursday, 2c7, we returned to the Yernon, through a woody 
 and hedgy country, and the hottest of days, and in the 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 
 Friday, 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 Ocean, 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 4th. The c 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 c 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, the 
 bth, we weighed anchor by daylight, and the Vernon for the first 
 time expanded her wings in flight. 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 c Swin off Norwich. Monday, the 
 Qt/ lf 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 4 Vernon 
 rather beat the rest, but in my opinion not very far, the 4 Pantaloon 
 sticking to her like wax. But our sails are not yet stretched, and 
 
CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 347 
 
 the opinion on board is, that she will, in another week or so, beat 
 all opponents. The day was line, and the sight beautiful, as we 
 cruised along the white cliffs 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 *lih. 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. This position was retained for nearly two hours, 
 Avhen 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 Symonds to dinner in their cabin. The Ver 
 non was now left in charge of the first lieutenant, and in tacking 
 missed stays. The Snake and Pantaloon 1 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, the Snake to wind 
 ward, and the Pantaloon in our wake. The 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 top-gallant yard. It is a spar 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 holding by, and 
 in sight of us all he descended with great velocity, clinging to the 
 spar till he came to the end of it, and then with outstretched arms 
 
3-18 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 fell about forty feet upon the deck, within three yards of where I 
 was standing. The crash was dreadful, and he was instantly carried 
 below, affairs going on just as if he had been a spider. It was found 
 that his right arm was shattered to pieces, and his whole frame shook 
 fatally. He continued composed and sensible for three hours, when 
 he began to moan wofully, and in half an hour expired. He 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 
 him, but the noise, laughter, swearing, and singing, went on during 
 all the time he was dying. 
 
 "Thursday, 9th. The ship has been making considerable way 
 during the night, and at eight o clock we are off 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 where 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 fitful 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 off Plymouth (120 miles) by 
 midnight. We have sprung 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 (Mal 
 colm) may join us there. If not, we shall sail for Cork (distant 300 
 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 
 and beyond all description. But my appetite is good, and I am 
 never heard 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 was fairly beaten. In 
 
CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 349 
 
 smooth water and moderate winds the Snake is at present her 
 master, much to my surprise; when it blows hard we are superior. 
 Friday, IQth. 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 hope it may not be above a day or two. 
 
 " Captain Blackwood and self have been perambulating Plymouth, 
 and intend to dine at the hotel thereof. 
 
 " I 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 Elleray, 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 DEAKEST JANE: 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, which 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 
 Campeadora 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 with him 
 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 17th, by a steamer; a most stormy 
 
 * The Professor s " salary" was 72 4s. 4d, per annum. 
 
350 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 passage. Saturday and Sunday I dined on board the Yernon ; 
 and on the Sunday I wrote to you the hurried letter above alluded 
 to. On Monday, the 19th, I dined with Mr. Roberts, the master 
 ship-builder of the docks, and met 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. N"., and his brother, the purser 
 of the Yernon. 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 speeches from Sir Edward Codrington and 
 others. I dined with a party of offishers at the hotel. To-day 
 (Thursday the 22d) I saw Sir F. Collier, who informed me that the 
 squadron of Sir P. Malcolm, consisting of seven sail, were in the 
 offing, and that the Yernon is to join them to-morrow at 12 A. M. 
 We 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. 
 Harrow, Admiralty, and it will be forwarded with the Admiral s 
 letters. The 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 Yernon, but in the Admiral s 
 house, with a splendid party. The c Yernon has been much attack 
 ed in the newspapers, but my account of her in my long letter is 
 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 fears about your letter to-morrow ; but this 
 I will say, and truly, that I think of you all three or seven times a 
 day, 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 WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 351 
 
 so afforded by the stamp-receipt. I will write to you again before 
 long ; I hope it will not be very long before I return. Tell the girls 
 to be sensible and good gals. 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 JOHN WILSON." 
 
 " CAMPEADORA SCHOONER, PLYMOUTH, 
 
 August 31, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : After some anxiety from not hearing 
 from you, your letter of the 23d, direct to Plymouth, reached me 
 the 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 wind, the .Vernon was considerably ahead, the 
 4 Castor* next, and the Snake trying to shoot across the Castors 
 bow, but without success. The Castor* carried away her jib-boom, 
 and signal was thereupon made by the Admiral for us to put about. 
 The Castor stood in, and we crossed her to windward only fifty 
 yards. As she was more than fifty yards behind when we started, 
 her people claimed the victory, but it was obviously no go. The 
 day grew very boisterous, and we got safe at sunset into Torbay. 
 On Sunday (the day following), I visited the Admiral, as told in my 
 letter to Sym. On Monday we lay at rest. I am sorry to say, that 
 on entering Torbay, on Saturday night, a man fell overboard, and 
 was drowned. On Wednesday morning, at four o clock, the squad 
 ron got under weigh and left Torbay. I had gone on board the 
 Campeadora the night before, and slept there on condition that a 
 look-out should be kept on the movements of the Vernon. Judge 
 of my feelings (mixed) when awakened at seven, and told all the 
 ships had been gone for several hours. At eight we weighed an 
 chor and followed the fleet. The tide favored us, and so did a 
 
352 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 strong breeze from the land, and in a few hours we discovered the 
 squadron some leagues ahead, but to leeward, and they were all 
 racing, and, as we n eared, I had a beautiful view of all their mo 
 tions. The Snake was two miles ahead of all the others; the 
 Vernon 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 waves 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 
 off 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 Jeffrys. As 
 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 effects by auction, and had consid 
 ered me a deserter. The night was passed somewhat boisterously, 
 but the name of the Campeadora never once mentioned HI! She 
 had beaten them all like sacks, 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 re 
 ceived on board the Vernon, the evening of the race. I asked one 
 of the officers what he thought of the Campeadora, who had left 
 Torbay three hours after the squadron, and anchored in the Sound 
 of Plymouth half-an-hour before the Snake. His answer was T 
 * That he had not seen her! that we had not sailed with the squad- 
 
CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 353 
 
 ron at all; and had been brought in by the tide and the land 
 breeze ! ! ! The tide and land breeze had helped to bring us up 
 with the squadron ; but for five hours we beat them all, as I said, 
 like sacks into our anchorage. The whole officers 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 l 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 Yernon is said to be 
 wet, because when it blows hard, and she sails upon a wind, the 
 spray spins 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 prancing 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 perpetually 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-stoning! This is the name given to 
 scrubbing decks. A hundred men all fall at once upon their knees, 
 and begin scrubbing the decks with large rough stones c alled 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 -stone the floor of the cock-pit, without 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, Captain 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 me for the first time ; for 
 15 
 
354: MEMOlli OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 you get covered with dust, and sand, and paint by day and night, 
 to say nothing of tar and twine ; in short, every thing but feathers. 
 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. Meg is, no doubt, now a Son- 
 tag ; perhaps Unibs 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-skin. 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 board the c 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 Jane, who, I devoutly trust, will continue to improve in 
 health, and, ere long, be well. You are now but a family of four 
 females, 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. 
 
 " YERNON, OFF PLYMOUTH, August 31st." 
 
 " LAND S END, Tuesday Evening, 
 September th. 
 
 " 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 4 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 EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 355 
 
 then the Vernon, the Snake having outmanoeuvred herself by 
 passing too close to windward. The Castor sailed well, but kept 
 dropping to leeward. At half-past four the Vernon 1 weathered 
 the Waterwitch 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 then 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 Nimrod 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 ray 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 Ship Vernon J 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 part 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 these few 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 affectionate husband, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 "OFF THE LIZARD, September 5, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAREST JANE : I wrote a tolerably long letter the day 
 before we left Plymouth, which was on Tuesday, the 4th. I had 
 then received three letters from you, including one that had been 
 sent to Cork. I therefore knew that you were all well on the 23d 
 
356 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 August, and trust I believe you are so now. The squadron left 
 port with a light leading wind, consisting of c Donegal, 4 Yernon, 
 Castor, Stag (a 46 frigate), Nimrod, Snake, and Water witch. 
 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 flag. 
 The Trinculo has gone to Cork, and the 4 Prince is at Plymouth. 
 In beating out, ; 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 1 and Castor. The Castor 
 rather beat us the first two hours, but at sunset (when sail is always 
 taken in) we were to windward about 200 yards ; the i 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 Fal mouth. 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 was introduced to one of 
 them, Admiral Dundas, who was very civil; so was Sir C. Paget 
 and Sir F. Maitland, 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 l The Lizard, and we are 
 all to lie under its shadow till morning, so good-night." 
 
 "CORK, Friday, 14th Sept,, 1832. 
 
 "MY DEAKEST JANE : I wrote to you on the 5#A, off the Lizard, 
 and since then have enjoyed a week s capital cruising in all kinds of 
 winds, except a positive storm. Your last letter received was the 29th 
 
CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 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 post-office to 
 send it on to London, where I hope to be in a week from this day. 
 But in case any accident should happen, I wish one of you to write 
 to me, the same day you get this, directed to me at Union Hotel, 
 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 llth, we entered the Cove of Cork at sunset; 
 the squadron at four o clock. On Wednesday, the 12th, 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 who 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 when 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 Marino 
 Lodge in a taxed cart at five o clock, 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 twice up 
 set, and three times half upset. More of tha.t anon ; no bones 
 broken. I have just dined in the coffee-room with three very agree 
 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 
 
 * His sister. 
 
358 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 4 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 when I was in Ireland, and therefore I travelled 
 160 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. I 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 Elleray. I hope you will 
 be kind to the old man on his return all of you. Yours ever, most 
 affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 " UNION HOTEL, CHARING CROSS, 
 Tuesday Afternoon, September 25M, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAEEST JANE : The Yernon anchored at Spithead this 
 day week, and the day following I wrote 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 c Varmint (as she is called), and 
 dined on shore with the William ses, who 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 with 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 Cory ton (of the Marines) on board 
 the Yernon, whose wife and family live at Woolwich. I promised 
 to call on them to tell them about him, and his mode of life, and 
 did so on Monday, having walked thither and back (about twenty 
 miles). He is to be absent for three years in South America. I 
 returned to London by seven, and dined with a German Baron, 
 whose name I can neither spell nor pronounce, a Polish Patriot, 
 (not Shirma), and a French royalist. On Tuesday, that is, this day, 
 after some business connected with my cruise, I called on Mrs. 
 Jamieson, author of King Charles s Beauties. She is very clever, 
 middle-aged, red-haired, and agreeable, though I suspect you would 
 call her a conceited minx. She is to send some Italian airs to 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC 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 officers, 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 two 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 mail. I should 
 think he will know. But should any thing detain me, it will only 
 be my 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 : 
 
 "LOSTDON, November 30, 1832. 
 
 " SIR : You have often, and on the Rialto 1 too, twitted me with 
 an addition to Sonnets, and such small deer of poetry, sometimes 
 in a spirit of good-humor, at others in that tone of raillery which is 
 so 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 yours, 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. 
 
 thing nice, washing it down with a jorum of whiskey-toddy, send 
 him home to his lodgings and landlady with your compliments, so 
 that I, you 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 
 when 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 Reading 
 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. This is 
 a fact 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 forgotten, but come 
 back again to f sight and seeing, as palpable as ever, and as pro 
 voking. 
 
 " 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 Black- 
 woocl s Magazine, and that I am, all differences notwithstanding, 
 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 signature of this letter has been torn off, but the letter itself is indorsed "from Charles 
 Lamb to Professor Wilson." I am, however, afraid that it is not the production of "Elia," and 
 as I am not familiar with the handwriting, I cannot say who is the writer, or whether the appeal 
 was responded to. 
 
LITER ART AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 361 
 
 " We are all terribly disgusted 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 political papers in Blackwood, and remember 
 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 he wrote no fewer than fifty-four articles for Blackwood, 
 or upwards of 2,400 closely printed columns on politics and general 
 literature. Among these were reviews of Ebenezer Elliot* and 
 Audubon, the ornithologist, which called forth interesting and 
 characteristic replies. 
 
 FROM EBENEZER ELLIOT. 
 
 "SHEFFIELD, Sth May, 1834. 
 
 " MB,. PEOFESSOE : 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 Black- 
 wood s Magazine, 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. Blackwood, 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 Monthly Review had 
 stricken me on the heart with a hand of ice, but I had failed to 
 attract the attention of the critics generally ; and perhaps I then 
 thought that even an unfavorable notice in Blackwood would be 
 better than none. But when I was told, a few days ago, that I was 
 reviewed in Maga, 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 vulgarity! unfortunately 
 
 * Ebenezer Elliot, the Corn-Law Bhymer, was born in 1781 ; lie died in 1849. 
 
 t "Mr. Elliot was pleased, a good while ago, in a letter, the reverse of flattering, addressed to 
 
 15* 
 
362 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 quoted, and for which I blush through my marrow ; but on the 
 word of a poet, whose fiction 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 should hate myself if I could deliberately 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 not 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, EBENEZER ELLIOT." 
 
 I cannot resist giving a passage from an article which afforded the 
 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 passionateness of a fine 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 lirnbs 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 penetrates into his soul and his soul gets wings and soars. 
 
 us, and written with his own hard hoof of a hand, to call us a big blue-bottle, but we bear no 
 resemblance to that insect," &c. From "Poetry of E. Elliot," in Ittackwootfs Magazine, 
 May, 1834. 
 
LITEKARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 363 
 
 Yes ; it has the wings of a dove, and flees away and is at rest! 
 Where are the heaven-kissing hills in Hallamshire? Here, and 
 there, and everywhere for the sky stoops down to kiss them and 
 the presence of a poet scares not away, but consecrates their em 
 braces 
 
 1 Under 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 him 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 seems scarcely ever altogether forgetful of the place 
 from which he made his escape to rush into her arms, and clasp her 
 to his breast. He knows that his bliss must be brief, and that an 
 iron voice, like a knell, 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 Ebenezer 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, with my heart too ! If you think the 
 steel-trade, in these profitless 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, reaped, 
 mowed, pitchforked, threshed ; and put heart and knee to the gave- 
 lock hoisting rocks. But not for a day s darg, and not for bread. 
 Now here lies the eifectual and vital distinction between the condi 
 tion of our poet and his critic between the condition of Ebenezer 
 Elliot and that of all our other poets, except Robert Burns."* 
 
 The next letter is from Mr. Audubon ;f 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND : The first hour of this new year was ushered 
 to me surrounded by my dear flock, all comfortably seated around 
 
 * Blackwood s Magazine, May, 1834. 
 
 t J. J. Audubon, author of The Birds of America, d&c., died in 1831. 
 
364: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 a small table, in a middle-sized room, where I sincerely wished you 
 had been also, to witness the flowing gladness of our senses, as from 
 one of us Audubon s Ornithological Biography was read from 
 your ever valuable Journal. I wished this because I felt assured 
 that your noble heart would have received our most grateful thanks 
 with pleasure, 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. AUDUBON." 
 
 The next letter is from the Rev. James White :* 
 
 " LOXLEY, STRATFORD-ON-AVON, 
 
 4th November, 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 Kev. J. White, of Bonclmrch, Isle of Wight, author of Sir Frizzle Pumpkin, Nights at 
 Mess, <6c., and other stories, died March 28, 1862, aged fifty-eight. "Mr. White, says the Edin 
 burgh Courant, who was a native of this country, where his family still possess considerable 
 property, was born in the year 1804. After studying 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 to a con 
 siderable patrimony, he retired from the Church 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 to 
 devote a considerable share of his time to literary pursuits, which he prosecuted with much suc 
 cess. The pages of Blackwood were enlivened by many of his contributions of a light kind, too 
 popular and well known to require to be enumerated ; and his later works, including the Eighteen 
 Christian Centuries and the History of France, showed that his industry and accuracy, as well 
 as his good sense and sound judgment, were not inferior to his other and more popular talents." 
 Gentleman s Magazine. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 365 
 
 Borders ? You unconscionable monster, did you mean me ? Vicar 
 of the consolidated livings of Loxley and Bray ! I console myself 
 with thinking it is something to be mentioned in the 4 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 Ettrick !* 
 
 " 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 quarrel 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 amicable spirit, 
 I volunteer my services if you and he choose to accept of them 
 as mediator. 
 
 " I propose this that all mere differences on this, and that, and 
 
 * This hint appears to have been acted upon, as those who are interested may read the Shep 
 herd s transmigrations t ully detailed in the " Noctes" of February, 1835. 
 
3G6 
 
 MEMOIR 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 shabbiaess, 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 want of integrity. In that light it was received by a 
 knave and fool in Fraser*s Magazine, and on it was founded a pub 
 lic charge of downright dishonesty against a perfectly honorable 
 and honest man. Now, 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 who doubts his integrity. It is your 
 bounden 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 Mr. 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 agreeable 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 Ambrosiance, that is a subject in which I am 
 chiefly concerned ; and there shall never be another with you in it, 
 if indeed that be 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 
 
LITER AEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 367 
 
 fame than I have done, let me know in what region of the moon he 
 has taken up his abode. But let the 4 Noctes drop, or let us talk 
 upon that subject, if you choose, that we may find out which of us 
 is insane, perhaps both. 
 
 " Show this 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 authority from Mr. Blackwood, but entirely from believing that 
 his kindness towards you would 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 written 
 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 
 offer my services by my own 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 will 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. Blackwood and myself to dinner, 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 fall 
 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 
 unteering counsel, with erroneous impressions of the relative situa 
 tion of the parties. I proposed a plan of reconciliation, which 
 seemed to me to make no unpleasant demand on either party, and 
 which was extremely simple ; but it would seem that I took for 
 granted certain accusations or insinuations against Mr. Blackwood s 
 
368 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 character as a man of business, which you never made. I am, 
 therefore, in the dark, and require to be instructed, instead of being 
 privileged to counsel. With every kind sentiment, I am, my dear 
 sir, yours most sincerely, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 In a long letter to Mr. Grieve, my father is at great pains to clear 
 up the matter, and effect the much-desired reconciliation on terms 
 honorable to both parties. He says : 
 
 " If Mr. Hogg puts his return as a writer to Maga, on the 
 ground that Maga suffers greatly from his absence from her pages, 
 and that Mr. B. must be very desirous of his re-assistance, that will 
 at once be a sturnbling-block in the way of settlement ; for Mr. B., 
 whether rightly or wrongly, will not make the admission. No 
 doubt Mr. H. s articles were often excellent, and no doubt the 
 4 Noctes 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 100 settled on him, on condition of writing, 
 and of becoming again the hero of the Noctes, as before. I see 
 many, 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 prove degrading and disgraceful to both par 
 ties, appearing 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 Agricultural Journal. If he 
 writes 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 you and 
 I think reasonable, there can be no doubt that he will get 100 or 
 more from Mr. Blackwood, without any positive bargain of the 
 kind above mentioned, which might injure Mr. Hogg s reputation, 
 and appear to the public in a degrading light. 
 
