:l'<^i(m:' I dforneU Itiiucrsity iCibrarg Jllljaca, Nem ^nrk WORDSWORTH COLLECTION Made by CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN ITHACA. N. Y. THE GIFT OF VICTOR EMANUEL CLASS OF 1919 ^ 1925 'i^^<^. 'CHRISTOPHER NORTH.' EDINBURGH : PRINTED BY THOMAS CONSTABLE, FOR EDMONSTON AND DOUGLxlS. LONDON HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. CAMBRIDciE MACMILLAN AND CO. DUBLIN w. ROBERTSON. GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE. 'CHRISTOPHER NORTH' A MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON LATE PROFESSOR OF ^^(lRAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINHUKl^H C O M PI L E D FROM FAMILY PAPERS AND OTHER SOURCES BY HIS DAUGHTER MES. GORDON. VOL. II. EDINBURGH EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS 18 6 2. L ^ O Lj 'A £- ^ The original of tinis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu319241040019p8 CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAPTER X. The Professor and his Class. PAGE His Syllabus — The Professor in Lis Sporting Jacket — Adven- ture 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 Reminiscences of the winter of 1830 — A market-day at Tarland — A kind Teacher — A Dinner at Gloucester Place — His Class — Saturday — A Snow-ball Riot— Any Old Clothes?—'' Sir Peter Nimmo" and the poet Wordsw^orth — Dr. Syntax — A " Conservative" Meetinir — Politics in the Class — Rev. Mr. Smith's Recollec- tions of 1837— Asa 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- Eoom — His Care and Industry in Examining the Students' Essays — tlis Kindness to them privately — The Session for 1850-1851— Mr. A. Taylor Innes— " Professor Wilson's Gold Medal" — The Origin of the Moral Faculty — His Appearance in the Class-Room — An Unmannerly Student, . . 1-48 CHAPTER XL Literary and Domestic Life. 1820-26. Lays from Fairy-Land — Devotion to the Magazine, and Friend- shijD for Mr. Blackwood — Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life — A Summer in Elleray once more-r— Letter from Mr. Black- w^ood — Letter from Mr. Lockhart on Mr. Leigh Hunt — The Gormandizing School of Eloquence — Miss Edgeworth, etc. etc vi CONTENTS. p A G K —Tom Purclie— Willie LaidLw, etc.— Letters from Mr. Black- wood 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 Neio Times— k Daily Paper at the Breakfast-table, etc.— Letter from De Quincey— Hill on Education— The '' Breeches " Review— '^ A Confession"— Accident to Mrs. Wilson— Letter to Mr. P. Fin dlay— Death of Mrs. Wilson, senior— Letter from Principal Baird — Eemoval to Gloucester Place — The Pro- posed Chair of Political Economy — Letters from Mr. Patrick Eobertson, Mr. Huskisson, Mr. Canning, and Sir Kobert Peel on the subject — Literary Work — Projected '' Outlines" — Correspondence of Mr. Lockhart and Mr. Wilson on 'Manus" —Letters from Mr. Lockhart on Sir Walter's visit to Elleray — Letter from Professor Jameson — Letter from Mr. Lockhart on Canning — W. Maginn — Letter from Mr. Blackwood — Letter to Delta on ''Janus" — Illness of Mrs. Wilson — Letter from Mr. Lockhart, on becoming Editor of the Quai^teiiy Review — Work daring 1826 — Letters to Mrs. Wilson from Kendal — Colonsay, ........ 49-113 CHAPTER XIT. Literary and Domestic Life. 1827-29. Asa Friendly Critic — Letter to Delta — Views on Free Trade — *' Mansie Waugh," etc. — Notes to Mr. Ballantyne — Inner- leithen — Letter to Mr. Fleming, Eayrig, on " Christopher North," etc. — Letters to Mrs. Wilson — Hartley Coleridge — Contributions for 1828 — Letters from Allan Cunningham, re- garding "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, 114-158 CONTENTS. Vll CHAPTEE XIII. Literary and Domestic Life — Cruise with the EXPERBIENTAL SqUADRON. 1830-32. PAGE Home Life in Gloucester Place — Letters to Mrs. Wilson from Penny Bridge and Westmoreland — Homeric Papers — Letter from Sotheby — Letter from Miss AVatson — A Conservative Meeting and Liberal Commentary — Criticism on Tennyson — Letter to Mrs. Wilson on his Cruise with the Experimental Squadron — London — Greenwich — H.M.S. the ^' Vernon '' — Sheerness — On Board the ''Vernon" — A Sailor's Death at Sea — Plymouth — The ''Campeadora " — The ''Vernon" — Holystoning — Ofif the Lizard — Land's End — Cork — London and Home, ......... 159-205 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 Shep- herd'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, . . . 206-242 CHAPTER XV. Literary and Doimestic Life. 1837-44. Depression of Spirits— Life at Roslin— Marriage of his Daugh- ters—His main work that of a Teacher— His little ways at JN^ Vm CONTENTS. VAGE Home — Pets — The Sparrow— His Dogs: Bronte— Tory— Grog— Game Birds— Anew Coop— A Note to Delta on tbe Dispersion of liis Aviary — Work for the Year — Letters to Mr. Aircl on Burns— Had Burns Family Worship at Dum- fries ?— The Professor's Study— Writing for Blackwood — Habits of Composition— Letter to Mr. Findlay from Ptothesay — Cladich— A Fairy's Funeral— Letter to his Daughter, de- scribing Billholm— Eeview of Macaulay's Lays— Letter to Dr. Moir, 243-279 CHAPTER XVI. Literary axd Domestic Life. 1844-48. Characteristic Letters from John Gibson Lockhart — The Kemp Absurdity — Maga — Novel Beading, etc. — Letter to his son John on Domestic matters — '' The Kemp Affair" — Walking Feats — The Burns Festival — Letter to Sheriff" Gordon — Let- ters from Serjeant Talfourd, excusing himself 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 — EUeray — Letter to Sheriff Gordon, asking him to edit an Article of his for Blackwood — Opening of Edinburgh Philosophical Institution, of which he was elected President — Melan- choly Reflections — Letter to Mr. Findlay, requesting his pre- sence at the Marriage of his son John — Visit to the newly Married Pair — Resolves not to return to EUeray — Weakness in the Hand, writes consequently with difiSculty — 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 Pro- fessor's Songs— Sailor's Life at Sea— Auld Lang Syne— ''A Quaint Ballad," 280-319 ( ( PAGE CONTENTS. IX CHAPTER XVII. Closing Years. 1849-54. Dies Boreales" — Eituals of tlie Cliurcli — The Scottish Service — Marriage of his youngest daughter to Professor Aytoun — Playful ways — Toilet peculiarities — His Watch — Hat — SniifF-Box — Gloves, etc. etc. — Horror of Gas — Love of Chil- dren — Letter to his second son Blair, mentioning '^ Billy's " Death — Letter to his son Blair — The ''Dear Doctor" — from Collesre Duties on account of 111 Health — Illness — Desire to return to his Labours — Excursion to the High- lands 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, con- veying the news of the Grant of a Pension of £300 per annum — Letter from Lord John Eussell to the Lord Advo- cate, desiring him to have the Queen's intentions mentioned to Wilson — Eeceives the News — Letter of Acknowledgment to Lord John Russell — Takes up his abode at Woodburn — Last Papers for Magazine — Step feeble and unsteady — Letter to his son Blair, thanking him for supplies of Books — Macaulay a Candidate for the Representation of Edin- burgh — Comes to Edinburgh and Votes for Macaulay — Letter from Macaulay to Sheriff Gordon expressing his kindly feelings towards the Professor — Last Visit of Mr. Lockhart — Letter to Robert 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, 320-364 APPENDIX. I. —Public Funeral and Proposed Statue, II, — Correspondence relating to Janus, .... Ill, List of Professor Wilson's Contributions to BlackwoocTs 3Iagazine irom lS26j Index, ......... 367 370 377 393 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOK MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOK CHAPTEE 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 labour 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 remembrance is associated in some instances with sentiments of the most unbounded orati- tude 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 connexion 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 subject, or on any claims he had earned for individual gratitude, he was never heard to speak. Of his merits as a teacher of VOL. IL A 2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. moral philosophy I am not speaking, and cannot pretend to give any critical estimate. I leave that to more com- petent 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 and 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. Xo 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 startino^ 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 oiye some account of the Professor's lectures/ and his ap- 1 The following is tlie Syllabus of liis course, drawn up by tlie Pro- fessor for the Edinburgh University Almanac, as delivered in the session THE PPtOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 3 pearance in liis class. But I am saved tlie 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 favoured from men well able to do justice 1833-4, 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 1837, 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 Tioelve 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 endeavours to deduce it from jDrinciples 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 wdiich the principles wx shall have obtained will assign. But when we shall have gone over the examination of his nature, the mere statement of his relations 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 sejDarate inquiry into the means to which man is to resort, to enable him to discharge his known obligations. There must be 4 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. to the subject, 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 these various reminiscences I shall give three, in the order of the dates to which 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, in- finitely removed as he is from all the rest. He has an Intelligence by wdiich he is connected with higher orders of beings ; he has a Moeal Nature by which he conmiunicates Avith God ; he has a Spiritual Essence by Avhich he is immortal. ^^All these natures and powers, wonderful in themselves, are mysteri- ously combined. The highest created substance Sj^irit, 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 Powders, and shoAving that much of his happiness — it may be of his virtue ^is intimately connected with their healthful condition, as there is a mutual reaction between them and his highest faculties. The Appetites are explained, and the phenomena of the Senses ; and pains taken to put in a clear light the nature of Simple Sensation, before proceedino- 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 of Association. ^^ We are then led to inquire what is the Faculty of Thought itself • and if the different operations of Judgment, Abstraction, and Reason- ing 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 certain Feelings, under the Law of Association ; and here an inquiry is instituted into the sources of the Sublime and Beauti- ful, an attempt made to define Genius and its province, and illustrations are given of the Philosophy of Taste. ^' Looking on Man's Moral Nature, we seem to see one Principle r)re- siding over and determining the character of all the rest ; distino-uished by different names, but which no other, perhaps, so well describes as that THE PROFESSOR AXD HIS CLASS. 5 tliey respectively relate, viz., 1830, 1837, and 1850, in- terposing first t^vo cliaracteristic records of earlier re- lations between the Professor and liis students. About a year after he had entered upon his new Avhicli expresses it to tlie common imdei^tandings of men— Coxsciexce. Is it SIMPLE or COMPOSITE ? NATURAL or ACQUIRED ? In endeavouring to answer these questions, we must take a review of aU the most celebrated Moral Systems in which it has been attemj^te-I to explain its origin^ its composition^ its gro^^iih, and its power. '' From the consideration of this Moral Principle, to Avhich our whole mind is subjected, we pass on to those various Powers of Passion and Affection which are placed under its jurisdiction, and which, in their endless complexity and infinitely diversilied modifications, constitute the strength of the human mind for action, and are the sources of the happi- ness, the sorrows, and the unfortunate errors of human life. These numer- oiis principles, w^hich have been classed in different manners by Ethical WTitei^, but of which no classification is adequate to represent the variety, 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, appear to afi'ord facilities for analysing 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 im- portant 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 Relations and Duties. His first relation is as a creature to the Maker AND G-OVERNOR OF THE WoRLD, and therefore it becomes necessary to con- sider, in the first place, what we are able to know of the Attributes of tliat 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 At- tributes 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 mani- 6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. duties, the Professor was raml)liiig 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, fested,— the Argument or Demonstration a priori. Tlie other method is that to which nature contiDually constrains us, which may be going on in our minds at every moment, an evidence and conviction collecting upon ns 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 a jQosteriori. '' The great points established by both these modes of argument are, in the first place, the Existence of God, his Power, and his Wisdom. These may be called the Attributes which our Intelligence compels us to under- stand, and for which that faculty is sufficient. But there are other perfec- tions which as nearly concern us, and to the contemplation of which we are called by other faculties of our being— His Love, Justice, and Righteousness. ^^ And here it appears necessary to vindicate the argument of the Evi- dence of Design from the misrepresentations and sophistries of certain writers by whom it has been impugned, and to expose the unphilosophical and impious spirit of their scepticism. ^^ When we have considered the grounds on which our natural reason is convinced of these attributes, the relations of Man to God are manifest, and his Duties rise up in all their awful magnitude to our minds. '^ From this part of the Second Division of our Course, which belongs to Natural Theology, we go on to consider the relations and. duties of MAN TO HIS FELLOW-CREATURES. ^' The division of these relations, with their duties, is determined upon two grounds, being opposed 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, w^hich constitute the grounds of obligation, are considered, and the duties arisincr from them explicitly and fully stated, under the head of Household Law^s. ^' 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 belongins; to both • THE PROFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 7 wliere, on his arrival, finding it to be fair-clay, lie readily availed himself of the opportunity to witness the amnsements going on. These happened to include a ''little mill" between two members 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 woriv of a moment to espouse the weaker side, a proceeding which naturally drew down upon him the hostility of the opposite party. This result was to him, however, of as of Pailers, their first and especial duty to maintain the Independence 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 Grount)s of Government ; the Principles of Legisla- tion ; the Principal Forms which Political 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 times, of the Nature of Virtue, and the Grounds of Moral Obligation — from Plato and Aristotle, to Stewart and Brown ; and esjDCcial attention is paid to the Moral Philo- sophy of Greece. '^ 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 Hap^^iness may be strengthened 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. ^^ Each alternate year the Professor delivers a Course of Fifty Lectures on Political Economy. He follows, in a great measure, the order observed in the Wealth of Nations ; and, in explaining the doctrines of Smith, com- pares them with those of Ricardo." 8 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. little consequence. There was nothing for it but to beat or be beaten. He was soon "in position;" and, before his unknown adversary well knew what was com- ing, 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 con- versation 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 mentioned 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 was not right to believe everything ; and that they would judge for themselves when they saw him. " Quite right, lads ; quite right ; but I assure you I know something of tlie fellow myself, and I think he is a queer devil ; only this very forenoon at Hawick he got into a row with a great lubberly fellow for some unknown cause of oftence, and gave him such a taste of his fist as won't soon be forgotten ; the whole place was ringing with the story ; I wonder you did not hear THE PEOFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 9 of it." '' Well/' rejoined the lads, '' we did hear some- thing of the sort, but it seemed so incredible that a Professor of ]\Ioral Philosophy should mix himself up with disre23iitable quarrels at a fair, we did not believe it/' AVilson 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. Dexter- ously turning the sul)ject, he very soon banished all further discussion about the '' Professor," and held the delighted lads enchained in the interest of his conversa- tion until they reached the end of the journey. On getting out of the coacli, they politely asked him, as he seemed to know Edinburoh 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 directions 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 trmiks in the lobby. I have settled with tlie driver, and now I shall order dinner." ISTo time was lost, and very soon the two youths w^ere conversing freely with their unknown friend, and enjoying themselves extremely in the satis- factory position of having thus accidentally fallen into such good company and good quarters. The deception, 10 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. however, could not be kept up mucli longer ; and, in the course of the evenmg, Wilson let them know where they were, telling them that they could now judge for themselves what sort of a fellow ''the Pro- fessor" 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 that season for an excursion to the pastoral vales of Yarrow and Ettrick, where glittering rivers, ''Winding tliroiigh the pomp of cultivated nature," attracted more than one poet's admiration ; for if Words- worth sang in verse, Wilson uttered in prose how " in spirit all streams are one that flow through the forest. Ettrick and Yarrow come lushincr into each others arms, aboon the haughs o' Selkirk, and then flow Tweed-blent to the sea." In the month of ]\Iav, he sent an invitation to his students resident in the south of Scotland, to meet him at " Tibl^y Sliiels'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 unspeak- able delight ; the hills were adorned with the freshest green, and the cahn, quiet lake reflected the surround- ing 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 THE PROFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 1 1 own shepherd, clear to all the rills that issue, in thou- sands, from their own recesses among the braes ; for when a poet walks through regions his genius has sung, all nature does him homao-e, from cloud to clod — from the sky to green earth — all living creatures therein in- cluded, from eagle to the mole. James knows this, and is happy among the hills." And was that little com- pany 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 evenino- laid its westerino^ shadows into gloaming, he called his students around him, and, rising up, '' he sliook his wild locks among them, blessed them, called them liis children," and bade them adieu. Surely a kindly recognition of these young men in man- ner such as this would brino; benefit with it not less lasting, than when, in graver state, he prelected, ex catlicclra, to his assembled class. We set an idea of what that class was from the fol- lowing; recollections, which Mr. John Hill Burton has kindly sent to me. He says : — '' I first saw and made the acquaintance of Professor Wilson when I joined his class in 1830. Tlie 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 anything of the same kind now, but in that day there was a peculiar devotion to BlacJacoocT s Maga- zine among young readers in the north. All who were ambitious of looking beyond their class exercises, consi- dered this the fountainhead of originality and spirit in literatm^e. The articles of the last number were dis- 12 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. cussed 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 instance. Much as I had heard of his appearance, it exceeded expectation, and I said to my- self that, in the tokens of physical health and strength, intellect, high spirit, and all the elements of masculine beauty, I had not seen his equal. There was a cimous 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 — Init I question if any robes or chair of state would liave 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 acquaint- ance, on my having occasion to speak with him at the end of the lecture. Wlien he found that I was an Aberdo- nian, he asked me if I knew Tarland, ' 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 whisky ; 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 lial3its it had nourished were still in their prime, and not likely to disappear until the generation trained to them had passed away. The Professor had seen and experi- enced the ways of the place. He hinted, with a sort of THE PEOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 13 half- sarcastic solemnity, tliat lie was there in the course of the ethical inquiries to which he had devoted him- self ; just as the professor of natural history 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 of the human body. His researches might lead him into trials and perils, as those of zealous investigators are often apt to do. In fact he had to draw upon his early acquired knowledge of the art of self-defence on the occasion, and he believed he did so not unsuccessfully. Here there was a sparkle of the eye, a curl of the lip, and a general look of fire and de- termination, which reminded one of ' The stern joy which warriors feel In f oemen worthy of their steel. ' '' He described the market-day as a sort of continued surge of rioting, drinking, and fighting ; and when dark- ness 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 meantime scraped a sort of acquaintance with him, and interested him by tlie scholarship interspersed in his conversation. He was the schoolmaster of a neighbouring parish ; and as their ways lay together, he was to be the guide, and, in return, to get the assistance of the stalwart stranger. Tlie poor schoolmaster had, however, so extensively moistened his clay, tliat assistance was not sufficient, and the Professor had to throw him over his slioulder, and carry him. AVith the remainder of the dominie's physical strength, too, oozed away that capacity for 14 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. tlireading tlie intricacies of the path, which was his contribution to the joint adventure. Assistance had to be got from some of the miscellaneous Highlanders dis- persing homewards ; and as all were anxious to bear a hand, the small group increased into a sort of pro- cession, and the Professor reached his abode, where- ever that might be, at the head of a sort of army of these lawless men. '' A history of this kind was calculated to j)ut 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 off* into metaphysics. That he should seriously and earnestly talk on such matters with the raw youtli 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. Tliere was no mere hollow courtesy or giving the go-bye 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 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 THE PEOFESSOK AND HIS CLASS. 1 5 Professor — as inucli as lie could be said to dwell any- where. Suppose tlien 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 obscure 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 temp- tation was great. It was too much for me, and I ac- cepted, 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 nineteentli cen- tury the habits of that age in their most grotesque shape. Him, hoAvever, 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, handsomely 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 Pro- fessor 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 1 6 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. - probably been worn out ere this day ; he was, as I knew hhn afterwards, a pleasant, gentle, meditatively- inclined man, though I think he had seen military service, and knew the mess-room of the old war, — a different 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. '' Among my own contemporaries, were some repre- sentatives 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. Seeinsf a good deal of him afterwards during the five months' session, I formed a great idea of his abilities. He had nothing of the imaginative, or of the a:isthetic — a term then coming into use from Germany ; but for an eye to the practical, and a capacity for mastering all know- ledge leading in that direction, it did not happen to me to find his equal among my contemporaries. With all the difficulties of language against him, he carried off from young Edinburgh the first prize in the civil law class. After having astonished us throughout the ses- sion, he left us at the end, and I never could discover anything 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 j^ears since, a vague rumour that he had risen in the Paissian service. He was just the man, according to the notions of this country, to be useful to such a government, if he THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 17 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 else- where 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 testimony 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 therefore are not astonished by them ; but in after life they become aware of their extreme uncommonness. Nor was it a mere casual act of formal hospitality ; I received afterwards many a cordial welcome within those hospitable doors. '' It is possibly its personal bearing that makes me now remember pretty distinctly a good-humoured and kindly pleasantry of the Professor s at that first dinner. I have mentioned that there were some representatives of young Edinburgh present. I do not know wliat 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 jNTorth, wliere we did our work zealously enough, with plenty of internal rivaky, but thought no VOL. n. B 18 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 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 pub- lished poems, had delivered great and telling speeches at the Speculative, or had written capital articles in the Eclinhui^gh Literary Journal, or the University Album. Whether it were the inheiitance 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 disagreeably marvellous, be- cause a youth coming into all this brilliant light, out of the Bceotian darkness of Aberdeen, was conscious of being contemplated with compassionate condescension. We had, however, at the University of Edinburgh at that time, a considerable body of Aberdonians, pretty compactly united. At our head was William Spalding, the first among us in learning and accomplishments, as well as in the means of using them. He well justified our expectations by his subsequent career, sadly im- peded as it was by bodily ailments, which brought it to an untimely close. I have got into an episode in men- tioning 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 THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 19 to the representatives of young Edinburgh then present, and stood for the equality, at least, if not the superioiity 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 cham- pion 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 a good deal of deri- sive 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 anta- gonists in an extremely delectable manner. This was a first revelation to me of a power which I afterwards often observed with astonishment, — a kind of intellectual gla- diatorship, 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 reseml)les as a powerful, playful, good-natured mastiff taking his sport with a snarling cur. As I shall have to mention more espe- cially, 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 tuml^led any trans- gressor 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, 20 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 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 opjjonents. 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 ' Apperdeen was verray illoustrious for the making of stockingks?' 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 difliculty. The Professor then passed on in a wild dis- cursive flight through stranger names. At last he seemed to have hit the right one, for the attendant darted for- ward. 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, Mephistopheles, or something of that sort ; and the fun was enhanced by the man s solemn unconsciousness that he had been the object of a logical experiment. THE PROFESSOU AND HIS CLASS. 21 " But to come back to the class. It was one that must have been somewhat memorable to the Professor hmiself, when he looked back upon it in after years. Not only was his son John in it, but it included John Thomson 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 alreadv referred to ; John Walker Ord, wlio 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 enjoy- ment 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 magna- nimous charity. I can hardly say what an exciting thrill it imparted to the youth to hear his own com- position read out from that high place, and commented 22 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSOK on witli earnestness, and not without commendation. The recollection of these days sometimes also recalls BosweU's garrulous account of his first symposium with Johnson. ' The Orthodox and High Church sound of The Mitre ; the figure and manner of the celebrated Samuel Johnsim ; 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 proceeded from entirely intellectual sources, without the aid of the other stimulants which contributed to Boswell's glory. Altogether, that class was a scene of enjoyment which remains in my mind entirely dis- tinct from even the pleasanter 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-humour, gentlemanly fellow- sliip, and order, without the necessity of discipline. An instance occurred during the session, when he exercised 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 peculiar 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- THE PEOFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 23 grown — should, witliout any settled feud, utterly change the whole tenor of their conduct, and break into some- thing like insurrection, merely because snow was on the ground, appeared to be a silliness utterly incom- prehensible. 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 glowingly his sense of its sometimes irresistible attractions. Tliese he illus- trated 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-meta- physical discussion, they came upon a snow-wreath. By a sort of simultaneous impulse, borne on the re- collection 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 olov>dng red with the exertion, thev 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 con- trast between such a scene and a fracas in the dirty streets, where low-bred ruffians took the opportunity to get out some bit of petty revenge or of mere wanton cruelty, or of insolence to those ^^'hose character and 2 4 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. position entitled them to deference ; and so lie 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 quadrangle and the street to the Pentland hills. " We naturally, among ourselves, talked over any little instances illustrative of the remarkable power of making any one whom he had to rebuke or correct feel foolish. For instance, there used to be a set of dusky personages who then stood at the corner of certain streets, and annoyed the passenger by stepping up right in front of him like an established acquaintance, and 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 persecutions of two licensed tor- mentors, who were the terror of all the rest of the professors. They were men of venerable years and weak intellect, who had established a sort of pre- scriptive right to attend such classes as they mioht honour 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 Mmmo, THE PROFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 25 a dirty, ill-looking lout, "wlio had neither ^vit himself, nor any quality with a sufficient amount of pleasant gTotesqueness in it to create wit in others. I believe he Avas 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 industry, 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 im- portant personages — especially if they were as testy as they were important — and to present them to Sir Peter with a request that he would favour 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, following an old Scot- tish 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 en- deavouring 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 Professor s name, and AYordsworth, 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 o^vdng to Sir Peter having judiciously preserved silence, and allowed Wordsworth to pour into his ear unceasingly the even tenor of his loquacity. 