 " To insure this, none of Mr. Hogg^s articles should ever again 
 be returned. If now and then any of them are inadmissible they 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 369 
 
 should still be paid for , and Mr. Blackwood, I have no doubt, 
 would at once agree to that, so that at the end of the year Mr. 
 Hogg would have received his 100 or more, without any objec 
 tionable condition, and on reasonable exertions. 
 
 "And now a few words about myself. The Shepherd, in his let 
 ter to me (which you have seen, I believe), seems to say that I 
 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 any way with the pecuniary concerns 
 of the Magazine, that being the aifair of Mr. Blackwood ; secondly, 
 that of all the writers in it, I have done most for the least remu 
 neration, though Mr. B. and I have never once had one word of 
 disagreement on that subject; and thirdly, that it is a matter of 
 the most perfect indiiference to me, whether or not I ever again 
 write another Noctes, for all that I write on any subject seems to 
 be popular far above its deserts ; and considering the great num 
 ber of 4 Noctes I have written, I feel very much indisposed ever 
 to resume them.* My own personal gain or loss, therefore, must 
 be put 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 supposed 
 that _Z~were influenced by a regard to my own interests in resuming 
 them, I most certainly never would ; and 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 all his ex 
 traordinary powers would not have been universally known as he 
 now 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. Blackwood 
 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 another " Noctes 1 after the Shepherd s death, which took place in 1835. 
 
370 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 were before, and to contribute my part to an amicable arrange 
 ment. 
 
 " But I will say to you what must not be said to anybody else, 
 that if it be necessary, owing to Mr. Hogg not writing a sufficient 
 number of articles fit for insertion, to make up some considerable 
 sum 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 Maga 
 zine now 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 reason to be offended with 
 Mr. Hogg s writings about himself, and could not consistently in 
 like manner offend 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 Mr. 
 Hogg has published any thing reflecting on Mr. Blackwood s integ 
 rity. I think he has. That, therefore, must be done away with 
 by the Shepherd in the Magazine itself, but not in the way of apol 
 ogy, but in a manly manner, such as would do honor to himself, and 
 at once put down all the calumnies of others, to which Mr. Black- 
 wood has been unjustly exposed, especially in Fraser s Magazine. 
 All abuse of Mr. Blackwood in that work, as founded on his be 
 havior to Mr. Hogg, must, by Mr. 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 different fashion from the NOCTES ! !), 
 their abuse of Mr. Blackwood will seem to be sanctioned by Mr. 
 Hogg, and neutralize whatever he may say in Maga. This is plain. 
 
 " Consider what I have said attentively, and I will call on you on 
 Tuesday at two o ^ clock, 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, in itself reasona 
 ble and beneficial to all parties, on the above basis. Yours ever 
 affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE, 371 
 
 The result of these friendly negotiations may be gathered from 
 the "Noctes" 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 was sitting 
 in her ain kail-yaird, the preceese house I dinna choose to mention, 
 when Giraffe, in louping ower the dyke, louped ower her, and she 
 gied a spang intil the road, turning round her fud within a yard 
 o Clavers,f and then sic a brassle ; a three 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, was coming out just as she was gaun in, an 
 at ween the twa there ensued, unseen in the syver, a desperate bat 
 tle. Well dune witch ; well dune warlock ; and at ae time I feared, 
 frae his yelping and yowling, that Rover was getting the worst o t, 
 
 * The whole dialogue, which will be found in the Noctes, May, 1834, is too long for quotation, 
 but a few lines of the apology may be given : 
 
 " I ll never breathe a whisper even to my ain heart, at the laneliest hour o 1 midnight, except it 
 be when I am saying my prayers, o ony misunderstanding that ever happened between us twa, 
 either about Mawga or ony ither topic, as lang s I leeve, an 1 am no deserted o 1 my senses, but 
 am left in full possession of the gift of reason ; and I now dicht aff the tablets o 1 my memory ilka 
 letter o 1 ony ugly record that the Enemy, taking the advantage o 1 the corruption o our fallen na 
 ture, contrived to scarify there wi 1 the pint o an airn pen, red-het frae yon wicked place. I now 
 dicht them a 1 aff, just as I dicht aff frae this table the wine-drops wi 1 ma sleeve ; and I forgive yo 
 frae the very bottom o 1 ma sowle," &c., &c. 
 
 t The Shepherd s colleys. $ A covered drain. 
 
372 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and might lose his life. Auld poosies* cuff sair wi* their fore-paws, 
 and theirs is a wicked bite. But the outlandish wolfiness 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 ratton, 
 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 soup," 
 
 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 told 
 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 combined to 
 give him a more than usual share of enjoyment. Rover s com 
 panion in dog-life was Fang the terrier. Poor Fang was one of the 
 victims in Hawthornden garden ; but at Thirlstane he, like 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 
 poor 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 him, trying to soothe and comfort the poor ani 
 mal. A very 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 
 
 * Hares. t A favorite dog of my father s, of whom more anon. 
 
 $ It is worth observing how close in description two students of dog-life have approached each 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 373 
 
 Wife, children, pets, idealized as they sometimes aye, play through 
 many of his most beautiful and imaginative essays. Memory re 
 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." 
 
 SJiepherd. " Mere myrtles ! Dinna say that again o them mere ; an ungrate- 
 fu word, of a flowery plant, a fu o bonny white starries ; and is that their scent 
 that I smell?" 
 
 North. " 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 prepared for before we came, and 
 have certainly not been disappointed, for we have had rather more 
 of rain than fair 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 drosky, in which they take the air. The walks are quite 
 to my taste, and without number in the wood which surrounds the 
 
 other. Every one remembers the celebrated contest in Rob and his Friends ; here is my father s 
 description of a dog-fight from the Noctes. No one was more amused at the resemblance than 
 the genial author of /ta&, when the writer pointed out that he had been anticipated by tho 
 " Shepherd :" 
 
 " Doun another close, and a battle o dowgs! Abull-dowgand a mastiff! The great big brown 
 mastiff mouthin the bull-dowg by the verra haunches, as if to crunch his back, and the wee 
 white bull-dowg never seeming to fash his thoomb, but sticking by the regular set teeth o 1 hia 
 under-hung jaw 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-boys pu in at the 
 tail o the tither ; for the mastiff s maister begins to fear 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 wish 
 to see the fecht out and harl the dowgs that are noo worrying ither without any growling baith 
 silent, except a sort o snorting through the nostrils, and a kind o guller in their gullets, I say 
 the crowd harl them out o the midden, ontil the stanes again and, Weel dune, Ciesar ! Better 
 dune, Vesper ! A mutchkin to a gill on Whitey P * The muckle ane canna fecht P See how the 
 wee bick is worrying him noo, by a new spat on the thrapple P He wud rin awa . gin she wud 
 let him loose ! She s just like her mother, that belanged to the caravan o wild beasts ! O, 
 man, Davie, but I wud like to get a breed out o 1 her by the watch-dowg at Bellmaiden Bleach- 
 tteld, that killed, ye ken, the Kilmarnock carrier s Help in twenty minutes at Kingswell P "- 
 Noctes. 
 
374 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 house, and there is one delightful walk, the avenue, which is the 
 approach, and which, 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, which 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 fishing and shooting, there being plenty of game hares 
 and rabbits. John has the Duke of Buccleuch s permission to 
 
 shoot, and therefore we expect to have plenty of grouse 
 
 . . . Our neighbors, who 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 surgical case, and though his general health has not as 
 yet suffered, 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 Night. 
 
 11 MY DEAR JANE : I found Mr. Blackwood apparently 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 family. He was very cheerful, 
 and we spoke cheerfully of various matters ; this was on Monday, 
 on my arrival from Peebles 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 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 375 
 
 not, therefore, 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 better 
 than before, stronger in his speech and general appearance. I had 
 much conversation with him, and found him quite prepared to die, 
 pleased with the kindness of all around him, and grateful for all 
 mercies. It is impossible, 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 family, 
 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 effort 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 Jiave not heard since the morning. I 
 have consulted Liston. 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, word, or deed. I am willing to die for 
 my family, who, 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 winter must see another sight, 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 WILSON." 
 
 " BANK, Thursday Night. 
 "MY DEAR JANE: I arrived at the Bank at half-past twelve on 
 
370 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Monday with a violent toothache ; dined there alone ; saw the 
 Blackwoods, and went to bed at nine. On Tuesday called on Mr. 
 Blackwood, and found him tolerably well. Lost all that 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 Listen,* to 
 meet Schetky ;f stayed till one o clock; and to-day had an open 
 and confused head ; wrote in the back shop, but not very much. I 
 sent for Nancy to the Bank, and found from her that she was 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 
 will hear from me on Tuesday, telling you when to send the gig to 
 Innerleithen. I think it will be on Wednesday night, therefore keep 
 it disengaged for that day; but I will mention particulars in 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 affectionately, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 " Saturday Evening. 
 " MY DEAR MAGGIE : Mr. Blackwood is in the same state, wear- 
 
 * Robert Listen, the celebrated surgeon ; died in 1847. 
 
 t John Schetky, an artist, a friend of my father s." I have no conceit of those who are all 
 things to all men. 1 Why, I have seen John Schetky himself in the sulks with sumphs, though he 
 is more tolerant of ninnies and noodles than almost any other man of genius I have ever known ; 
 but clap him down among a choice crew of kindred spirits, and how his wild wit even yet, as in 
 its prime, wantons! playing at will its virgin fancies, till Care herself comes from her cell, and 
 sitting by the side of Joy, loses her name, and forgets her nature, and joins in glee or catch, be 
 neath the power of that magician, the merriest in the hall." Nocte*, No. Ixvi., 1884. 
 
 " A gentleman who served with our army in the Spanish campaigns, and has painted several 
 wild scenes of the Pyrenees in a most original manner. He is, I imagine, the very finest painter 
 of sky since Salvator Rosa." Letters on the Living Artists of Scotland. 
 
LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 377 
 
 ing away gradually, but living longer than any of the medical peo 
 pie thought possible. Last Sunday, it was thought he could 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 Ebenezer 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 affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 " GLOUCESTER PLACE, Monday Evening. 
 
 " MY DEAE JANE : I shall be in Inneiieithen 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 this 
 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 Magazine, 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 MS., and I 
 have none but a few pages to give them ; but on Wednesday night 
 all must be at press. I hope to find you all well and happy. Yours 
 ever affectionately, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 Mr. Blackwood died on the 16th of September, 1834. "Four 
 months of suffering, in part intense, exhausted by slow degrees all 
 his physical energies, but left his temper calm and unruffled, and 
 his intellect entire and vigorous even to the last. He had thus what 
 no good man will consider as a slight privilege, that of contem- 
 16 
 
378 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 plating the approach of death with the clearness and full strength of 
 his mind and faculties, and of instructing those around him, by 
 solemn precept and memorable example, by what means alone 
 humanity, conscious of its own frailty, can sustain that prospect 
 with humble serenity."* 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 56 out of the 
 142 pages required. His articles were : " A Glance at the Noctes 
 of AthenaBus ;" and a " Review of Coleridge s Poetical Works." 
 
 For the remainder of this year, and for the two subsequent years, 
 he gave the most unequivocal 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 Sep 
 tember three ; and in October and November 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. llallam 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 borne 
 along in the stream of unhesitating eulogy, that l no poet has ever 
 had a more exquisite sense of the beautiful than Spenser. "f 
 
 In 1836 and 1837, he continued to contribute an article at least 
 once a month until his own great loss paralyzed him. 
 
 The following letters were written in the autumn of 1835 from 
 the banks of the Clyde : 
 
 " THE BATHS, HELENSBURGH, 
 1835, Tuesday, 12 o clock. 
 
 " MY DEAR JAXS : I dined with Miss Sym on Sunday, and was 
 kindly received by her and Mr. Andrew. 
 
 * lackwood, October, 1837. * Literature of Europe, vol. ii., p. 136. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 379 
 
 " Dinner was over (half-past four), but the Howtowdy 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 Glasgow at half- 
 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 the heat 
 Avould suffer." 
 
 " LAEGS, 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 you to be 
 contented till then without me. All are well. Your affectionate 
 father, JOHN WILSON, 
 
 " Who sends love to the lave, chickens and dogs included." 
 
 In August, 1836, the Professor, with 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 GLOUCESTER PLACE, September 1. 
 
 " MY DEAE FKIEND: The pen is 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 will 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 man 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. Camp 
 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 was welcomed, was to be 
 regarded only as a humble tribute due to Mr. Campbell s superior 
 artillery. He gave Mr. Campbell willingly the possession of all the 
 outer circles. He gave him London undisputed possession of Lon 
 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 would agree with the justice of the sentiment, when he 
 said that had he been born in the poorest village in the land, he 
 w T ould not have cause to be ashamed of his birthplace ; nor, he trusted, 
 would his birthplace have cause to be ashamed of him (cheers). But 
 when he considered where he was born the town of Paisley where 
 
LITERARY AND DOMBSriO LIFE. 381 
 
 be 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 city (cheers and laughter), but 
 turned he to his native town, " Ah, seest u ! seest u !"* (tremendous 
 cheering and laughter). Politics were very properly excluded from 
 that meeting, etc., etc. 
 
 After the festivities at Paisley were over, they took a short excur 
 sion to Loch Lomond, Glen Falloch, Killin, Loch Earn, Crieff, Com- 
 rie, Perth, and homewards ; nor was it then imagined that one of 
 that happy party 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 MARY : With the exception of Mr. Wilson, we are 
 nearly as well as usual. I cannot get Mr. W. to take proper care 
 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 their 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 Goldsmith 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 read 
 ing these Memoirs. 
 
 " A thousand thanks for your welcome letter, and for all the good 
 
 * This is a Paisley expression peculiar to the people, and means " Seest thou, seest thou ?" 
 
382 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and kind wishes therein contained. In return, pray accept all our 
 united and most cordial wishes, which are offered in all sincerity and 
 affection to yourself and all our well-beloved friends at Penny Bridge, 
 that you may enjoy many, many happy returns of this blessed season. 
 Your affectionate sister, J. W ILSON -" 
 
 My mother s illness was not at first of a nature to alarm the family ; 
 but my father was always nervous about her, when 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 a new 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 husband and children by the pass 
 ing away of this gentle spirit : 
 
 " My letter, written last night, will have prepared you to hear 
 that 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, she was 
 breathing softer though shorter, and a kind of hope seized upon 
 me. The physician had ordered a cordial to be given her every 
 hour; for this purpose it was necessary to rouse her from her 
 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 should 
 be so. Her husband was just going to raise her head, that he might 
 enable her to taste the draught, when she breathed three sighs, with 
 short intervals, and all was over before we who were around her 
 bed could believe it possible that her spirit had fled. We were 
 stunned with the unexpected stroke, for none of us had anticipated 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 383 
 
 any change last night. The Professor was seized with a sort of 
 half delirium, and you can scarcely picture a more distressing scene 
 than him lying on the floor, his son John weeping over him, and 
 the poor girls in equal 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 when 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 sympathy and tender respect of his students. After a short 
 pause, his voice tremulous with emotion, he said, " Gentlemen, 
 pardon me, but since we last met, I have been in the valley of the 
 shadow of death." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 " PICTURES and visions which fancy had drawn and happy love 
 had inspired, came now in fierce torrent of recollection over the 
 prostrate and afflicted soul. Though sorrow had no part in them 
 before, it possesses them 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 been fixed in their con- 
 
384 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 nection with one another, and image linked to image long before ; 
 they rise up by those connections, but they are determined to arise 
 and depart by that one fixed conception which holds its unshaken 
 seat in the sorrow of the soul."* It is quite evident from these 
 words, written a year after that great domestic affliction had befal 
 len him, that my father had not shut out from his heart the image 
 of his wife. How he 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 public journals of the day: 
 
 " Last week a paragraph appeared describing the painful situation 
 to which Professor Wilson had been reduced from deep mental 
 affliction. The following extract from a letter to a friend, written 
 by himself, is the best evidence of the error into which our contem 
 porary had fallen : 
 
 " It pleased God on the 29th of March 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 early 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 antici 
 pated happiness. Where was that solemn, calm spirit, now that 
 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 
 he was not forever to be overcome with sadness. 
 
 It is necessary, in order to relate some of the events of this sum 
 mer, that we should follow him to the secluded house near Roslin, 
 where he went immediately after my mother s death, doubtless 
 
 * " Our Two Vases," Blackwood, April, 1838. 
 
LITEEAKY 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 thoughts like these even now arise, 
 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 ; yet doth a mystic chain 
 Link in our hearts foreboding fears of death, 
 "With every loveliest thing that seems to us 
 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 the 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 diffidence 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 contrast to the simplicity and tenderness of disposition which 
 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 mother 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 Companions," BlackwoocTs Magazine, vol. yliv., 1838. 
 10* 
 
386 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 Roslin, and Jessie willingly availed herself of my father s kindness, 
 and came to his house ; but the change was of little service ; con 
 sumption had taken firm hold, and soon the poor invalid was con 
 fined 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 father, as early 
 dawn streaked the sky, sitting by the bedside of the dying woman, 
 arranging with gentle but awkward hand 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. 
 When she died, her master laid her head in the grave in Lass wade 
 churchyard. 
 
 This whole season was burdened with one feeling which tinged all 
 he wrote, and never quite left him.* In October, he returned to 
 Edinburgh and resumed 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 gentlemen, and were afterwards ascertained, to 
 their extreme regret, to belong to Professor Wilson, to whom they sent an immediate explana 
 tion, hastening 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 me 
 diator, was one for the display of magnanimity. MAGNANIMITY ! was the emphatic reply, 
 1 Why, sir, I showed the utmost magnanimity this morning when one of the murderers was in 
 this very room, and I did not pitch him out of the window P As murder he accordingly persisted 
 in regarding it, with a sullen obstinate desire for justice, which required no small degree of man 
 agement on the part of friends, and of propitiation from the culprits, to prevent his making it a 
 public matter. Untrained to calamity, like Lear, when all at once 
 " The king is mad ! how stiff is our vile sense 
 
 That we stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 
 Of our huge sorrows I Better we were distract : 
 
 So should our thoughts be severed from our griefs ; 
 
 And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose 
 
 The knowledge of themselves. 1 " 
 
 ~-From Mr. Cupple s graceful "Memorial and Estimate of Professor Wilson, by a Student." 
 4 to. Edinburgh. 
 
 t The eldest, Margaret Anne, to her cousin, Mr. J. F. Ferrier, now Professor of Moral Philos 
 ophy, St. Andrews; the second, Mary, to Mr. J. T. Gordon, now Sheriff of Midlothian. 
 
LITERACY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 387 
 
 By the marriage of his second daughter, who, along with her hus 
 band, found a home for eleven years in her father s house, a change 
 was wrought in the feelings of some of the chief men of the Whig 
 party towards him. It has already been shown to what an extent 
 the bitterness of party spirit had separated good men and true from 
 each other, 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 Whig, arid connected with Whig families ; he introduced to his 
 father-in-law s house new visitors and new elements of thought ; old 
 prejudices disappeared, 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 thus again met together, Jeff 
 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 three 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 dignified 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.! 
 
 * The mutual appreciation and familiar friendship of Wilson and Kutherfurd was as instant as 
 are question and answer to-day by telegraph ; and I cannot now recall, without emotion, the fond 
 and constant attachment which the great and busy lawyer felt and manifested to " Christopher 
 North." I have 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 official 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 amiable and admirable man, 
 the late Lord Murray, who may be said to have lived in the opeu air of universal and cheerful 
 hospitality. His heart and his hearth were alike open, with an equal warmth of welcome, to all, 
 old and young, big or little. None understood or relished better than he did the joyous benev 
 olence of my father s disposition. I wish I could linger a little over the agreeable reunions in 
 
388 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 My father, since the days when he wrote in the Edinburgh, had 
 achieved a position in letters not only different from Jeffrey s, but 
 higher and more 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 Wilhelrn 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, 
 the 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 011 every subject, grave or gay, is felt throughout 
 the country. Be it politics, literature, or sport, there is not one of 
 these themes that has not taken color from him a sure test of 
 genius. In the " Noctes" alone is seen his creative power in indi 
 vidual character ; yet its most original conception is not a type, but 
 a being of time and place. The Shepherd is not to be found every 
 where in Scotland, either 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 what has 
 been ; 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 
 
 Jeffrey s house in his latter years, which, under the mellowed lustre of a simple domestic fire 
 side, rivalled the sprightliest fascinations of a Hotel Eambouillet. No friend went to them, or 
 was there greeted, with more cordial sympathy than Professor Wilson. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 389 
 
 prestige of greatness laid aside, and the very strength of his hand 
 softened, that he might gently caress the infant on his knee, and play 
 with the little ones at his feet. And many a game was played \vith 
 fun and frolic ; stories were told, barley-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 prosperity for nearly 
 eleven years. It seemed quite of opinion that it was the 1 most im 
 portant occupant of the apartment, and would peck and chirp where 
 it liked, not unfrequently 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 picking 
 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 over, 
 except the star on his breast, as the raven s wing. Strength and 
 
390 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 sagacity emboldened his bounding beauty, and a fierceness lay deep 
 down within the quiet lustre o his een that tauld you, even when 
 he laid his head upon your knees, and smiled up to your face like a 
 verra intellectual and moral creature as he was that had he been 
 angered, he could have torn in pieces a lion."* 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 affection 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 murders.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! "No bark like his now belongs to the 
 world of sound ;" and so passed Bronte " to the land of hereafter." 
 It Avas 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 Neptune, a Newfoundland dog, 
 Mrs. Rutherfurd 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 visits 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 master 
 of the house as his chief companion, walked with him, and patrori- 
 
 * Noctes AmbrosiancK. t Ibid. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 391 
 
 izd him. I think he looked upon himself as the binding link 
 between the bitter Tory of the old regime, and the moderate 
 Conservative of the new. There was evidently a feeling of par 
 tisanship in his mind as he took up his position at the door of Mr. 
 Blackwood s shop, either to throw the Professor oif or take him up, 
 as the case might be. I never knew so eccentric a dog as Tory ; 
 he had many friends, 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 Rooms, 
 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 
 independent 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 my 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 was 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 what 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 fitly from a bazaar of lady s work, made up for the 
 
392 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 occasioD, and sold at a high 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 
 said 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-two 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, nat 
 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 attendant naively relates that one day when the Professor took him into his 
 " aviary," and pointed out the varied beauties of his birds, the Doctor asked, " Do they never 
 fight ?" " Fight !" replied the Professor, " you little know the noble nature of the animal ; he will 
 not fight unless he is incited ; but," added he, with a humorous twinkle of the eye, " put a hen 
 
 among them, and I won t answer for the peace being long observed; and so it hath been since 
 
 the beginning of the world," added the old man eloquent. 
 
LITEKABY AND 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 were 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, walked 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 
 the back-green, where they crowed and strutted more insolently 
 than ever. A few days after the lumber-room had been evacuated 
 by its feathered tenants, the Professor s daughters ascended to the 
 said apartment, happy 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 birds. The 
 dresses were of no value in Ms 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 disappointment, called 
 forth expressions of bitter and undisguised hatred towards all ani 
 mated nature in the shape of feathers. The aviary was after a 
 time shut up, and all its inhabitants were sent off in various direc 
 tions. The following note to Dr. Moir will show how they were 
 disposed of: 
 
 " 6 GLOUCESTER PLACE, Monday. 
 
 "My DEAR SIR: I have a game-cock of great value which I 
 wish to walk (as it is technically termed) for a few months. Can 
 
394 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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 they will fall by mutual wounds. Yours affectionately, 
 
 "J. WILSON." 
 
 Apparently the only article from his pen during 1840 in Black- 
 wood 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 human 
 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 j ustly before men, for well did he 
 know how in this world faults are judged. There is a touching 
 simplicity, too, in the personal allusions in these words, "Her eyes 
 never having looked on the Nith." 
 
 "May 3, 1840. 
 
 " MY DEAR MR. 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 Nith. Perhaps thereabouts I 
 might move, and there find an hour of peace. Is Thornhill a pleasant 
 village ? and is there an inn between it and Dumfries ? Is there an 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 395 
 
 inn in the pass of Dal vine ? Is Penpont habitable quietly for a few 
 days, or any of the pretty village-inns 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, JOHN WILSON." 
 
 Four months later we find him writing again to the same friend : 
 
 " EDINBURGH, Sept. 24, 1840. 
 
 " 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 The Land of Burns. 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 now the survivors are to me like the dead. I 
 then called with Mary Burnside,* now Mrs. 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 day or so, 
 and I won t leave it till this contribution to The Life of Burns 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 and confidante of the "Orphan Maid," whose image was so 
 hard to tear from his young heart. 
 
396 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 study it is a sort of library. 1 am alone with one daughter, my 
 good Jane ; 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 sons. I have an interesting account of a visit he 
 paid to the 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, which he calls " a sort of library," some 
 thing may be said of that careless habit which overtook him in his 
 later years, and gave to his whole 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, while 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 arrangements, and all that inde 
 scribable 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 up in the rudest fashion, 
 and their volumes, though not wanting in number or excellence, 
 wore but shabby habiliments, many of them being tattered and 
 without backs. The chief pieces of furniture in this room were two 
 cases : one containing specimens of foreign birds, a gift from an 
 admirer of his genius across the Atlantic, which was used incongru 
 ously enough sometimes as a wardrobe ; the other was 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 Nations lay shining 
 coils of gut, set off by pretty pink twinings. Peeping out from 
 Boxiana, in juxtaposition with the Faery Queen, were no end of 
 delicately dressed flies; and pocket-books well filled with gear for 
 the " gentle craft" found company with Shakspere and Ben 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, 
 
LITEEAKT AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 397 
 
 found innocent repose in the neighborhood 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 stuifed what appeared 
 to b*> dingy, crumpled bits of paper these were bank-notes, his 
 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" for*got 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 patriarch 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 other 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 words that bore no pleasant sig 
 nificance to my ears in the days of childhood. Well do I remember, 
 when living long ago in Ann 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 off went our shoes, and we crept up stairs 
 like mice. I believe, generally speaking, there never was so quiet a 
 nursery as ours. Thus " writing for Blackwood" found little favor 
 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 never 
 failed to be tossed from floor to ceiling, and back again, until tat 
 tered to our hearts content. In due time we came to appreciate 
 better the value of these labors, when we learned what love and 
 duty there was in them ; and a good lesson of endurance and 
 
398 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 power the old man taught by the very manner of his work. How 
 he set about it, d propos of his study, may claim 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 work 
 to the 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 Black wood, 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 with 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. The 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 interrupted his pen, saving 
 to take his night s rest, and a late dinner served to him in his study. 
 The 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 unfrequent- 
 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 these familiars were not always so dilatory, the following humorous description wilt tes 
 tify : " O these printers 1 devils 1 Like urchins on an ice-slide keeping the pie warm, from cock 
 crow till owl-hoot do they continue in unintermitting succession to pour from the fur-off oflice 
 down upon Moray Place or Buchanan Lodge, one imp almost on the very shoulders of another, 
 without a minute devil-free, crying, Copy I copy I 1 in every variety of intonation possible in gruff 
 or shrill; and should I chance to drop asleep over an article, worn down by protracted sufferings 
 to mere skin and bone, as you 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 swarming with them all a-j 
 hum! Many, doubtless, die during the year, but from such immense numbers they are never 
 missed any more than the midges you massacre on a sultry summer eve. Then the face and 
 figure of one devil are so like another s the people who have time to pay particular atten 
 tion to their personal appearance, which I have not, say they are as different as sheep. That 
 tipsy Thammuz is to me all one with Bowzy Beelzebub," fcc. Nodes. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 399 
 
 " The boy was told to call this morning at seven, and said he 
 would, but he has not come till .... I rose at five this morning 
 on purpose to have the sheets ready. I wish you could order the 
 devils to be more punctual, as they never by any accident appear 
 iii this house at a proper time. The devil who broke his word is 
 he who brought the first 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 difference of burden, 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 what 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 same 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 
 particularly 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 kitchen can- 
 
400 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 dlestick. What his fancy for this was I cannot say, but he 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 Legend of 
 Florence, already spoken of, and a laudatory criticism of Macaulay s 
 Lays of Ancient Rome. 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 
 forward 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 nature, 
 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 well 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 
 was 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. 
 
 "ROTHESAY, Thursday Night, 
 
 July 1, 1841. 
 " MY DEAR ROBERT : Gordon and I left Edinburgh suddenly by 
 
 * Reported in Scotsman, June 26, 1841 
 
LITERARY 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-day, Mary and Gordon had nearly met a fatal accident, having 
 been upset in a car, over a considerable depth 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 will hardly be able to read this 
 scrawl. Yours affectionately, 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 desire 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 caUed 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 take in and admire what he did not ex 
 press by words ; silence at such moments was the key to more in- 
 17 
 
402 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 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. Not 
 a sound escaped his lips ; but when, after a while, the softening 
 shades 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, which 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 Jeffrey s mind, he never was tired of read 
 ing it. 
 
 It is a description of a fairy 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 Cruachan : 
 
 " There it was, on a little river island, that once, whether sleep 
 ing 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 than 
 aught that trills from earthly instrument was the scarce audible 
 dirge ! It seemed to float over the stream, every foam-bell emit 
 ting a plaintive 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 dewdrops, 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 face, pale as a 
 lily, and motionless as the snow. The dirge grew fainter and 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 403 
 
 fainter, and then died quite away ; when two of the creatures came 
 from the circle, and took their station, one at the head, the other at 
 the foot of the bier. They sang 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 smooth as ever, the very 
 dews glittering above the buried fairy. A cloud passed over the 
 moon ; and, with a choral lament, the funeral troop sailed duskily 
 away, heard afar off, so still was the midnight solitude of the glen. 
 Then the disenthralled 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 with regard to their 
 own works, but this is true, that Professor Wilson never read what 
 he wrote after it was published. He 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 principle 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 Loch- 
 invar." 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 and 
 aiding, as circumstances required, in the appointment of a new 
 
404 MEMOIR 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 summer 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 offer the 
 letter as one of the best specimens of his domestic correspond 
 ence : 
 
 "BILLHOLM, LANGHOLM, 
 Friday Forenoon, May 27, 1842. 
 
 " MY DEAR MARY : We left Linhope on Wednesday, dined at 
 the farmer s ordinary in Langholm, and came to Billholm 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. This morning the party (with 
 Billholm and Menzion at their head) went off for a similar purpose 
 to Craighope, distant some ten miles ; and Billholm, 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 Crook, and the hills not 
 so high as the highest about Innerleithen, but elegantly shaped, 
 and in the best style of pastoral. 
 
 " The house 4 shines well where it stands, on a bank sloping 
 down to the river, which is not above twenty yards from the door, 
 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 
 the river ; many pleasant holms in the middle distance, and the 
 aforesaid hills about a mile off, surrounding the horizon. Sufficient 
 
 * One of his grandchildren. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 405 
 
 trees up and down the banks ; but the view in front open, not ex 
 posed. The house was originally of this common kind : door 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 
 into 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 fit for anybody ; one of them with a small dressing- 
 room with a window. I forgot to say, that behind the drawing- 
 room 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 stair 
 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 
 16. 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 ; rather 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 
 rooms, 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 
 dining-room, and back kitchen, also servants hall, as it is called, or 
 rather butler s pantry a very comfortable and useful place and 
 fitted up with presses, which 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 
 
406 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 farm-offices are about 100 or 150 yards from the 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 lilacs, 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 rasps, and a promising strawberry bed. Every thing in 
 it will be late this season, as it was dressed since John came here, 
 only three weeks ago, but every thing is growing. The furniture 
 has not yet made its appearance, but I believe 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. In December his fine " Roman 
 hand" strikes fire once more through the languid ribs of " Maga," 
 and he greets with good heart and will the Lays of Ancient Rome. 
 ISTo arriere pensee 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? 7 "What! poetry 
 from Macaulay ? Ay, and why not ? The House hushes itself to 
 hear him, even when 4 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 ! The 
 young poets, we said, all want fire. Macaulay is not one of the set, 
 for he is full of fire." 
 
 And so does he proceed, with honest words of praise, to the end, 
 giving what is due to all. More of his treatment of this noble 
 enemy in another place. 
 
 As I have already remarked, there was nothing written for 
 Blackwood during the years 1842-44. What was he about? 
 
LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 407 
 
 What right 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 will show that 
 he was not absolutely idle : 
 
 "4to 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, 
 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 
 1844- 48. 
 
 WE now come to February, 1 844, where an old correspondent re 
 appears, whose letters, if not written in the sunny spirit of bonho- 
 mie, have a peculiar excellence of their own. Never did graver s 
 tool 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 bis best friends to pieces, leaving the 
 most poetical of them as bereft of that beautifying property, as if 
 they had been born utterly without it. I have seen various portraits 
 of my father from that pencil, each bearing the grotesque image of the 
 
4:08 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 WILSON : I have spelt out your letter with labor,* 
 but great ultimate contentment. 
 
 " -Alexander 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 d 
 
 foBCulentiore. Of the other suggestion nipt in the bud, never shall 
 I breathe a whisper 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 ne plus 
 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 Aero, 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 notion 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. N". 
 a thousandfold better than Lauder s, and hope to have an engraving 
 of it, same size, very speedily. 
 
 " I showed the c 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 
 c 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 told, 
 from the weakness in his hand. 
 
 t Po&mata Lyrica. Versa Latina RimanU Scripta. By H. D. Ryder. Birapkin, Marshall, 
 and Co. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 409 
 
 published by Simpkin, Marshall, et Co. 2d. The author is not 
 Moore, Dean (to whom it is dedicated, as a compliment to his zeal 
 for the Apostolical succession ), but H. 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 fine 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. J9.* and Punch had been caricaturing them 
 as the Terriers of the Times disgracing a drawing-room ! 
 
 " Ah 1 true, as I shall answer, etc." 
 
 * Mr. John Doyle, the father of Richard Doyle, author of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, " is 
 generally believed to be the author of the celebrated H. B. political sketches, which were a few 
 
 17* 
 
4:10 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 There are one or two allusions in this letter which may require 
 a word of explanation. 
 
 The first paragraph refers to a proposition made by some parties 
 in Edinburgh, that the remains of Mr. Kemp, the architect 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 propos 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. 
 
 u MY DEAK 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 bronze. Marble will 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 money. 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. How 
 many Reviews are we to have ? Is not it odd that the old ones keep 
 afloat at all ? but I doubt if they have lost almost any thing as yet. 
 The Q. JR. prints nearly 10,000, I know, if not quite. Nor have I 
 
 years ago so remarkably popular, and which, while exhibiting with abundant keenness the prom 
 inent features and peculiarities of the persons caricatured, were always gentlemanly in feeling, 
 and free from any appearance of malice." Knight s English Cyclopaedia. 
 * WhUefriara has been ascribed to Miss E. Robinson. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 411 
 
 heard that Ebony is declining, in spite of these Hoods and Ains- 
 worths, etc., etc. 
 
 "... showed me a lot of Edinburgh 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 whom Brewster patronizes for me.* 
 I should like also to have Sheriff Cay. This art is about to revolu 
 tionize book-illustration entirely. 
 
 " There is very great uneasiness here about this ten hours affair. 
 I really expect to see the Government displaced sooner or later by 
 this coalition of Johnny Russell 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. We shall have him H. B. d, of course. Ashley speaks 
 well, he has a fine presence, good voice, and his zeal gives him 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, Denman, 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 H. 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. LOCKHABT." 
 
 In the next letter, which is the last of this correspondence that 
 has been preserved, it will be seen how pain and inward yearning 
 
 * My father did so, and the frontispiece to the present M&nwir is engraved from Mr. Hill s 
 calotype, by the artist s kind permission. 
 
MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 for things gone from before his eyes had softened a stern nature, 
 bringing it through trials which left him a sadder and a wiser man : 
 
 "FAIR LAWN, TUNBRIDGE, 
 
 Easter Wednesday, 1844. 
 
 " MY DEAB WILSON : I had 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 word to give offence, and 
 much very 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, have already done wonders, and in fact 
 convinced me that I might have health again, if I could manage to 
 cut London, and Quarterly Reviews. As for any very lively 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 have 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 violets and hyacinths and burst 
 ing leaves, that I should be unable to awaken 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 have no plans now never. Walter must fag hard all this 
 summer in Essex with a Puseyite 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 have 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 R 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 413 
 
 Peel, an 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, of old 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. V6. I suppose Pollock will take 
 the place, yet it is not impossible that JET. J3. may fancy it, and if he 
 does, it might not be easy for Peel to give him a rebuff. Ever affec 
 tionately 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-like semi-sympathy 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 affair." 
 The subject is pleasantly mingled with domestic interests concern 
 ing BiUholm : 
 
 "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 worth 
 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 
 wall 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 appropriate pendants. The demure Damsel 
 
414: MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 may range with Victoria. But follow your own taste, which is as 
 good, or better than mine. 
 
 " The five will make the room look gay, and they 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 12th, 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 Neill, 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 by 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 
 Billholm for some days past. With love from all here and in Carl- 
 ton Street I am, your affectionate father, J. WILSON." 
 