26 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSOK '' 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, w^ith its doggerel rhymes and extra- vagant 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 supernaturally pro- tracted 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 son>e other preposterous decoration, when he would stand exhibiting himself wherever a crowd happened to pass. He honoured the various professors and clergy of Edinburgh with his attendance at their lectures and sermons. He always chose the most con- spicuous 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 business and spread out his portfolio. He sometimes took notes of what was said, at others took the portrait of the speaker ; it may be presumed that in church he limited himself to the former function. If it c^rew dark, he would solemnly draw from his pocket a small taper and strike a light, determined not to be inter- rupted in his duties^ and in the centre of the sfeneral THE PKOFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 27 gloom a small disk of liglit would distinguisli his countenance, which was as solemn as the grave, yet shed around a degree of restless mirth which spoiled many a lecture, and must have sadly jumbled the de- votions 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 humour, which, however, he could not convert like him into defensive armour, suffered dreadfully from Syntax, 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 exemp- tion, in which his brethren must have greatly envied him. " Before that session came to an end, an event occurred momentous to all of us — the Eeform Bill was brought in. We youths had previously indulged in no politics, or if in any, they were of a mild Aris- tides 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, BlackwoocVs 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 28 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. the young men of the two opposite political creeds cannot easily be nnderstoocl 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 exchanged, 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 Eeform meetings of all kinds, sometimes assem- bling 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 ovm 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 party, was not then understood, and they were confounded with meetings of representative bodies, where strength is tried by discussing 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 favour an invasion of the meeting from our side. He called on the Professor presently before the meeting ; it was a friendly visit, but par- THE PKOFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 29 tially, I presume, for the purpose of sounding the Pro- fessor on the exciting question. Just before leaving, he expressed 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 prepared 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 rehearsing this performance on the spot, that he involuntarily started a good pace back. " Though politics entered deeply into our social and literary intercourse at that time, yet the Professor was strong enough in his other elements of distinction to keep himself aloof, and remain untouched in his other relations liy the influence of party, without in the least degree putting in question the sincerity of his attach- ment to his own side. He made in the class just one allusion to politics, and it was emphatic. An ambitious student, in one of his essays, finding his way to the characteristics of democracy, made some allusions to passing events in a tone which he no doubt thought likely to secure the favour 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 politics to a place where party strife should be unknown." Another student,^ who attended the class seven years 1 The Eev. Wmiam Smith, of North Leith Church. 30 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. later, fortunately preserved liis notes, and sends me the following vivid recollections of the winter session of 1837 :— " Of Professor Wilson as a lecturer on Moral Philo- sophy, 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 passionate action behind that strange, old-fashioned desk, nor heard his manly and eloquent voice sounding forth its stirring utter- ances with all the strange and fitful cadence of a music quite peculiar to itself The many-sidedness of the man, and the unconventional character of his prelec- tions, 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 impressions 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 liis matter or his manner. There was so much in the look and tone, in every aspect 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, tliat any reminiscence by any one can be interesting only to tliose 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 immediately succeeding the loss of his wife THE PEOFESSOE AND HIS CLASS. 31 tlie tlioiiglit 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 conjugal 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 liini. On such occasions he would pause for a moment or two in his lecture, fling liimseK 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 evident 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. '' In the course of lectures which I attended, he began by treating of the desire of knowledge ; the feeling of admiration ; s}mLpathy ; 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 32 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. Spenser's picture of Lucifera riding in the gorgeous cliariot of Pride, and preceded by six Passions (the fifth of which is Envy) riding each on an appropriate 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 elo- quence were previously not unknown to fame. For when I went to the class-room at the usual hour on the last day of ]Sroveml3er, I found it already overcrowded with an audience, comprising 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 consideration of another active principle, " The Love of Power," and we remarked on the frequent cor- ruption and melancholy degradation of genius throuoli an inordinate love of power. The origin of this love of power is found in the feeling of pleasure which uni- formly, and in a proportionably greater or less deoTce THE PROFESSOR AND HIS CLASS. 33 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 ex- quisitely beautiful animal. The child too attains a never- failing source of pleasure on his first conscious- ness 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. " ' 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 difiiculty, and danger, and it has been also wisely decreed that the exercise of these principles or powers, when 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 usefully em- ployed in clearing out a domain for tlie 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 unerring ball, or as he meets a boar in deadly conflict, and drains the heart's blood of the brute with his spear. The savage fisher- man of the far north, as he goes in his frail canoe to VOL. TL C 3 i MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. pursue the most perilous of all enterprises, feels a pleasure in liis powers, as he triumphs by the skill , but survived most of the merry guests whom he amused by his gaiety, his rich imagination, and his poetical follies. He was the sun of the table, and composed some of the most popuhar English ballads. The Nestor of song, he himself com- pared his muse to the flying-hsh. At the present day his Bacchic strains require the clinking of glass, and the joyous echoes of the Club, of which Captain Morris was poet-laureate. Type of the true Londoner, he preferred tov/n to country, and the shady side of Pall Mall to the most brilliant sunshine ilhnuinating nature. Toward the end of his life, how- ever, he let himself be gained over by the charn?s of the rural life he had ridiculed, and retired to a villa at Brockham given him by the Duke of LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 71 such into tlie bargain. Ebony sliould merely keep liini in liis lionse for a summer, with Johnny Dow^ in a cupboard, and he would drive the windmills before him. I am to dine at ]\Ir. 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 fiekl of kine ; but beyond tliis he is notliing, really nothing. He has no sort of real earnestness, feeble, pumped up, boisterous, overlaid stuff is his staple ; he is no more a Chahners than ^ is a Jeffrey. I shall do an article that will finish him by and by. "^ * * Neither Magimi 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 bye jobs. I also believe that Norfolk. Before starting, lie bade farewell to the Club in verse. He re- appeared there as a visitor in 1835, and the members presented him with a large silver bowl bearing an appropriate inscription. Although at that time eighty-nine years of age, he had lost none of his gaiety 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 Avit was expended, but it was of the sort which evaporates with the steam of dishes and bowls of pjunch." 1 An Edinburgh short-hand writer. 2 Edward Irving, the celebrated preacher, was at this time sailing on- Avards on the full tide of popularity. Mrs. Olii^hant, in her recent biogra- phy, writes thus regarding his famous sermon preached during this year to the London Missionary Society : ^^ There can be little doabt 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 won- der, or even with possible contempt, that wildest visionary conception." ^ A well-known Whig lawyer. ^ The John Bull newspaper, edited by Theodore Hook. 72 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. Croker tliinks lie himself will have a place in the Cahi- net in case of the Dnke of York's being King, and of course M. looks forward to being snugly set somewhere in that event. It is obvious 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.) lias 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 ]\Ir. Blackwood, a very intelligent man indeed.' I am to dine with him on Saturday, when I shall see more of him. He was obviously in a state of exhausted spirits (and strength indeecT) when I met him. Eogers told me lie hneio that Jeffrey was mortally annoyed with Hazlitt's article on the periodicals being in the Edin'burgh Reviciv, and that it was put there by Thomas Thom- son and John A. Murray,-^ who were co- editors, while 'the king of men' Avas in Switzerland.^ Words- worth is in town at present, but confined with his eyes. I thought it might appear obtrusive if I called, ^ Afterwards Lord Murray. 2 From Mr. lune^'s Memoir of Thomas Thomson^ I see thattlie editorship of the Edinhurgh Review was left in his hands more than once. ^' This foremost of Record scholars, the learned legal antiquarian, and consti- tutional lawyer" died in 1852, aged eighty-four. ^ LITERARY AWD DOMESTIC LIFE. 73 and liave stayed away. John INlurray seems tlie old man ; the Quarterly alone sustains him. Maginn says he makes £4000 per annum off it, after all ex- jjenses, and as they really sell 14,000, I can easily credit it. Colburn is making a gi^eat fortune by his Library and altogether. I meet no one who ever men tions his magazine but to laugh at it. The Xo. of Ebony is fair, but not first-rate. Your talk of Murders is exquisite, but otherwise the Nodes too local by far. Maginn on Eitter 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. Perliaps you will be delayed in Auld Eeekie for the sake of witnessing that day's cele- bration. My own motions are still unfixed, but I sus- pect 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 anything of MaWieio Walcl here, but I would fain hope it may be doing in spite of that. Ask Blackwood to let me hear anythino;. Can I do anything for him here ? I am picking up materials for the Baron Lauerwinkel's or some other body's letters to his kinsfolk, 3 vols, post 8vo. Pray write a first-rate but brief puff of MctWiew for next number Blachivood, or if not, say so, that I may do it myself, or make the Doctor.^ I shall write B one of these days if any- ^ The History of Mattheio Wald, a novel by Mr. Lockliart. It was reviewed in the May number of Blackwood, 7-4 AJEAIOIR OF JOHN WILSON. tliing occurs, and at any rate lie shall liave a letter to C. K speedily, from Timotliy, on the Quarterly or West- minster Ee views. A Noctes from me positively.'' Passing over the various other topics touched on in this letter, how strangely do these words about " Fre- derick 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 pass away, leaving a clear and unin- terrupted passage for the Princess Victoria to the throne of these realms ! The next letter is erjually 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. Stoddart^ about getting some literary articles for the Neio Times, I saw Old Slop, and introduced Maginn to him. Wliat the Doctor and he might after- wards agree about I can t say, but I do hope there may be a permanent connexion between them, as among 1 Mr. Blackwood. 2 Sir John Stoddart (at this time editor of The Neio Tinies, a morning paper, which was started about 1817 and continued until 1828) was born in 1773, and died in 1856. Besides his political writings, he was the author of Remarks on Local Scenery and Manners in Scotland in 1799 and 1800. 2 vols. 1801 ; An Essay on the Philosojphy of Language ; and some trans- lations. In the political caricatures and satires of that day, he was con- tinually introduced as ^^ Dr. Slop." LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 75 newspeople there is no doubt Stoddart is by far the most respectable man, and there is every reason to fear M/s propensities tending more frequently to the inferior orders of the Plume, 'Tor 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 ventured to say that I thought you would have no objection to receive the XciD Times on the same terms. " Whether he has at once acted on this hint I know not, but thouglit it best to write you in ease. " 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 — lialf of these may be puffs of ourselves l)y the way — and Southey and others have agreed to do the same thing on the same terms. So if the Neio 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 Christ- mas holidays, so that I have little news. I placed my brotlier, quite to my satisfaction and his, at Blackheath. As for the matter personal to myself, of which I spoke to you, I can only say that I left it in Croker s hands ; he promising to exert liimself to the utmost whenever the liigh 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, everything else being got over, he in this 76 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. personal and direct manner sIioavs himself not indif- ferent, but positively adverse. I entertain, therefore, considerable hope, and if I fail shall be not 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. Lockhaet/'^ A letter from ]\Ir. De Quincey, after a long silence, ao^ain brino;s him before us, as graceful and interestino; 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 Yale of Grasmere : — '*Londo:n, Thursdai/, February 24, 1825. '' My deae 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 AYarwickshire. This book I reviewed in the Loiidoit Magazine, and in consequence received a letter of thanks from the author, who, on my coming to London about midsunnuer 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 liim once or twice a month), I have no one fault to 1 The work referred to here is, '^ Plans for the Governirieiit and Liberal Instruction oi Boys in large numbers, drawn from Experience." 8vo. London. 1823. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 77 find with liiiii, 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 Eclin- hurgh Review (of which some copies have been in town about a week). This service has been done him, I sup pose, through some of his political friends — (for he is connected with Brougham, Lord Lansdowne, old Ben- tham, etc.) — but I understand hj Mr. Jeffrey. I^ow Hill, in common with multitudes in this 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 2^^one'ur of Blackwood. For, in spite of his Jacobinism, he is liberal and inevitably just to real wit. His fear is — that Black- wood may come as ISTemesis, 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 Pro- fessor, to presume that he has any connexion as con- tributor or anything 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 stch rosd, I rejoin that I know not but you may have cut Black- wood — even as a subscriber — a whole lustrum ago. He rebuts — by u1%ing a just compliment paid to you as a supposed contributor, in the Neius of Literatitre and Fashion, but a moon or two ago. — Seriously, I have told him that I know not what was the extent 78 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. of your connexion with Blackwood at any time ; and that I conceive the labours of your Chair in the Uni- versity must now leave you little leisure for any but occasional contributions, and therefore for no regular cognizance of the work as director, etc. However, as all that he wishes — is simply an interference to save him from any very severe article, and not an article in his favour, I have ventured to ask of you if you hear of any such thing, to use such iniluence as must naturally belong to you in your general character (whether maintaining any connexion with Blackwood 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 application. 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 (who are accomplished young men, I believe) being engaged 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 re- moved his sons. Now this Place, who was formerl}^ a tailor — leather-breeches maker — and habit-maker — having made a fortune and finished his studies, — is be- come an immense authority as a political and reformino- head with Bentham, etc., as also with the Westminster Rcvicv:, in which quarter he is supposed to have the weight of nine times nine men ; whence, by the way, in the ' circles ' of the booksellers, the Eeview has crot the name of the Breeches Review. '' Thus much concerning the occasion of my letter. LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 79 As to myself, — tliougli I liave ^mtten not as one who labom's under much depression of mind, — the fact is, I do so. At this time calamity presses upon me with a hea^y hand : — I am quite free of opium -} but it has left the liver, which is the Achilles' heel of ahnost every human fabric, subject to affections which are tremend- ous 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 ^vi^etched 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 medi- tate — I know not what — ' It a que e conspectu omnium abiit; AVith a good publisher and leisure to premedi- tate what I write, I mioiit ^^et liberate mvself : after which, having paid everybody, I would sluik into some dark corner — educate my children — and show my face in the world no more. " If vou should ever have occasion to VTite to me, it will be best to address vour letter either ' to the care of Mrs. De Quincey, Eydal Xab, Westmoreland' (Fox Ghyll is sold, and will be given up in a few days), or ' to the care of M. D. Hill, Esc^., 11, Kings Bench Walk, Temple:' — but for the present, I think rather to the latter : for else suspicions will arise that I am in West- moreland, which, if I were not, might be seiwiceable to me ; but if, as I am in hopes of accomplishing sooner or later, I should be — might defeat my purpose. '' I bes mv kind recjards to ]\Irs. Wilson and my i To the very last he asserted this, but the habit, although modified, was never abandoued. 80 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. young friends, whom I remember with so much in- terest as I last saw them at Elleray, — and am, my dear AVilson, very affectionately yours, '' Thomas De Quincey." In the following letter from my father to his friend, Mr. Findlav of Easter HilL he refers to the death of his venerable mother, which took place in December 1824. The accident to my mother, to which allusion is made, occurred in the previous summer ; he was driv- ing with her and the children one day in the neigh- bourhood of Ambleside, when the axle-tree gave way, and the carriage was overturned 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, IlarcJi 2, 1825. '' My deaeest Eobekt, — 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 w^as, you know, one of the best of women, and althoudi 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 LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 81 must be enjoying 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 looks well, but is not so, and many a wretched and sleepless hour do I pass on her accoimt. 1 The following letter from Principal Baird alludes to llie same acci- dent : — *' University Chambers, July 23cZ, 1824. ^' My dear Sir, — In the first place, to begin methodically, I beg to con- gratulate you on the hair-breadth escape which the newspapers told us you so hapx)ily made when your horse was restive and your gig on tlie 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 paraphrases and translations for the use of the Churcli. I shall be glad to learn, and to see proof that you are thus employed. ^^ I have got several excellent pieces from Mrs. Henians and Mrs. Grant of Laggan lately, in addition to those which I had formerly from Miss Joanna Baillie, etc. ^^ I am at present busy in the transmission of papers through the Church in respect to the General Assembly's plan for increasing the means of edu- cation, 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 i^i 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. He preaches on a hill-side, and from that neighbouring coast of the mainland ; he has an audience on that hill-side of never less than 1000 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 w^ould write a petition by lona for consideration and help. St. Kilda's privations have been su^^plied by public sjTnpathy and bounty. Let us not neglect lona, amid the ^ ruins of Vv'hich whose plaids would not grow warmer V — I am, with great regard, yours most faithfully, ^' George Baird.*' VOL. 11. F 82 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. '' It is so long since the meeting of the good old Pro- f(3SSors^ 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 tlian 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 perfectly 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. Per- haps I may take a walk as far early in May. '' I am building a house in Gloucester Place, a small street leading from the Circus into Lord Moray's grounds. This I am doing because I am poor, and money yielding no interest. If Jane is better 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. Piemember me kindly to your excellent wife. Your family is now most anti-Mal- thusian. — Believe me ever, my dearest Eobert, your most affectionate friend, John Wilson." The house in Gloucester Place was completed and ready for habitation in 1826, and thenceforth was his home during the remainder of his life. The plan of 1 Professor Jardine. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 83 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 Edinburgh, and that the appointment should be conferred upon Mr. J. R. M'CuUoch, then editor of the Scotsman newspaper. Wilson's professor- ship 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 interference with his vested rights, and by appealing to Government succeeded in crushing the project. After this controversy (which included a sharp pamphlet, in which the Professor, under the nam dc plume of Mordecai Mullion, dealt somewhat freely w^ith Mr. M'CuUoch), he lectured on political economy. Two years later, we find that he was an advocate of free trade, as may be seen from his letter to Dr. Moir in the next chapter. Could his new studies — consequent upon complying with his friend Patrick Eobertson's advice to prepare a course of lectures on political eco- nomv — 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 Eobertson, Mr. Huskisson, Mr. Canning, and Mr. Peel, wall show the interest taken by AVilson's personal and political friends as to the proposed Chair : — *' Edinburgh, Tuesday, I4:th June 1825. " My dExVE Wilson, — I have your last. Lockhart and Hope concur with me in thinking that the idea of 84 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 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 WTite in De- cember, 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 without 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 service than you have been. It is strange there is no answer from iJie Big Wigs. Lord Melville writes nobody, and I lancy William Dundas has his hands full enough of his city canvass since that insane ass, , started. 1 am in hopes you will hear soon. Both Hope and Eobert Dundas are anxious to do all in their power, and expect this plot will be defeated ; but I see no way of preventing it ultimately, except your actual lectures on the subject. None of us will come up this year, that you may LITEEAHY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 85 have time to study, so study you must ; and don't you understand the old principle upon which the vvdiole of this nonsensical science hangs ? I assure you, without jest, we all deeply feel the insult thus offered to you and the party, and I cannot believe it will ever be carried through. My hope is in Peel more than all the rest. Oh, for one dash of poor Londonderry ! — Ever yours faithfully, Pat. PiOBei^tsox.'' '^BoAiiD OF Trade, I5th June 1825. '' Sir, — I have had the honour to receive your letter of the 8th instant, stating the grounds on which you conceive that the erection of a new professorship in the University of Edinburgh, for the purpose of lecturing on Political Economy, would be an unfair interference 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 Iiitherto prevailed in the University of Edin- burgh 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 application has been made by memorial, from certain individuals, to the Government, for the sanction of the Crown to establish a professorship of Political Economy in the Universitv, the subscribers offering to provide a 86 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. permanent fund for founding the new Chair, in like manner as has been done by a private gentleman (Mr. Drummond) 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 received. Should the Senatus Academicus not recommend a compliance with the prayer of the Memorial, I have every reason to believe tliat it will not receive the sanction of Government, and I have conveyed that impression to the person who had put the memorial into my hands. " 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 indi- vidual -right of any member of that learned body. — I liave the honour to be, Sir, your most obedient Servant, '' W. HUSKISSON.'^ FROM ME. CANNING. " FoketCtN Office, June 21, 1825. " Dear Sir, — The alarm under which your letter of the 8th was written, has, I think, subsided long ago, in consequence of the answers which your representations received from other quarters. I only write lest you sliould think tliat I had neglected your letter, or felt no interest in your concerns. — I am, dear Sir, your obedient and faithful servant, Geo. Canning. " Mr. Profe;ssor Wilson." LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. S > i FKOM SIR EGBERT PEEL. [Private.] " Whitehall, June 21, 1825. " SiE, — The project of establishing a new and sepa- rate Professorship of Political Economy in the Univer- sity 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 Ijefore I would have given my assent to it under any circum- stances, I should have considered it my duty to ascer- tain that the institution of a new Chair was absolutely necessary for the purposes for which it professed to be instituted, and that the just privileges of other profes- sors were not affected by it. — I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, Eobeet Peel. *' Professor Wilson, etc. etc., Edinburgh." He did not " leave his charming cottage,'' but very soon found more interesting work than political enonomy to occupy liis thoughts. Mr. Blackwood soon after writes of his '' going on with another volume," and also says, " I rejoice, too, that you are preparing your Out- lines."^ Of the ''other volume" nothini]^ more was heard. Some small portion of its intended contents was probably contributed 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, 1 In December 1825, I find advertised as '^ speedily to be published, in one vol. 8vo, Prospectus of a Course oj Moral Jnquiry, by John Wilson, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University ol Edinburgh ;" this book, however, never appeared. 88 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. are not liitlierto identified witli liis name. Besides the three tales which had already been published, Lights and Sliadoius, Margaret Lyndsay, and The Foresters, and two volumes of poems, no separate works of his appeared until the Reereations of ChristoiJher North in 1843. That he did not carry out his intention of pre- paring his Outlines is cause of regret. The next letter from Mr. Lockliart 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, Avas chiefly the compo- sition of Wilson and Lockhart. The fact that the pub- lication 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. Blackwood's independent style of treating his con- tributions. But for him the book would never have appeared, and as certainly my father would never have contributed. The plan was suggested apparently 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 Friendshi2?s Offering. They were adorned with en- gravings, and contained contributions from the pens of distinguished writers. Tlie projectors of Janus thouo^ht it most prudent to make the success of their Annual depend on its literary merits alone, but it turned out LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 89 that tliey were mistaken. Lockliart and Wilson under- took the editorship, and contributed the great bulk of the articles.^ The following is a letter from ]\Ir. Lock- hart bearing on this subject. He was on the eve of starting for Ireland with Sir Walter Scott : — '' Edinburgh, Juhj Sth — (Starting). " My deae Wilson, — I am exceedingly sorry to find myself leaving Edinburgh without having seen again or heard from you. I have no time to w^ite at length, so take business in form. " 1st, I have seen Dr. Graham and David Eitchie to-day. They both are in spirits about the affair of the P. E.-^ chair. Peel has written to the Principal most favour ally for you, and they both think the matter is settled. However, it is still possible a Senatus Acade- micus may be called, in which case you will of course come dovm. 2d, I have seen Boyd. He is in high glee, and has got many subscriptions already for Jamis. I have settled that I shall, on reaching Chiefswood by the 12th of August, be in condition to keep Janus at work regu- larly, 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 matter 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 con- 1 Several letters on the subject have been sent nie, 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. 2 Political Economy, 90 MEMOIPt OF JOHN WILSON. cern. In tlie meantime I have plenty of things ready for Jamis; and the moment I have from yon a fine poem or essay, or anything to begin with (for I abso- Intely demand that yon shonld had), 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 EUeray. " 3rZ, Constable is about to publish a Popular Ency- dopocdia, in 4 vols. 8vo, and he has been able to get Scott, Jeffrey, Mackenzie, to contribute. The articles are on an average one page and a half each, but each con- tributor, having undertaken a number of articles, 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, Hohhes, Dr. Reid : Would you take in hand to give him two or three pages each (double columns), condensing the most wanted poioidar infor- mation as to these men ? If so, he would gladly jump, and I should certainly be much gratified, because I per- ceive in him the most sincere desire to have connexion literary with your honour. 'Tray address to me, care of Captain Scott, 15th Hussars, Dublin, if you wish to ^rate to me imme- diately ; if not, my motions are so uncertain that vou had much better write to Constal)le himself, or to me when I return. As to the articles, nine of them are wanted this year. " I beg my best respects to INIrs. Wilson, and to all the bairns, greeting. — Yours affectionately, " J. G. LOCKHART." LITEKAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 91 About that time there was no small excitement at Elleray in the anticipation of a visit from Sir "Walter Scott. Mr. Canning was also in the neighbourhood, and there was a desire to do honour to both by some grand demonstration. On the 17th August, Lockhart writes to Wilson, " On board the steamboat ' Harlequin/ half-way from Dublin to Holyhead :" — " My deae Wilson, — Here we are, alive and hearty. Sir Walter 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 neQ;otiation 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 yourself ; or you can, if there is any incon- venience, 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 Wordswortli 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 tlie Lakes.' '' I am delighted to find that there is this likelihood of seeing you, and trust IMrs. AVilson is thoroughly restored. I have heard from nobody in Scotland but 92 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. my wife, wlio gives no news but strictly domestic. Perhaps this will not reach yon in time to let us find a line at Kendal informing us of your arrangements. — Yours always, J. G. Lockhaet/' Sir Walter, with his daughter, Miss Scott, and Mr. Lockhart, visited Elleray, as was promised, and re- mained there for three days. Of this meeting Mr. Lockhart writes :— '' On the banks of Windermere we were received with the warmth of old friendship by Mr. Wilson and one whose grace and gentle goodness could have found no lovelier or fitter home than Ellerav, except where she now is."