 Soon after this home-loving spirit has assisted in making the 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFTS. 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 with one heart, 
 and ultimately brought a stream of sympathetic souls together to 
 the banks of Doon, till it seemed as if all Scotland had poured its 
 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 worked 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 present 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 :- 
 
 "MY 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. 1ST ei 
 ther will his memory have to come in till after Scott and Campbell ; 
 and we all know, that even, on a generally popular 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 
 
 * Of 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 me on the subject : " I have often heard him mention the following. He once walked 
 forty miles in eight hours, but when or where he did it I cannot recollect. On another occasion 
 he walked from Liverpool to Elleray, within the four and twenty hours. I do not know what 
 the distance is, but think it must 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 1822, when 
 the King was there. Once, when disappointed in getting a place in the mail from Penrith to 
 Kendal, he gave his coat to the driver, set off on foot, reached Kendal some time before the 
 coach, and then trudged on to Elleray." 
 
416 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 would do well. But such toast is not necessary ; for the names 
 might be merely mentioned, and the thanks carried by acclamation. 
 So with all others. These toasts might be set down and assigned, 
 and given as circumstances may permit. 
 
 " 1 shall write to Ballantine 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 few days 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, 1844. 
 
 " MY DEAR 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 
 venience to many, besides the loss to myself, I am sure you will 
 sympathize with the conviction I have reluctantly adopted, that I 
 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 festival 
 had, happily for me, occurred while I was there at liberty, I should 
 have embraced, with pleasure I cannot express, the opportunity of 
 
 * Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd died in the discharge of bis professional duties at the Assizes, 1854. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 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 hope 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". TALFOTJRD." 
 
 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 with our fellow-creatures as could be wished : 
 
 "EDINBURGH, Saturday Evening, 
 August IWi, 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 affecting. 
 
 " 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 she 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 bagpipe 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 
 
 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 "I intend publishing my address in Blackwood s next number, 
 properly corrected, along with all the others ; and, if you can find 
 a place for it in the Herald, I wish you would, for I wish the peo 
 ple in the country to see it, if they choose, in right form. Speakers 
 are at the mercy of the 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, 
 
 "JOHN 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 summer 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 Wizards 
 walks : 
 
 "LuiB, Sunday, June 1, 1845. 
 
 " DEAR GRUMES : 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 arrival 
 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 peart. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Satur 
 day, after breakfast, / walked three miles up the river, which 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 
 
 and back again, certainly two thousand feet high. But on Friday 
 he was much fatigued and kept to the valley, and even yesterday 
 he 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, others 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 the whole, this is the pleasantest inn I ever was at, and the 
 station in all respects delightful. The Wizard takes a gill of whis 
 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 SONACHAN, June 9. 
 
 " MY DEAR UMBS : We left Luib on Thursday, the 5th instant, 
 and reached Cladich at half-past seven. No Williams, nor room 
 for ourselves, so we proceeded three miles to Port Sonachan, where 
 we 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 suffered 
 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 and 
 returned before the wind, homeward-bound ; beheld the Wizard on 
 a point of the loch, and took him in ; reached Port Sonachan before 
 seven, and dined sumptuously. Angling had been admirable ; sixty- 
 one trout crammed into the basket, which 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 
 nimself much, and walks about from morning to night." 
 
420 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 We shall now follow him through a small portion of the year 
 1 845, when he appears to have resumed his work with steady pur 
 pose, as may be seen by looking at the Magazine for seven consecu 
 tive months. North s Specimens of the u British Critics" make :\ 
 noble contribution to that periodical. Those papers, along witli 
 too many of equal power and greater interest, have found jealous 
 protection within the ceinture of its pages, and seem destined to a 
 fate which ought only to belong to the meagre works of mediocrity- 
 The eighth number of " British Critics" was written at Elleray, 
 whither he had gone for a few weeks, tempted by a beautiful sum 
 mer, and the natural longing of his heart to roam about a place full 
 of so many images, pleasant and sad, of the past. The following 
 note to Mr. Gordon refers to this article : 
 
 "ELLERAY, Wednesday. 
 
 " MY DEAR GORDON : I am confidently looking for best accounts 
 of dear Mary every day. 
 
 " Pray, attend ! I have sent a long article to Blackwood c No. 
 VIII. on Critics, about MacFlecuoe, 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 may not leave out something referring to something remaining 
 in. We ship on the 24th. Yours ever, in haste for post, 
 
 "J. W." 
 
 In the same year (1847), when the Philosophical Institution was 
 established in Edinburgh, he was elected its first President, and 
 delivered the opening address. To this honorable office 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 there is noth- 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 421 
 
 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 be 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 : 
 
 " Friday, June 9, 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, 43 
 Melville 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 
 need 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. WILSOK." 
 
 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 JOHN WILSON. 
 
 their home on the 28th September, 1848, having taken a peep of 
 the pastoral hills on his way from Elleray, 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 lives around him. Loneliness, 
 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 with 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 fifth night after my return to Elleray 
 from Hollow 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 
 Ittackwood, upon Byron s " Address to the Ocean," one of those 
 beautiful critiques which go so deeply into the true principles of 
 poetry. Its severity may startle at first, but can hardly fail to be 
 acknowledged as just. 
 
 His whole 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 hi a nature that has it not from its 
 cradle. I do not agree with those who hold that humor is the best 
 
LITERARY 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 
 asserting its rights, not unfrequently with an incongruity which, in 
 its unexpected intrusion, does not rob it of charm, but rather adds 
 to its power. 
 
 Wilson s humor 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 Edinburgh, that was not as often overpow 
 ered by his humor as by his wit, by 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 had reached that, he stopped, " right 
 about faced," stood in front of you, looking full at you, and deliv 
 ered the conclusion, then released you from the stop you were forced 
 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. His appearance and dress were 
 too peculiar not to be recognized a good way off, for no one wore 
 a hat with so broad a brim, covered with such a deep crape, p 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 leonine 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 
 Krork. 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 which 
 so often makes portrait-painting insensate, but great in its original 
 strength ; with a something, perhaps more of the man, and a little 
 less of the poet in his look, than painting would have given, yet 
 
424 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 unmistakable to the very character of the hands, broad and beauti 
 ful in form. The hair, not so fine, is rather lost in the hazy shadows 
 of the photograph, but all else is good and true. Why, 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 the 
 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 what 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 
 the man, as if it had been a straw, and walking quietly up to the 
 cart he unfastened its trams, 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 Rosinante, 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 gown, as a badge of mourning." Jamieson. 
 
 t They do not appear in the engraving, as the page is too small to contain the whole pho- 
 tt graph. 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 425 
 
 ceeded through Moray Place to deposit the wretched animal in 
 better keeping than that of its driver. This little episode is delight 
 fully characteristic of his impulsive nature, and the benevolence of 
 his heart. No weak appeal, through the gossiping columns 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 face 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. Only 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 never, 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 description ; to convey the idea 
 how, without fear yet trembling, he left the world of his dreams, 
 the a emerald caves," the "pearl-leaved forests," and "asphodel 
 meadows," and opened his eyes upon that which was 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 
 
426 MEMOIft OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 not afraid, yet somewhat trembling in the awe of our new delight, 
 into the heart of the habitations of all the world s most imperial, 
 most servile, most tyrannous, and most slavish passions ! All that 
 was most elevating 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 
 composed, and which many of his imaginative essays may be called. 
 What visions foreign shores would have brought to his mind, 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 unbroken, or even 
 been partially restored, he would have crossed the Atlantic. 
 
 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 countrymen Dr. 
 (/banning, the piety of whose character made his life upon earth one 
 of singular beauty. Of his peculiar religious tenets I never heard 
 my father speak. Nobility of nature, and aspirations directed to 
 high aims in exercising influence for good over his fellow-creatures, 
 were virtues of a kind, taken in combination with intellectual power, 
 sufficient to win favor from him. 
 
 The autobiographical nature of my father s writings permits me, 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 427 
 
 to a certain extent, to make use of such passages as I know are not 
 only the expression of his sentiments, but likewise a reflex 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 
 I have no record to give of his mixing in circles composed of those 
 above him in station ; no bons 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 worthy of good report, yet pre 
 ferring to remain true to his own order. 
 
 It was this loyalty that gave him power over the hearts of men, 
 and, I believe, this 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 was 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 merged 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 effect, and 
 if one of delight, fails to be recognized until our transport has sub 
 sided ; then from delight to wonder are the senses changed, 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 body of men who form so interesting a portion of the com 
 munity our 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. The 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 appearance, 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, that poured out the whole force of his mind ; 
 turning the studio into a lecture-room, and the artist to one of the 
 most delighted of his students. 
 
 " Bless me, my dear sir," he said, rising suddenly ; " give me ray 
 coat, I fear it is long past two o clock, I had almost forgotten my 
 engagement." 
 
 Mr. Duncan, smiling, handed him his coat, saying, "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 nothing in the world so difficult to call up and retain as 
 a passing gleam of fun or humor. We require the accessories of the 
 moment, the peculiar little touch, the almost invisible light, that, 
 gleaming athwart the mind, kindled it into that exuberance out of 
 
 * Christopher in his Sporting Jacket Mr. Thomas Duncan, an accomplished artist, died in 
 844. His portrait, painted by himself, hangs in the National Gallery, Edinburgh. 
 
LITE11AKY 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 powers, his wit, his humor, cannot, 
 save in general terms, be described. I humbly confess my own un- 
 fitness for such an undertaking ; and I have not been able to meet 
 with 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 him 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 picturesque 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 
 was 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 
 internally 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 whatever 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 met 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 hermit, it was evident that 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 Highlanders. Upon modestly declining to accept 
 of the honor, I was informed that, if I persisted in my refusal, I 
 should be removed from the room by a policeman for contempt of 
 court ! I 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 his eye of fire, 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 company, those three I have just mentioned 
 have passed away. One incident I remember of that dinner-party. 
 Robertson, 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 1818 : " The last of these presidents (Mr. Patrick Eobertson), a 
 young counsellor, of very rising reputation and most pleasant manner, made his approach to the 
 chair amidst such a thunder of acclamation, as seems to be issuing from the cheeks of the Bac 
 chantes, when Silenus gets astride on his ass, in the famous picture of Rubens. Once in the 
 chair, there was no fear of his quitting it while any remained to pay homage due to his authority. 
 He made speeches, one chief merit of which consisted (unlike Epic Poems) in their having neither 
 beginning, middle, nor end. Ho 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 
 sheer 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, apply equally to 
 the wit or humor of Robertson. I venture, however, to give one example that occurs to me, out 
 of perhaps hundreds that might be remembered, of his peculiar and invincible power of closing 
 all controversy by the broadest form of reducUo ad absurdum. At a dinner party, a learned 
 and pedantic Oxonian was becoming very tiresome with his Greek erudition, which he insisted 
 on pouring forth on a variety of topics more or less recondite. At length, at a certain stage of 
 the discussion of some historical point, Robertson turned round, and fixing his large eyes on the 
 Don, said, with a solemnly judicial air, " I rather think, sir, Dionysius of Halicaruassus is 
 against you there. 1 " I beg your pardon, 1 said the Don, quickly, " Dionysius did not flourish for 
 ninety years after that period." "Oh," rejoined Patrick, with an expression of face that must 
 be imagined, " I made a mistake. I meant Thaddeus of Warsaw" After that the discussion 
 wont no farther in the Greek channel 
 
LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 4:31 
 
 not altogether exclude his peculiar humorous style of illustration, 
 proposed the health of his friend, Professor Wilson. The Professor 
 replied with feeling, but, at the same time, gave Robertson a re 
 joinder in Patrick s own style. I have known him, said the Pro 
 fessor, * since his early manhood ; I remember his beautiful hair 
 intensely red ! 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 the course of the evening, the Professor sang his 
 favorite song of the Sailor s Life at Sea, and with what power, 
 \vith what sailor-like abandon, 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. Burns himself 
 would have been glad and proud to have joined in the chorus ! I 
 met Wilson one or two days after in Hanover Street. Pie accosted 
 me. I remarked that never till that night at Robertson s had I ever 
 really met The 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 Yanitee ;" 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 without 
 the magic of the singer s voice it reads but tamely. 
 
 
 > -0-~Q- 
 
 THE GOULDEN VANITEE. 
 There was a gallant ship, 
 And a gallant ship was she, 
 
 Eek iddle dee, and the Lowlands low ; 
 And she was called " The Goulden Vanitee," 
 
 As she sailed to the Lowlands low. 
 
4:32 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CLOSING TEAKS. 
 
 1849- 54. 
 
 IN the year 1849, the first of a series of beautiful papers from my 
 father 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 efforts 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 " Noctes," 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 give me if I sink that French Gallee, " 
 
 As ye sail, etc. 
 
 Out spoke the captain, 
 Out spoke he, 
 
 Eek, etc. ; 
 u We ll gi e ye an estate in the North Countree," 
 
 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," 
 
 As ye sail, etc. 
 
 So they ve row d him up ticM 
 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 ! some were playing cards, 
 And some were playing dice : 
 Eek, etc., 
 
CLOSING TEAKS. 433 
 
 less variety af character and stirring incident. To compensate for 
 that want, however, they have certain deeper qualities. The dis 
 cussions they contain on some of the highest questions 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 the turning 
 towards God of the soul of the shepherd upon behalf of the flock, 
 
 When he took out an Instrument, bored thirty holes at twice 1 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 Then some they ran with cloaks, 
 And some they ran with caps, 
 
 Ee.k, etc., 
 To try if they could stap the oaut- water draps, 
 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 About and about, 
 And about went he, 
 
 Eek, etc., 
 Until he cam back to the Goulden Vanitee, 
 
 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 1 !! no 1 throw you o er a rope, 
 Nor pu you up on buird, 
 
 Eek, etc., 
 Nor prove unto you as guid as our word," 
 
 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 Gallee," 
 
 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 than their word : 
 
 As they sailed, etc. 
 
 I am indebted for the words and the music to my friend Mr. P. 8. Fraser. 
 
 18* 
 
434 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 and upon his own, must be unwritten, unpremeditated, else it is not 
 prayer. Can the heart ever want fitting words ? The teaching 
 must be to the utmost forethought, at some time or at another, as 
 to the matter. The teacher must have 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 supposes the holy fire of the new-born 
 Reformation 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 when 
 the chased Covenanters are met 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 w r orks will seek them out, and read him in the same spirit 
 as 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 llth of April, 1849, 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 affection, until broken health obliged him unwil 
 lingly to leave Edinburgh, and seek change of scene. The remain 
 ing 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 some amusement for his 
 grandchildren. A favorite walk with them was to the Zoological 
 Gardens. Wonderful diversions were met with there, and much 
 entertaining 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 auditors who, if not 
 directly addressed, were willing to linger near and listen. 
 
CLOSING TEARS. 435 
 
 There is something expressive in the words, "Little Ways." 
 Every one has seen, in intimate. intercourse with his fellow- creatures, 
 habits and peculiarities that are in themselves trifling enough, but 
 so belonging to the person that they can be looked upon only as his 
 " ways," and are never for an instant disputed, rather encouraged. 
 My father had a number of these " ways," all of so playful a kind, 
 so 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 sitting simply 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 fits 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 his attention, until the fact of being without coat, and having 
 his face half-covered with soap, was entirely forgotten, the reverie 
 only disturbed by a ring at the bell, when he 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 minute before he held in his hand. Off again to 
 his dressing-room, bringing his coat along with him, and, diving 
 into its pockets, he would find the lost lecture, in the form of the 
 tattered fragment of a letter, which, to keep 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 having 
 reduced the once shining Bath post to a species of crumbling wool, 
 not 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 
 tying 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 remember, did for himself ; they were offices I 
 often had the pleasure of performing. The watch was a great joke. 
 In the first place, he seldom wore his own, which never by any 
 chance was right, or treated according to the natural properties of 
 
436 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 a watch.* Many wonderful escapes this ornament (if so it may be 
 called) had from fire, water, and sudden death. All that was required 
 of it at his hands was that it should go, and point at some given 
 hour. His own account of its treatment is so exactly the sort of 
 system pursued, that this little imaginative bit of 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 snuff-box, too, 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. No 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 " Noctes."f 
 
 These are some of the " ways." Gas, as I have said, he could not 
 endure, having once blown it out, and nearly suffocated 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 inkstand, 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 Inaugural Ad 
 dresses to the Philosophical Institution, of which he was president, in 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 ou 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 
 had hardly passed ere I repented doing so. Grasping the chronometer in his hand, the Professor 
 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 
 some 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 character, as, stamp 
 ing, he blows his nails, and bangs the front door after him, sulkily shaking his naked mawlies 
 on the steps with Sir John Frost. 
 
 " Hang itl had we three hundred and sixty-five snuff-boxes, not one of them would be suffered 
 to lie still on this table ; but the whole gang shall be dismissed, men and women alike, they 
 are all thieves. You have not seen my slippers, you say, sirrah ? Well, then, we shall use our 
 interest to get 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 ?" 
 
 $ It was bought by my mother, in a small shop in Stockbridge, in 1820. That shop was then 
 kept by a young man, who has since risen to great eminence in the world, having gained by 
 his acquirements, and extensive antiquarian knowledge, a name of European fame. In his private 
 life he is beloved and respected by all who know him, and among my own frieuds there is no 
 one I esteem more highly than Mr. Robert Chambers. 
 
CLOSING YEAKS. 437 
 
 He was in his latter years passionately fond of children : his grand 
 children were his playmates. A favorite pastime with them was 
 fishing in imaginary rivers and lochs, in boats and out of them ; the 
 scenery 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 
 screams 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 place 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 unwearied 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 
 helping 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 ofiend. 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 
 ing that serious work had begun. 
 
 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. Pie had great pleasure in 
 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 which she was held. He said this way of car- 
 
438 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 a child was a discovery he had made, that it was quite safe, 
 and very good for it. It was all very well so long as he remem 
 bered what he 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 
 there ; 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 up-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 when he was 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 SPAEEOW, 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 alight 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 facts, 
 a tenderer association to his name, claiming from those who only 
 knew his intellect respect for the loving sympathies that made home 
 so 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 : 
 
 "LEXMOTJNT, lih August, 1850. 
 
 " MY DEAE BLAIE : Poor Billy died here yesterday night about 
 nine o clock, so quietly, that we scarcely knew when he was gone. 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 439 
 
 On Friday, he is to be interred in the adjacent cemetery. His 
 wife had come from Bowness. 
 
 " I think of going to Billholm on Saturday for ten days. Per 
 haps you will write to me there on getting this, and tell me how 
 you are going on. Your letter to Jane was most acceptable to all 
 of us. 
 
 a I will write to you from Billholm on receiving a letter from 
 you. All well. Jane Aytoun and Golly left for Billholm yesterday. 
 Kind regards to all friends at Kirkebost, and believe me 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 w^ould soon 
 be separated 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.* 
 With 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 Eskdale 
 Muir, arriving, weary and worn out, after a couple 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 way to Edinburgh. 
 True devotion like that met with 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 horror at railways appears to have been shared by others who ought to have known 
 better. Witness Wordsworth s lines on the projected Kendal and Windermere Bailway, com 
 mencing 
 
 " Is there no nook of English ground secure from rash assault?" 
 
440 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 love of women." Cheerful reminiscences he had of past labor by 
 the lake-side ; then came kindness and care to soothe the weakness 
 and troubles of advancing age ; and, last of all, the touch of a ten 
 der hand by the dying bed. Poor old man ; he had corne to pay me 
 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 father know I thought it was at 
 hand ; my message brought him immediately. He walked the 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, where 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 hand that had so often pulled an oar on Winderrnere ; 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 
 Avore 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 band 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 Balrner was in 
 terred in the Warriston Cemetery. My father walked 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 Billholrn, 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 preceding the Queen s arrival. But we 
 
 * Dr. Blair. 
 
CLOSING TEAKS. 44:1 
 
 did not go to see her entree on Thursday, and so missed what I hear 
 was a sight worth seeing. On Friday I attended, with about twelve 
 other professors, the stone-laying,* which was pretty. The Prince 
 spoke well, and to the purpose. On Saturday we dined with Mrs. 
 R. 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 party. Next day Mary came for us in her carriage, 
 but no Doctor was to be found, so we went to Lixrnount without 
 him, and at half-past seven he appeared in a brougham, having lost 
 himself in some quarries. 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. He 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 sends 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 hardy again. I am much the better of the dear Doc 
 tor s visit, and am in good spirits. You are not forgotten in Skye 
 by any of us ; and we all rejoice to think what a stock of health 
 you are laying in for the winter. I am glad the guardsman and lady 
 are pleasant. When the Doctor goes I shall be able to know my 
 own motions. I must go then for a few days to St. Andrews. Af 
 ter that I will write 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 finds * groping in the press, howking out a book, part 
 
 * The foundation-stone of the new National Gallery on the Mound. 
 t Superintendent of Police. 
 
442 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 of which was read with his peculiar burr." These simple words 
 give us the impression that there was a something about him 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 
 much 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, perfectly 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 something 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 different too : Dr. Blair s soft and sweet as that 
 of a woman ; my father 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, and 
 resolute, has left his works behind him ; while the other, never 
 
CLOSING TEARS. 443 
 
 satisfied, always doing and undoing, has 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 paid to his friend, their time was exclusively 
 devoted to the study of Milton, and the result of these hours finds 
 noble record in the " Dies Boreales." The subject is approached 
 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 muse, 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 
 himself 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 proportion try to rise above it. The same 
 interest in his work which kindled his energies in early years, 
 glowed with 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 him, 
 for he was punctual. We had seen him 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 
 ing me, and we together raised the Professor up into his chair. I 
 caught the words c God bless you ! Gradually he got better, and 
 
 * By the Kev. A. B. Grosart, Kinross. 
 
444 MEMOIB OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 we 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 that 
 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 touchingly 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 was 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 media 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 this 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 drooping 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 his 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. 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 445 
 
 vealed the depth of his suffering ; 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 
 encamped for a fortnight, encountering such caprices of weather as 
 generally pass over the 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 boast 
 of; but he was unable to do more than loiter by the river-side close 
 in the neighborhood of the inn -never without his rod. Alas, how 
 changed the manner 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 dull ; 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 heart to hear the thunder of the near- 
 ing waterfall ! and lo, yonder flows, at last, the long dim shallow 
 rippling hazel-banked line of music among the broomy braes, all astir 
 with back-fins 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 
 flies, a swarm in the air from the mountain woods." 
 
44:6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 A picture of the past visiting the present, as time glides on, 
 making more perceptible the cruel changes which come to mortal 
 strength. How now do his feet touch the heather ? Not as of old, 
 with a bound, 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-time. 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 consideration. 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 happened 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 
 which 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, 2,8th 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 surprise 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 Billholm 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 grateful 
 pleasure at this unexpected recognition of his public services. We 
 
448 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 were scarcely inclined to retire to our rooms, and remained talking 
 till early morning. My father was much touched by the delicate 
 tact of Lord John 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 
 character, I would return such acknowledgment as is due from 
 one who knows how to estimate the high qualities of the house of 
 Russell." 
 
 i 
 
 We 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 
 whole 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 expected 
 to lay aside its harness without a pang. Religion alone supported 
 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 usefulness of his life was over. His brother Robert, who 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 449 
 
 had ever loved him with the tenderest affection, and who sought 
 by every means to soothe his spirit and restore his health, proposed 
 that he should again make his house a home. He did so, taking up 
 his abode at Woodburn,* 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 JBlackwood 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 through 
 the weary hours of sleepless nights by his bedside. 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 my 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 would 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 different from his 
 days of defiant strength. Massive as his frame still remained, its 
 power was visibly gone, and a gentle air of submission had taken 
 
 * Mr. E. S. Wilson s residence, near Dalkeith. 
 19 
 
450 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 the place of that stately bearing. His step, that once 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 he presented a serene and beautiful picture 
 of calm and genial old age. He had not lost his interest in outward 
 things nor yet in those of literature. He writes the subjoined play 
 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 : 
 
 "WOODBURN, DALKEITH, 4th December, 1851. 
 
 " MY DEAR BLAIR : Anne s* fair hand holds the pen. The sup 
 ply of books was most acceptable. The volume of Pascal was right ; 
 but I see there are two others by the same translator, viz., vol. 1st, 
 * Provincial Letters; vol. 2d, Miscellaneous Letters. Have you a 
 translation of Cicero s De Finibus ? Is there a volume on Philoso 
 phy by Price or Dring ? 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 William 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, JOHN WILSON. 
 
 " (Signed by order of the Presbytery.) 
 
 "JP. fS. 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 affairs by reading the 
 journals of the day. His political ardor was not so much abated as 
 to prevent him from expressing his sentiments with his usual ani 
 mation ; and he found an opportunity of giving one last memorable 
 pro6f of his independence and magnanimity of spirit in favor of an 
 illustrious political adversary. In 1852 the representation of the 
 city of Edinburgh 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, seldom taking exercise out of doors, but preferring 
 
 * Hia niece, the eldest daughter of Mr. E. 8. Wilson, 
 t Hia five grandchildren. 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 451 
 
 to remain in his own room. Possibly the languor of disease 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 sit in the open air. 
 Much to the surprise of the household, he one morning this sum 
 mer expressed a desire to go into Edinburgh. Unfortunately, Mr. 
 Wilson s carriage was not at hand, some of his family having gone 
 into town to make calls. This contretemps it was supposed 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. Vincent 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 generous 
 action supplies an interesting sequel to the incident : 
 
 " ROYAL HOTEL, CLIFTON, 
 
 July 16, 1852. 
 
 " MY DEAE MR. GORDON : I am truly grateful for your kindness 
 in letting me know how generous a part Professor Wilson acted 
 towards me. From my school-days, when I delighted in the Isle 
 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 I 
 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 let him know 
 
4:52 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 how much pleasure and how much pride I felt when I learned he 
 had given 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 few notes he wrote at this time to 
 his son Blair, and now lying before me, are almost undecipherable, 
 the characters evidently written by a 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 
 ings 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 Boreales. Not because it is so beautiful in 
 itself, but by reason of the tender character of the subject. That 
 deep and lasting love which the grave did not destroy the lost 
 image of his wife was an ever present theme for the exercise of 
 his soul s submission. Tempered though his sorrow was, he carried 
 it in the recesses of his heart perpetually, and his last thoughts 
 have been embalmed in this fine passage. The forlorn 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 Lays of Ancient Rome in Blacfoicood, for December, 
 1842, my father, unless I am misinformed, had once more at least acted a generous part to a 
 political opponent, by reviewing " Croker s Criticisms" on Macaulay s England, in two letters 
 addressed to the editor of the Scotsman, April 18th and 28th, 1849, signed Aliquis. 
 
 " July 22<f. 
 
 t "My DEAR BLAIR: I took from Gloucester Place three volumes of Milton, of which one 
 is the second volume of Paradise Lost, 1 4th edition, Thomas Newton. It contains the first six 
 books, and the note and letter. The first volume must contain the first six. Can you get it for 
 me, and send it out without delay per train ? Yours affectionately, J. WILSON. 
 
 " I want to have Addison s Essay on Paradise Lost. 1 " 
 
 " WOODBURN. 
 
 "Mr DBAK BLAIR: Your active kindness has done all that could be done about Milton. 
 Look in my room for Payne, Knight s Principle of Taste, and for Raines s Elements. 1 
 
 u Yours affectionately, J.WILSON." 
 
 " WOODBURN, Thursday Afternoon. 
 
 "MY DKAR BLAIR: Call at Blackwood s on your way to College (on Saturday), and ask John 
 or the Captain if they have a parcel for me at Woodburn from the printer s in the evening; if 
 10, you may stay and bring it by railway, the latest one going. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, J. WILSON." 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 453 
 
 affection the happiness of years, and seems to have left to it no 
 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, torn by such a stroke from all those inferior 
 human sympathies which, 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 process 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 moral 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 labored. He 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 friend. It was a 
 kind and pleasant meeting. I had prepared Mr. Lockhart to find 
 my father greatly altered, as we drove out together. He after 
 wards told me he saw no change mentally, but considered him as 
 bright and great as ever. Yet time had done much to destroy the 
 
 * Dies Boreales, August, 1852. 
 
4:54 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 fine frame of the one; the heart-energies and interests of the other; 
 nor could it be but a melancholy retrospect which crossed their 
 thoughts in looking back to the days of gigantic strength in " life s 
 morning march when the spirit was young." There was the same 
 contrast between them as of yore, attributable to the different con 
 dition of their mental health. The indestructible buoyancy of my 
 father s spirit gave to his mind an almost perennial freshness, and 
 he 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. There 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 him 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 a weary 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. They 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 Lockhart 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 un 
 affected sincerity in their pleasures, and rejoicing in their affection. 
 The following little note to Mr. Robert Findlay, says more than 
 
 * Mr, Lockhart died at Abbotsford. November 25, 1854, about seven months after the Profess n: 
 
CLOSING TEARS. 455 
 
 many words, and is significant of that love which was so large an 
 clement of his nature :* 
 
 " MY DEAREST ROBERT : I rejoice in my soul to learn 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 
 " brother," of his youth. What thoughts of the past would revisit 
 his memory in writing that little 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; more 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 rally, 
 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 strag 
 gle of each beating wave, a melancholy evidence that a wreck lay 
 there. How was such a trial borne ? As all others had been. 
 Grief deep as death was overcome in the end by patience. That 
 great and lustrous mind felt day by day how its might was sinking ; 
 
 * Since I -wrote the above this dear friend has also been laid in his grave. Mr. Eobert Findlay 
 died on the 27th of June, 1862, having reached the advanced age 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 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 while no outward complaint came to tell of the agony within ; but 
 efforts more trying and perplexing than can be told were made to 
 test the amount of power yet remaining. He would read, or rather 
 cause to be read aloud, books upon the same subject, as differently 
 treated by their various authors, chapter by chapter. Philosophical 
 works were tried first, but confusion was the result of this process 
 of inquiry, as to his mental strength. The attempt was too much. 
 With a sigh of despondency the volumes were laid aside, ordered 
 to be taken away, and were not again brought out. A short 
 period of repose, that might in ordinary cases have been beneficial, 
 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 wasting 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 !" were words 
 that sent a sound as a solemn dirge to our hearts. Yet was there 
 no rebellion in this desire to hold fast the gifts that were his from 
 heaven : who would part willingly with such powers ?* 
 
 Such usefulness was 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 that 
 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 those 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 his having effected a happy cure in a case 
 of severe mental trouble. The subject was a student whom he had recognized as showing 
 great promise in his earlier career, but whose subsequent exertions had not answered his ex 
 pectations. Inquiring of the youth 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 difficulties lending 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 tho tale of grief with tender sym 
 pathy. His steady faith and long experience, his knowledge of how doubts and fears assail the 
 hearts even of the high and pure, enabled him to enter into the very depths of that woe-stricken 
 soul. With words of wisdom he consoled the wandering spirit, while he led him by the power 
 of persuasion, the force of truth, and the tenderness of love, to the clear upper 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 with 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 pillows 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 brought 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-dream, but a reality, 
 " that took him knee-deep, or waistband-high, through river-feeding 
 torrents, to the glorious music of his running 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 cliffs, and stones, we see a stripling whose 
 ambition it is to strike the sky with his forehead, and wet his hair 
 in the misty cloud, pursuing the ptarmigan now in their variegated 
 summer dress, seen even among the unmelted 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 him 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. 
 Rutherford 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, and find I have 
 forty-four dozen loch flies and fifty-six of stream flies. Of the latter six dozen are well adapted 
 for our river; but Lord Salton is nearly done, and must be renewed. Into the Yarrow I shall 
 never again throw a fly." 
 
 19* 
 
458 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 widowed life had been one of long and faithful mourning ; and the 
 bereavement which his friend, Lord Rutherfurd, was called upon to 
 endure, filled his mind with the most poignant pain, and it was with 
 difficulty he could banish the subject from his thoughts. Other 
 men s sorrows, 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 without 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 interest and hope of dying hours, 
 was 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 Herrings then being exhibited there. He 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 indifference which, when disappointed, he generally wore. 
 Yet he was not always untouched by the efforts which love made 
 to cheer and please him ; and his moistened eye told more than a 
 thousand words how he felt and followed the little entertainments 
 got 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 iutro- 
 
CLOSING YEARS. 459 
 
 ducing his youngest grandchild, some four years of age, dressed as 
 "Little Red Riding-hood." This picturesque small figure, in a scar 
 let cloak, with a shock of long curls hanging about his merry face, 
 made his entree into grandpapa s room, holding up in his chubby 
 hands a basket neatly adorned with leaves, out of which peeped 
 sticks of barley-sugar and other bon-bons. Trotting to the bedside 
 where the old man lay, he offered 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 grandpapa s hands were so white, and that he never once 
 growled. 
 
 The tender and anxious question which 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 Book must have begun in the 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, because 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 from a region hanging, in its mystery, between heaven and 
 earth." 
 
460 MEMOIR )F JOHN WILSON. 
 
 On Christmas day, 1853, he assembled around him his entire fam 
 ily, sons and daughters, with their children, to spend the day in his 
 house. 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 hung over the chimney- 
 piece in his bedroom. He was unable to dine down-stairs, but we 
 visited him after dinner, 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 some of his infant family, spent this New Year with him. This 
 was a great happiness ; 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 
 affecting 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 "Elleray" 
 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 bear 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 linger by the silent shores 
 of lochs," rested now forever. On the 1st of April I received a 
 message that my father had become worse. I hurried immediately 
 to Gloucester Place. On 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 he 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 powerful-looking body as comfortably 
 as possible, and in a few moments the medical attendants arrived. 
 There was no hope given us ; his hour had come. All that were 
 near and dear to him were in the house. Not a sound was heard 
 but the heavy 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 was 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 my father s death. 
 They were written in youth ; but the fact that his prayer was grant 
 
402 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 
 
 ed, makes these beautiful words, as it were, the parting farewell 
 which his lips 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 weeping 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 ; 
 While, as if air were sun, gleams from above 
 
 The day with God, the Sabbath without end 1" 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 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 laid 
 in the Dean Cemetery. Seldom has such a procession wended through the streets 
 of Edinburgh as passed, in the soft sunshine of that April afternoon, from Glouces 
 ter Place up Doune 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 Jeffrey, 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, s 
 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, rich hi 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 Hon. the Lord Justice-General (M Neill), Lord Neaves, Sir John Watsor 
 Gordon, P. R. S. A., R. A, Mr. John Blackwood, Mr. Robert Chambers, Mr. P. S. 
 Fraser, and Dr. John Burt. 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 occupy. In a representation of a man whose notable 
 person 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 that habit, to attain much of the heroic element. The careless ease of 
 Professor Wilson s ordinary 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 
 plies the needed folds of drapery, and the trunk of a palm-tree gives a rest to the 
 figure, while it indicates, commemoratively, his principal poetical work. The lion- 
 like head and face, full of mental and muscular power, thrown slightly 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 clutching 
 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.* 
 
 MR. LOCKHART TO MR. BOYD. 
 
 " CHIEFSWOOD, 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 bo 
 said when you publish your 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. 
 
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. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. WILSON." 
 
 WILSON TO ME. BOYD. 
 
 " ELLEEAY, KENDAL, 
 Thursday, 6th October, 1825. 
 
 " DEAE SIE : 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 29th; 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 length 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 this letter. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 "JonN WILSON." 
 
 THE SAME TO THE SAME. 
 
 " ELLERAY, 16th October, 1825. 
 
 " DEAE SIR : Yesterday I sent per coach three articles for Janus, 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 here 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 me a few days ago, which he is doing, or to do, and 
 from those I have in hand, the volume cannot easily be less than 550 pages, 
 
466 APPENDIX. 
 
 which, since there are to be no embellishments, may 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. This 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 27th, I hope to hear from you a few days 
 before in answer to this. 
 
 " I am, my dear sir, yours very truly, 
 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 MR. LOCKHART TO MR. BOTD. 
 
 " CHIEFS WOOD, Saturday Evening. 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR : 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 three articles, and his intention 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 thinks 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. Thoughts on Bores; 6. Maxims, after which (as mentioned 
 on the slip) the little article Leaves, now sent ; 7. Then set up owe of the Pro 
 fessor s articles, a longish one, whichever of the three you like ; 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; 17. Serenade, from Goethe, now sent; 18. Another of the Professor s 
 articles, now sent; 19. Song of tho 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 Norman 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 little 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. LOCKHART. 
 
 "From Mr. Wilson, 17th Oitober, 1825: 
 
 " Antipathies ; Dante and Milton ; on the character Buonapartic." 
 
APPENDIX. 467 
 
 WILSON TO THE SAME. 
 
 "ELLERAT, Saturday, October 22, 1825. 
 
 "DEAR SIR: Many thanks for your kind letter, and enclosure of 150 on ac 
 count of Janus. 
 
 " In sheet 6, I agree with the compositor that the white lines should be taken 
 out. Pill up the space with the Player and Poodle, and The Return. After 
 the article on the Rise and Fall of Nations, German Sonnets, and a pretty poem 
 in print, now sent; then on the Prime Objects of Government ; then 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, which put into slips. 
 Brown on Beauty, now sent, you will put up into forms after the other mentioned. 
 That will bring the forms to about 240 pages, I suspect. I will send more MS. 
 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 delayed writing for two posts, in hopes of getting the three 
 articles, 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, 
 
 " JOHN WILSON." 
 
 WILSON TO MR. BOYD. 
 
 " GLOUCESTER PLACE, Id November, 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 
 Beauty. 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 the 
 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. 
 
 " Wednesday Morning. I wrote this last night. 
 
 " Yours truly, J. WILSON." 
 
468 APPENDIX. 
 
 To THE SAME. 
 
 " 15th November, 1826. 
 
 " DEAR SIR : I have hardly had 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 by 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 SAMB. 
 