^ All honour was done, to the illustrious guest, and my father arranged that he should be entertained by a beautiful aquatic spectacle. 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 throuoii the woods in the mornings, and delicious boatings on the lake by moonlight, and the last day ' The Admiral of the Lake' presided over one of tlie 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 honour the vessel that carried kind and happy jNIr. Bolton and his guest. The three Bards of the Lakes led the cheers that hailed Scott and Canning ; and the music and sunshine, fiags, 1 Life of Scott LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 93 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,^ who was reluctantly detained by his duties as editor of Tlte Ediiiburgli Philosophical Journal : his letter is of sufficient mterest to be given here : — "My dear Sir, — I have delayed from day to day answering your kind letter, in expectation of being able to make such arranc^ements as Avould 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, wdio 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 Eed Sea. They have been in a state of semi- insurrection against me for some time, owing to the putting off of the expedition, but are now resigned to their fate. " Edinburgh is at present very dull, and very stupid, and we are only kept alive by the visits of interesting strangers. ^ Life of Scott. '^ Prolebsoi- Jaiueson died in 1853, oetat eighty. 94 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. "The adventures of tlie regatta have reached this, and my sisters expect to hear from Miss Wilson, who, they presmne, acted a distinguished part in the naval conflict, an animated account of all that befell the admirals. Some German philosophers say that a man — tliat I presume does not exclude a professor — may be in many places at the same time. I was rather inclined to doubt the accuracy of this notion, but now it seems to be confirmed in yourself, for, on the same day, you were buried at Edinburgh, and alive and merry at Elleray.-^ '' All here join in best wishes to your family and Mrs. Wilson, and believe me to remain yours faith- fully and sincerely, EoB. Ja:\ieson. " My dear Sir, I hope you will not forget your promise of a paper for The Eclinhurgli Philosophical Joii7mal. The effects of the scenery of a comitry on 1 This refers to a practical joke of Mr. Lockhart's, but not kno^\Ti at the time to have originated with him ; a joke which might have ended in painful results had it come untimeously 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 The Weekly Journal, along with a panegyric upon his character, written in the usual style adopted when noting the death of celebrated persons. I have not been able to find the paper, l^ut I believe it was only inserted in a very few copies. On a later occasion Mr. Lockhart amused himself in a similar manner, by appending to a paper on Lord Robertson's poems in The Quarterly Revieiv, 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 tlie senator ; but the joke lay in Lord Robertson's imagining that it was in the whole edition. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 95 its population would form a very interesting topic, and one \yliicli affords an ample field for interesting obser- vation/' Soon after returning to Scotland, Lockhart writes, not in the best of spirits. What the opening allusion is to, I do not know : — '' Chiefswood, Wednesday, 1825. " ]\Iy deae AYilsox, — 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 kind- ness, and shall in all time coming respect most reli- giously the feelings which I cannot but honour in you as to that matter. I hope I may be as brief in my 'icorcls 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 Abottsford very early in October; the day not fixed that I know of I cannot help thinking 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 re- fuse. You must come down and show that we have one speaker among us — for ccrtcs we have but one — un- less 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 particularly gratified in see - 96 MExMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. iiig you come out on such a field- clay. I wish you would just put yourself into the mail and come to me liere when C. leaves Storrs, and then you would see him at Abbotsford, 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 vigour neces- sary for anything like loriting ; 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 ac- counts of you the other day from the young Duke of Buccleuch and his governor, Blakeney — a very superior man, by the way. It would make me happy indeed to see you here, and I 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 sole man of the Jolui Bull Magazine ; a most infamous concern, and in gene- ^ The soubrujuet by wliicli Mr. Blackwood was known by his con- tributors. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 97 ral displaying a marvellous lack of everything but the snpremest 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 summer. How could I ? I am totally sick of all that sort of concern, and would most gladly say, ' farewell for ever.' — Yours affectionately always, '' J. G. LOCKHAET." It appears that Mr. Canning did not visit Abbots- ford, 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 Maginn,^ was at this time in full employment ^ William Maginn, alias Ensign O'Doherty, alias Liictus, alias Dr. Olin- thns Petre, Trinity College, Dublin, etc. etc., vras 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 Avas a translation into Latin of the ballad of ^^ Chevy Chase," which was followed by numerous articles containing both wdt and sarcasm, which Mr. Blackwood had to pay for in the case of Leslie v. Hebrew. Although he continued to write for Blackwood, the publisher was not acquainted with his real name, and the account of their first interview is amusingly told by Dr. Moir : * — ^^ I remember haAinsr 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 * Diihlin University Magazine, January 1844, which contains the fullest account of Maginn's life and writings I have seen. VOL. II. G 08 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSOK for the Magazine. In the Foctes in particular, where the character of the composition allowed most freedom of expression, he took his full swing, and laid about him in true Donnyhrook style. Whether the " sore rubs" anticipated by Lockhart occurred I have no means of knowing ; probably they did. That he some- times caused considerable annoyance to the judicious editor will appear from the following brief note to Wilson about this very time. Tlie reference in the vainly ringing and knocking, to open, and made a circuit of the bnikling, peeping first into one window and then another, where ever}i;hing looked snug and comfortable, though tenantless. He took occasion 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. Blackwood's place of business — and formally asked for an intervicAv with that gentleman. The Doctor was previously well aware that his quizzes on Dowden, Jennings, and Cody of Cork (perfectly harm- less as they were), had produced a ferment in that quarter, which now ex- jDloded 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 conver- sation with him, and this in the strongest Irish accent he could assume. '' On being closeted together, Mr. Blackwood thought to himself — as Mr. Blackwood afterwards informed me— ' Here, at last, is one of the wild Irishmen, and come for no good purpose, doubtless.' ^^ ^ You are Mr. Blackwood, I presume/ said the stranger. ^^ ^ I am,' answered that gentleman. '' ^1 have rather an unpleasant business, then, with you,' he added, * regarding some things which ap^Deared in your Magazine. They are so and so, would you be so kind as to give me the name of the author ? ' ^^ ^That requires consideration,' 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 w^ho you are.' '' ^You are very shy, sir,' said the stranger; 'I thought you corre- LITEEARY AXD DOMESTIC LIFE. 99 conclusion is to Mr. Blackwood's candidature for tlie office of Lord Provost, in which he was unsuccessful. '' Edinburgh, August 22, 1825. '' My dear Sir, — I received your packet in time, and I hope you will find the whole correctly printed, though I was obliged to put to press in a great hurry. I only got Maginn s Song on Saturday night, after I had put tlie sheets to press. " On Tliursday I received from him some more of the Nodes, 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 sponded with Mr. Scott of Cork/ mentioning the assumed name under which the Doctor had hitlierto communicated witli the Masi-azine. o ^^ ^ I iDeg to decline giving any information on that subject,' was the re- sx^onse of Mr. BLackwood. ^^ ^ If you don't know him, then,' sputtered out the stranger, ^ perhaps, j)erhaps 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 whimsical 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 uj) 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 vrrites of him, he was appointed foreign correspondent of The Reiyresentative ; 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 Bidl, and ob- tained so much reputation as a political writer, that on the establishment of the Standard J he was appointed joint editor of the latter. He was ultimately connected with the foundation of Fraser'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 1831 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. 100 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. lioary courtier, who liacl provoked Moore loith his libels u]Jon the King. I have written him that it really will not do to run a-muck in this kind of way. I hope yon will, on the whole, like this nnmber, and that you will be in good spirits to do something very soon for next one. I fully expected to have had the plea- sure of a letter from you either yesterday or to-day. " A letter from you, however short, is always a treat. The canvass 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 despair, and I trust we shall be successful. — I am, my dear Sir, yours truly, " W. BLACinVOOD.'' 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 writ- ing articles for Jamts, which began to be printed early in September, and was published about the close of November 1825. The various letters which passed be- tween the editors and the publisher on the subject are entirely occupied with the details of " MS.," " slips,'' " proofs,'' and " formes." They contain, 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 illustrating 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 : — LITERACY ANT) DOMESTIC LIFE. 101 " Gloucester Place, No. 8, Friday, " My deae Sir, — On my arrival here, a few clays ago, I found in tlie hands of Messrs. Oliver and Boyd, an extract from a tale intended 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 contri- bution to Janus, but delayed it from time to time, un- certain 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 the volume, and if it be possible, there shall be, if you wish it. " The fmieral scene is certainly good, natural, and true, and as part of a tale, I have no doubt it will be effective. Standing by itself it does not strike me as one of your best things (many of which are most beauti- ful and most lively), and I sliould wish to have in Janus one that / at least like better. '' 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 ^ This appeared in the volume under the title, ^' Saturday Night in the Manse.'* 102 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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.^ I generally forget, or at least retain an in- distinct remembrance 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 Jamis, but, on the contrary, wish to be. But let all contributors keep their own counsel. — I am, my dear Sir, yours with much regard, " 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. Tliis, combined with the labours of the opening University session, left little leisure for literary work ; MS. for Janus was therefore in great demand, and lo roof- sheets had to be revised after the chiss hour in the Professor's '' retiring;-rooin.'' Some contributions had also been expected from Mr. De Quincey, whicli, however, did not make their appear- ance. The work at last came out in the form of a very finely-printed small octavo volume of 542 pages, whicli was sold at the price of 12s. There were no embellish- 1 Probably ^^ Daniel Cathie, tobacconist." LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 103 ments beyond a vignette representation of tlie two-faced god, and no names were given on the title-page or in the table of contends. The preface announces that the volume is intended to be the first of a series, to be pub- lished annually early in November. It never went, however, beyond its first number, not having received encouraojement enouoii to warrant the risk of a second trial. As the publisher dealt liberally 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 philosophy and the facetiousness of genuine humour ; as free from duhiess 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 translation, that gives the history of a dog, " Lloustache/' whose characteristic 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 1 Of siicli is Dr. Joliii Brown, who, in Oitr Dogs, lias unravelled the in- stinctive beauties and touching sagacity of the canine race, with a delicacy of perception and cunning workmanship of thought truly admirable. ^^Rab," and ^^ Moustache," in their devotion of purpose, would perfectly 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 lie met with every day ; they come, like epic poems, after a lapse of ages, and like them are immortal. 104 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. Miss Edgewortli's witty '' Tliougiits on Bores/' and one or two pleasant sketches by Delta. Mr. Lockhart left Cliiefswood for London in December 1825, to assume the editorship of the QiLarterly Revieio, The following letter appears to have been written the day after he had taken possession of the editorial chair : — " 25, Pall Mall, 2M December 1825. '' My dear Wilson, — It was only yesterday that we got ourselves 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 immediately, 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 anything con- nected with you, until I hear better tidings. " Murray, from what he said to me, would answer Boyd's letter in the af&rmative. I did not choose to press him, but said what I could with decency."^ '' As I feared and hinted, you are rather in a scrape about the Uranus poem, the proprietor of it being some old Don, who for these seven years had dunned IMurray constantly, the bookseller in the meantime wiiting, he says, to Blackwood, equally in vain. '' One thing remains ; that the whole M8. be forth- luith transmitted 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 1 Probably refers to Murray becoming the London publisher of Janus. LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 105 essays, and would fain hope it is not largely par- taken. " 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 Blachivood, but cm contraire, and certainly nothing to diminish their quantity. '' Mr. has yesterday transferred to me the trea- sures of the Eeview ; 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 flourish- ingly. The title, I am ratlier of belief, will be ' The Eepresentative,' -^ but he lias not yet fixed. 1 Murray's newspaper concerns did not go on ^^flourishingly," as may be gathered from the following note :— ^' With Mr. Benjamin Disraeli for editor, and witty Dr. Maginn for Paris Correspondent, John Murray's new daily paper, The Rejjresentative (price 7d.), began its inauspicious career on the 25th January 1826. It is needless to rake up the history of a dead and buried disaster. After a short and unhappy career of six m mths, The Fiepresentative 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 specu- 106 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. " I shall write you in clue time, and at length, as to that business. " As for nie personally, everything goes on smoothly. I have the kindest letters from Southey, and indeed from all the real supporters of the Eeview. Give my love to Cay, and do now wrUc, lurite, lorite to yours affectly., J. G. Lockhart." During the following year my father contributed no less than twenty-seven articles, or portions of articles, to the Magazine, including the following, afterwards re- published, in the collected works by Professor Terrier : — " 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 ac- companied by his daughter IMargaret and his son Blair, and during his absence wrote regularly to his wife, giving pleasant local gossip and descriptions of the improvements at Elleray. The dinner at Kendal, of which he speaks, w\as one of political interest connected with the Lovvther 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 lative 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 mehincholy expression ot countenance, pointing to a thin folio on his shelves, would saj^, 'Twenty thousand pounds are buried there.' " — '^Histories ol Publishing Houses," Critic^ January 21, 1860. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 107 Assizes, wliicli accounts for the allusions to tlie trials, besides tliat some of tliem excited unusual interest. " Kendal, 22d August 1826, Tuesday Morning, Hcdf-fjcist Tliree. " My dearest Jane, — I wrote you a few lines from Carlisle, stating ou.r 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 tov/n whatever, and, of course, heard nothino^ about the intended meetiiiQ;. The Mackeands were hanged yesterday (Monday), and I have just been assured that the hrother Wakefield, who was to have been tried on Saturday, has forfeited his bail, and is off', fearing from the judge's manner that he would be im- prisoned — if he stood trial — five years."^ So there will i Tlie two Mackeands were brothers, who had coniinitted an atrocious murder on the inhabitants 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, and furnished to the annals of lav/ one of the most peculiar cases that has ever been recorded. 108 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 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, v/hich Blair picked up, but the sovereigns had dropped for ever 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 clearest Jane, ever your affectionate husband, John Wilson.'' '' Kendal, August 23, 1826, Wednesday Night, Twelve o'clock. " My beloved Jane, — The dmner 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 Watson 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 LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 109 letter, which I shall have time to write at lenoth. Hitherto I have not had an hour. '' To-moiTow, at EUeray, I shall write an admirable ejjistle. — Your affectionate husband, " John Wilson. a Love to Johnny, Mary, Umbs, and George Watson." *'Elleray, August 24:tJi, 1826, Thursday Forenoon, "My deaeest Jane, — I shall give you a sort oiprMs of our movements. On Tuesday morning, at nine o'clock, we left Kendal 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 alons^ from the junction of the new avenue, all along to front of the new house, and has a parkish appearance — painted of a slate colour. The house we found standing furnished and in all respects just as we left it, so that, I suppose, the family have just walked out. The plants 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 hioh, and in hioli 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, no MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. and strawberry-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 William 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 under- stood. 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 Portarling- ton (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 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 myseK to the Post-Ofl&ce, and got the postmaster to open the bag, and, lo and behold, your letter of Tuesday, which took a load of needless anxiety off my soul. God bless you ! I returned to the inn, LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. Ill 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. AVe 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 ]\Iiss North. Gale was found guilty of two assaults at Lancaster, but the anti- Catholic doctor allowed him to get off without fine. How absurd altogether the quarrel originating in Catho- lic Emancipation. I shall probably go to Penny Bridge on Saturday, but will write again to-morrow, so send to the Post-Of&ce 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, "wiite 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 vdll Tvaite 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 remark- able strength and sagacity. A few summers pre- viously, my father became acquainted with a Mr. Douglas, who, with his family, was then residing near Ambleside. This gentleman possessed a hand- some and prepossessing appearance; beyond that he 112 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSOK had not miicli to recommend liim, being nothing but a sporting character, and was after a time discovered not to be sans ]oeiiT 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 unrivalled trotter. This statement gave rise to some discussion on the subject of trotting, a 'pToj)os of wliich, "Wilson brought forward the merits of a certain grey cob in his possession, half jestingly proposing a match be- tween it and the above mentioned '' thoroughbred." 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 fortnioht o from that time. It is a long-ago story, but I well remember the ex- citement it created in the menage at Elleray, and the imusual 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 LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 113 dress, mounted liis somewhat ordinary-looking steed, just as a gentleman would do going to take his morn- ing ride. At last, after many manceiivres 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 EUeray gate. To Lowood, as far as I rememljer, was the distance for this trial. Umpires were stationed at their re- spective 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. ]\Ieantime, the juvenile band on the wall, along with Mrs. Wilson, were keeping eager watch for the messenger 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 nnich 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 Blachicood, which did not appear, however, till ten years afterwards. VOL. IL H 1 U MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON, CHAPTEE XII. LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 1827-29. One wlio knew my father well, said, '' That in the multiform nature of the man, his mastery over the hearts of ingenuous youth was one of his finest charac- teristics. An essay or poem is suljinitted 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 do^^m, 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 youno^ man is astonished, but his nature is of the ri^^^ht sort ; he never forojets the lesson, and, witli bands of filial affection strono^er than hooks of steel, he is knit for life to the man who has dealt with him thus. Many a young heart will recog- nise the peculiar style of the great nature I speak of. This service w^as once done to Delta, he was the youno^ man to profit by it, and the friendship was all the LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 115 firmer." -"^ Mr. Aird probably alludes to the following letter, written by Professor Wilson in January 1827, to his friend Dr. Moir : — '' My DEAR Sir, — Allow me to write you a kind letter, suggested 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 ixdnd about yourself and your poetry. '' I think you — and I have no doubt about the sound- ness 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 mysolf, never will ; but you have written very many exquisitely beautiful poems which, as time rolls on, will be finding their way into the mindful hearts of thousands, and becoming embo- died with the corpiis of true English poetry. The char- acter 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 cer- tainly 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 con- nected with the Magazine to be praised in it, except when the occasion either demands it or entirely justifies it. Thirdly, GTcnevieve is not my favourite poem, be- cause the sul^ject is essentially non-tragic to my imagi- ^ Thomas Aird's Memoir of I). M. Moir. 116 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. nation, finely as it is written. Fourtlily, I shall, and tliat, 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 notwithstand- ing 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 httle importance, surely, in itself, but of some importance to me and my feelings, since, unluckily, it has rather hurt yours, and that too, not unnaturally or unreasonably, for I too have been a rejected contributor. In one respect you have altogether misconceived Mr. Blackwood's letter, or he has altogether misconceived the very 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 AVhistlecraft measure had become so common, that its sound was to me intolerable, imless it was executed in a transcendent style, like many of Mr. Lockhart's stanzas in the Mad Banker of Amsterdam, which, in my opinion, are equal to anything 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 allowed to cease, and LITEEAPtY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 117 that I wisliecl not to see its revival, except in some most potent form indeed. That is all I said to Mr. Black- wood. I will now say, further, in defence or explana- tion of the advice I gave him, that the composition is not, in my opinion, peculiarly and characteristically Ghristopherish, and therefore, with all its merit, woukl not have greatly delighted the readers of ' Maga' at the beginning of a new year. Secondly, The topics are not such as Christopher, on looking back for two or three years, could have selected, and many import- ant 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. K, 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 moder- ately good, the third, absolutely bad, and the fourth, not very happy, Irving and Eowland Hill being better out of North's mind altogether on a Christmas occasion. The 1 Then follows a minute criticism of the poem, stanzci 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 Black- ivood, were not always those of John Wilson. 1 1 8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. iiineteentli stanza is, I think, very bad indeed, no mean- ing 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. Twenty- four is pretty well, but by no means equal to what would have been the view-holloa of old C. K 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 re- peated in ' Maga,' usqtie ad nauseam, by that eternal Londoner from Yorkshire, and wants the free freshness with which C. N. would have breathed out himseK 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 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 thirty- 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 un- worthy of Sir Walter, and J, and C. K, and J. AV. Pardon me for saying so. In stanza fortieth I did not expect LITERArtY xVND DOMESTIC LIFE. 119 anytliing more about Time, and be damned to liim ! All tlie stanzas that follow to forty -sixth inclusive, are excellent, and in themselves worthy of A. But what if there be no snow and no skatino^ at Christ- mas ? 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 ex- treme; 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, scrav/ling, imperfectly expressed opinion of your verses, because I had already let you know that it was un- favourable, 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 kiioio you are wrong in, and that is, your preferring this composition to all you ever wrote for ' Maga.' You have written for ' Maga' many of the most deliditful verses that are in the English language, 120 MEMOm OF JOHN wilson. and as for ' Mansie AVaiigli/ ^ it is inimitable, 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 re- jected 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 stop^Dcd, 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 d clock, I expect De Quincey, and one or two other friends, and there is a hcd for yoUy otherwise I would not ask you at so late an hour. — I am, yours afiec- tionately, John Wilson." With the above exception, the memorials of this year are confined to the pages of Blackwood, to whicli he contributed in one montli (June), when a double number was published, six of the principal articles. How little he thought of knocking off a Xoctes when 1 The Life of Mansie Wmigh, Tailor in Dalkeith. 12mo. Edinburgli, 1828. A work full of luiinour, and abouiuliug in faithful sketches ot Scottish life and manners. LITEKARY AND DO]\IESTIC LIFE. 121 in tlie liumour, 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 Aviite a ' Noctes.' Would you have any objection 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, JoHX WiLSOX. '' Subject. — A party are to assemble in the Neiu S\op to dinner/' The following note to the same gentleman may come in as a minor illustration of the ''calamities of authors :''— '' Last night ahoitt 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. Yet to get on is, I understand, of great importance. Here, then, are hours on hours lost, not by me assuredly ; then by whom ? " AVliy the devil does not the devil hasten himself of an August morning? AMiat right can any devil, red hot from Tartarus, have to disturb me, who never in- jured him, for three long hours including midnight, all for no jpuryose hut to make me miseraUe ? '' I am, my dear Sir, very wroth ; therefore, see henceforth, that delays of this kind do not occur, for thoudi I am willing; to work when necessary, I am not willing to sacrifice sleep, and sometimes suffer, wliich 122 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. is worse, from want of arrangement or idleness in the infernal regions. — Yours sincerely, '' John AVilson. '' Thursday morning. — Witli 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 Inner- leithen, the Professor visiting Edinburgh from time to time, to attend to his literary affairs, finding on his return relaxation in his favourite amusement of fish- ing, or rambling over the hills to St. Mary's Loch, and LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 123 not unfrequently spending a day at Altrive with tlie Ettrick Slieplierd. He liad intended, in the foUowhig 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 Eev. Mr. Fleming of Eayrig, 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 plea- sure of spending his summers there. Eeferring in this letter to the Magazine, he says : — " Of BlachwoocVs Magazine I am not the editor, although, I believe, I very generally get both the credit and discredit of being Christopher ISTorth. 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 generally 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 my- self 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 responsibility, 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 cha- racter. I am in great measure the parent nevertheless, nor am I ashamed of the old gentleman, who is, though rather perverse, a thriving bairn. '' I shall be at Elleray, with my daughters INIargaret and Mary, about the 18th or 20th of April, and hope 124 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. to stay a month. I intend to let Elleray, if I can get a suitable tenant, for three years. My cliildren are all just growing up, and I cannot remove them from Edin- burgh, nor can I leave tliem, even if the expense of having two houses were such as I could prudently en- counter. 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 anything of the kind, except in the case like the present, where it would be of advantage to my interests and that of my family ; or if there be any 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. Whoever 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 LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 125 intentions, of which he knows nothing, and has been busy telling all people that I am never again to return to EUeray, and that Elleray is to be sold. This rather displeases me. Mr. would oblige me in anything ^ 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 jNIr. 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 ovm. I am, however, I repeat it, duly sensible of the delicacy of making such a request to such a friend ; and one word will be sufficient. My intention is to keep the cottage in my ovm 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 privilege I will give up if necessary. " Mrs. Wilson is much better in her general health than she has been since her first mihappy 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 ao^ain 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 126 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. must come up to Elleray and stay a day or two with them, while they will be but too happy to be again at sweet Eayrig. 