 " 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, 17 th November, 1825. P. S. I will send back the other things to 
 morrow, for I cannot lay my hands on them just now." 
 
 To TUB SAME. 
 
 " list November, 1825. 
 
 "DEAR SIR: I send the conclusion of the tale (Miles Atherton). After it, set 
 up Haco s Grave, the Home Star, To the Spirit of Health, 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. 
 
 " 28th 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 conclusion will be sent to you in the afternoon. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. W." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 469 
 
 To THE SAME. 
 
 - 26th November, 1825. 
 
 " DEAR 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 be 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 
 she is pretty well to-day. Yours truly, J. "W " 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Hints concerning the Universities. 
 Church Service for the Ordeal by Fire. 
 Specimens of the Eabbinical 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 Prune Objects of Government. 
 Dante and Milton. 
 Napoleon. 
 Antipathies. 
 
 To Death from the German of Gluck. 
 Glasgow Revisited. 
 Lament for Maclean of Arcs. 
 Serenade from Goethe. 
 Poetry and Prose. 
 Song of the Gypsy King. 
 Inscription on a Tombstone in the Church 
 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 Imagination. 
 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 the 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 and 
 
 Psyche, a MS. religious poem. 
 
470 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 III. 
 
 LIST OF PROFESSOR WILSON S CONTRIBUTIONS 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, 8, 
 
 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, ..... 
 
 July. Hints for the Holidays, 
 
 Noctes, 15 Moir or Hogg, 3, ... 
 
 Aug. P. 1. Gymnastics, ..... 
 
 Wilson s Ornithology, .... 
 
 2. Hints for the Holidays, 2, ... 
 
 Letter to Mrs. M. on the Sexes, 
 
 The Four Shops, .... 
 
 Sept. Hints for the Holidays, 3, . 
 
 October. Noctes, 16 Hogg, If -Mr. C. Croker, If, . 
 November. Glance over Selby s Ornithology, 
 
 Noctes, ..... 
 
 Christmas Presents, entd. Mr. Wilson, 
 
 December. 
 
 1827. 
 January. 
 March. 
 April. 
 May. 
 June. 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Noctes, 
 
 Do. ... 
 
 May Day, 
 
 Persian Women, 
 
 Aird s Characteristics, 
 
 The Navy, No. 1, 
 June. P. 2. Cruickshank on Time, 
 
 Pollok 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, 
 
 PAGES. 
 
 9 
 
 . 10 
 
 8 
 
 5 
 
 17 
 
 . 25 
 1 
 
 . 12 
 9 
 
 . 21 
 29 
 
 . 21 
 10 
 
 . 10 
 20 
 
 . 12 
 15 
 
 . 23 
 
 11 
 
 . 26 
 
 284- 
 
 16* 
 
 24 
 
 23 
 
 11 
 
 L6 
 17 
 17 
 19 
 12 
 18 
 
 8 
 16 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 25 
 13 
 21 
 14 
 20 
 30 
 
 * I had hoped at one time- to be able to give a complete list of my father s contributions from 
 the commencement of the Magazine, but the materials for fixing the authorship with certainty, 
 in every instance, do not exist. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 471 
 
 1827. 
 
 Sept. Moore s Epicurean, 
 
 October. The Traveller s Oracle, 
 
 Schmelzle s Journey, 
 
 Montgomery s Poems, 
 November. Preface and Review of Chronicles, 
 
 Heber s Hymns, 
 
 1828. 
 January. 
 
 February. 
 
 March. 
 
 April. 
 
 2. 
 
 May. 
 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 H. Stuart s Book, 
 
 Anatomy of Drunkenness, 
 
 Life of Burns, .... 
 
 Noctes, No. 36, L. 13, with pieces from Hogg, C. Croker, 
 
 Old North and Young North, 
 
 The Man of Ton, .... 
 
 "Wilson s Illustrations, .... 
 
 Dr. Pliillpotts, .... 
 
 Monkeyana, ..... 
 
 Huskisson s Complete Letter- Writer, 
 
 Bremhill Parsonage, .... 
 
 Salmonia, .... 
 
 Christopher in his Sporting Jacket, 
 
 Noctes, 20^17 White, 3 Hogg, 1, 
 
 Interscript and Postscript, 
 
 Noctes, 21 Mr. Coleridge, 12 Mr. Johnston, 4, 
 
 Noctes, ..... 
 
 Sir R. Inglis s Speeches, 
 
 Sacred Poetry, .... 
 
 Edinburgh Sessional School, 
 
 Noctes, 
 Do. 
 Do. 
 
 Note, 
 Sept. P. 2. Loves of tho Poets, 
 
 Furness Abbey, 
 
 Noctes, 
 December. Noctes, 
 
 The Annuals, 
 
 1830. 
 January. 
 
 Feb. 
 
 March. 
 
 April. 
 
 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 Peninsular War, 
 Notice, 
 Noctes, 
 
 Do. 
 
 PAGES. 
 . 29 
 
 20 
 . 22 
 
 2 Of 
 . 52 
 
 17 
 
 . 6 
 7 
 
 . 15 
 
 25 
 
 1 
 
 47 
 . 24 
 
 191 
 
 . 46 
 
 10 
 . 19 
 
 21 
 . 18 
 
 28 
 . 10 
 
 15 
 . 22 
 
 25 
 . 40 
 
 20 
 . 2 
 
 21 
 . 32 
 
 21 
 . 22 
 
 29 
 . 30 
 
 24 
 . 15 
 
 . 16 
 
 21 
 
 34 
 
 . 29 
 
 16 
 . 11 
 
 36 
 . 12 
 
 27 
 . 32 
 
 34 
 
 . 31 
 
 2 
 
 . 36 
 
 31 
 
472 APPENDIX. 
 
 1830. P AQES . 
 
 June. The Christian Year, . . . . .16 
 
 On the Punishment of Death, .... 14 
 
 The Mariner s Return, ^ . . .11 
 
 Noctes, ...... 32 
 
 July. Bear-Hunting, . . . . . .23 
 
 Sadler on Balance of Food, . . .27 
 
 Notice to Correspondents, . . . .9 
 
 August. The Great Moray Floods, . . . .38 
 
 The Lay of the Desert, . . . . .8 
 
 Wild Garland, etc., .... 5 
 
 2. Wild Fowl Shooting, . . . . .11 
 
 Colman s Random Records, 2 
 
 Clarke on Climate, . . . . .9 
 
 Noctes, 43 L. 9 Hogg, 2, 43 
 
 September. Day at Windermere, . . . .12 
 
 October. The Moors, . . . . .33 
 
 Expiation, . . . . . .16 
 
 November. Noctes, . . . . .25 
 
 December. Winter Rhapsody, . . . . .32 
 
 1831. 
 
 January. Noctes, . . . . .35 
 
 L Envoy, . . . . . .2 
 
 February. Noctes, . . . . . .22 
 
 2. Winter Rhapsody, . . . . .40 
 
 Mr. Sadler and Edinburgh Reviewer, . . .37 
 
 March. Noctes, . . . . . .37 
 
 April. Sotheby s Homer, . . . .20 
 
 Noctes, . . . . . .33 
 
 May. Reformers and Anti-Reformers, . . . 16 
 
 Sotheby s Homer, . . . . . . 37| 
 
 June. Edinburgh Election, . . . .34 
 
 Lord Advocate on Reform, . . . .31 
 
 July. Sotheby s Homer, . . . .33 
 
 Audubon s Ornithological Biography, . . .16 
 
 Aug. 1. Audubon and Wilson, . . . .34 
 
 Unimore, . . . . . .53 
 
 2. Friendly Advice to the Lords, . . . 19 
 
 Greek Drama, No. 1, . . . .41 
 
 Sept. An Hour s Talk about Poetry, . . .16 
 
 American and Whig on the Bill, . . . .23 
 
 October. Tod s Rajast han, . . . .16 
 
 November. Noctes, . . . . . .43 
 
 December. Sotheby s Homer, ..... 43 
 
 Curliana, . . . . . .21 
 
 1832. 
 
 January. Protestant Affairs in Ireland, . . . .14 
 
 Reply to Lord Brougham, . . . .28 
 
 February. Sotheby s Homer, . . . . .36 
 
 Noctes, . . . . . .33 
 
 P. 2. L Envoy, ..... 1^ 
 
 March. Balance of Parties, .... 23 
 
 April. American Poetry, . . . . .19 
 
 Miss F. Kemble s Tragedy, . . . .20 
 
 Noctes, ..... 28 
 
 May. Tennyson s Poems, . . . . .21 
 
APPENDIX. 473 
 
 1832. PAGES. 
 
 June. Christopher at the Lakes, ] . , . . 24 
 
 Living Poets and Poetesses. . . . .8 
 
 Maid of Elvar, . . . . .22 
 
 July. Griffin s Remains, . . . . .30 
 
 Christopher at the Lakes, . . . .18 
 
 August. Do. do. . . . .16 
 
 Upper Canada, . . . v . 25 
 
 November. Noctes, . . . . . .29 
 
 1833. 
 
 January. Characteristics of "Women, . . . .19 
 
 Feburary. Do. . . . . 27 
 
 March. Do. ..... 28 
 
 April. The Factory System, . . . . .32 
 
 Characteristics of Women, . . . .22 
 
 P. 2. Motherwell s Poems, . . . . .14 
 
 Devonshire and Cornwall, . . . --16 
 
 May. On Poor Laws and Ireland, . . . .33 
 
 Twaddle on Tweedside, . . . .11 
 
 June. Greek Anthology with Hay, . . . .24 
 
 Loch Awe, . . . . .16 
 
 July. Sir Henry Blackwood, . . . . .24 
 
 Greek Anthology with Hay, . . . .26 
 
 August. Do. do. . . . .27 
 
 September. Northern Lighthouses, . . . .15 
 
 Greek Anthology, . . . . .56 
 
 October 1. Morning Monologues, . 40 
 
 False Mediums, . .... 
 
 America, No. 2, . . . .21 
 
 2. English Cathedral Establishments, . . .38 
 
 November. The Hindu Drama, . . . .24 
 
 Spenser, No. 1, . . . .33 
 
 December. Retribution, . 8 
 
 Greek Anthology, . . . . .38 
 1834. 
 
 January. Sotheby s Odyssey, . . . . .26 
 
 Hindu Drama, . . . . .29 
 
 February. Odyssey, . . . . . .30 
 
 Aria, . . . . . .4 
 
 March. "Whig Prosecutions of the Press, . . .18 
 
 Refutations of Stewart, . . . .28 
 
 Conspiracy against Mr. Shell, . . . 10 
 
 April. Baron Smith, . . . . .11^ 
 
 May. 1. London on Education of Gardeners, . . . 19 
 
 Admission of Dissenters, . . . .15 
 
 2. Stephen Oliver on Angling, . . . 16-J 
 
 Moral of Flowers, . . . .13 
 
 Poetry of Ebenezer Elliott, . . . .21 
 
 Combinations, . . . . . ]6 
 
 Noctes Hogg and Mag. 12, . . . .31 
 
 June. Aurora A Yision, . . . . .10 
 
 Christopher on Colonsay, . . . .17 
 
 July. Do. do. . . ; .14 
 
 Noctes Hogg, a small part, . . . .29 
 
 August. Do. . . . . . .32 
 
 Campbell s Siddons, . . .- .24 
 20 
 
474 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1834. 
 
 September. 
 
 October. 
 
 November. 
 
 December. 
 
 1835. 
 January. 
 
 Campbell s Siddons, 
 
 Edmund Spenser, 
 
 Glance at the Noctes of Athenaeus, 
 
 Coleridge s Poetical Works, 
 
 Noctes, . . 
 
 Spenser, 
 
 Do. 
 
 Orphan s Song, 
 Noctes, &c., 
 
 Edmund Spencer, Part V., 
 
 Audubon s Ornithological Biography, 
 
 Noctes, etc., .... 
 Feb. 1. Bishop of Exeter and Lord John Russell, 
 
 Roscoe s Poems, 
 
 Noctes, 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, 
 
 Female Characters in our Modern Poetry, No. 1, 
 July. Life of Edmund Kean, 
 
 Tomkins on the Aristocracy of England, 
 
 Anniversary of Waterloo, 
 
 Stoddart s Angling, . 
 August. Anglimania, .... 
 
 Female Characters in our Modern Poetry, No. 2, 
 
 Clare s Poems, 
 
 Willis s Poems, 
 
 The Doctor, First Dose, . 
 September. The Modern Dunciad, 
 
 De Berenger s Helps 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. 
 
 1837. 
 January. 
 February. 
 
 BaiUie s Dramas, 
 
 Do. 
 
 Swan s Views of the Lakes of Scotland, 
 Alford s Poems, 
 The Metaphysician, 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, 
 
 PAGES. 
 . 17 
 
 23 
 . 27 
 
 29 
 . 29 
 
 24 
 
 . 33 
 
 1 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 23 
 
 18 
 
 . 17 
 8 
 8 
 
 31 
 . 32 
 
 12 
 . 30 
 
 17 
 . 24 
 
 28 
 . 12* 
 
 14* 
 7 
 9 
 . 22 
 
 14 
 . 16 
 
 12 
 . 20 
 
 12 
 . 8 
 
 12 
 , 26 
 
 16 
 16 
 15 
 17 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 15 
 
 9 
 
 21 
 19 
 13 
 17 
 10 
 
 9 
 20 
 
 27 
 
 7 
 
APPENDIX. 475 
 
 1837. PAGES. 
 
 March. The Birth-Day, 24 
 
 April. Our Two Yases, . . . . .20 
 
 October. Do. ..... 24 
 
 November. Poetry by Our New Contributor, 10 Sterling, 16 . . 10 
 
 1838. 
 
 February. Loss of Our Golden Key, . . . .33 
 
 April. " The Latin Anthology, .... 44 
 
 May. Our Two Vases, . . . . .28 
 
 June. Our Two Panniers, . . . . .32 
 
 July. Extracts, . . . . . . 20 
 
 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, . . . .18 
 
 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 
 
 1845. 
 
 February. North s Specimens of the British Critics, . . .26 
 
 March. Do. do. . .32 
 
 April. Do. do. . . .26 
 
 Extracts from the Drawer of our What-not. 
 
 May. North s Specimens of British Critics, . . .30 
 
 June. Do. do. . . .23 
 
 July. Do. do. . . .15 
 
 August. Do. do. . . .28 
 
 September. Do. do. ... 23 
 
 X848. 
 
 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. Christopher under Canvas, . . . .30 
 
 Dies Boreales The Last, .... 24 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ACCIDENT to Mrs. Wilson, 276, 277. 
 
 to Mra. Gordon, senior, 401. 
 
 Achlian. visits to. See Campbell. 
 Aird, Thomas, 299, 319, 415. 
 
 letters to, on Burns, 394-396. 
 
 on the Festival, 417, 418. 
 
 Alison, Sir A., Ill, 121, 415. 
 Allan, Mr., of the Caledonian Mercury, 98. 
 Allan, Sir William, 201, 413. 
 Ambleside, fair at, 309, 310. See Elleray. 
 America and the Americans, 426. 
 Anderson, Samuel, 181. 
 Anecdotes of College life, 49-55. 
 Anglers 1 Tent, the, 84. 
 
 Angling, early fondness for, 3, 4, 7, 12. See 
 Fishing Excursions. 
 
 his last " cast," 446. 
 
 Animals, love of 
 
 the peaseweep in the moor, 9. 
 
 cock-fighting, 45. 
 
 spiders and their habits, 92. 
 
 game-cocks, 92, 116. 
 
 ponies and cows, calves and pigs, 297. 
 
 chickens and dogs, 379. 
 
 the dog Rover and the witch, 371, 372. 
 
 two pet dogs shot, 386. 
 
 list of dogs, 389. 
 
 his four-footed friends, 390. 
 
 Bronte, Tory, and Grog, 3S9-392. 
 
 his "aviary" in the back-green, 392-394. 
 
 interference in behalf of an ill-used horse, 
 
 424, 425. 
 
 Anniversary, 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. 
 
 Astley, the Messrs., 84. 
 
 Audubon, John James, the ornithologist, 361, 
 363, 364. 
 
 " Auld lang syne," as sung by Wilson, 431. 
 
 Authors, calamities of, 803, 304, 398, 399. 
 
 " Aviary," the, 392. 
 
 treatment of its invalids, 393. 
 
 Awe, Loch, 139-142, 154, 400-402. 
 
 Aytoun, Professor W. E., 238. 
 
 marriage of, to Jane Emily Wilson, 434. 
 
 BABIKS, the Professor s " way" of carrying, 437, 
 
 438. 
 Bachelor degree, examination for, at Oxford, 
 
 72-74. 
 
 Baillie, Joanna, 112. 
 
 Baird, Principal, 222. 
 
 letter from, 277. 
 
 Ballantynes, the, 103, 108, 110, 112, 115, 181, 183, 
 303. 
 
 Balmer, Billy, a boatman on Windermere, 88-90, 
 134, 136, 149, 212. 
 
 some account of, 438-440. 
 
 Bar, Scottish, called to the, 117, 121. 
 
 Barber, Samuel, 297, 308, et seq. 
 
 Barley-sugar, fondness for, 23, 389. 
 
 Barlow, Mrs., 809, 330. 
 
 Barton, Mr., 143. 
 
 Baxter, Mr., 134. 
 
 Bell, Henry Glassford, 317, 318, 421. 
 
 Bell, Mr., 143. 
 
 Ben Cruachan, 124. 
 
 Bentham, Jeremy, 274, 275. 
 
 Beresford, Admiral Sir J., 345. 
 
 Berkeley s philosophy, papers on, in Slack- 
 wood, 217. 
 
 Bible, remarks on the, 459. 
 
 Billholm, the residence of his son John, de 
 scription of, 404-406. 
 
 a summer at, 407. 
 
 letter to, 413, 414. 
 
 visits to, 433, 447. 
 
 Blackwood, Captain, 349. 
 
 Blackwood, Sir Henry, 343. 
 
 Blackwood, John, 463. 
 
 Blackwood, William, 115, 164, 167. 
 
 his saloon described by Lockhart, 171. 
 
 letters from, 259, 260, 264-270, 289-290. 
 
 his illness and death, 874-378. 
 
 BlackwoocPs Magazine versus Edinburgh Re 
 view, 156, 164, 175. 
 
 account of the rise of the Magazine, 160 
 
 162. 
 
 its early defects, 164. 
 
 contributors to, 171. 
 
 fictitious names used in, 176, 180. 
 
 troubles occasioned by its assaults, 184-198. 
 
 Wilson s allegiance to, 258. 
 
 his contributions to, 294, 313, 329, 334, 835, 
 
 361, 378, 394, 400, 406, 420, 422. 
 
 his last papers, 449. 
 
 For titles of contributions see APPENDIX 
 
 III., 470-475. 
 
 Blair, Dr. Alexander, 25, 98^ 
 
 letters to Findlay on Wilson s attachment 
 
 to Margaret of Dychmont, 65-73. S<& Lovo 
 episode. 
 visit to Elleray, 84, 85. 
 
 letter from, 117. 
 
473 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Blair, Dr. A. ; correspondence with, when pro- 
 paring Moral Philosophy Lectures, 216-221. 
 
 mentioned, 841, 365. 440, 441. 
 
 accompanies Wilson to the Highlands, 418, 
 
 reminiscences of his friendship with Wil 
 son, 441-^43. 
 
 Blautyre Priory, 21. 
 
 Boating, love of, 8S-90. 
 
 Bothwell Banks, 37, 56. 
 
 Boxing Wilson "a varra bad un to lick," 23, 
 45, 5. 
 
 Boyd, John, 282. 
 
 Boyhood, 1-14. 
 
 " Breeches Review,* the. 276. 
 
 Brewster, Sir David, 171, 411. 
 
 " British Critics," North s Specimens of the, 420. 
 
 Bridges, David, 202. 
 
 Bronte, the dog, 389. 
 
 Brougham, Lord, 94, 252, 409, 411. 
 
 Brown, Dr. John, 292, 372, 373. 
 
 Brown, Peter, Bishop of Cork, 220. 
 
 Brown, Dr. Thomas, 202, 206, 222, 228. 
 
 Browne, Dr. James, editor of the Caledonian 
 Mercury, 323. 
 
 Bryant, Jacob, 219. 
 
 Bull, midnight chase of a, 90-92. 
 
 Bull (John) Magazine,, 271, -287, 288. 
 
 Burke and Hare, the Edinburgh murderers, 321, 
 890. 
 
 Burney, Charles Parr, Archdeacon of Colchester, 
 49, 74, 345. 
 
 Burns Festival, 415-418. 
 
 Burns, Robert, I.V. 
 
 essay on, 394, 395. 
 
 Burnside, Mary, the friend of the "Orphan Maid," 
 
 Bart, Dr. John, 468. 
 
 Burton, John Hill, his reminiscences of the 
 
 Professor and his class, 231-243. 
 Byron, Lord, 131, 158. 
 paper on his "Address to the Ocean," 422. 
 
 CAB-DRIVERS on the look-out for Wilson, 423. 
 
 Ca.lell, T., 144, 260, tt seq. 
 
 Caird. the great, and his wife, 127. 
 
 Calder Bank, 21, 34. 
 
 Calderwood, 84. 
 
 Calvinus, attack by, on Drs. M Crie and Andrew 
 
 Thomson, 171,190. 
 Campbell, Captain Archibald, 142. 
 Campbell, Dugald, of Achlian, 125. 
 
 visit to, 139-144, 146. 
 
 Campbell, Thomas, 345, 858, 379. 
 Canning, George, 271. 
 
 letter from, 281, 
 
 visit to Elk-ray, 284, 285. 
 
 mentioned, 287, 288. 
 
 Carlisle, sports at, 94. 
 
 Carlyle, Thomas, letter from, 822, 323. 
 
 Curler, a speechless, looking after the Professor 
 
 with his horse, 424, 425. 
 Cashel, Mrs. (Grace Wilson), 2, 357. 
 Cay, Sheriff, 121, 181, 411. 
 u Chaldee Manuscript," 163, 171, 187. 
 Chambers, Robert, 436, 463. 
 Channing, Dr., 426. 
 Cheese, Rev. Benjamin, 73. 
 Children, the Professor s love of, 437, 438, 458, 
 
 460. 
 Christmas vacations, 19, 20; his last Christmas 
 
 day, 460. 
 
 " Christopher North," 257. 
 
 - letter on, 805. 
 
 - portrait of, in his Sporting Jacket, 428. 
 Church service, Scottish, 433, 434. 
 
 "City of the Plague," publication of, 133,137. 
 
 See al#o 1 17. 
 Cladich, 401. 
 
 Clfghorn, James, 160-162. 
 Cock burn, Lord, 387, 429, 463. 
 Cock-fighting., 45, 46. 
 
 Cocks, establishment of, at Ellcray, 46, 92, 93. 
 Codringtou, Sir Edward, 350. 
 Cotburn, Henry, 272. 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley, 307, et seq., 311, 312, 382. 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 81, 184, 1S5. 
 his Jjiographui Isiteraria, 162. 
 
 - review of his poetical works, 378. 
 College life at Glasgow, 14-26. 
 
 - at Oxford, 37-77. Sf* Oxford. 
 Collier, Sir F.,841, et seq. 
 
 "Colousay, Christopher on" origin of, 297, 
 
 29SL 
 
 Combe, George, 162. 
 Commonplace-books, begun at Oxford, plan of, 
 
 40-43, 67. 
 
 - extracts from, in prose and verse, 85-88. 
 Composition, habits of, 898-400. 
 Constable, Archibald, 115, 138, 162, 283. 
 Coop, the, in the attic, 393. 
 
 Copleston, Rev. Edward, 220. 
 
 "Copy, copy!" 398. 
 Cranstoun, Mr., 112, 213. 
 
 Critic, Wilson as a, 299, 859, 360. 
 
 Croker, John Wilson, 271, 273. 
 
 Cruikfitone, 37. 
 
 Cunningham. Allan, 270. 
 
 - letters from, 318-818. 
 
 Cupple, Mr., extract from his " Memorial" of 
 
 Wilson, 386. 
 Curweii, William, 134, 136. 
 
 DALYELL, 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, 3S2, 888. 
 
 of Professor Wilson, 461. 
 
 " Delta," see Moir, Dr. 
 
 De Qiiincey, Thomas, remarks of, on Wilson s 
 
 pugilistic and leaping attainments, 46-48. 
 
 on his friends at Oxford, 49. 
 
 description of Ellerav, 78, 79. 
 
 first meeting with Wilson, S2-S4. 
 
 story of the bull-chase, 90-92. 
 
 remarks on Wilson as a naturalist, 92. 
 
 letters to, 101, 118, 824-326. 
 
 mentioned, 134, 185, 149, 171, 224, 234, 279, 
 
 291, 336, 441, 468. 
 
 letter from, 274-276. 
 
 friendship with Wilson, 326-328. 
 
 De Tabley.Lord, 821. 
 
 Diary in 1801, 17. See Memorandum-book. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, 45, 388. 
 
 public dinner to. 400. 
 
 " Dies Boreales," composition of the, 432, 488. 
 the last contributions to JSlackwood, 449, 
 
 452, 453. 
 
 "Dilettanti Club," 184. 
 "Dim acclivity," the. 421. 
 Disraeli, Benjamin, 293. 
 Dixon, Rev. ilk-hard, 73. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 479 
 
 Dobson, Mr., 135. 
 
 Dogs, the, at Thirlstane Castle, 371-873. 
 
 anecdote of two shot at Roslin, 886. 
 
 list of Wilson s dogs, 389. 
 
 Douglas, Mr., of Glasgow, his fracas with Mr. 
 
 Blackwood, 188. 
 Dow, John, 270. 
 Doyle, John, 409, 410. 
 Doyle, Richard, 409. 
 
 Drawing, early attempts at, 4. See Art. 
 Dress, peculiarities of, 423. 
 Drovers, King of the, Wilson s match with, in 
 
 a Highland village, 127. 
 Drumrnond, Mr. Home, 49. 
 Dumfries, visit to, 396. 
 Duncan, Thomas, Wilson in his studio, 428. 
 Dundas, Admiral, 354 
 Dundns, Robert, 279. 
 Dundas, William, 279. 
 Du Perron, Cardinal, as a leaper, 47. 
 Dunlop, William, 24, 26, 72, 139. 
 Dunlops, the, of Garnkirk, 2. 
 Dychmont, 22. 
 the ladies of, 33-37. 
 
 EARCT companions, 25, 26. 
 
 "Edderline s Dream," 316-318. 
 
 Edgeworth, Miss, 262, 292. 
 
 Edinburgh, removal of the family to, 118-121. 
 
 Ann street and its associations, 198-201. 
 
 removal to Gloucester Place, 278. 
 
 Edinburgh, Monthly Magazine, 154, 160-162. 
 Edinburgh Review, strictures of, on education 
 
 at Oxford, 55. 
 
 " Isle of Palms" reviewed in, 115. 
 
 Wilson s contributions to, 120, 158. See 
 
 Jeffrey. 
 
 review of the "City of the Plague," 137. 
 
 the Review versus Blackwood, 156, 164. 
 
 Elleray, purchase of, 68, 69. 
 
 description of, by De Quincey, 78, 79. 
 
 society in the district, 81, 96. 
 
 excursions around, 84, 87, 88, 149, 150. 
 
 boating on Windermere, 88-90. 
 
 regatta s, 97, 285. 
 
 plans of composition at, 116. 
 
 departure from, 117-119. 
 
 visits to, 133-136, 148-150, 259, 269. 
 
 the new house at. 269. 
 
 visit of Sir Walter Scott, 284, 285. 
 
 letters to Mrs. Wilson and family from, 
 
 294-297, 307-311, 331, 332 ; to Sheriff Gordon, 
 
 420, 421. 
 
 intention to let, 305. 
 
 visits in 1845 and 1848, 420, 422. 
 
 resolution not to return, 422. 
 
 Elliot, Ebenezer, the Corn-Law Rhymer, 361- 
 
 863. 
 
 Ellison, Nathaniel, 49. 
 
 Eloquence, the Gormandizing School of, 262. 
 Equestrian adventure, 90. 
 
 FAIRY, funeral of a, described, 402, 403. 
 Fairy-land, Lays from, 256. 
 Fang:, the dog, 372. 889. 
 Father, death of Wilson s, 14, 15. 
 Ferguson, Dr. Adam, 223. 
 Fergusson, Sir Adam, 201, 262, 263. 
 Fergusson, James, 112, 139. 
 Forrier, Professor, 163, 294, 330. 
 marriage of, to Miss Wilson, 386. 
 
 Findlay, Robert, 24, 25. 
 
 correspondence with, on the Orphan Maid, 
 
 60-77. (See Love episode.) 
 letter to, on his marriage with Miss Penny, 
 
 105. 
 letter to, on the death of Mrs. Findlay, 
 
 senior, and of Mrs. Wilson, senior, 277, 278. 
 
 mentioned, 329. 
 
 note to, 380. 
 
 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 death, 455. 
 
 Finlay. John, a young poet, 68, 71, 101, 104. 
 
 Finlay, Mr., of Glencorse, 121. 
 
 Fish, the first, 3. 
 
 Fishing excursions to the Tweed and Yarrow, 
 
 121. 
 
 to th Highlands, 126. 
 
 to Loch Awe, 138-142. 
 
 to the wilds of Rannoch, 154. 
 
 to the Dochart, 418, 419, 445. 
 
 his last excursion, 445, 446. 
 
 Fleming, Rev. John, of Rayrig, 81. 
 
 letters to, 207, 208, 304-^307, 3:20, 821. 
 
 Forbes, Professor Edward, 151. 
 
 " Foresters, The," 268, 269, 282. 
 
 Fortune, unencumbered, 39. 
 
 circumstances connected with the loss of 
 
 it, 118. 
 
 Fraser, P. S., 433, 463. 
 Fraset^s Magazine, 189. 289, 366, 370. 
 Free Trade, views on, 279, 301, 302. 
 Friend, The, a serial of Coleridge s referred to, 
 
 So. 
 
 GAISFORD, Dr. Thomas, 50. 
 
 Gale House and its inmates, 96, et seq. 
 
 Gult, John, 201, 267, 268. 
 
 "Gansrrel bodies" from the South, 126. 
 
 Garnet, William, 149, 296, 309, 810, 831. 
 
 Gas versus Candle, 399, 400, 436. 
 
 " Geinui eggs, a pouchfu o ," 94. 
 
 Gibb, Mr., an Edinburgh artist, 320-322, 333. 
 
 Gill, Mr., 112. 
 
 Gillies, R. P., 160, 161, 168, 171. 
 
 Gipsies, the Howitts story of his joining a gang 
 of, 48. 
 
 Gladstone, W. E., 385. 
 
 Glasgow University, enters, 15. 
 
 college life, 14-26. 
 
 -< recollections of, 38, 39. 
 
 Glassford, Mr.,112. 
 
 Gleniffer, 1. 
 
 Gloucester Place, removal to new house in. 
 278. 
 
 " Gold Medal, Professor Wilson s," 254. 
 
 Gordon, Sir John Watson, 200, 463. 
 
 Gordon, Mrs., senior, accident to, 401. 
 
 Gordon, John Thomson, 238. 
 
 marriage of, 886. 
 
 letters to, 415. 416, 420. 
 
 letter to, from the Lord Advocate, inti 
 mating the grant of a pension to Wilson of 
 300 per annum, 447. 
 
 Gordon, John, 322. 
 
 "Gouklen Vanitee, The;" music and words of 
 this quaint ballad, 431-433. 
 
 Graham, Dr., 283. 
 
 Graham, Sir James, 356, 411. 
 
480 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Grahame, Kev. James, author of " The Sabbath," 
 publication of " Lines" to his memory, 110- 
 112. 
 
 Grandfather, Wilson as a, 437, 438, 458, 459, 
 
 Grant, Mrs., of Laggan, 123, 126, 147, 208-210. 
 
 Grants of Lifforchy, 145. 
 
 Gray, James, author of " Cona," 130. 
 
 Gray, Lieutenant Charles, 132, 341. 
 
 Greave, Mr., 134. 
 
 Grenville, Lord, 99. 
 
 Grey, Sir Charles E., 49, 74. 
 
 Grieve, John, 121, 127. 
 
 letter to, on Hogg s dispute with Black- 
 wood, 368-370. 
 
 Grog, the dog, 391. 
 
 Grosart, Eev. A. B., of Kinross, his account of 
 an illness of the Professor, 448, 444 
 
 HADDINGTOX, Lord, 341. 
 
 Hall, Mrs. S. C., 358. 
 
 Hallam, Henry, 378. 
 
 Hallside, Professor Jardine s residence, society 
 and diversions at, 21, 22, 84. 
 
 Hamilton, Archibald, 26. 
 
 Hamilton, Captain Thomas, 171, 188, 201. 
 
 Hamilton, Sir William, 121, 163, 171, 201. 
 
 contest with, for the Chair of Moral Phi 
 losophy, 202, et seq. 
 
 at Wilson s lectures, 245, 249. 
 
 Harden, Allan, of Brathay, 85. 
 
 letter to, 99, 100. 
 
 Harden, Captain, of Altnagoich, 154. 
 
 Hawick fair, adventure at, 229, 230. 
 
 Hay, Andrew, 341. 
 
 Hazlitt, William, 181. 
 
 II. B. political sketches, 409. 
 
 Health giving way, 443, et seq. 
 
 residence at Woodburn, 449-455. 
 
 return to Edinburgh, 455. 
 
 paralytic 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. 
 
 tour of 1 SI 6, 139-147. 
 
 of 1817, 153, 154. 
 
 short excursion in 1836, after the Paisley 
 
 festivities. 381. 
 
 and again in 1841, 400, 401. 
 
 his last excursion to, in search of health, 
 
 445. 
 
 Hill, D. O., his calotype of Wilson, 411, 423. 
 
 Hogg, James, the Ettrick Shepherd, tisit to, 
 121. 
 
 letters to, 129-132, 365-368. 
 
 writes for the Edinburgh Magazine, 161, 
 
 and for Blackwood, 171, 179, 181. 
 
 letter from, 319, 320. 
 
 his quarrel with the Blackwoods, 865- 
 
 371. 
 
 Home, Wilson at, 328, 329, 388, 389. 
 
 Home, Professor James, 222. 
 
 Homer and his Translators," Essays on, 335. 
 
 Hook, Dr. James, 268. 
 
 Hook, Theodore, 271, 318. 
 
 Hope, Captain, 308. 
 
 Hope, Captain (Experimental Squadron), 341. 
 
 Hope, Professor T. C., 222. 
 
 Homer, Francis, 162. 
 
 Homer, Leonard, 25. 
 
 Howitt, William and Mary, 48. 
 
 Hume, David, 263. 
 
 Humility, his, in speaking of himself, 403. 
 
 Humor, Wilson s, 422, 423,428, 429. 
 
 Humphries, Mr., 84. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, attack on, in Blackwood, 163, 181, 
 
 182, 260, 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 so called, 
 
 and its author, 190-192. 
 
 INKSTAND, the Professor s, 436. 
 
 Innerleithen, residence at, 304. 
 
 Innes, Alex. Taylor (his last Medallist), remi 
 niscences of the Professor and his class, 254- 
 256, 444. 
 
 Ireland, rambles in, 68, 69. 
 
 visits to his sisters in, 115, 357. 
 
 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, 367. 
 
 Jamis, publication of, 2S2-2S4, 290-292. 
 
 correspondence relating to, 464-469. 
 
 contents of, 409. 
 
 Jameson, Professor liobert, 171, 222. 
 
 letter from, 285, 286. 
 
 Jamieson, Mrs., author of "King Charles s 
 Beauties," 858. 
 
 Jardine, Professor George, residence in the 
 family of, 15, et xeq. 
 
 first published poems dedicated to, 113, 
 
 his "Hints" for Moral Philosophy Lectures, 
 
 221. 
 
 mentioned, 278. 
 
 Jeffrey, Lord, 112. 
 
 his review of the Isle of Palms, 115. 
 
 visit to the Continent, 129. 
 
 letter on Wilson s poems, 137, 138. 
 
 letter from, on Contributions to the Edin 
 burgh, Review, 155. 
 
 letter vindicating the Re/view from the 
 
 charge of infidelity, 196-198. 
 
 reunion* at his house, 387, 388. 
 
 his evening receptions, 429. 
 
 Jenner, Dr., of Oxford, 52. 
 
 Jones, Sir William, 42. 
 
 KEAN, Charles, 139. 
 
 Keepsake, The, an annual, 316-318. 
 
 Kemp atfair and Scott Monument, 408, et seg. 
 
 Kinuaml, Mr., 44 
 
 Knox, Mr., 148. 
 
 LADIKS and Politics, 336-839, 361. 
 Laidlaw, George, of Kintail, 147. 
 Laidlaw, Mr., of Traquair Knowe, 121. 
 Laidlaw, William, Scott s amanuensis, 268. 
 Lake escapade^ 88, et seq. 
 " Lalla liookh," review of, 154 . 
 Lamb, Charles, 44, 268, 341, 360. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 481 
 
 " Lament, Captain Paton s," verses by Lock- 
 hart, attributed to the Odontist, 182-184. 
 
 Landon, Miss, 358. 
 
 Leaping, attainments in, 47, 48. 
 
 Lectures on Moral Philosophy, preparation of, 
 215-225. 
 
 "Leopard, the," 164, 168. 
 
 Lewis, Mr., 44. 
 
 u Lights and Shadows," publication of, 258, 259, 
 282. 
 