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 bring you a copy of. Sir Henry Stewart, the author, has made a place well wooded and thriving out of a desert, and has re- moved hundreds of trees of all kinds, from twenty to fifty years old, with underwood, all of which have for years been in a most flourisliing' condition. " I think you will get this letter on Sunday morning. I shall think of you all in church. — Your aftectionate friend, John Wn.soN." As soon as his college duties were over, he set out for Elleray. He wribs from Bowness to my mother, May 16, 1828 :— " My deae Tuekess, — I have this mornino^ received your long and kind letter ; and though I ^vrote to you yesterday, I do so again. First, then, I enclose a twelve- pound note, whicli, I hope, will settle the accounts, though you don't mention the amount of the rendering one. I will thank you to ^^aite to Eobert as follows : — ' Dear Eobert, 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 mowQj first it will be convenient ; if not, she will wait till I return the paper. — Yours, LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 127 J- W/ Your taste in furniture is excellent, beino^ the same as my own ; so choose a paper of ahluish 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 re- member 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 irrup- tion, 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 1 '' Yesterday, we rode to Ambleside, — Mary on Blair s pony, which is in high health and very quiet, and spirited too, Maggy on the nondescript. We called on 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 Xorths, and were most kindly received. I left the girls there, and proceeded to Grasmere, along the new road by the lake- side, which is beautiful. Found Hartley Coleridge, a little tipsy, I fear, but not very much ; went with him to Sammy Barber's. Sammy was deliohted 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 commanding 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. 128 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. '' Wordswortli is in London. I called for the nyniplis at eigiit o'clock, and we reached EUeray about ten o'clock — all well. Both nyinphs are recovered, though Mary has still a little sore -throat left. To-day, we liave 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 Bay- rig 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 w^ith us. Neither Wellock nor M'Neil has appeared, and I shall w^ait for them no more. Captain Hope and his lady and a piccaniny have just driven up to the door of the inn ; he is a son of the Lord Bresident's, and brother of the Solicitor- General, and a friend of mine. They are just off again. AVrite 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 communications to the taste of his corre- spondents : — LITERARY AXD DOMESTIC LIFE. 129 TO HIS SON BLAIR. "Elleray, Frklcnj Afternoon, May 23, 1828. "My dearest Blair, — 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 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 thruslies 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 yesterday, 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 Coleridge came to dine with us, without Mrs. Barlow, who was ill. On Wednesday we all dined at home ; and yesterday Fletcher Fleming 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-morrow we are going down to Penny Bridge, and will return on Mon- day or Tuesday. On Wednesday, which is Ambleside VOL. II. I 130 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 compliments to Mrs. Alison. I will write to mamma from Pennv Bridge. — I am, my dear little boy, your most loving and affectionate father, Tpie Old Max." 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 Ishmd with a large party. On "Wednesday, I went to Ambleside fair, and settled a few bills. Eichard Sowden dined with me at Elleray on that day, and kept furnishiug me ^vith his talk till one o'clock in the morning — the girls being at the Miss Bartons'. On Thursday, I went again to Ambleside, ^\\i\\ William and George Fleming, to see the wrestling. It was very good. A man from Cumberland, with a wliite hat and brown shirt, threatened to fling everybody, and 'foight' LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 131 them afterwards. The ' foighting ' I put a stop to. He stood till the last, but was thrown by a schoolmaster of the name of Eobinson, cousin to the imp who used to be at EUeray, who won the belt with a handsome in- scription — ' From Professor AVilson/ We had then a number of single matches, the best of three throws ; and Collinson cf Bowness threw Eobinson easily, he himself haAdng been previously thrown by the Cumbrian for the belt. One Drunky, who had also been thrown for the belt, then threw Collin soil, 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 Ptowland 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 ' Endeavour.' On the same Friday, we dined with William Garnet, and at tea met some young ladies, the Miss Wiiiyards, 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 dine 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 Jolmny ! Mind all your dear mother says, and be 132 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. kind in all thinGfS, and attentive 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 Wednesday, 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 sponge out of Ebony. I shall also send to Eobert 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 Ohserver and Evening Post. Isij expec- tations of my room are very high. I intend to get John Watson to give me a head of you, to hang up over the LITERAEY ANE DOMESTIC LIFE. 133 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 AVilsox." 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 throuojh a life of error, loving; the cjood and hating^ the evil, yet unable to resist it. His companionship was always delightful to the Professor, and many hours of converse they held ; his best and happiest moments were those spent at Elleray. My father had a great power over him, and exerted it with kind but firm determination. On one occasion he was kept imprisoned for some weeks under his surveillance in order that he mioht finish some literary work he had promised to have ready by a cer- tain time. He completed his task, and when the day of release came, it was not intended that he should leave Elleray. But Hartley's evil demon was at hand ; with- out one w^ord of adieu to the friends in whose presence 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, until the sound of his far-off footsteps gradually died away in the distance, and he hiinself w^as hidden, not in the groves of the valley, but in some obscure den, where, drinking among low companions, liis mind was soon brouofht to a level with theirs. Then these clouds would after a time pass away, and he 134 Mr:MOiR of joiin wilson. again returned to the society of those who could appre- ciate him, and who never ceased to love him. Every one loved Hartley Coleridge ; there was some- thing in his appearance that evoked kindliness. Ex- tremely boyish in aspect, his juvenile air was aided not a little by liis general mode of dress — a dark blue cloth round jacket, white trousers, black silk handkerchief 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 read- ing, 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 Elleray was very striking. Both were earnest in manner and peculiar in expression. 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 philosophical in- terest — perhaps the madness of Hamlet, or whether or not he was a perfect gentleman — they w^ould pour forth such torrents of eloquence that those present would have wished them to speak for ever. After a pause, off again through the rooms backw^ards 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 LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 135 like some familiar spirit, one moment looking venge- ance, the next limnble, obeisant. Is it not true that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children ? Certain it is that the liuht of (jenins he inherited was dimmed from its orioinal source. He found no repose upon earth, but wandered like a breeze, until he was laid down in the quiet churchyard of Gras- mere, close beside the resting-place of William AYords- worth.^ 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 iS^rth," '' Christmas Dreams," '' Health and Longevity," '' Salmonia," and " Sacred Poetry." My mother, writing to her sister in September, asks her : — " Have you read Blackwood's last number ? I mean any of it. '' Christopher in his Sporting Jacket" is thought very good; and Mr. AV. 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 tojDic : — '' 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 o o o * Hartley Coleridge, son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, born 1796 ; died 1851. 136 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 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 lie has nothing^ to disturb him/' The mothers heart is shown in the following lines : — '' Johnny is pre- paring 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, vshe says : — '' The three last- mentioned accomplishments (drawing, fencing, and dancing) are only recreations, 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 daresay it was flattering, but she has a way of saying things that appears as if they were not flattering. I would copy it now for you, but that I think you must be tired of the old mother's egotism. I have not men- tioned 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, grammar, 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 t(ill their own story : — '* 27, Lower Belgrave Place, Wth September 1828. " My deae FrJEND, — 1 have cut and cleared away right and left, and opened a space for your \^ery beau- LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 137 tifiil 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 oreat and lastini,^ 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, and I have, when the labour of the day closed, endeavoured 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 independent 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 moder- ate ; and having engaged to produce the literature 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 re- mitted by post to EdinburglL 1 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 — • ^ The dnmversarj/. 138 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. *' ' 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 lor 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 AValter Scott, Professor Wilson, Mr. Southey, Mr. Lockhart, and one or two more, are re- solved to support me, he will comprehend that the speculation will be profitable, and close with me ac- cordingi}^ Do, I beg and entreat of you, agree to this, and say so when you v/rite. " Eoroive all this forwardness and earnestness, and believe me to be your faithful servant and admirer, '' Allan Cunningha^^l'' *' 27, Lower Belgrate Place, "November 7, 1828. '' My DEiVE Friend, — My little Annual — thanks to your exquisite Kddeiiine, and your kind and sea- sonable words — has been verv successful. It is not yet published, and cannot appear these eight days, yet we have sold 6000 copies. The booksellers all look kindly upon it , the proprietor is very much pleased with his success ; and it is generally looked upon here as a work fairly rooted in public favour. The first large paper prooi-copy ready shall be on its way to Gloucester Place before it is an hour farished. It is indeed outwardly a most splendid book. LITERACY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 139 '' I must now speak of the future. The Keepsake people last season bought up some of my friends, and imagined, because they had succeeded with one or two emment ones, that my book was crushed, and would not be anything 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 endeavour to gather all the friends round me that I can. I have been witli our mutual friend Lockhart this morning, and we have made the following arrangement, which he permits me to mention to you, in the hope you will aid me on the same conditions. He has promised me a poem, and a piece of prose to the extent of from twenty to thirty pages, for £50, and engaged to write for no other annual. Now if you would help me on the same terms, and to the same extent, I shall consider myself fortunate. It is true you kindly 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 will 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 w^ould influence you. It is enough to say, that my rivals w^ill 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 ' Edderline,' and many other things equally delightful, can prevent this, and to him I look for help. " I shall try Wordsworth in the sarnie way. I am sure of Southey and of Ed. Irving. I shall limit my 14:0 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 ap- plause 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 ' Edderline/ 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 Fpjend, — 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 publication. You will be glad to hear that the book has been favourably received, and the general impression seems to be, that while the Kcc])salzc is a little below expectation, the Anniversary is a little above it. I am told by one in whose judgment I can fully confide, that our poetry is superior, and '' Edderline's Dream" the noblest poem in an;}] of the annuals. This makee me happy ; it puts us at the head of these publications. " I took the liberty of writing a letter to you lately, and ventured to make you an offer, which I wish, in justice to my admiration of your talents, had been worthier of your merits. I hope and entreat you will think favourably of my request, and give me your aid, as powerfully as you can. If you but knew the opposi- LITEKAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 141 tion 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 Kcej)- sake, inasmuch as he dipt Ms pen exclusively for that publication. I know his poetic contributions, and fear them not when I think on ' Eddeiiine.' " 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 my friends, to maintain the re- putation 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 ' Eddeiiine' 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 Belgrave Place, " \2th Decemher 1828. " My dear Fpjend, — I enclose you some lines for your friend's paper, and am truly glad of any 023por- 11:2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. tiuiity of obliging you. I like Mr. Bell's Journal^ mucli. He understands, I see, what poetry is ; a thing not com- mon among critics. Tf there is anything else you wish me to do, say so. I have not the heart to refuse you anything. " I was much pleased with your kind assurances re- specting my next year s volume. Mr. Lockhart said he would write to you, and I hope you will unite with him and Irvino^ in contributini:^' for me alone. As I have o o 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 sucli is the rage for Annuals at present, that a poet so eminent as you are may command terms. I ought, perhaps, to be satisfied with the kind assurances you have given and not be over greedy. '' One word about Wordsworth. In his last letter to me, he said that Alaric Watts had a prior claim, ' Only,' quoth he, ' Watts says I go about depreciating other Annuals out of rega^l for the Keepsake, This is untrue. I only said, as the Keejysake paid poets best, it would be the best work.' This is not depreciating ! He advised me, before he knew who were to be my con- tributors, 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 a very pleasant, witty contribution, from Theo- dore Hook. — I remain, my dear friend, yours faithfully, " Allan Cunningham. ^ The Ediahurgh Literary Gazette, LITERARY AXD DO^^IESTIC LIFE. 143 " 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 j^ou 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 Professor s powerful aid. "Edderline's Dream/' unfortunately, a frac^^ment, some cantos havino- 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 The Edinhitrgh Literarij Gazette, then edited by Mr. Henry Glassford Bell, whose abilities as a student in the Moral Philosophy clPtSS had attracted 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. Support 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 follow further his original impulses in this direction has been matter of surprise. So strong a genius as his can hardlv be supposed to have quite 144 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. missed its proper direction. Yet from the date of the publication of the '' City of the Plague/' up to 1829, there is no indication of his having seriously bent his mind to poetical composition. 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 Blackiooocl, entitled, " An Evening in Furness Abbey,'' or something of that kind. It will be too long for yoii to read, but perhaps Ann will do so, and tell you what it is about." From the pub- lication 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, '' Uni- more," 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 insuper- able difficulties.^ "The Manse" was another subject he ^ Contrasting his present experience with his early poetic dreams, he says : — ^^ Those days are gone. And it has pleased high Heaven to croAvn my life With such a load of happiness, that at times My very soul is faint with bearing np the blessed bnrden." . . . - He corresponded with Mr. Aird a good deal on this subject. His letters are too lengthy for insertion, but it is refreshing to hnd 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.'' LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 145 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 sub- due it, may be gathered from the next letter, received during this holiday time at Elleray : — "Mount Benger, Avgust 11, 1829. "My deae and hoxoueed Johx, — I never thought you had been so unconscionable as to desire a sports- man on the 11th or even the 13th of Auoust to leave Ettrick Forest for the bare scraggy hills of Westmore- land ! — Ettrick Forest, where the black cocks and white cocks, brown cocks and grey cocks, ducks, plovers, and peaseweeps and whilly-whaups are as thick as the flocks that cover her mountains, and come to the hills of Westmoreland that can nourish nothino; better than a castril or stonechat ! To leave the great yellow-fin of Yarrow, or the still larger grey-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 yourself; for besides, what would become of Old North and Blackwood, and all our friends for game, were I to come to Elleray just now ^ I know of no home of man where I could be so happ}' within doors with so many lovely and joyous face 3 around me; but this is not the season for in-docr enjoyments ; they must be reaped on the wastes among the blooming heath, by the silver spring, or swathed in the delicious breeze of the wilderness. Elleray, with ^ The split in the Churcii of Scotland in 1843. VOL. II. K 146 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 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 disadvan- tage. Happy days to you, and a safe return ! — Yours most respectfully, James Hogg." The following letter, written about the same time, from my father to his friend Mr. Fleming, is unfortunately torn at the conclusion, but what remains of it is suffi- ciently interesting to be given : — " My deae 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 wdfe come to us to-morrow, and leave us on Friday. I cannot therefore go to Keswick till Saturday, and from Keswick I have to go to Buttermere and Cromack, and, if possible, Ennerdale and Wastwater. The artist who accompanies me, or rather whom I accompany, is un- fortunately the most helpless of human beings, and incapable of finding his Avay alone among mountains for one sinoie 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 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 147 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, indeed, even as it is, 1 have little hope of his achieving my purpose. He can neither w^alk nor ride, nor remember the name of the lake, village, vale, or house, and yet lie is an excellent artist, though a most incapable man. I returned from a three days' tour with him on Saturday night, and would have iminediately 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 Tuesday ; and 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 activity, a little impaired now, though not to any melancholy extent, and appear at Eayrig at five o'clock. '' It would have been pleasant had the three friends met, in a quiet way, at Eayrig ; 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. '' AVith regard to the conversation of Cab^arth about the Edinburgh 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 1 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 Nodes, vol. ii. pp. 185-lDO. 148 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. of opinion in our minds respecting those liicleous trans- actions, that might not be reconciled in three minutes' uninterrupted conversation. But I never yet recollect a single conversation in a mixed company, on any sub- ject on which some difference of opinion between two parties had been expressed or intimated, where it was not rendered impossible to reconcile it by the inter- position of a third or fourth party taking up some point connected with, perhaps, but not essentially belonging to the point at issue. The aigument, if there has been one, is thus broken in upon, new topics introduced, and, without tedious explanation?), it is scarcely possible to get back to the real question. Something of this kind occurred, I remember, at Ca] garth. Watson and Lord De Tabley joined in with certain remarks — right enough, perhaps, in their way — but such as involved and en- tangled 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 disagreement. In early life I fear that my studies were not such as habituated 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 humorously described, was taken to Westmoreland by Professor Wilson, 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 LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 149 disaster that overtook the niimeroiis illustrations that had been made. A letter from so celebrated a man as Thomas Carlyle naturally awakens interest, to know how he and Profes- sor 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 friend- ship. It seems that these two gifted men never met, at least not more than once agjain after their first introduc- tion, which took place in the house of Mr. John Gordon, at one time a favourite pupil, and ever after a dearly - loved friend of my father. '*Craigenputtock, Dumfries, I9th December 1829. " My dear Sir, — Your kind promise of a Christmas visit has not been forgotten here ; and though we are not without misgivings 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 favour, that warm hearts may welcome in the cold New- Year, and the voice of poetry and philosophy, numeris lege sohctis, 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 150 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. winter and the devil are so busy in onr planet. There are seasons when one seems as if emancipated from the ' prison called life/ as if its bolts were broken, and the Eussian ice-palace were changed into an open sunny Tcmpe, 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 capa- bilities 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-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 warnino;, we would send you down two horses ; of wheel carriages (except carts and barrows) we are still unhappily destitute. ISTay, in any case, the distance, for a stout Scottish man, is but a morning walk, and this is the loveliest Decem- ber 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 Edin- burgh newspaper since I returned hither ; so what you are doing in that unparalleled city is altogether a mystery to me. Scarcely have tidings of the Scotsman- Mermry duel reached me, and how the worthies failed to shoot each other, and the one has lost his editorship, LITEKAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 151 and the other still continues to eclit.-^ 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.' ciiras homi- num ! I have some thoughts of beginning to loroyhesy 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 affection, as I will ever remember you. My wife sends you her kindest regards, and still hopes against hope that slie shall wear her Goethe brooch this Christmas, a thing only done when there is a man of genius in the company. '' I must break off, for there is an Oxonian Qio-man 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 himself any justice, 1 cordially agree. — Believe me always, my dear Sir, yours wdtli affectionate esteem, " Thomas Caelyle." About this time I find another letter from Mr. Lock- hart, referring to the contest for the University of Ox- ford in 1829, wdien Sir Eobert Peel was unseated : — ^ One of the pleasant little incidents of those agreeable times, when it was considered necessary that the editors of the Scotsman and the Caleao- nian Mercury should exchange shots to vindicate a fine-art criticism. The principals were Mr. Charles Maclaren and Dr. James Browne. The *^^ hos- tile meeting" took place at seven o'clock in the morning, on the 12th November 1829. 1 52 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. " London, 24, Sussex Place, Regent's Paek, Sunday, " My dear Wilson, — I am exceedingly anxious to hear from yon, firstly about Landor, wliat you have done, or what I really may expect to count on, and tvhen? You will see Blanco AVhite's review ere this reaches you. I think it wont do, being full of cox- combry, and barren of information, and in all the lighter parts maitvais 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 Ingiis. 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, Ingiis, and the Catholic Question, tria jiineta in uno. The Duke now counts on forty ma- jority 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 I^o Popery row, the Catholics to swallow a bill seasoned originally for the gnsto of the Defender of the Paith. '' How are you all at home ? — Ever yours, ''J. G. LOCKHAET. '' 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 Pro- LITER AEY AXD DOIMESTIC LIFE. 153 fessor/' of wliich I have made partial use in a previous chapter : — ^^ Sunday Eveniiig, June 1829. '' My deae De Quixcey, — I had intended calling at the Nab to-morrow, to know whether or not you had left Edinburgh ; but from the Literary Gazette, received this morning, I perceive you are still in the Modern Athens. I wish, when you have determined on coming hitherwards, that you would let me have intimation thereof, as an excursion or two among the mountains, ere summer fades, would be pleasant, if practicable. " Your sketch of the Professor has given us pleasure at Elleray. It has occurred to me that you may pos- sibly allude, in the part which is to follow, to the cir- cumstance 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 favour cliecl about a fort- night ao'o, , and anv allusion to it mioht 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 sith 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 154 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSOK. know of, was made the subject of a poem, old Withers (the City Eemembrancer) excepted, and some drivelling of Taylor the AVater-Poet. Defoe's fictitious prose nar- rative I had never read, except an extract or two in P)ritton 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, witliout reference to their malignity, will make me and others more happy than any kind ex- pression you may u.se regarding my genius or talents. In the Lights and Shadows, Margaret Lyndsay, The Foresters, and many articles in Blaekioood (such as Selby's 'Ornithology'^), I have washed 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 humour, 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 pro- bably 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 boundk^ss panegyric from anybody else. I feel that I am totally free from all jealousy, spite, envy, and uncharitableness. I am not so pas- sionate in temper as you think. In comparison with yourself, I am the Prince of Peacefulness, lor you are a natore of dreadful passions subdued by reason. I "^ November 1826. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 15e^ wish yon would praise me as a lecturer on Moral Philosophy. That would do me good ; and say that I am thoroughly logical and argumentative — 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 rheumatism. — 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 companion in pedestrian rambles and the sharer of his purse, till the hour of his death, that friendship remained unbroken, though , sometimes, in his strange career, months or years would elapse with- out 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 nature. For fine sentiment and much tender kindli- ness of disposition gleamed through the dark mists which had gathered around him, and imperfectly per- mitted him to feel the virtue he so eloquently described. For the most part his habit of s}TLipathy 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 believe that the man they represent is De Quincey himself But not even 156 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. in the " Antobiography" is his ijersonnel to be found. He indeed knew how to analyse 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 serpent. The same faults in common men would have excited contempt ; the same irregularities of life in ordinary mortals would 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 great- ness had at first taken possession of. Wilson loved him to the last, and better than any man he understood him. In the expansiveness of his own heart, he made allowances for faults which experience taught him were the growth of circumstance. It may seem strange that men so opposite in character were allied to each other by the bonds of friendship ; but I think that all ex- perience shows that sympathy, not similarity, di^aws 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 LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 157 ordered a room to be prepared for him, and they found each other such good company that this accidental detention was prolonged, without further difficulty, for the greater part of a year. During this visit some of his eccentricities did not escape observation. For example, he rarely appeared at the family meals, pre- ferring 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 invariably 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 over- whelming importance, if you do not remember to cut the mutton in a diagonal rather than in a longitudinal 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 maister that was wantino^ his dinner, he would ha' ordered a hale tablefu' 158 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. wi' little mair than a waff o' his hauii, 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 in- sight of Mr. De Quincey's character by no means sligiit, 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. Eegularity in doses of opium were even of greater consequence. An ounce of laudanum per diem pros- trated animal life in the early part of the day. It v/as no unfrequent sight to find him in his room lying upon the rug in front of the fire, his head resting upon a book, with his arms crossed over his breast, plunged in profound slumber. For several hours he would lie in this state, until the effects of the torpor had passed away. The time when he was most brilliant was gene- rally towards the early morning hours ; and then, more than once, in order to sliow him off, my father arranged his supper parties so that, sitting till three or four in the morning, he brought Mr. De Quincey to tliat point at which in charm and power of conversation he was so truly wonderful.-^ 1 Mr. De Quincey died at Edinburgh, December 8, 1859. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 159 CHAPTEE XIII. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE — A CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 1830-37. In 1830, we get some glimpses of home life in Glou- cester 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 transported with the idea of so much enjoyment, and I hope they will not be disappointed indeed. I do not think Mr. Professor can refuse 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, jMr. Findlay, in the neighbourhood 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 daresay you have heard him mention often ; he lived in his house for several years before he went to Glasgow College." My father really must have been '' parti- cularly busy" at this time, and his powers of work- ing seem to me little short of miraculous ; he had two articles in Blachwood in January ; four in February ; 160 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. three in March ; one each in April and May ; four in June ; three in July ; seven in August (or 116 pages) ; one in September ; two in October ; and one in No- vember and December : being thirty articles in the year or 1200 columns. To give an idea of his versa- tility, I shall mention the titles of his articles in the Magazine for one month, viz., August : — '' The Great Moray Floods;'' "The Lay of the Desert;" "The Wild Garland, and Sacred Melodies ;'' " Wild- Fowl Shooting;'' " Cohnan's Eandom Piecords ;" "Clark on Climate;" " Noctes, No. 51." My mother, v/hile 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 jocularly to her correspondent : " I think I must give you a little literature, as I shine in that line prodigi- ously ; I have read, with intense interest, as everybody must do, Moore's Life of Lord Byron, INIr. AV. had a copy sent to him fortunately ; for strange as it may ap- pear, it is not to be had in the booksellers' shops here, and I suppose 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, Sejyiember 1830. '' My deaeest Jane, — We came here yesterday ; and my intention 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 fol- lows : — We return in a body to Elleray (that is, I and LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 1 6 1 Maggy, and James Terrier) this forenoon. There is a ball at Mrs. Edmund'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 EUeray till Monday, when she and the boys will go in a body to Penny Bridge, and I return alone to Edinliurcjh. " From your letters I see you are well ; and I can- not deny Maggy the pleasure of the two balls ; so re- main 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 dinner- 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. Eobinson, the schoolmaster, threw Brunskil, and Irvine threw Eobinson ; but the last fiill was made up between them, and gave no satis- faction. The good people here are all well and 1:1-11(1. 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, l:)ut is in high spirits, and VOL. II. L 162 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. all liis conversation is about the fair sex. He is a pleasant man, I think, and I took a ride with him to Grasmere t'other day. The old fool waltzes very well, and is in love with Maggy. He dined with us at Elleray on Sunday. I have not seen the Watsons for a long time, but shall call on tliem to-morrow. The w^eather and the uncertainty of my motions have stood in the way of many things. I have constant toothache and rheumatism, but am tolerably well notwithstand- ing. Give my love to Molly and Umbs. Tell tlicm 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 affec- tionate husband, J. Wilson." A few days later he writes : — " Elleray, Monday Afternoon, October 1880. " My deaeest Jane,— The Ijall at Ambleside went off with great Mat, Maggy l^eing 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, Llaggy and Johnny made calls on horseback, and we in the ' Gazelle.' We took farewell of the Watsons, ]\Ir. Garnet dines with us at Elleray, and the boys at Lowood with the Cantabs. To-morrow they go to Penny Bridge, and J. Terrier to Oxford, and I to Kendal. So expect me by the mail on Wednesday, to dinner, at five, if I get a place at LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 163 Carlisle. I found tlie Penny Bridge people were anxious, so I let the bairns go to tliem till after tlie Hunt ball ; and no doubt tliey 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 drawino^-room and dinino^-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, yonr affectionate hus- band, Johnny Wilson.'' "Ellelay, Monday, 1830. '' My deaeest Jane, — I had a letter this morning from Maggy, dated Saturday, Bangor Ferry, all ivell ; 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 Thurs- day. I think I shall stay till slie 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 w^ell. 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 — Engiishers 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 Langdale to Ambleside. 164 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. " It was a deliglitful day as to weatlier, acd we en- joyed ourselves considerably. '' At Ambleside, where we arrived about lialf-past six, we dined in great strength. The Carr surgeon, the Costelloe ditto, uohn Harden, Eletcher Fleming, an- other person, I think, and ourselves five. I got home about twelve all steady. Sunday, that is yesterday, was one of the most complete things of the kind I re- member 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 TlmtTsday. Write you on 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 Chiefs wood at all. Hartley Coleridge came here on Saturday, and is looking well and steady. He sends his kindest regards to you, Mary, and XJmbs. Do you wish me to bring Maggy with me ? — Yours most affec- tionately, J. Wilson. '' I got your kind letter duly this morning.'^ " Deaeest 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 affec- tionate father, J. W." LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 165 Next year he paid another visit to Westmoreland, from which he .writes to his wife : — '^ Penny Bridge, Sunday, 2Gth Sept 1831. '' My deae 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 ^vhich hour it has never ceased raining one minute, nor has one of the family been out of doors. They are all well, including 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 jSTew by Bridge, I will take 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 Eayrig for two days or three, and either on Thursday or Friday arrive to- gether 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 JMary wrote a long letter on Tues- day last, full, I presume, of news, I have nothing to communicate in that line. Birkbeck has been at Elle- ray for two or three days, and Johnny says he expects 166 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. Stoddart, who perhaps may be there on my retm^n to- night. We all went to the Kendal ball, which the yonng people seemed to enjoy. Twenty- six went from Bowness, forming the majority of the rank and beanty. I hope yon have been all quite well since I saw yon, as all letters seem to indicate, and that I shall find yon all well on my return. A severe winter lies before me, for I must lecture on Political Economy this Session, as well as Moral Philosophy ; and that Magazine will also weigh heavy on me. I certainly cannot work as I once could, and feel easily wearied and worn down with long sitting ; but what must be must, and toil I must, what- ever be the consequence. The month before the Session opens will be of unspeakable im] )ortance to me, to relieve if possible my miserable appearance in College begin- ning 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 uneasiness 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 labour this winter like a galley- slave ; and since it is for us all, in that at hast, I shall be doing what is at once right and difficult, and in itself deserving of commendation. If I fall throuoh it, it shall only be with my life, or illness beyond my strength to bear up against. I hope ]\Iaggy'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 Mondaij, the evening you receive this, and sent to post-office then. I LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 167 may, or ratlier must miss tliem, but if anything prevents it I sliall conclude yoii are undoubtedly all well. You need not send any newspapers after receipt of this, but please to keep them together. Do not say anything 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 trouble 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 deae Jane, — I expect to be at home on Friday per mail, or ' Peveril,' to dinner. I purpose riding over to Penrith with Garnet on the ponies on Wednes- day, 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.-^ Charlie^ is in high glee and condition. The avenue is beautiful, and the gate pretty, the low walls being covered witli 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 1 The myrtle was my mother's favourite plant. ^ A spaniel belonging to my mother. 1G8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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. Piover 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 ex- pect to find you all well, and if possible alone and in good humour on Friday, for I shall be very tired. Stoddart brought letters. I opened Mags and yom's, but not the other two, which beino; about eating; had no charms. — Your affectionately, J. Wilson." That the Magazine did weigh heavily upon him I do not wonder, as he had already written twenty articles durin^]^ 1831, five of which were in the Auoust number. During this year, too, he commenced those noble critical essay s 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 philosophical in- quiry, combined with stirring vivacity, are nowhere 1 The first appeared in April, followed by Numbers 2 and 3 in May and July. In August, a critique on the Agamemnon of ^schylus interrupted the essays, but they were resumed again in December, continued at inter- vals from 1832 to 1834, making in all seven papers. 2 Gladstone's Stmlics on Homer and the Homeric Age. LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 169 more attractively displayed than in these essays of my father. But not to the learned alone do they give delight, for my hiiml^le admiration makes me turn to them again and again. The following letter from Mr. Sothehy relating to these papers, may come in here : — *' 13, LowEii Grosvenok Place, October 8, 1831. ^' My deae Sir, — One month, two months, three months' grievous disappointment, intolerable disap- pointment. Homer and his tail, Chapman, Pojie, and Sotheby in dim eclipse. AVhat 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 labour, to correct the Iliad, and to endeavour 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 170 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON, " measure desirous of the benefit of your censures. The remarks (however flattering) with which I have been honoured by others, are less valuable to me than your censures ; of this, the proof will be evident in the sub- sequent edition. " You must not, you cannot leave your work incom- plete. How resist the night e.\pedition of Diomede and Ulysses? — Hector bursting the rampart — Juno and the Cestus — Hector rushing on, like the stalled horse snap- ping the cord — The death of Sarpedon — The consterna- tion of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the armed Achilles — The Yulcanian armour — Achilles mourning over Patroclus — The conclusion of the twentieth book — The lamentations 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 innu- merable other passages be resisted by the poet of the ' City of the Plague ? ' N"o, no, no. '' In sooth, 1 must say, I had hope that at Christmas T might have collected, and printed for private distri- bution, or, far rather published, for public delight and benefit, with your express permission, the several cri- tiques 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 beo^ the favour of hearing from you. — I remain, my dear Sir, most sincerely yours, Wm. Sotheby."^ ^- Wmiam Sotheby, born November 9, 1757 ; died Deceraber 30, 1833. LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 171 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 danohter of the Bishop of Llandaff, and a woman of high mental attain- ments. When my father resided as a yonng man in AVestmoreland, she was then in the flower of her age, and in constant 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 accom- plished student in that very department of literature which he most cultivated, namely, aE that class of work 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 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 effect of the reform measures in the contemplation of Government : — ''December 3, 1831. " My deak PEOFESSort, — 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 172 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. never made a finer speech, and I shall diink the Pro- fessor'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 Eevolution/ 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 sup- pose, which I can't find out. Blackwood sent me Robert of Paris, etc., which I am very much pleased to have. I have not begun it yet ; indeed, I am not well, nor would have sent you so dull a letter, but that I could not delay saying how much I was gratified by the papers. — Ever believe me yours 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 Eeform ; and every night put down your conversation, and let me see it in BlackwoocL 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 LITEPvAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 173 those ' Noctes/ AVrite one, and let it be a good one. Wordsworth says ' that the booksellers are all aghast ! and that another dark ag;e is comino^ on.' I think he is not far wrong. He is a wonderful creature when he will deign to be what nature made him, not artificial society. He read one of liis poems to me. The subject was some gold-fish, but the latter stanzas were mag- nificent ! Oil, what a pity it is to see so noble a creature condescending to be the ass of La Fontaine's Fable ! Adieu ! 1 have written beyond my power of hand. I would rather far listen to you than write to you. I cannot now make up a letter, but my heart is still the same. It was tlie 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 thiugs, tluit " Often have I heard it said, and have my eyes loathed to see it ^\Titten, 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 honourable character gave me. I have slept in the cottages of hundreds of the poor. I have sat by the cottar's ingle on the Saturday night, and seen the grey-haired patriarch with pleasure unfold the ] 74 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. sacred page — the solace of his humble but honourable 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 understanding 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 readino^ those weather- o 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 turbulances which now agitate the surface of society, but which, I hope, will soon subside into a cahn, and leave the c(juntry 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 amiable 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- 1 Edinburgh Advertiser, Nov. 29, 1S31. LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 175 tiling but flattering, from which I give two lines as a specimen — '' The Professor got up and spoke of sobriety, KeKgion, 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 doggrel, nor express my own that they could have been published by a man who has frequently had the honour 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 w^ith the passing of this accursed Eeform Bill. I never look into a newspaper now ; but we shall see what they will make of it by and by." Among my fathers 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,"^ the first edition of which had appeared two years previously. The critique was severe, yet kindly and discriminating. The writer re- marking good-bumouredly 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 om^ article we may have exaggerated Mr. Tennyson's not unfrequent silliness, for we are apt to be carried away by the whim ^ Poems, chiefly Lyrical. By Alfred Tennyson. London : E. Wilson. 1830. r 176 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. of the moment, and, in om^ liumorous 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 Avhen, beneath sun and shower, his genius would grow up and expand into a stately tree, embowering a solemn shade within its wide circimifer- ence, 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 ex- ception, the verses condemned by the critic were omitted or altered in after editions.^ 1 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, Rusty Christopher : When I learned from w^hom it came, I forgave you all the blame, Musty Christopher ; I could not forgive the praise, Fusty Christopher." 2 "The National Song;" ^^ English War Song;'* "We are Free ;'* ^•' Love, Pride, and Forgetfulness ;" Sonnet, " Shall the hag Evil," etc. ; "The ^How' and the ^ Why ;' " "TheKraken," etc. etc., are all con- signed to oblivion, or to our acquisitive brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, who may have preserved these youthful effusions in the Ameri- can editions. CEUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADEON. 177 In June 1832, my mother writes : — '' Mr. AVilson lias 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, ]832. "My DEAREST Jane, — I have received your favour of last Saturday, 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 bcthera- tion 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. Tlie ' Ver- non,' who is at AVoolwich, 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 squadron are to meet at Ply- mouth. All this keeps me in a quandary, and I have not been able to see Sir E. Collier, the captain of the ' Vernon,' but possibly shall to-morrow. Since I wrote I have been again at Woolwich, and seen the oihcers of the ' Vernon.' They were at first rather alarmed at the idea of a professor, and wondered what the deuce he wanted on board. I understand that they are now VOL. II. • M 178 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. ill better liumour ; but tlie truth is, that pride is the leadinii 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 offisliers, 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 gjoinij to the Thomsons' down the river, and shall call again on my wa}^ on the ' Yernon,' to see what is doino\ Meanwhile, vou will o^et this letter on Friday, and he sure it is ansivered that evening, anel sent to the General Post-Offiee. I shall thus hear from you on Monday, and shall then (if not off) have to tell you all oui future intentions. IMeanwhile it is reported that the eholerct is on hoarel the ' Vernon/ If so, I shall not go, but proceed to the Tyne. But say nothing of this to anybody. Yesterday I visited Kensington GTardens with Captain Hope, but saw nobody like ]\Iaggy, jMary, Umbs, and yourself I met there Lord Haddington, and am to dine ^^ ith him, if I can, before sailing ; but I hope we shall be at rendezvous by 1 Charles Gray, see vol. i. p. 201. CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 179 Monday niglit. Tell Maggy to give me all news, and if you have heard again from Johnny. I will send you in my 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 '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, and he will be my banker for small sums. I will also send a receipt, which you will get on the Qttli 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 liim 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 :- " Ujnion Hotel, Charing Cross, July 16, 1832. '' My DEAPt 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 v:ra2:) %l]) in a 'pared, two silver soup-spoons, tioo tea-spoons, and tioo silver forks, and direct them to me at Union Hotel, Charing Cross, per mail, without delay. Sec them hooked at the office. Young ladies take such things to school, 180 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. and young gentlemen, it seems, to sea. See that the direction is distinct. Write to me by the same post, or if anything 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 anything about the 'Vernon in any newspaper. Be good girls and boys till my return, and do not all forget your old Dad. Love to mamma, and tell me if you have heard farther from Johnny. — Thy affectionate father, J. Wilson.'' TO MRS. WILSON. " No. 2, Pakk Terrace, Grekn^^t[ch, Friday. '' Ma bonne Citoyenne, — I am now fahly estabhshed here in lodgings, that is, in a room looking into Greenwich Park, with liberty to take my meals in a parlour belonging to the family. The master thereof is a Frenchman, and a Professor of Languages, and the house swarms with frog^, that is, children. I pay fourteen shillings a week for lodging, which is a salu- tary change from the hotel. I dine with Tatnal or Williams, or at a shilJing ordinary, 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 fruns themselves, which are to be taken in at Sheerness. I have seen Sir P. Collier, who behaves civilly, but he CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 181 cannot comprehend what I want on board the ' Vernon/ 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. Mean- while, 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 ' Ores- tes' has gone. The 'Tyne' sails to-morrow for Ply- mouth. The 'Vernon,' it is thouHit, cannot be off before the 27th, so that there will be time to write me again before I go to sea. You will get this 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 pro- bability of our touching at some Scotch port. I have been several times at Sir Henry Blackwood's, in Eegent Park ; pleasant family, and fashionable. I forgot if I mentioned that I went to the Opera, singing and danc- ing, and tout-ensemUe beautiful. A Miss Doyle (a Paddy about thirty-five), at Sir H. B.'s, plays the harp ten times better than Taylor. She is held to be the finest harpist we have. Miss Blackwood is very pretty, and clever. I go up to town to-day to dine with Mrs. Burke, and to-morrow a party of us eat white bait at the 'Crown and Sceptre' here. Besides the 'Vernon,' there are lying at AVoolwich two new gun-brigs, also 182 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. built by Symonds, called the ' Snake' and the ' Serpent.' They go with ns 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 incomparable beauty. You have just to imagine the ' Endeavour' magnified, 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 actinsf 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 receive 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 ine an account of his route and his exploits. Blah^ 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 Baton. CHUISE WITH THE EXPEEIMENTAL SQUADEON. 183 Perhaps Umbs lias a voice ! Tell her to try. Compli- ments to Rover."^ God bless you all, and believe niP, dearest Jane, yours ever most affectionately, " JoHX Wilson." " Sheerness, Aiigitst 4, 1832. '' ]\Iy dearest Jaxe, — 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 Sheer- ness for the jSTore, and that to-morrow we set sail down the Channeh either for Cork or Madeira, or somewhere else, for nobody knows where. I never knew what noise was, till I got on board the ' Vernon.' But all goes on well ; the particulars in my next. I enclose you a five-pound note just to pay the postage. I can- not 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 tlimk this short letter unkind, for we are ordered off in half an hour. You may depend on my next being rather amusing. '' I shall be most anxious to hear from you, and of yon all, immediately.. You are all at leisure, and must get up a long joint letter, telling me of everything. Get a long sheet from Ebony, and cross it all over. Enclose it (directed to me in H.M.S. ' Vernon') to jNIr. Barrow, Admiralt}^, and he will transniit it duly. Do ^ One of the dogs. 184 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. not lose time. God bless you all, one and all, and believe me, my dearest Jane, ever yours affectionately, " John Wilson," '' 1832. '' My deaeest Jane, — I wrote to yon a few days ago from Slieerness, and now seize another hour to inform of our motions since I wrote from Londom I found my lodgings at Greenwich very comfortable, but experi- enced 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 ' Yernon' left Woolwich on Sunday ^ 29th July, in tow of two steam-boats, which took her to the Nore. On Monday 30th, she was taken into dock at Slieerness, 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 3lst, 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 danc- ing, and the family proved agreeable and amiable. At midnight we reached the ' Vernon,' all tolerably steady^ CEUISE WITH THE EXPEEIMENTAL SQUADRON. 185 tliat is to say, Mr. Massey, the first lieutenant, the captain, and myself. '' On Wednesday, 1st of Angust, 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 inspected Chatham and Eochester, and walked to Maidstone, where were the assizes ; so we proceeded to a village wayside inn, where we slept comfortably. Tliis walk gave us a view of the Vale of Alesford and the richest parts of Kent. '' On Thursday 2d, we returned to the ' Vernon,' 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 w^e 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 hcmteur. They have no mother, but an aunt lives with the Ad- miral, who is a kind-hearted soul as ever lived. I also called on Captain Chambers, captain of the ' Ocean,' ^v'llo 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 186 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. found him and his wife and family snugly situated in a good house, and civil to a degree. I dined on board the ' Ocean :' oflicers of that ship delightful fellows, and overwhelmed me with kindness. " Saturday the Uh, — The ' Snake' gun-brig from Wool- wich appeared in the offing going down the river, and the ' Ocean' saluted her with twelve guns. At mid- day the ' Vernon' manned her yards, a beautiful sight, while we received the Admiral. I lunched on board the 'Ocean,' and dined in the 'Vernon,' having in- spected all the docks and the model -room, and seen Sheerness completely. In the evening we were towed out to the JSTore. On Sunday the 5th, 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 ' Swin' off Norwich. Monday the 6th, — Weighed anchor at day-light witli a fine breeze, and went mto the Downs. Off Eamsgate, were joined by the ' Snake' and ' Pantaloon' gun-brigs, the latter the best sailer of her size ever known. It came on to blow fresh, and for several hours we tried it on upon a wind, having been joined by a number of cutters. The 'Vernon' rather beat the rest, but in my opinion not very far, the ' Pantaloon' sticlving to her like wax. But our sails are not yet stretched, and the opinion on board is, that she will, in another week or so, beat all opponents. The day was fine, and the sight beautiful, as we cruised along the white cliffs of Dover, and then well over to- CEUISE WITH THE EXPEiaMENTAL SQUADEON. 187 vrarcis the Frencli 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 Itli. — Tlie squadron left their anchor- age before Deal about twelve o'clock, with a strong breeze; the 'Clown' and 'Pantaloon' being to wind- ward of the 'Vernon/ and the 'Snake' rather to lee- ward. This position was retained for nearly two hours, when the ' Snake' dropped considerably astern, and the 'Vernon' weathered the 'Pantaloon,' the 'Clown' still keeping to windward and crossing our bows. At this juncture it blew hard, and I went down with Collier and Synionds to dinner in tlieir cabin. The ' Vernon' was now left in chai?ge of the first lieutenant, and in tacking missed stays. The 'Snake' and 'Pantaloon' immediately went to windward, and we were last of all. It still blew very fresh, and in about two houi^s 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 Stk — At seven o'clock found ourselves off Beachy Head with the ' Clown' a long way to lee- ward, the 'Snake' to windward, and the 'Pantaloon' 188 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. in our wake. The wind had shifted during the night, and we had the advantai^e 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 acci- dent 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 fell about forty feet upon the deck, within three yards of where I was standing. The crash was dread- ful, 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 S)tli, — The ship has been making con- siderable 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, sepa- CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 189 rated from where I now sit by a tliin 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 before, 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 un- likely that the Admiral (Malcolm) 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 sliall 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 kind- ness 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 commit- ted 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 an- other contest, in which the ' Yernon' was fairly beaten. 190 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. Ill smoGtli water and moderate winds the ' Snake' is at present her master, much to my surprise ; when it blows hard we are superior. Friday 10th. — This morn- ing 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 perambulat- ing 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, IMag, 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 Eobert 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 wiite from Cork. — Yours, J. W." *' Plymouth, August 2Zd. '' My dearest Jane, — I have, as you know, received 1 The Professor's ^' salary" was £72, 4s. 4d. per annum. CRUISE WITH THE EXPERIMENTAL SQUADRON. 191 your first long united epistle, and answered it in a hur- ried letter, telling you to write to me direct to Ply- mouth. 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 excur- sion of three days returned to Plymouth. On Tuesday the 14th I dined on board the ' Malta,' Captain Clavell, with a large party, and that evening went aboard the ' Campeadora' schooner, a pleasure -yacht belonging to Mr. Williamson, from Liverpool (nephew to old Shaw thereof, who, I understand, was a rich and well-bred personage), and sailed with him to Portsmouth, distant from Plymouth 150 miles. I passed two days at Ports- mouth viewing all the great works there ; and returned to Plymouth on Saturday the 1 7th, by a steamer ; a most stormy passage. Saturday and Sunday I dined on board the 'Vernon;' and on the Sunday I wrote to you the hurried letter above alluded to. On Monday the 19th, I dined with Mr. Eoberts, the master ship-buikler 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 lodging-room with Captain Williams, E.N., and his brother, the purser of the 'Vernon/ Wednesday the 2 ] st 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 Codring- ton and others. I dined with a party of offishers at the hotel. To-day (Thursday the 2 2d) I saw Sir F. Collier, who informed me that the squadron of Sir P. Malcolm, 192 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. consisting of seven sail, were in the ofFmg, and that the ' Vernon' 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 tire night of the said Tliursday ; I am on shore writing this. I hope that a letter from you will reach us to-morrow before we sail, thougli 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 instructions, to Plymouth, will be sent after us ere long. On receiving this please to write to me, directed to me under cover to Mr. Barroii\ 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 witliout seeing the expermiental 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 con- certs 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 JNIonday the 13th, I dined, not on board the ' Vernon,' but in the Admiral's house, with a splendid party. The ' Vernon ' has been much attacked in tlie 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 ' Endeavour.' 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 CRUISE WITH THE EXPEMMENTAL SQUADRON. 193 you all three or seven times a clay, or haply twenty- one. I suppose the lads have gone to EUeray, accord- ing to my permission in my last, and with the means of doing 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 AYilson.'' '^ Campeadora Schooner, Plymouth, August 31, 1832. " My dearest Jaxe, — After some anxiety from not liearing from you, your letter of the 23d, direct to Ply- mouth, reached me the day before yesterday, and in- formed me that all are well. I camiot conjecture what has become of your other letters, but I have received only one Iohgj one written conjunctly, and your owm of the 23d. Any or all intermediate must still be with jVIr. 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 arain, was also inconclusive. The chief struo;oie was between the ' Snake/ ' Castor/ and ' Vernoix' When going under full sail, in the s?ane tack, close- hauled to the wind, the ' Vernon ' was considerably ahead, the ' Castor ' next, and tlie ' Snake ' trying to VOL. II. N 194 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. shoot across the ' Castor's ' bow, hut without success. The ^Castor' carried away her jib-boom, and signal was thereupon made by the Admiral for us to put ahoiit. 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 bois- terous, 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 squadron 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 move- ments of the ' Vernon.' Judge of my feelings (mixed) when awakened at seven, and told all the ships had been a^one for several hours. At eii^ht we weiohed anclior and followed the fleet. Tlie tide favoured us, and so did a strong breeze from tlie land, and in a lew hours we discovered the squadron some leagues ahead, but to leeward, and they ^yeYe all racing, and, as we neared, T had a beautiful A^iew of all their motions. The ' Sjiakc ' was two miles ahead of all the others ; the ' Vernon ' and ' Prince ' were next, and close to- gether. The 'Trinciilo' 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 CEUISE WITH THE EXPERLMEXTAL SQUADKOX. 195 high ; frequent squalls darkened the sky, and shut out the ships, which ever and anon re -appeared 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. ]\Iy 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 lilier 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 ' Ximrod ;' the 'Castor' and ' Donegal ' were obliged to lie off during the night. The race was fifty miles, beating to windward, 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 con- sidered me a deserter. The night was passed some- what boisterousl}^, hut the name of the Caiivpcaclora never once mentioned ! ! ! ! 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 remained all anchored behind the Ijreakwater. Your welcome letter 19G MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. I received 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 Ply- moutli half- an- hour before the 'Snake/ His answer was, ' Tliat he had not seen her ! that we had not sailed with the squadron at all ; and had been brought in by the tide and the land breeze ' ! ! ! Tlie tide and land breeze had helped to bring us up with the squadron ; but for five hours we beat thern all, as I said, like sacks into our anchorage. The whole officers joined with my antagonist in aimiment, and it has been settled amonii them that the ' Campeadora ' did not sail with the squadron, and that she beat nobody ! Such, even at sea, is the littleness of men's souls ; it is worse even than on Windermere at a regatta. This is Friday (the 31st), and I slept last night in the 'Campeadora/ I shall keep this letter open till I hear something of our intended motions, which I hope to do on boarding the ' Admiral' The ' Vernon ' is said to be ivet, because when it blows hard, and she sails upon a wind, the spray spins over her main top -gallant mast. This it seems is reckoned a great merit. As to the noise on board — for it consists of eveiiastiiio- oroanino, howlin^j;, yelling, cursing, and swearing, which is the language in which all orders are given and executed — never less than 200 men ^yq. prancing on her decks, and occa- sionally 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 CRUISE WITH THE EXPEEIMENTAL SQUADEON. 197 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 tnnes the noise of heavy bodies falling, of winds whistling, and waves beating up to any degree. But all these noises are nothing compared to holystoning ! 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 called holy- stones; this continues every morning from four o'clock to five, and is a noise that beggars all description. I sleep in the cock-pit, a place below both decks, in a swinging cot, which is very com- fortable. 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. Cap- tain Coryton of the Marines gives me his cabin to wash and dress in. I do so every morning, and the luxury of washing too became known to me for the first time ; for you get covered with dust, and sand, and paint by day and night, to say nothing of tar and twine ; in short, everything but feathers. The eating is excellent, and the drinking not bad, though sometimes rather too much of it. '' I have,- since writing the above, seen Sir F. Collier, who informs me we start to-morrow forenoon (Sep- tember Lst) for the coast of Ireland. I shall go; and 198 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. 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 Sontag ; perhaps Umbs may also prove a songstress. Tlie 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 ' Yernon,' and it is blowing so hard that no boats are going on shore. '' I therefore conclude with warmest and sinceiest affection for thyself and all our children. Give my kindest rememl)rances to my sister Jane, who, I de- voutly 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 AYilson. '''Vernon,' off Plymouth, August 3Lrt- ing 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 Caesar ! ' ^ Better dune Vesj^er ! ' ^ A mutchkin to a gill on Whitey I ' ' The muckle ane canna fecht ! ' ^ See how the wee bick is worrying hiia noo, by a new spat on the thrapple ! ' ' He wud rin aw^a', gin she wud let him loose ! ' ^ She's just like her mother, that belanged to the caravan o' wild beasts ! ' ^0, man, Davie, but I wud like to get a breed out o' her by the watch-dowg at Eellmaiden Bleachfield, that killed, ye ken, tlie Kilmarnock carrier's Help in twenty minutes at Kingswell I ' "— i\"oc^t\^, vol. i. p. 217. 228 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. low open carriage, yclept a cirosky, in wliicli they take the air. The walks are quite to my taste, and without number in tlie wood which surrounds the 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 amusement in fishing and shooting, there being plenty of game, — hares and rab- bits. John has the Duke of Buccleuch's permission to shoot, and therefore we expect to have plenty of grouse. . . . Our neighbours, who are few and far between, consist of respectable farmers, who have showed us great attention, indeed, Mr. Wilson was known to all the neighbourhood long ago, in his pedestrian perambula- tions. 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 favourable specimen of a Scotch clergyman, with a modest, hospi- table wife, and two children. " Mr. Wilson was obliged to go to Edinburgh last Saturday, but I hope he will be here again on Wednes- day. He is staying at the Bank. Poor Mr. Blackwood is very ill ; indeed, I fear dangerously so. It is a sur- gical case, and though his general health has not as yet LITERARY AXD DOMESTIC LIFE. 229 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 dis- turbed 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 Niglit. " J^.Iy 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 Ions; 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 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 Eobert, and found there was no change. This morning (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 pre- pared 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 Sundav 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, 230 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 circumstances 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 written. Last night T 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 have not heard since the morning. I have consulted Listen. Seden- tary employments are bad for that complaint, but seden- tary 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 injure nobody in thought, word, or deed. I am willing to die for my family, who, one and all, youi^eK included, deserve all that is good at my hands. I be- lieve 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." LITEP.ARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 231 *' Bank, Thursday Night, " My dear Jane,— I amvecl at the Bank at half-past twelve on IMonday with a violent toothache; dined there alone ; saw the Blackwoods, and went to bed at nine. On Tuesday called on IMr. Blackwood, and fonnd him tolerably well. Lost all that day in being unable to settle to anything; finding the bank-house most uncomfortable in all respects — no pillow^s to tlie 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;^ stayed -till one o'clock; and to-day had an open and confused head ; wrote in the back -shop, but not very much. T sent for Xancy to the Bank, and found from her that she was picking currants in Gloucester Place, and told her that I would be there to-morrow (Friday) at nine o'clock, and Avrite in my room, which, she says, is open, and sleep at the Bank. I dine at Mr. Blackwood's. J\Ir. Hay called on me at 1 Robert Listen, the celebrated surgeon ; died in 1847. 2 John Schetky, an artist, a friend of my father's.— ^^ I have no conceit of those 'who are aU things to aU men/ Why, I have seen John Schetky himself in the sulks Avitli 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, beneath the power of that magician, the merriest in the hall." — Nodes, No. Ixvi. 1834. '^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 hnest painter of sky since Salvator Rosa." — Letters on the Living Artists of Scotland. 232 MEMom or joiin wilson. the shop to-day, and is well, having been ill with cholera or colic. The Magazine is in a sad state, and entirely behind, and as yet I liave done little to forw^ard it. I am not quite incog., I fear, but have avoided see- ing 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 AVednesday night, therefore keep it disengaged for that day; but I will mention particulars in my next. My face is sw^elled, 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 w^ell 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, JoHX AVilson.'' ^^ Saturday Evening, " My deae Maggie, — Mr. Blackwood is in the same state, wearing away gradually, but living longer than any of the medical people thought possible. Last Sun- day, 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 Bon- jeddard, 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 affection- ately, John Wilson." ■ LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 233 " Gloucester Place, Monday Evening. '' My DEAR Jane, — I shall be in Innerleithen on Thursday per coach, so let the gig be there the night before. I have been writino- 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 viewing 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 mourn- ful to oo there. '' What is to become of next Magazine I do not know. o If I come here ai:>ain, I will brin^ jNIao^oie with me. Five hours of writing give me a headache, and worse, and I become useless. I do not think Blackwood will recover, but Listen speaks still as if he had hopes. Nobody writes for the Magazine, and the lads are in very low spirits, luit show much that is amiable. I believe Ho^^ and his wife and I will be in the coach on Thursday morning to Innerleithen ; 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 AVilson." 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 234 MEMOIll OF JOHN WILSON. vigorous even to the last. He had thus what no good man will consider as a slight privilege, that of contem- plating the approach of death with the clearness and full strength of his mind and faculties, and of instructing those around him Ly 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 willing- ness of his hand to work. '' AVhat is to become of next Magazine ?" was the cpiestion 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 Magazine for October, of which he wrote with his ovm hand 56 out of the 142 pages required. His articles were : ''A Glance at the Noctes of Athenieus;" and a '' Eeview of Coleridge's Poetical Works." For the remainder of this year, and for the two sub- sequent years, he gave the most unequivocal proofs of his regard for his friend's memory, and his interest in his family, by continuing his labours with unflagging industry. In glancing over his contributions for 1835, I perceive that in January he had three ; in February five ; in ]\Tarch two ; in j\Iay two ; in July five ; in August four ; in September three ; and in October and November one in each montli, making a total of twenty- six articles during the twelve months. Of all these ^ Blackwood, October 1837. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 235 criticisms I have only space to allude to the very bril- liant series of papers on Spenser, regarding which Mr. Hallam remarks that '' It has been justly observed by a living writer of the most ardent and enthusiastic genius, whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters, and has left it for others almost as invidious to praise in terms of less rapture, as to censure what he has borne along in the stream of unhesitating eulogy, that ' no poet has ever had a more exquisite sense of the beautiful than Spenser.' " ^ In 1836 and 1837, he continued to contribute an article at least once a month until his own great loss paralysed him. The following letters were written in the autumn of 1835 fi^om the banks of the Clyde : — . ** The Baths, Helensburgh, 1835, Tuesday^ 12 o'clock. '' My dear Jane, — I dined wdth Miss Sym on Sunday, and was kindly received by her and Mr. Andrew. ''Dinner was over (half- past four), but the How- towdy 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 haK-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, 1 Literature of EurojJC, vol. ii. p. 136. 236 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. in which the party was gathered. We had everything 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. Kace 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 would suffer." ''Largs, Sunday, August 2, 1835. " My DEAPt 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 Eegatta 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 doa^s in- eluded." LITERACY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 237 In Angiist 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. The following note to Mr. Findlay accompanied a report of the speeches on this occasion : — " 6, Gloucester Place, SeiMmher 1. '' My deak Feiexd, — The pen is idle ; not cold the heart I I forget 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 ivill write very soon, and at length. We are all well, and unite in kindest regards and remembrances. — Ever yom^s most affectionately, '' John Wilson." As an ilhistration 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 freedom 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 orow into a resemblance of their immortal Wallace." After some further observations, in which the learned Professor spoke warmly and eloquently of the genius 238 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. of Mr. Campbell, he referred to the remarks of that gentleman about the circles of reputation that sur- rounded 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 honours awaiting him, as it was for him (Mr. W.) to go forty miles to see those honours bestowed upon him ; wliile 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. Camp- bell willingly the possession of all the outer circles. He gave him London — undisputed possession of London — also of Edinburgh ; he did not ask for ' Glasgow ; but here in Paisley (tremendous cheering which drowned the rest of the sentence), they would agree with the justice of the sentiment, wlien he said that had he been born in the poorest village in the land, he would not have cause to be ashamed of his birthplace ; nor, he trusted, would his birthplace have cause to be ashamed of him (cheers). But when he considered where he was born — the town of Paisley — where he had that morning walked along the front of his father's house — itself no insignificant mansion — a town of the very best size — not like the great unwieldy Glasgow, or Edinburgh, where (while fears were entertained of the failure of the crops in the country) a crop was goino- on in the streets of the city (cheers and laughter), but turned he to his native town, ''Ah, seest u ! seestu!"^ 1 This is a Paisley expression peculiar to the people, and means " Seest thou, seest thou ? " LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 239 (tremendous cheering and laiigliter.) Politics were very properly excluded from that meeting, etc. etc. After the festivities at Paisley were over, they took a short excursion to Loch Lomond, Glen Falloch, Killiii, Loch Earn, Crieff, Comrie, Perth, and homewards ; nor was it then imagined that one of that happy party was so soon to be removed from the honoured 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 deae 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 therefora I trust his cough will soon dis- appear. '' Frank says the preparations in Glasgow for the re- ception of Sir E. Peel will be splendid. Mr. Wilson and John will be both there. I believe there will be at least 2000 at the dinner, and the demand for tickets is un- precedented. I will take care to send you a newspaper, with the best account of the meeting that can be had. There is some anticipation, I hear, that the Eadicals 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 akeady seen it, pray try and get it; it is Prior's 240 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. ' 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 too'ether. You will love him better than ever after reading; these Memoirs. " A thousand thanks for your welcome letter, and for all the good and kind wishes therein contained. In re- turn, 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 afiectionate sister, J. Wilson.'' My motlier s illness was not at first of a nature to alarm the family ; but my father was always nervous about her, when anything more than usual disturbed her health ; slie had been for some years delicate, and took less exercise than was perhaps for her good. AVe thought that the little tour, made in the autumn of 1(836, had been very beneficial, and hoped that tliis would in future tempt her to move more frequently from home. Al)out the middle of jMarch, little 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 ulti- mate cause of her death, which sad event took place on the 29th of IMarch, and was communicated to her sister ]\Tary in the following touching letter by a relative, who could well understand the irreparable loss that had be- LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 24-1 fallen husband and children by the passing away of this gentle spirit : — '' My letter, written last night, will have prepared you to hear that our ^vorst 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 w^as at this time a trial was to be made whetlier she would know me ; how anxiously I hoped to ex- change 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, A^dlen she breathed three sighs, with short intervals, and all was over before we wdio 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 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. ^l^ggy tells me tliat she VOL. II. Q 242 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. scarcely e\er spoke except when addressed; tliat she did not think herself in danger, and had even yester- day morning spoken of getting better. Bnt she did not know any of them, at all times, for the last day or two, and I believe, none of them yesterday. The fune- ral, 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, leavin.gj the world thenceforth for him dark and dreary. This bereavement 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 sympatliy 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 vallev of the shadow of deatli.'' LITEP.AEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 24-3 CllAPTEE XV. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 1837-44. "PiCTUEES and \nsioiis wliich fancy had diaAvn and happy love had inspired, came now in fierce torrent of re- collection over the prostrate and afHicted soul. Though sorrow had no part in them before, it possesses them now. Thus, one idea, and the pain which is now in- separable from it, reign ov^^r all changes of thought — though these thouohts in tliemselves have been fixed in their connexion with one another, and imagje linked to image long before ; they rise up by those con- nexions, 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 domes- tic affliction had befallen him, that my father had not shut out from his heart the imac^^e of his wife. How ho thouo;ht 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 beeri ^ " Our Two Vases," lUaclciuoocl, April 1838. 244 MEMOin OF JOHN WILSON. 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 con- temporary had fallen : — " ' It pleased God on the 29th of March to visit me with the severest 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 daugliters, dutiful and affectionate, in a secluded house near Eoslin. I am now in Edin- burgh, and early in ISTovember hope to resume my daily duties in the University. I have many bless- ings 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 witli sub- mission 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 anticipated happiness. Where was that solemn, calm spirit, now that she — the best and gen- tlest of wives — was gone ? Did he say, " Comfort's in heaven, and we on eartli \ '' 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 for ever to be overcome with sadness. LITER AEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 245 It is necessary, in order to relate some of tlie events of this summer, that we should follow him to the secluded house near Eoslin, where he went immediately after my mothers death, doubtless hoping to iind, 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 S23ring, 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, sig^hino; — " the heavy change, now thou art gone ; Now thou art gone, and never must return ! " I may ol)serve here, witliout any unfilial disrespect, that his deep sorrow was not without its good influence on the sufferer. Those who had known him were well aware of the sincerity of liis 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 constant sway over his actions. The tone of his writ- ings is higher, and they contain almost unceasing aspir- ations after the spiritual. The same humility, which in a sino'ular dearee now made liim so modest and unob- trusive 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 se]'vant he felt himself to be, and debtor beyond 246 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. all for 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 seclu- sion at Eoslin, I refer my readers to a noLle passage on Intellect;^ it forms a touching contrast to the sim- plicity and tenderness of disposition whicli caused him to turn aside from these lofty communings to the common humanities of nature. He was well known in the houses of the poor. No humble friend was ever cast aside if honest and upright. 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 chano;e of air. She was at once in- vited to Iioslin, and Jessie willingly availed herself of my father's kindness and came to his house ; but the change was of little service ; consumption had taken firm hold, and soon the poor invalid was confined to bed never more to rise. That she was considerately attended and soothed during those long watches — the sad accompani- ment of this lin^erins^ 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 bed-side of the dying woman, arranging with gentle but awkward hand the pillow beneath her head, or cheering iicr with encouraging words, and reading, when she desired it, those portions of the Bible most suitable to her need. AVhen she died, her master laid her head in the grave in Lasswade churchyard. I *'Our Pocket Coinpanions,** Blaclwood's Magazine, \n\. xliv. 1338. LITERARY AJND DOMESTIC LIFE. 247 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,^ and 1 '^ There is another incident of thut period which brings out the profound emotion in a way too characteristically singular to l)e repeated were it not known beyond the private circle : — how two pet dogs, special favourites 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 proprietor, 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 bat tlie embodiment, as it were, of the great destroyer. The occasion, it was gravely argued by a mediator, was one for the display of magnanimity. 'Magnanimity!' was the emphatic reply, — ^ Why, sir, I showed the utmost magnanimity this morning when one of the murderers was in this very room, and I did not pitch liim out of the window !' As murder he accordingly persisted in regarding it, with a sullen obstinate desire for justice, which required no small degree of management on the part ol" 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 feeliug Of our huge sorrows ! Better we were distract : So should our thoughts be severed from our griefs ; And woes, by wrong inja.^inations, lose The knowledge of themselves.' " —From Mr. Cupples' gTaceful ^' Memorial and Estiviate of Professor Wil- son, by a student,'' 4to. Edinburgh. 2 The eldest, Margaret Anne, toner cousin, Mr. J. F. Ferrier, now Pro- fessor of Moral Philosophy, St. Andrews ; the second^ Mary, to Mr. J. T. Gordon, now Sheriff of Midlothian. /k^^ '• ^v^ \J^t^^ 248 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. «. the pleasant intercliange of social civilities, wliicli gener- ally takes place on these occasions, led him into a wider circle of friends tlian foraierly. By the marriage of his second daughter, who, along with her husband, found a home for eleven years in her father s house, a change was wrour litp:bary and domestic life. 277 comfortable and useful place — and fitted up with presses, which John bought. There is a woman- servant's room, with two l3eds ; 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. Tlie farni- oftices are about 100 or 150 yards from the house. The garden is an oblong, containing, I should think, about ih 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 l)anks 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 currants and 7t^s^;x, and a promising strawberry bed. Everything in it will be late this season, as it was dressed since John came here, only three wrecks ago, l3ut everything 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 w411 write agam first opportunity, and expect to be at home by the middle of the w^eek. Observe the directions in my last letter. Love to Blair and ITmbs, Gordon and Goliah, Lexy and Adele, Taglioni, ]\Iary Anne, and the rest. — Your affectionate father, '' John Wilson." Ahnost the whole of this summer was spent at Bill- holm. The winter, cominc^^ a^ain with its usual routine 278 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. of work, calls liim to town somewhere about October, 111 December his fine " Eonian liancV' stril^es fire once more througli tlie languid ril)S of " Maga/' and he greets with good heart and will the Lays of Ancient Rome, No arnlre iicnsee of political differences obtrudes its ill- concealed remembrance through his words. What is it to him whether it be Whig or Tory who writes, when genius, with star-like light, '' flames in the forehead of the morning sky." " What ! poetry from Macaulay ? Ay, and why not? The House hushes itself to hear him, even when ' Stanley is the cry.' If he be not the lirst of critics (spare our blushes), who is ? Name the young poet who could have written Tlie Armada, and kindled, as if by electricity, beacons on all the brows of England till night grew day ! The young poets, we said, all w^ant fire. Macaulay is not one of the set, for he is full of fire.'' And so does he proceed, with honest words of praise, t(^ 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 wuit- teii for Blackwood during the years 18-i2-J:4. What was he about ? 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 sliow that he was not absolutely idle : — "Uh Oct 1842. " My deae Sir,— I have lost several days in looking over till I am sick, all Blackwood, for a description of LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 279 Christopher s house in Moray Place. It is somewhere pictured as the House of Indolence, and with some ela- boration, as I once heard Horatio JMaccuUoch, 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 ' Eecreations' 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 with- out much effort of recollection. — Yours affectionately, " John Wilson." 280 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. CHAPTEE XVI. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 1844-48. AVe now come to February 1844, where an old cor- respondent re-appears, wliose letters, if not written in the sunny spirit of Ijonhommie, have a peculiar excel- lence 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 fol- lowing letters are as characteristic of his satirical power as any of those off-hand caricatures that shred his 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 artist's fancy, yet all undeniably like. So was it his humour nearly to the end, to look upon men and things with the chilling eye of the satirist. " 25tJi March 1844. '' My dear Wilson, — I have spelt out your letter with labour,-^ but great ultimate contentment. '' Alexander Blackwood had given me, by yesterday's post, my first information touching that enormous ab- 1 This difficulty arose from the circumstance of his correspondent suffer- ing, as has been tokl, from the weakness in his hand. LITER AKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 281 surdity of in re Kemp deceased, and I answered him, expressing my deep thankfulness for the result of your interference ; but I had not quite understood 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 a fceculcntiore. Of the other suggestion nipt in the bud, never shall I breathe a whis- per to any human being. For some time I have fancied Scotland must be all mad ; I never see a Scotch paper without being strengthened in that conviction, but this is the ne jphis ultrci ! " I have not read any novel lately, far less written one. I do not even guess to what new book you allude in your last page. You address me by the name of some hero, I suppose, but that is undecipherable by my optics. No bamming here. Do name the book. Is this your sly way of announcing to me some new esca- pade of the long-haired and longish-headed ? " By the bye, 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 confi- dent, soon be on a par here with Frank CTrant, who is clearing £5000 or £G000 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 'Poemata'-^ some weeks ago to John Blackwood, and bade him send you a copy. Perhaps to me you owe your knowledge, therefore, of the novel ^ Poemata Lyrica. Versa Latina Riniante Scripta, By H. D. Ryder. Siinpkin, MarsliaU, and Co. 282 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. epithet. Horace, however, has ' tetemina belli causa/ and I rather suspect tcterrima carries a delicate double entendre in tliat classical Joe. vald. cit, '' You have not read the title-page correctly. First, tlie book is published by Simpkin, Marshall, et Go. 2d. The author is not Moore, Dean (to whom it is dedicated, as a compliment to his ' zeal for the Apos- tolical succession'), hut H. Eyder, 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 Ijy over- whelming a scandal not inferior to the other Litz- Eveque H. Marsh's in re Miord. That case, by the bye, 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 '11 never be so rude as Ask how many draw from Judas.' '' Here is another fine spring day. ^^"liy 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 affectionately, J. G. L. '' Alone and dreary ; both my young away from me ; I shall soon be left entirely alone in this weary world. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 283 '' 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 ^J2c^z^2^r6 in- deed, — of a worrying-match between two dogs ! '' ISTow 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 masterpiece to — Plain John!! " Literal truth ; but absurder than any fiction. The company seemed in agonies of diversion at the uncon- sciousness of the pair of barons. '' That v:eek botli H. B} and Punch had been cari- caturino' them as the Terriers of the Times disoTacinc^ a drawino'-room ! o ''All true, as I shall ansvrer, etc." 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 Edinljurgh, 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. Pro- fessor Wilson had some trouble in preventing this 1 Mr. John Doyle, the father of Eichard Doyle, author of Broitm, Jones, and Rohinson, ^^ is generally believed to l3e the author of the cele- brated H.B. political sketches, which were a few years ago so remarkably popular, and which, while exhibiting with abundant keenness the promi- nent features and peculiarities of the jiersons caricatured, were always gentlemanly in feeling, and free from any appearance of malice." — Knight's English Cycloj^cedia. _ _ 284 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. absurd project being carried out. In the second, there are some playful remarks about a novel ; a fro])os of which, I may say, that novel-reading was a mental dis- sipation my father seldom indulged in, regarding that sort of literature, in general, as enervating to the mind, and destructive to tlie formation of good taste. N'ow and then he was prevailed on to open one, when re- commended as very good. Whitcfriars 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 Gr. Lockhart) on his success ; and in this belief, he addresses him by the title of his hero.-^ This letter is almost immediately followed by an- other : — "March 28, 1844. '' My deae 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 '??io7i(3?/. I met . . . yes- terday 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 l)e in danger. She told me Brewster, Chalmers, and all the Frow Kirk are going ^ Whitefriars has 13een ascribed to Miss E. Robinson. LETEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 285 to start a new Eeview. How many Eeviews are we to have ? Is not it odd that the okl ones keejD afloat at all? but I doubt if they have lost ahnost anything, as yet. The Q, R j^rints nearly 10,000, I know, if not quite. Nor have I heard that Ebony is declining, in spite of tliese Hoods and Ainsworths, etc. etc. '' . . . showed me a lot of Edinburgh daguerreotypes — the Candlishes, 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 shoidd take it very kind if you would sit to the man whom Brewster patronizes fo7' me} I should like also to have Sheriff* Cay. This art is about to revolutionize 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 Eussell 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 demeanour in private society infinitely more agreeal^le than Eeel'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 fanaticism, talks quite gravely 1 My father did so, and the frontispiece to the present Memoir is engraved from Mr. Hill's calotype, by the artist's kind permission. 286 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. about the Jews recovering Jerusalem, the Millennium at hand, etc. etc. ." Brougham goes to Paris this week to {inter alia) take counsel witli Guizot and Dupin about a great humbug (I believe), his new Society for the Amend- ment of the Law ; and, learning that Lyndhurst, Den- man, etc., approved, I agreed to be a memlier on Brougham's request, and went to a meeting yesterday, where he was in the chair. What a restless, perturbed '' Nothing could surprise me now- a- days. The Go- vernment have allowed B. to be their saviour so often in the H. of Lords, that they may by and \)j find it im- possible 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. Lockh.\jit." In the next letter, which is the last of this corre- spondence that has been preserved, it will be seen how pain and inward yearning 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 : — '' FaIRLAWN, TlTNBRIDGE, Easter Wednesday, 1844. " My dear Wilson, — I had vour 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 tliis place a week ago, utterly done up in body and LITERAKY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 287 mind ; but perfect repose and idleness, with cold lamb and home-brewed beer, and no wine nor excite- ment of any sort, have already done wonders, and in fact convinced me that I might have health a^ain, if I could manage to cut London, and Quarterly Eeviews. 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 com- pletely 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 bursting leaves, that I should be un- able to awaken more than a dim o host -like semi- sympathy wdth 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 Octo- ber with any advantage, and therefore I think it most likely I shall not stir far from London. * * * * a ^- * -%' ^- J -^^3(3(^1 to have a real friendship for tlie 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 con- tented 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, w^ith a good park, most noble beeches, and limes and oaks. 288 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. looking over the ricli 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 ancestors. It is now possessed by Miss Yates, cousin-german to Sir R Peel, an excellent, sensible, most kind old lady ; vStone 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 Eobert's opinion as to the Children question. I am going to-day for a few days to another house in this neighbourhood, and shall be in London again Ijy 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 Ausust ; and on landing at Calais for the honey trip, put him- self down 'age 55;' but the Fates were not to be gammoned, nor Lady Venus neither, and the coffin-plate will tell truly : Ann. ^tat. 76. I suppose Pollock will take the place, yet it is not impossible that H, B. may fancy it, and if he does, it might not be easy for Peel to give him a rebuft'. — Ever affectionately yours, "J. Gr. 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 anything LITEPvAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 289 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 remarkably 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 wdth domes- tic interests concerning Billliolm : — " 6, Gloucester Place, Saturday 6th, 1844. " My deae John, — On looking over the portfolio of prints, I thought Harvey's Covenanters, Baptism, and Allan s Burns w^ortli 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 tliink, 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 appro- priate pendants. The demure Damsel 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 w^aggon on the 8th instant, directed to be left at Langhohn 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 some- VOL. II. T 290 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. what better, and trust this year may be considerably more favourable than the last two. My own motions are not fixed for the future ; but I shall not leave tliis 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 deputation, 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 ex- asperation among the ten- pounders who stood up for their order. It would have been a vulgar outrage. Next day's Witness was insolent, but since, there has been a calm sough. The general committee have since passed resolutions approving our conduct. AVe 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 hy one. They hope something 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 LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 291 well, to speak for his own motions. He lias been talk- ing of going to Billliolm for some days past. With love from all here and in Carlton Street. — I am, your affec- tionate father, J. Wilson/' Soon after this home-loving spirit has assisted in making the 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 sul)ject 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 honour to the r memory of Burns. The Burns Festival was an occasion fitted to call forth the zeal of AVilson's nature, and he worked heart and soul in the cause, with vigour 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 fervour of eloquence, such as had never been heard before/'^ We have three letters relative to this ^reat gathering ; one is addressed to his son-in-law, Mr. Gordon, before it took place, with a view to arranging the toasts : — 1 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 sub- ject : — ^^ 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^ 292 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. '' My deae Sheriff, — The toasts now stand well, and we shall not try to improve the arrangement. What yon say about the x^oor dear Shejjherd is, I fear, true, though his fame will endure. Neither 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 influ.ence, 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 Ay ton n ? T\Tiat should follow ? ' The Peasantry/ etc. That toast I recom- mended 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 would do well. But such toast is not necessary ; for the names might be merely mentioned, and the thanks carried by acclama- tion. So with all others. These toasts might be set down and assigned, and given as circumstances may permit. '' I shall \vrite to Ballantine to that effect, subject to any alterations ; and there is no need to print the 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 disap- pointed 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." LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 293 toasts, etc., times, etc., till all is fixed, a few days be- fore the Gth ; 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 ex- presses, 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 6tli August we (^>., the Circuit) shall be at Slirewsbury, and on the 7th shall turn southward to Hereford, so that it will be impossible for me to be in Scotland on the Gth by the utmost exertion, and all the aid of steamboats and railways, without entirely ab- senting myself from both the Shrewsbury and the Here- ford Assizes, and causing serious inconvenience to many, besides the loss to myself I am sure you will sym- pathize with the conviction I have reluctantly adopted, that / cannot be with you at your most interesting 1 Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd died in the discharge of his professional duties at the Assizes, 1854. 294 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. meeting. Our long circuit, which is this year some- what later than usual, in consequence of the Irish Writ of Error, will not close before the 2 2d or 23(1 August, when I hope to take my family to the country you know so well in the neighbourhood of Windermere, where Mr. Wordsworth 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 oppor- tunity of meeting you under circumstances so origuial 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 induce our great living poet to accompany me. But I am tanta- lizing myself by fancying impossibilities, and can only hope that Wordsworth 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 re- spectfully yours, T. K Talfoued." The last from the Professor to Aird is characteristic of that gentle courtesy which the chivalry of his nature ever showed to woman. Such traits of kindliness may seem almost too trifling to draw attention to, but they are unfortunately not so common in the routine of inter- course with our fellow-creatures as could be wished : — " Edinburgh, Saturday Evening, August nth, 1844. '' My deak Me. 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 plat- LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 295 form, as the procession passed by before tlie Adelphi. It was very affecting. " I told the Committee a week or two before the Festival, to invite Mrs. Thomson (Jessie Lewars), and no donbt 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 miglit 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 anything, 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. '' 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 people 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 circumstances. 296 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. " 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 in- ducement than tlie '' 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 WizarcVs walks : — " LuiB, Sunday, June 1, 1845. '' Dear Ceumbs, — We arrived at Luib (pronounced Libe) on the Dochart, foot of Bemnore, on Tuesday afternoon at three o'clock, via Loch Lomond and Glen- falloch. We soon found ourselves ensconced in a snug parlour 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 100 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 Saturday, after breakfast, / wall^ed three miles up the river, which flows past the inn, and fished down, killing each day with midges about three dozen good LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 297 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 j&sh were never caught before. The Wizard^ disappears in the morning, and returns to dinner about six. On Thursday he left Luib about nine, and returned at half-past seven, having been over a range of mountains and back again, certainly 2000 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 hundreds, many places utterly dried up, others not a foot deep. In flood or rains it must be a most tre- mendous river. On Monday I think of going to Loch iSTarget (Maragan?), about eight miles over the hills, but only if windy and cloudy. '' On the wdiole, this is the pleasantest inn I ever was at, and the station in all respects delightful. The Wizard takes a gill of whisky 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 Sonachats^, June 9. '' My DEAR Umbs, — We left Luib on Thursday the 5th instant, and reached Cladich at half-past seven. No AVilliams, 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 fishing. ^ Dr. Alexander Blair. 298 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. Having allowed my boat to drift a few miles to lee- ward, 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 re- minded 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 himself much, and walks about from morning to night." We shall now follow him through a small portion of the year 1845, when he appears to have resumed his work with steady purpose, as may be seen by looking at the Magazine for seven consecutive months. North's Specimens of the '' British Critics" make a noble contri- bution to that periodical. Those papers, along with too many of equal power and greater interest, have found LITEEARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 299 jealous protection witliin the ccinUire 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 \\Titten at EUeray, 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 deae Gordon, — I am confidently looking for best accounts of dear Mary every day. '' Pray, attend ! I have sent a long article to Black- wood — ' No. Yiii. on Critics' — about MacFlecnoe, 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 corrected 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 -tiuo ixtges — 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." 300 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. In tlie same year (1847), when the Philosopliical In- stitution was established in Edinburgh, he was elected its first President, and delivered the opening address. To this honourable 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 nothing but silence. Alas ! this was but the beginning of the end. Ten years ago, while yet strong in body, thougli 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 clays 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 realities, 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 sou], did he go on meeting the com- mon day with hope brightened 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. LITEPvARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 301 Tlie first break to this silence comes in a short letter, written to his old friend Mr. Findlay, inviting him to be present at tlie 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 Billhohn all the more agreeable by a welcome from its new occu- pant, whose gentle companionship often cheered his rambles by the river side, or made pleasant a rest beneath the shade of its trees : — " Friday, June 9, 1848. " My deae Egbert, — My son John is to be married on the 2 2d of this month, at the house of his father- in-law, Mr. G. Bell, 43, IMelville Street. AVe are sorry not to have beds to offer our friends, and a journey to and from Edinburgh may not be convenient 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 tliat we shall hope to see you after it at Glo'ster Place. — Ever affectionately yours. " J. Wilson.'' It may be seen from a letter to his son Blair, that he had lost no time in paying a visit to the newly- married pair ; for he A\Tites from their home on the 28th September 1848, having taken a peep of the pas- toral 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 302 t MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. of young lives around him. Loneliness, as time crept on, was a feeling that easily affected him, so much so, that sometimes on his retm^n 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 confession 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 Elle- ray from Hollow Oak ; the silence and loneliness of myself at night not bemg 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. Tliis weakness annoyed him very much, not more than was natural, if it appeared to him to be the commencement 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 vigour. This autumn only one paper was written for Blackivood, upon Byron's '' Address to the Ocean," one of those beautiful critiques which go so deeply into the true principles of poetry. Its seve- rity may startle at first, but can hardly fail to be ac- knowledged as just. LITEEARY AKD DOMESTIC LIFE. 303 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- con- tinued sunbeam, they lengthened and deepened into a broad light, the happiest, the most joyous in the world, radiant with fun, careering, playing the strangest pranks, showing at last, in shape unmistakable, that enviable property which cannot by any skill in the world be planted in a nature that has it not from its cradle. I do not aL>ree with those who hold that humour is the best part of human nature, and that the whole meaning of a man's character may be traced to his humour. 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 imfrequently with an incongruity v/hicli, in its unexpected intrusion, does not rob it of charm, but rather adds to its power. Wilson s humour has been described as being some- times too broad ; perhaps, in the '' Noctes," he occa- sionally makes use of an iiivpasto laid on a little too roughly. But who ever enjoyed his conversation at home or abroad, among the woods and wilds of nature, or on the busy streets of Edinburgh, that was not as often overpowered by his humour 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 304 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. of yon, looking fnll at yon, and delivered the concln- sion, then released yon from the stop yon were forced to make, walked on a few paces, and tnrned in the same manner again. Latterly, a walk to the College was rather too mnch 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 behaviour among the cab -drivers, who used to be on the look-out for his approach, all desirous of driving him. Tlie moment that well-known figure was seen, an uproar began. His appearance and dress were too peculiar not be re- cognised a good way off, for no one wore a hat with so broad a brim, covered with such a deep crape, his long hair flowing carelessly about his neck, and his black coat buttoned across his chest, now somewhat portly. Still, despite increasing infirmity, his step was free, and he looked leonine in streno;th and bearino\ So did he when he sat for his photograph to Mr. D. 0. Hill, an engraving from which is prefixed to this work. In this product of that wonderful art, then in its infancy, comes out the character of the man ; the block, as it were, from nature, not softened down or refined away by that delicacy 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 unmistakable to the very character of the hands, broad and beautiful in form. The hair, not so fine, is rather lost in the hazy shadows of the photo- graph, but all else is good and true. A^^iy, some one LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 305 may ask, are those '' luccpers''^ on liis sleeves V^ This was a mark of respect he paid to the memory of his wife, and which he continued to wear as long as he lived, renewing these simple outward memorials with tender regularity. Tlie 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 some- thing 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 o;oino; on. In front of her house (Moray Place) stood a cart of coals, which the poor victim of the carter was unable to drag along. He had been beating the beast most unmercifully, 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 1 ^' Weepers " are ^^ stripes of muslin or cambric stitched on the extremi- ties of the sleeves of a black coat or gown, as a badge of mourning.'' — Javiieson. 2 They do not appear in the engraving, as the page is too small to con- tain the whole photograph. VOL. IT. U 306 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. veliemence of his manner, tlie man was evidently '' getting it/' thougli 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. Mean- while, poor Eosinante, freed from his burden, crept slowly away, and the Professor, still clutching the whip in one hand, and leading the horse in the other, pro- ceeded through Moray Place to deposit the wretched animal in better keeping tlian that of its driver. This little episode is delightfully characteristic of his im- pulsive 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 animals; but action on the spot, with instantaneous aid to the oppressed. Such summary measures, how- ever, 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 created things ; and had a supreme contempt for the observance of conventional formalities, when they interfered with good and honest feelings of the heart. It may seem somewhat strange, as I advance towards LITERAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 307 the later years of my father's life, that I can relate no- thing of foreign travel ; or even of recurring visits to London. Only twice after his marriage did he go to the metropolis, and then, not for any lengthened period, nor with the purpose of keeping liimself in the w^orld, 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 beauti- fully describes in his '' Eecreations," written in 1828; too long to give here, and yet ahnost too fine to be omitted. But those who do not know it, will do w^ell to learn how a nature such as his was affected, by what scarcely now awakens more than a certain curiosity, that ere long takes the shape of hlase indifference. I doubt very much if any spirit, even beyond the common mould, ever had such emotions awakened within it as those AVilson 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 w^orld of his dreams, the '' 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 whirlpools of the great roaring sea of life ! and aw^ay we were carried, not afraid, yet somewhat trem- blini4' in the awe of our new deli^^ht, into the heart of 308 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. tlie 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 repulsion of pain ; into the heart of all joy and all grief; all calm and all storm ; all dangerous trouble and more dangerous rest ; all rapture and all agony — crime, guilt, misery, mad- ness, despair." This fragment is ^avt of one of those prose poems which he has so often comj^osed, 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 for ever, 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 be- lieve, 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 higlily prized or better appreciated in America than Pro- fessor Wilson. In that country his name is respected, and his writinos are well known. It is doubtful if in England he has so large a circle of admirers. I have often heard him speak of Americans in terms of ad- miration. He knew many, and received all who came LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 309 to see liim with much mterest and kindness ; loviiur 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 accom- plishments, pure philosophical iiKpiiries and critical taste, had given him a lofty position among his country- men — Dr. Channing, the piety of whose character made his life upon earth one of singular beauty. Of his pe- culiar religious tenets I never heard my father speak. Noljility of nature, and aspirations directed to higli aims in exercisino^ influence for oood over his fellow- creatures, were virtues of a kind, taken in combina- tion with intellectual power, sufiicient to win favour from him. The autobiographical nature of my father s writings permits me, 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, find- ing their society sufficient for the interest and enjoy- ment 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 Ions mots from noble wits ; no flashes of repartee from dames of high degree ; at home and abroad he walked a simple, unaffected, unfaslikmcdjlc man. With gracious respect to rank, he held aloof from the society of the great ; admiring from the dis- tance at which he stood, the great and illustrious names 310 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. that adorned liis land ; doing homage in the silence of his heart to all that makes aristocracy admirable and worthy of good report, yet preferring 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, en- abled him to render such valuable assistance to art in Scotland. Though he was not (beyond opportuni- ties 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 brouoht an intimate knowledoe of nature in all her humours, to bear upon what was set before him. The poet's eye unravelled the painters meaning, and if minute detail escaped the expression of liis admiration, 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 feel- ing 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 tlie general effect, and if one of delight, fails to be recognised until our transport has subsided ; 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 LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 3 1 1 this love of nature, this devotion to the beautiful, the tmitli as I have before obsen^ed, that made my father welcome to that body of men who form so interesting a portion of the community — our painters. Their social gatherings, their public meetings, 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 ai^ain. The artist's studio was a resort well kno\yn to him, and many an hour did he spend within its pleasant enclosures. On one occasion when sittincj to Mr. Thomas Duncan for his portrait,-^ entering his studio, he said, '' I am soriy, 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. Duncan, of course, expressed his regret; and at once arranged his easel, placed his suliject in the desired position, and began his work. Never had an hour passed away so rapidly. The Professor was in excellent spirits, and the painter, delighted with his sitter, was loath to sav that two o'clock had struck. '' Has it ?" said the Professor, ''I must be off;'' ^nd forthwith began to re- arrange his toilette, looking at himself in the large pier- glass, stepping backwards and for\yards, making remarks upon his appearance, tying his neckcloth, brushing back his hair, then turning to Mr. Duncan with some jocular observation on the sul:)ject of dress. Sitting down for 1 Cliristoplier in his Sporting Jacket. Mr. Thomas Duncan, an accom- plished artist, died in 1844. His portrait, painted by himself, hangs in the National Gallery, Edinbiu'gh. 3 1 2 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. a moment led on to something about art ; tlien j^erliaps a story. Eising np, his waistcoat, 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 my 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 coidd be told of him. There is nothing in the world so difficult to call up and retain as a passing gleam of fun or humour. 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 which comes the story, the jest, the speaking evi- dence of i\\e man. Better is it to be silent for ever than destroy the meaning of such words. Wilson's conversational powers, his wit, his humour, cannot, save in general terms, be described. I humbly confess my own unfitness for such an undertaking ; and I have not been able to meet with any one who by faithful repeti- tion can give me aid in this way. I doubt very much LITER AEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 313 if tliere is one alive wlio could. Mr. Lockliart was the only person, wlio, had he survived to do honour to his friend, might, from the clearness of his perceptive quali- ties, 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 be- lieve, 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 intruded on. I re- member Lord Cockburn giving a picturesque account of an invasion of his privacy. It was something, so far as I can recall the particulars, in this way. Tliere was a party whicli 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 pro- cession, he equally silent and regardless of their pre- sence, only showing, by a slight curl of the corner of his mouth, that he was internally enjoying the humour 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 3 1 4 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 rumour up stairs that Professor Wilson had arrived, and a buzz and ex]3ectation, 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 consecrated to those meetings, but he was genial, brilliant, and even jovial. If he had be- come a hermit, it was evident that solitude had not visited him." My other correspondent met the Professor at a dinner-party at Lord Eobertson 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 1 Of Lord Robertson s mock-heroic speeches, Mr. Lockhart gives a vivid description in his account of the Burns dinner of 1818 : — ^^ Tlie last of these presidents (Mr. Patrick Robertson), 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 Bacchantes, when Silenus gets astride on his ass, in the famous picture of Rubens. Once in the cliair, 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. He sung songs in which music was not. He proposed toasts in which meaning was not. But over everytliing that he said there was flung such a radiance of sheer mother- wit, tliat there was no difficulty in seeing the want of mecming was no in- voluntary want. By the perpetual dazzle of his wit, by the cordial flow of his good-humoar, but, above all, by the cheering influence of his broad, LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 315 the meeting/ wliicli was duly seconded by the Honour- able Lauderdale Maule, of the 79th Highlanders. Upon modestly declining to accept of the honour, I was in- formed 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 officer above mentioned, and on my left the grand- looking old Professor, with his eye of fire, and his noble countenance full of geniality and kindness. Lord Eobertson, 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. Eobert- son, with affectionate earnestness, but from whicli he 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 aU, for a long time, one genial atmosjihere of unmingled mirth." The remarks I have already made as to the difficulty of adequately record- ing the expressions of original humour, where the felicity consists in the expression and accessories as much as in the mere words, apply equally to the wit or humour of Robertson. I venture, however, to give one example that occurs to me, out of perhaps hundreds that might be remembered, of Tiis peculiar and invincible power of closing all controversy by the broadest form of reductio ad ahsurdum. 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 Halicarnassus is against you there." ^^ I beg your pardon," 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 Warsaiv.'' After that the discus- sion went no farther in the Greek chaunel. 3 1 6 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. could 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 Eobertson a rejoinder in Patrick's own style. ' I have known him,' said the Professor, ' since his early manhood ; I remember his beautiful hair — intensely red ! Knew him ! 1 produced him ; I educed him ; and I occasionally snuffed him ' (here the Professor stretched out his arm in the direc tion of Robertson's head, making the motion with his liand 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 humour, humour peculiarly his own — unctuous and unmistakable.' In the course of the evenino\ the Professor sans; his fa- vourite song of the ' Sailor's Life at Sea,' and with what power, with what sailor-like ahcmdoii, and in the concluding stanzas, when he describes the ' Sailor s death at Sea/ with what simple pathos ! it is inde- scribable, 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 before, 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. He accosted me. I remarked that never till that nioht 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, LITEEAEY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 317 ay, and a very accurate version too of the words and music of that quaint ballad of yours, '' The Goulden A'^anitee ;" curious thing, Sir, wasn't it ? ' and with a sly look of humour, he turned and walked away."^ 1 This quaint ballad, tlie author of which is unknowu, is worth giving in a note, but without the magic of the singer's voice it reads but tamely. '^-^J^'^'E^^ i^m^. -•- r:=qr:J=Ld=«iT- :5 ^: ^q==p-=^ -J»zitii -^E: l^^'^'^d'-q • -•■ ii_^ld"3£i=:i^i z±^:^ 0-9 THE GOULDEX 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. 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 cal)in-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. ; '^ We '11 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., 3 1 8 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. And throw me o'er deck-buird, sink I or swim/' As ye sail, etc. So they've row'd him up ticht In a black bull's skin : Eek, etc., And have thrown him o'er deck-buird, sink he or soom, As they sail, etc. About and about, And about went he, Eek, etc., Until he came up with the French Gallee As they sailed, etc. Oh ! some were playing cards. And some were playing dice : Eek, etc.. When he took out ixn Instrument, bored thirty holes at twice ! As they sailed, etc. Then some they ran with cloaks, And some they ran with caps, Eek, etc.. To try if they could stap the saut- water draps, As they sailed, etc. About and about. And about went he, Eek, etc.. Until he cam back to the Gouldeh 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'll no' 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. LITERARY AND DOMESTIC LIFE. 319 Out sx^oke the little cabin-l)oy, Out spoke lie^ Eek, etc., ^^ Then hang me I'll sink ye as I sunk the French Gallee/' As you sail, etc. But they've thrown him o'er a rope, And have pu'd him up on huird, Eek, etc., And have proved unto him far better than their word : As they sailed, etc. [ am indebted for the words and the music to my friend Mr. P. S. Fraser. 320 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. CHAPTEE XVII. CLOSING YEAPvS. 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 tlie night came, but con- tain the very essence of his experience. Some, no doubt, will be ready to compare them with the '' Xoctes," and complain that they contain less variety of character and stirring incident. To compensate for that want, how- ever, they have certain deeper qualities. The discussions they contain on some of the highest questions of morals, and the criticisms on some of the masterpieces of ancient and modern 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 defini- tion of what composes the Scottish service : — " The Scottish service comprehends prayer, praise, doctrine ; all three necessary verbal arts amongst Chris- tians met, but each in utmost simplicity. The praise, which unites the voices of the congregation, must be CLOSING YEARS. 321 written. The prayer, wliicli is the turning towards God of the soul of the shepherd upon behalf of the flock, and upon his own, must be unwritten, unpre- meditated, else it is not prayer. Can the heart ever want fitting words ? Tlie teaching must be to the utmost forethought, at some time or at another, as to the matter. The teacher must have secured his intelli- gence of tlie matter ere he opens his mouth. But the form, which is of expedience only, he must very loosely liave 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 tire of the new-born Eeformation — of the newlv reo'ene- rated Church, to continue undamped, 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 oTcensward between the liillside and the brawling l)rook, under the coloured or uncoloured sky. Under- stand that, when their descendants meet within walls beneath roofs, they VjOvM 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 works 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 dauo'hter, Jane Emily, left him for a home of her VOL. II. X 322 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. own. (3ii tlie lltli of April 1849, she was married to Mr. AVilliani Edmondstoune Aytoiin, 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 healtli obliged him un- willingly to leave Edinburgh, and seek cliange of scene. The remaining portion (jf this year, like many others, was spent at his own fireside ; the coming and going of his family forming the only variety of the day, not unfrequently concluded by some amusement for his grandchildren. A favourite 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, however, 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. 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, pre- paring for the forenoon lecture, or sitting simply at CLOSING YEAKS. 323 liome after the labour of the day. I would not as a matter of taste introduce an ordmary toilette to the attention of the reader, but with the Professor this business was so like himself, so original, that some ac- count of it will rather amuse than offend. By fits and starts the process of shaving was carried on ; Avalking 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 woidd absorb his attention, until the fact of being without coat, and having his face half-covered W'ith soap was entirely forgotten, the reverie only disturbed by a ring at the bell, when he would withdraw to proceed witli the '' toilette's tedious task,'' which, before completion, would be interrupted by various caprices, such as walk- ing 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, wdiich a minute before he held in his hand. Off a^ain to liis dressing-room, bringing his coat along wdth him, and, diving into its pockets, he would find the lost lecture, in the form of the tattered frao']nent of a letter, wdiich, to keep together, he was obliged to ask his daughter to sew for him with needle and thread, an operation re- (juiring considerable skill, the age of the paper having reduced tlie once shining Bath post to a species of crumljling 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 w^inding up of his watch were the finish- ino; touches to this disjointed toilette. These little 324 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. Operations he never, as far as I remember, did for him- self; they were offices I often had the pleasm^e of per- forming. The watch was a great joke. In the first ])lace, he seldom wore his own, which never by any cliance was right, or treated according to the natural ])ioi)erties of 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 liour. His own account of its treatment is so exactly the sort of system pursued, that this little imaginative l)it of writing will describe its course correctly : '' We wound up our chronometer irregularly, by fits and starts, tlnice a day, perhaps, or once a week, till it fell into an intermittent fever, grew delirious, and gave up the o'liost." His snuff-box, too, was a source of ao;onv to him ; it was always lost, at least the one he wished to use. He had a curious sort of wav of mislavino^ tIiino;s : 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, i A sufferer sends me the following anecdote : — ^^ While delivering one of the Inaugural Addresses to the Philosophical Institution, of which he was president, in the full career of that impassioned eloquence for which he was so distinguished, he somewhat suddenly made a pause in his address. Looking round on the platform of faces beside him, he put the (Mn])liatic Ciuestion, ' Can any of you gentlemen lend me a watch?' Being vciT 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 re-commenced his oration, and, in '^suiting the action to the word,' I expected it would soon be smashed to pieces ; but I was agreeably dis- appointed, as, after swaying it to and fro for some time, he at last laid it gently down on the cushion before him." CLOSING YEARS. 325 seemed to become invisible. No doubt all these minor evils of life were vividly before liim when he makes his imaginary editor give occasional vent to his feelings in the "Noctes."^ 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 candlestick and snuffers on his tal)le in the morning. That and his inkstand were two articles of vcrtii not to be removed from his sidit. The inkstand, a little earthenware imaoe of Arion on his dolphin, I preserve with care and pride. ''^ He was in his latter years passionately fond of cliil- dren : his grandchildren were his playmates. A favourite 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 glori- 1 ^' Who tlie devil has stolen my gloves ? cries the same celebrated literary character, as, stamping, he blows his" nails, and bangs the front door after him, sulkily shaking his naked mawlies on the steps with Sir John Frost. ^^ Hang it I 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 shaU use our interest to get you admitted into the Blind Asylum. ^' Hold your confounded tongue, sir, and instantly fetch us our liat. What else have you got to do in this life, you lazy hound, Init attend to our hat ? And have you no fears, you infidel ? " 2 It was bought by my mother in a small shop in Stockbridge in 1820. That shop was then kept l3y 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 friends there is no one I esteem more hiddv than Mr. Robert Chambers. ^-^ c 320 MEMOIR OF J()IIX WILSON. Oils reality was there to create the whole, fishing-rods, reels and basket, line and flies — the entire gear. What sliouts and screams of delight as '' the fun grew fast and furi(3us/' and fisli were caught by dozens, Goliah getting liis phantom trout urdiooked by his grandfather, who would caution him not to let his line be eiitangled 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 cliild of six imagines himself surrounded by companions of his own age in all he sees. The grandfather is an abstract of love, good humour, and kindness; his venerable aspect and dignified bearing are lost sight of in the overflowing 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 un- wearied playmate sitting in the very heart of all these paraphernalia, taking his part according to orders given, and actually going at the request of some of these urchins upstairs to the nursery to fetch down a for- gotten toy, or on all-fours on the ground helping them to look for some lost fragment. With all this faniiliarity there was a certain feeling of awe, and care was taken not to offend. Sometimes the little group, becoming too noisy, would be suddenly dis- persed : Christopher being in no humour to don his '' sporting-jacket," closed for a brief season the study- door, intimating that serious work had begun. A nervous or fidgety mother would have been some- CLOSING YEARS, 327 wliat 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 granddaughter went through many perils. He had great pleasure in amus- ing 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 baljy 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 carrying 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 remembered what he was about ; but more than once this large good-natured 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 liis plaything, and being interrogated as to where she was, he would rememljer 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 upstairs 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 dis- respect, 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 SPARROW, too, looking on while he hopped about the table, not quite certain whether he should not affect a 328 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. little envy at the sight of the new inmate, whose chubby hands were chitching 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 grand- father" 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 liis intellect respect for the loving sympathies that made home so sweet. I have now come to tlie year 1850, when my father was living alone in his house in Gloucester Place, leav- ing 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 : — '* LrxMOUNT, I4:th August 1850. '' My dear Blair, — Poor Billy died here yesterday night about nine o'clock, so (piietly, that we scarcely knew when he was gone. On Friday, he is to be in- terred in the adjacent cemetery. His wife had come from Bowness. " I think of going to Billholm on Saturday for ten days. Perhaps you will write to me there on getting CLOSING YEAES. 329 this, and tell me liow you are going on. Your letter to Jane was most acceptaljle to all of us. ''I will write to you from Billliolm on receiving a letter from you. All well. Jane Aytoun and Golly left for Billholm yesterday. Kind regards to all fiiends at Kirkebost, and believe me ever, your most affec- tionate father, J. AV/' Of Billy a few more words may be said. The last time my father visited Westmoreland was in the year 1848. Whether his old boatman fancied, from beinff no longer young, that he would soon be separated from liis master for ever 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 macliine for the purpose of promoting sud- den death. "^ Witli 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' walking, at the hospitable door of Billholm. 1 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 Railway, commencing — " Is there no nook of English ground secure from rash assault ? " 330 MEMOIR ()¥ JOHN WILSON. There lie 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 Edinburgli. 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 fov Jonathan, '' passing the love of women." Cheerful reminiscences he had of past labour by the lake-side ; then came kindness and care to soothe the weak- ness and troubles of advancing age ; and last of all, the touch of a tender hand by the dying bed. Poor old man ; he had come to pay me a visit at Lix- mount, 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 ^ralked the distance — about two miles from Gloucester Place ; and walking at that time was beginning to fatigvie 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 before him, and he made an effort to raise his hand — the weather-beaten hand that had so often pulled an oar on Windermere ; it was lying unnerved and white. CLOSING YEAES. 331 1)arely able to return tlie pressure so tenderly oiven. The other held in its helpless grasp a black silk hand- kerchief which he seemed desirous of protecting. As the day wore on life wore away. The scene was simple and sad. Pale and emaciated, the old man rested be- neath the white drapeiy of his bed, noiseless almost as a shadow ; while my fatlier sat beside him still fresh in face and powerful in frame, exhibiting in his chang- ing countenance the emotions of solemn thought and a touched heart. Soon the clianoe came ; a stronger breathing for a moment, a few faint sighs, and then that unmistakable stillness nowhere to be heard but in the chamber of death. The old boatman had passed to other shores. The handkerchief he grasped in his hand was one given to him by his master; he had desired his wife to lay it beside him. It was a something tan- gible when memory was leaving liim, that revived in his heart recollections of the past. Billy Balmer was interred 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 Billholm, I need say little of my visit to it. You know, too, of the sudden appearance of the dear Doctor.^ AVe left them all well on the AVed- nesday preceding the Queen's arrival. But we 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,^ 1 Dr. Blair. - Tlje foinidation-stone of the New National Gallery on the Mound. 332 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. which was pretty. The Prince spoke well, and to the pnrpose. On Saturday we dined with Mrs. E. 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 Lixmount without him, and at half-past seven he appeared in a brougham, having lost himself in some quarries. On Tuesday, he dined w^ith Mrs. Pitman, and to-day accompanies her to the Horti- cultural ; 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 Ab- berly to accompany Mrs. Busk to London. I am not without hopes that he wall pay us a visit early in spring. He sends his love to you. " Gordon is the greatest man in Edinlnirgh, — next to him the Provost and Mr. IMoxey.-^ The place seems quiet again as before, but the excitement was great. Dear Jane had a bad attack two days before we left Bill- holm, but w^as up the day we left, and I trust quite liardy again. I am much the better of the dear Doctor 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 sliall be al)le to know my own motions. ^ Siiperinteiident of Police. CLOSING YEAES. 333 I must go then for a few days to St. Andrews. After that I will write to you. — Meanwhile God bless you, ever prays your affectionate father, eJ. W. " Give my very kindest regards to the Doctor and good lady." The " dear Doctor/' whose name has so frequently been mentioned in these pages, claims a few more words here. The schoolboy of olden days, beloved by all for his gentleness and goodness, singing out, as Miss Sym describes him, " Ohon a ree ! olion a ree T — whom she finds '' groping in the press, howking out a book, part of which was read with his peculiar burr." These simple words give us the impression that there was a something about him different from other boys. As a man, I never saw any one like him ; and truly he con- tinued his love for '' howkin^j 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 con- trast. The gentleness of his movements was remark- able. There was almost a timidity of character ex- pressed in his bearing at first sight ; but the wonderful intelligence of his countenance, the fine formation of his head, dispelled that impression, and the real mean- ing was read in perceiving that modesty, not fear, con- quered 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 334 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. and habit of liis 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 nature for mental rest. I have often seen them sitting together in the quiet retirement of the study, perfectly absorbed in each otlier s presence, like school- boys 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 honour 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 : eacli revealing the peculiar character of the man. Much of the Professor's deep thought and love of philosophy grew out of this friendship. 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 difference lay in their natural powers. The one bright, versatile, and resolute, has left his works Ijehind him; while the otlier, never satisfied, ahvays doing and undoing, has unfortunately given but little to the world ; and it is to be feared the grave will close CLOSING YEARS. 335 over this remarkable man, leaving no other trace of his rare mind and delightful nature than that which friend- ship hallows in its breast. The last visit Dr. Blair paid to his friend, their time was exclusively devested to the study of Milton, and the result of these hours finds noble record in the ''Dies Boreales." The sub-^ ject 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 unrivalled skill into lofty chambers of thought and imagery. It is now time to speak of those days in which the sand was running quickly down in the glass. A change which the eye of affection is not always the first to mark, could not, however, be concealed from his family. Tii the winter of 1850, symptoms of breaking 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 state- ment 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 ardour in old age. I give it as it was sent to me :^ — " One day Professor AVilson was late in appearing ; perhaps ten or twelve minutes after the class hour — 1 By the Rev. A. B. Grosart, Kinross. 336 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. ail unusual tiling with liim, 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 hitest hour I will remember the sight I saw on entering. Having knocked and received no answer, I gently opened the door, and there I found the Professor lying at full length on the floor, with his go^vn on. In- stinctively 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 keeping rue, and we together raised the Professor up into his chair. I caught the words ' God bless you !' Gradually he got better, and we forced him to sit still, and never dream of lecturing that day or for a time. He Avas very reluctant to consent. I rememljer 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 ex- pressed glowingly and touchingly his gratitude to ' his dear young friends.' " This was his last year of public labour. 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 1 Mr. Taylor Inues.- CLOSING YEAES. 337 the students read tlieir 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 Ijent 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, prelecting with the old volubility and eloquence, and with occasionally the former flash of the bright blue eye, soon drooping into dulness again. I still remember his tremulous ' God bless you !' as the door closed for the last time. How different from that fresh and vio^orous old ai>e in which he had moved among us so royally the year before !'' The relaxation of summer holidays brought no satis- factory improvement in his liealth. 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 w^as not renewed in his hand." Long and mournful meditation took possession of him ; days of silence revealed the depth VOL. TI. Y 338 MEMQIR OF JOHN WILSON. of liis suffering ; and it was only by fits and starts that anything like composure visited his heart. Still did he spealv of returning to his labours at the commencement of the session ; and, in order to regain strength, he pr()])osed to make an excursion into the Highlands, provided tliat a family party went with him. There was no difficulty in arranging this ; and in June, accom- panied 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 Highlands 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 com- pare notes of adventure with them. Had my father been able to endure fatigue, we too would have had sometliing to boast of ; but lie was unable to do more than loiter by the river-side close in the neighbourhood of the inn — never witlu^ut 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 Nortli's exploits in angling are varied enough to be brought forward at any point of his life. He says to the Shepherd,— CLOSING YEAES. 339 " 111 me the passion of the sport is dead — or say rather dull ; yet have I gentle enjoyment still in tlie '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 hundred heathery hills, to devour the dark rolling river, or the blue Ijreezy loch ! How leaped my heart to hear the thunder of the nearing waterfall ! and lo, yonder flows, at last, the long dim shallow rip- pling 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." A picture of the past visiting the present, as time glides on, making more perceptil)le the cruel changes which come to mortal strength. How now do his feet touch the heather ? Xot as of r»ld, with a bound, Ijut 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 \\\^ water, for only one hand is free for '' a cast," and those large stones, now slippery with moss, are dangerous st ambling- Ijlocks in 340 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. the way. Besides, lie 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-coloured 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 manreu\Ting 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 ob- stinately continuing the sport in spite of all remon- strance. At last he gives in, and retires. Wonderfid to say, he did not seem to suffer from these imprudent liberties. Occasionally 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 lather 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 Eobert 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 Billliohn. CLOSIXG YEAES. 341 His retirement from active life was a step that interested all parties, and Government was not backward in re- warding tlie faithful services of one who, though not of their party, merited grateful consideration. The follow- ing letters will explain my words. One is addressed to Sheriff Gordon ; the other to James Moncreift', Esq., Lord Advocate : — ^' GvTYBYR House, Whitehall, Aiifjust 30, 1851. '' My deae GoEDON, — The enclosed will show you wdth what great cordiality my suggestion has been re- ceived by Lord John, and this post conveys directly to Professor Wilson an intimation from Lord John Eussell, 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 m^^en me so much real pleasure as lieing 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 honoured old age, and of comfort and happi- ness to all your circle. — Believe me ever, yours very sincerely, J. Monceeiff." '' HoLYEOOD Palace, 28th August 1851. " My deae Loed Advocate, — I have complied at once 342 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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. Eussell/' As soon as Mr. Gordon received the intelligence that it had pleased her Majesty to bestow her bounty on Pro- fessor 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 express- ing their grateful pleasure at this unexpected recogni- tion of his pul)lic services. We 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 Jolni Eusseirs communication to the Lord Advocate, couched in terms indicative of a tender no- bility 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 Eussell, 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 there- fore give it : — CLOSING YEARS. 343 "BiLLHOLM, Langholm. '' My Lord, — That her Majesty has been graciously pleased to bestow on me, in the evening of my life, so miexpected 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 senthnents towards my professional and ' literary character, I would return such acknow- ledgment as is due from one who knows how to esti- mate the high qualities of the house of Eussell.'' 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 labour, and cheerfulness was hard to keep up. He seemed disin- clined 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 melan- choly 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." Tliat such a chani^e 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. Ee- ligion alone supported him in the solitude of that altered existence. These dark clouds were possibly as 344 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. much clue to his enfeebled health as to the belief that the usefulness of his life was over. His brother Robert, who 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 until the autumn of 1852, he resided. If unwearied care and devoted affec- tion could have stayed the increasing malady, which with certain, though often invisible steps, was wearing him away, he had never died. AVhile under that kind roof, there were many days of calm liappiness, 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 Wood- burn as to be able to write his last papers for Black- wood's Magazine — numbers 9 and 10 of '' Dies Boreales." There was nothino^ in that house to disturb studv when he was inclined for it. He had a suite of rooms to him- self; 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 moments when the cruelty of his disorder laid liold 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 1 Mr. R. S. Wilson's residence, near Dalkeith. CLOSING YEARS. 345 » am ; my mind is going, I feel it." Then coming directly to the burden of his soul, he ^YOuld 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 ex- pression 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 dis- ease, that, distressing 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. AYhen these brighter hours came — which they did — ■ nothing could be more delightfid than his aspect, more playfully charming than his spirit. He scarcely looked like an invalid, or one who would be tormented Ijy the fluctuations of moody humours. Altogether there was a something about him different from his days of de- fiant strength. jMassive as his frame still remained, its power was visibly gone, and a gentle air of submis- sion had taken 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 playful note to his son Blair, or ratlier causes it to be written. The contents of it are evidence of how he intends to occupy his time : — ■ *' WooDBiTRN, Dalkeith, Uh December 1851. '' My dear Bi^viPv, — Anne's^ fair hand liolds the pen. 1 His niece, the eldest daughter of Mr, R, S, Wilson, 346 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. The supply 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 trans- lation of Cicero's ' De Finiljus V Is there a A^olume on Philosophy by Price or Dring? also by one Dymond, a Quaker? also by one Oswald, a Scotchman? Sir AVilliam Drummond's ' Academical Questions V That vol. of Lord Jeffrey's collected works containing a Eeview of Sir William Drummond ? That vol. of Lord Jeffrey's works containing a Eeview of Bishop Warbur- ton? Send the above to my brother Ptobert. Come out, if convenient, on Saturday. — Yours affectionately, " John Wilson. '' (Signed by order of the Presbytery.) '' P.S. — You may give my regards to Mary, and per- haps to Gordon, — Golly,^ Adel, Pa, Charles Dickens, and the young lady. John Wilson." He also kept himself aic coicrant with public affairs hj reading the journals of the day. His political ardour was not so much abated as to prevent him from ex- pressing his sentiments with his usual animation ; and he found an opportunity of giving one last memorable proof of his inde])endence and niagninimity of spirit in favour 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 Bab- "" His five graiidcliildren. CLOSING YEARS. 347 ington Macaulay. During the summer the Professor was more than usually feeble, seldom taking exercise out of doors, but preferring 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 summer expressed a desire to go into Edinburgh. Unfortunately ]Mr. Wilson's carriage was not at hand, some of his family havincj 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 himself. On arrivino; in Edinburoh he drove to jNIr. Blackwood's, in George Street, to rest before proceeding farther. Every one rejoiced to see him; and as he drove along many a respectful and glad recognition he received, people wonderinij; if he had come to live and move amomj them once more. But what had brou^dit him throuo;]i the dusty roads and hot mid-day sun? He looked wearied and feeble as he o^ot into his carriao'e 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 Edinburgli was to give his vote for Thomas Babingtou ]\Iacaulay. When he entered the Committee-TOoiu iu 348 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 inter- esting sequel to the incident : — " Royal Hotel, Clifton, July 16, 1852. " My dear Mr. Gordon, — I am truly grateful for your kindness in letting me know how generous a part Professor AVilson acted towards me. From my school- days, when I delighted in the Isle of Palms and the City of tlte Plague, 1 have admired his genius. Politics at a later period made us, in some sense, enemies. But I have loiiGf entertained none but kind feelinos towards him, and his conduct on Tuesday is not the first proof which he has given tliat he feels kindly towards me. I hope that you will let him know how much pleasure, and liow much pride I felt wlieii 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 for ever from work. Writing had now become a painful exertion, and nothing shows it more than his manuscript. Tlie few notes he wrote at this time to his son Blair, and 1 Besides the laudatory critique of the Lays of Ancient Rome in Black- icood, 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 28tli, 1849. signed Allquis. CLOSING YEAKS. 349 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 feelings 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 B or cedes. 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 1 '^ My dear Blair, — I took from Gloucester Place three volumes of Milton, of which one is the second volume of ' Paradise Lost,' 4th edition, Thomas Newton. It contains the first six books, and the note and letter. The first vol. 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."* *' WOODBURN. '* Mt dear Blair, — Your active kindness has done all that could be done about Milton. Look in my room for Payne Knight's ^ Principles of Taste,' and for Kames's ^Elements.' — Yours affectionately, ^^J. Wilson." *' WooDBURN, TJmrsday Afternoon. ^^ My dear 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 Woodhurn from the printer's in the evening ; if so, you may stay and bring it by railway, the latest one going. — Yours affectionately, "J. Wilson." 350 MEMOm OF JOHN WILSON. his last tliouglits have been embahiied m this fine passage. The forlorn and widowed heart speaks in every word. '' When the hand of Death has rent in one mo- ment from f(jnd 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 desolation 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 Sympathy 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 devotion ? 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 laboured 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 for- getfulness. But that affection which was wounded becomes even more deep and tender in the midst of the calm which it attains."^ 1 Dies Boreales, Aagiist 1852. CLOSIXG YEARS. 351 All earthly things now wore for him a solemn aspect. His mind was evidently inclined to meditate upon those truths by which religion 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 laboured. 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 labours, 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. Amono; 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 afterwards told me he saw no change mentally, but considered him as bright and great as ever. Yet time had done much to destroy the 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 morn- ing march when the spirit was young.'' There was the same contrast between them as of yore, attribut- able to the different condition 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 352 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 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 excite- ments. '' 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 painfid to witness than the melancholy natural to it. Now and then, some of the old sarcastic man- ner came across him, and as he sat at the wiiting- table, with the once tempting pen and ink before him, one could fancy him again dashing off one of those grotesque sketches in wliich he had delighted to com- memorate friends and foes. But the stimulus was gone. A few hours were spent together by these old friends, during wliich there was much talk of bygone days. They parted as they met, with kindness and affection, expressing hopes that renewed health might enable them to meet again. My father stood at the door CLOSING YEAES. 353 wliile Lockliart got into liis carriage, and watclied liim out of sight. He never saw hini again. ^ As long as my fathers mind remained unclouded, he continued to take an interest in the welfare of his friends, participating with unaftected sincerity in their pleasures, and rejoicing in their affection. The follow- ing little note to ]\Ir. Eobert Findlay, says more than many words, and is significant of that love which was so large an element of his nature -} — " ]\Iy deaeest Eobeet, — 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. AV." 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 sun- lit hills which enclosed the home of his prime, from whence his '' friend of friends '' heard of a weddinu' morning, bright as the good deserve, and radiant with 1 Mr. Lockhart died at Abbotsford, November 25, 1854, about seveii months after the Professor. ^ Since I wrote the above this dear friend has also been laid in his grave. Mr. Robert 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 knowledge of his high worth, and all those amiable qualities which endeared him to his family and friends, claims expression of sorrow. VOL. IT. Z ^^^ MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. happiness ; more serene, 'because it had come to close sorrow long and stoutly borne. A yearning for home still lingered amidst the fadmg 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 Edinburgh; so, bidding adieu to thci kind brother who had so gently met all the caprices of his illness, and to whom the happier con- dition 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 estabhshed himself in Gloucester Place. For the first few months after his return, he appeared to rally, and gained strength; so much so as to in- spire 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. Anxiety and watcliing still continued ; the gloom and depres- sion of liis mind coming and going from time to time, leaving, with the struggle 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; 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 CLOSING YEAKS. 355 works were tried first, but confusion was the result of this process of inquiry as to liis mental strength. The attempt was too much. With a sigh of despon- dency the volumes were laid aside, ordered to be taken away, and were not again l^rought out. A short period of repose, that might in ordinary cases have been bene- ficial, 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, i^othing 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 tlie mighty fallen !'' were words that sent a sound as a solemn dime to our hearts. Yet was there no rebellion in this desire to hold fast the oifts that were his from heaven : who would part willingly with such powers ?'^ ^ I rememlDer having once heard an instance of his having effected a hapi)y cure in a case of severe mental trouble. The siilDJect was a student whom he had recognised as showing great promise in his earlier career, hut whose subsequent exertions had not answered his expectations. 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 leading to darkness and disbelief, verging in despair. Fitful glimpses of light had crossed his dreary path, but still he found no comfort or rest. The Professor listened to the tale of grief with ten- der sympathy. His steady faith and long experience, his knowledge of how doubts and fears assail the hearts e^en 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. 3-56 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 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 radi- ance 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 amonor those waking dreams, and then he gathered around him when the spring mornings brought gay jets of sun- shine into the little room where he lay, the relics of 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 attentive hands, and falling on each