 Liston, Eobert, the celebrated surgeon, consult 
 ation with, 375, 376. 
 
 Literature and politics, 159. 
 
 Litt s Wrestliana, 94. 
 
 Lloyd, Charles, of Low Brathay, 81, 97, 111, 136, 
 336. 
 
 Lloyd, William H., 25. 
 
 Lockhart, Captain, 180. 
 
 Lockhart, J. G., 121, 149, 171-175. 
 
 letters from, 260-263, 270-272, 273, 274, 282- 
 
 284, 2S6-2SS, 292-294, 324, 408-413. 
 
 becomes editor of the Quarterly Review, 
 
 292. 
 
 his last interview with Wilson, 453, 454. 
 
 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, 68-71, 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. 
 
 MACATTLAY, T. B. ; his Lays criticized, 400, 406. 
 
 candidate for the representation of Edin 
 burgh, 450. 
 
 Wilson s mysterious mission to Edinburgh 
 
 to vote for, 451. 
 
 letter to Sheriff Gordon, expressing 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 Culloch, J. E., editor of the Scotsman, 278. 
 
 M Crie, Eev. Dr., 171, 190. 
 
 M Donald, Lawrence, 234. 
 
 M Gibbon, Eev. Mr., 143. 
 
 M Intyre, Dr., 142. 
 
 M Kenzie, Alex., of Dingwall, 144-147. 
 
 M Laren, Duncan, 463. 
 
 M Latchie, Eev. Dr. George, of Mearns, Wilson s 
 second instructor, 5-8, 112, 329. 
 
 MTtfeill, Mr., of Hayfield, 143. 
 
 M Neill, Duncan, Lord Justice-General, 121, 
 463. 
 
 M NeJll, Sjr John, 2, 269, 414. 
 
 M Nicol, James, 143. 
 
 20* 
 
 Magdalen College, see Oxford. 
 
 Matrinn, Dr. William, 270, 238, 289, 293, 35& 
 
 Maitland, Sir F., 354, 356. 
 
 Maitland, Thomas, 121. 
 
 Malcolm, John, 234. 
 
 Malcolm, Sir P., 840. 
 
 Malthus, Eev. T. E., 206. 
 
 "Mansie Waugh," 302. 
 
 Margaret of Dychmont, see Love episode. 
 
 Marriage, 105, 106. 
 
 of his daughters Margaret and Mary, 886. 
 
 of his son John, 421. 
 
 of his daughter Jane Emily, 434. 
 
 " Mathetes," a letter on Education by Blair and 
 Wilson, 85. 
 
 Maule, Hon. Laudcrdale, 430. 
 
 Maxwell, Sir John, of Pollok; his reminiscences 
 of Wilson at Mearns, 6, 7. 
 
 Mearns manse, education at, 5. 
 
 physical features of the parish, 5, 6. 
 
 reminiscences of, 7, 8, 456, 457. 
 
 account of his feelings on bidding it fare 
 well, 12-14. 
 
 Melville, Lord, 274, 279. 
 
 Memorandnm-book, an early, 17, 83. 
 
 extracts, 20-25. 
 
 Menzies, Mr., 154. 
 
 "Mill, a little," 229. 
 
 Miller, Eobert, bookseller in Edinburgh, 131, 
 133. 
 
 Millheugh, 84. 
 
 Moir, Dr. (Delta), 279, 288. 
 
 letters to, 290, 291, 299-803, 893, 394, 407. 
 
 Moncrieff, James (Lord Advocate), his letter to 
 Sheriff Gordon intimating the grant of a pen 
 sion to Wilson of 300 per annum, 447. 
 
 letter from Lord John Kussell to, on the 
 
 pension, 447. 
 
 Monro, Dr. Alex., Professor of Anatomy, 222. 
 
 Montrose, Marquis of, 2. 
 
 Monument to Professor Wilson, 463, 464. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 44, 269, 270, 2S9. 
 
 Moors, " Wee Kit" lost on the, 8-10. 
 
 Moral Faculty, origin of the. 254. 
 
 Moral Philosophy Chair in Edinburgh Univer 
 sity : becomes a candidate for, 202. 
 
 his competitors, 202, 206. 
 
 Whig opposition, 202, 206. 
 
 his moral character attacked, 207. 
 
 preparation 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, 231-256. 
 
 his last year of public labor, 443, etseq. 
 
 resignation of his chair, 446. 
 
 correspondence relating to the Queen s 
 
 pension, 447, 448. 
 
 Morehead, Eev. Eobert, 111, 112, 192. 
 
 letter from, on the attack on Playfair, 193- 
 
 195. 
 
 letter to, on the same, 195. 
 
 Morris, Captain Charles, 270. 
 
 Mourning, wearing of, 424. 
 
 Moxon, Edward, 341. 
 
 "Muckle-mou dMeg" of the Mearna manse, 10 
 11. 
 
 Muir, Leezy, in search of Wee Kit, 9. 
 
 Mure, Mrs., of Caldwell, 129. 
 
 Murray, Eev. George, of Balmafllellan, 396. 
 
 Murray, John A. (Lord), 271, o87. 
 
 Murray. John, publisher, 272, 292,293. 
 
 Music, love of, 22, 431. 
 
-182 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Mylne, Dr., 2G4. 
 Mylne, Professor James, 215. 
 Mystification connected with BlaekwoooTs Mag 
 azine, 163-167, 180-182, 188, 189. 
 
 NAPIEB, Andrew, 24. 
 
 Napier, Macvey, 196. 
 
 Naturalist, qualifications as a, 92, 93. 
 
 Nature, communion with, 401. 
 
 Naval experience, 340-359. 
 
 Neaves, Lord, 463. 
 
 Newby, James, 98. 
 
 Newdigate prize at Oxford, 78, 74. 
 
 Newton, Mr., 316. 
 
 Nicolson, Alexander, reminiscences of the Pro 
 fessor and his class, 252, 255. 
 
 " Nirnmo, Sir Peter," an eccentric visitor of the 
 College classes, 240. 
 
 his interview with Wordsworth, 241. 
 
 Nursery, pulpit oratory in the, 8, 4. 
 
 reference to, in a Lecture, 
 and its effects on the class, 251, 252. 
 
 " Odontist, The," 182-184, 213. 
 
 O Doherty, Ensign, 188. 
 
 Old Clothes" Have you any?" 240. 
 
 Old Slop and the New Time*, 273. 
 
 Orator, Wilson s power as an, 249. 
 
 Ord, John W., 238. 
 
 41 Orphan -maid," the, of Dychmont, 33-35. See 
 Love episode. 
 
 "Outlines of a Course of Moral Inquiry," pro 
 jected, 281. 
 
 Oxford : entered at Magdalen College, 37. 
 
 recollections of, in after life, 87, 38. 
 
 studies and manner of life at, 39-77. 
 
 expenditure at, 89. 
 
 sketches of companions, 43, 44. 
 
 amusements at, 45, et seq. 
 
 friends and acquaintance at, 49. 
 
 reminiscences of a fellow-student, 50-55. 
 
 long solitary rambles, 62-64. 
 
 examination for Degree of Bachelor, 
 
 72-74. 
 
 PAGET, Sir C., 354, 356. 
 
 Paisley, town of, 1, 2. 
 
 public dinner, 379-381. 
 
 Palmes, Mrs. (Margaret Lyndsay), 21. 
 
 Paralysis, seized with a shock of, 461. 
 
 Paralytic affection of the right hand, 400, 422. 
 
 Park, Mungo, Wilson s project of accompanying 
 him to Africa, 59, 60. 
 
 Parliament-House life, 125. 
 
 Paterson, Deacon, and his "green bag," in Edin 
 burgh Town-Council, 213-215. 
 
 Paton s (Captain) Lament, 182-184. 
 
 Pearson, Mr., 135. 
 
 Peddie, James, Wilson s first English teacher, 
 4,5. 
 
 Pedestrianisrn, feats of, 24, 55, 62-64, 101, 122, et 
 seq., 415, 
 
 Peebles, an adventure at, 122. 
 
 Peel, Sir Robert, letter from, 281. 
 
 reception of. in Glasgow, 381. 
 
 Penny, jjimes, 104. 
 
 Penny, Miss Jane, first meetings with, 96, etseq. 
 See Wilson. Mrs., junior. 
 
 Penny, Miss, letters of Mrs. Wilson to. 187, 188, 
 205 200, 212 :&)4, 313, 318, 828, 329, 381. 
 
 Penny Bridge, Wilson s visits to, and letters 
 from, 329, 330, 33 2-834 See Elleray. 
 
 Periodical literature, Wilson s connection with, 
 153, et seq., 399. 
 
 Peters Letters, quoted, 16, 17, 164, 171, 172, 
 175. 
 
 Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh, presi 
 dency of, 420. 
 
 Physical characteristics, 39, 44-48. 
 
 " P izzantry," the Irish, 251. 
 
 Plans of composition : List of Subjects for med 
 itation, 116, 117. 
 
 Playfair, Professor John, attacked in Black- 
 wood, 189, 190. 
 
 the excitement caused by it, 190-195. 
 
 Poetry, early love of, 22, 26-32. 
 
 MS. volume of, dedicated to " Margaret," 
 
 35-37. 
 
 verses from commonplace-book, 85-87. 
 
 correspondence as to his first publication, 
 
 101-104, 107-116. 
 
 proposed poems, 116, 318. 
 
 a second volume contemplated, 132. 
 
 publication of, 132, 133, 136. 
 
 subsequent poems, 318, 819. 
 
 principles of, 422. 
 
 Poets, criticism on the, 130, 131. 
 
 Political Economy, proposal for a separate Chair 
 of, 278-281, 333. 
 
 Politics and Literature, 159, 160. 
 
 among students, 242, 243. 
 
 Poor, kindness to the, 385, 386. 
 
 Portraits of Wilson; by Kaeburn, 17. 
 
 Hill s calotype, 411. 
 
 Portrait of Christopher in his Sporting Jacket, 
 428. 
 
 Power, the love of, illustrated, 245-249. 
 
 Pringle, Alexander, 121. 
 
 Prinide, Mrs., 134 
 
 Pringle, Thomas, 161,162. 
 
 Printers 1 devils, 304, 398, 899. 
 
 Proctor, 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 neq. 
 
 RAEBTTBN, Sir Henry, his portrait of Wilson, 
 17, 57. 
 
 mansion at St. Bernard s, 200. 
 
 Regattas at Windermere, 97, 285. 
 
 atHelensburgh,379. 
 
 " Representative" newspaper, 293. 
 
 Richmond, Mr., 122. 
 
 Ritchie, David, 283. 
 
 Ritson, William, 95, 96, 134. 
 
 Robertson, Patrick (Lord), 121, 149, 151, loO, 409. 
 
 letter from, 279, 280. 
 
 Lockhart s joke on, 286, 
 
 his mock-heroic speeches at social gather 
 ings, 430. 
 
 llotri-r, Rab, in search of little Kit, 9. 
 
 Roslin, life at, after his wife s death, 384-386. 
 
 Routh Dr. M. J., President of Magdalen Col 
 lege, 16, 49, 73. 
 
 Rover, the dog. and the witch, 871, 372, 389. 
 
 Russell, Lord John, 411. 
 
 letter to the Lord Advocate on Wilson s 
 
 pension, 447. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 483 
 
 Eussell, Lord John ; Wilson s letter to, 443. 
 Kussell, Rev. William, 73. 
 Rutherfurd. Andrew (Lord), 121, 38T, 463. 
 death of Mrs. Kutherfurd, 457, 458. 
 
 " SAILOR S Life at Sea," a favorite song of the 
 
 Professor s. 481. 
 Saturday in the class, 238, 239. 
 Scandler, Dr., 134. 
 Schetky, John, 376. 
 "Scorpion, the," 164,168. 
 Scott, Dr. James, of Glasgow, " the Odontist," 
 
 181, 182-184, 213. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter. 112, 130, 171, 179. 
 letter to the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, 
 
 recommending Wilson for the Chair of Moral 
 
 Philosophy, 210-212. 
 
 his visit to Elleray, 284, 285. 
 
 Scots Magazine, 160. 
 
 Bharpe, 0. Kirkpatrick, 171, 187. 
 
 * Shaving" and its interruptions, 435. 
 
 Shepherd, G., Wilson s examiner at Oxford, 73. 
 
 "Shiells, Tibby," visit of the Professor and his 
 
 students to, 231. 
 Sibthorpe, Mr., 49. 
 
 Smith, Dr. Colin, 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. 
 
 offered a second volume, 132, 133, 136. 
 
 letters on the Moral Philosophy Chair, 214, 
 
 215, 224, 225. 
 Smith, Rev. William ; his reminiscences of the 
 
 Professor and his class, 243-254. 
 Snow-ball riot, 239, 240. 
 Social hours at Maudlin, 50, 51. 
 Social meetings, reminiscences of, 429-431. 
 Sonnet on the hour of death, 462. 
 Sotheby, William, 72. 
 
 letter from, 335, 836. 
 
 Southey, Robert, 81, 130, 314, 316. 
 
 Southwell, R. H., reminiscences of Wilson at 
 
 Oxford, 50-55. 
 
 Spain, expedition to, meditated, 98, 100. 
 Sparrow, a domesticated, 389, 438. 
 Speculative Society, 117. 
 Speed in composition, 399. 
 Spenser, series of papers on, 378. 
 Spiders and their habits, 92. 
 Sporting-Jacket, the Professor in his, 229. 
 
 portrait of, 428. 
 
 Sports, early development of his passion for, 8, 
 
 4, 11, 12, 24, 45. 
 
 pugilistic skill, 46, 47. 
 
 attainments as a leaper, 47, 48, 95. See Pe- 
 
 destrianism. 
 
 skill in wrestling, 45, 94, 95, 127, 310, 830. 
 
 yachting, 379. 
 
 Squadron, Experimental, cruise with the; let 
 ters to Mrs. Wilson during, 340-359. 
 Stanley Shaw, 1. 
 
 Statue, proposed, of Wilson, 463, 464. 
 St. Mary s Loch, the Professor and his " children" 
 
 at, 231. 
 
 Steell, John, R. S. A., 463. 
 Stewart, Dugald, 205, et seq. 
 Stewart, Mr., of Inverhadden. 154. 
 Stewart, Mr., of Ballachulish, 123. 
 Stewart, William, author of Highland Sketches, 
 
 Stewart, Sir Henry, SOT. 
 
 Stoddart, Sir John, 273. 
 
 Stoddart, T. T., 238. 
 
 Street scene, a, 424, 425. 
 
 Strolling players, 48. 
 
 Student, character as a, see College life. 
 
 Students, intercourse with, 231, 234-238. 
 
 care in examining their essays, 253. 
 
 Study, the Professor s^e, 397. 
 
 Swinton, Professor Archibald, 238. 
 
 Syms, the. 2. 
 
 grandfather and grandmother of Wilson. 
 
 20, 21. 
 
 Sym, Catharine, 21, 140. 
 Sym, Robert ("Timothy Tickler"), 2. 20, 176, 
 
 179. 
 
 Synge, Edward, 50. 
 "Syntax, Dr.," an Edinburgh character, 241, 242 
 
 TALFOTJRD, Sir Thomas Noon, letter from, on hia 
 absence from the Burns Festival, 416, 417. 
 
 Tarland, market-days at, 232. 
 
 Taylor, Misses, 134. 
 
 " Teegar, oure John s," 4. 
 
 Tennant, Professor William, of St. Andrews, 
 132. 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, review of his Poems, 389, 
 840. 
 
 Thirlstane Castle, a summer at, 371-374. 
 
 Thomson, Rev. Dr. Andrew, 171, 190. 
 
 Thomson, Thomas, 271, 272, 463. 
 
 Thorp, Rev. Charles, 73. 
 
 " Timothy Tickler," see Sym, Robert. 
 
 Tinkers, adventure with, 140. 
 
 Tipperary shillekurhs, 49. 
 
 Toilette, peculiarities of Wilson s, 435. 
 
 Tomintoul, 126, 145. 
 
 adventure at the fair, 146, 147. 
 
 Torrance, 34, 71, 77. 
 
 Tory, anecdotes of the dog, 890, 891. 
 
 " Trials of Margaret Lyndsay," 282. 
 
 Tytler, Eraser, 121, 171. 
 
 ULLOCK, Mrs., 134, 185. 
 
 W., Miss, of Dychmont, 33, 84. 
 
 Wakefield, Edward Gibbon, 294, 295. 
 
 Wales, excursion in, 67. 
 
 Warden, Mr, 846. 
 
 Wardlaw, Rev. Dr., 214. 
 
 Watch, the Professor and his, 435, 436. 
 
 Watson, Bishop, 81, 114. 
 
 Watson, George, 295, 297. 
 
 Watson, Richard, 90, 93, 321. 
 
 Watson, Miss D., letter from, 336, 337. 
 
 Watts, Alaric A., 264, 317. 
 
 Waugh, Edwin, 95. 
 
 Whigs, their opposition to Wilson when can 
 didate for the Chair of Moral Philosophy, 202, 
 206. 
 
 White, Rev. James, of Bonchurch, 364, 365. 
 
 Wilkie, Sir David, 816. 
 
 Wilson, Andrew, 2, 115. 
 
 Wilson, Blair, 434. 
 
 letters to, 308, 309, 488-441, 450, 452. 
 
 Wilson, James, 171. 
 
 Wilson, Robert Sym, of Woodburn, 446. 
 
 Wilson, Mrs., senior, family of, 2. 
 
 removes with the family to Edinburgh, 19. 
 
 her domestic management, 119-121. 
 
 her death, 276, 277. 
 
484: 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 "Wilson, Mrs., junior, 105, 106, 112. 
 
 her pedestrian tour in the Highlands. 122- 
 
 129. 
 
 accident to, 276, 277. 
 
 letters to her sister, Miss Penny, 187, 188, 
 
 205, 206, 212, 328, 329, 381, 382. 
 
 her death, 382, 383. 
 
 Wilson Family, 2. 
 Wilson s Hall, Paisley, 1. 
 Windermere Lake, 69, 78. 
 
 boating on, 88. 
 
 regattas at, 97, 285. 
 
 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, 188. 
 
 mentioned, 312, 317. 
 
 " Writing for Blackwood," its significance in tho 
 family, 897. 
 
 YARROW, excursion to the, 121. 
 
 York, Duke of, 271. 
 
 Young, Professor, of Glasgow, 15, 16. 
 
 Wilson s reminiscences of, 16. 
 
 first published poems dedicated to, 118. 
 
 Youth, remarks on the importance of this pe 
 riod of life, 8. 
 
 THE END. 
 
RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 TO- * 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. 
 
 Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. 
 
 . DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 )CT I 5 1992 
 
 
 
 ALTO DISC CIRC 
 
 iOV & 03 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD6 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 s 
 
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 00700^825 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY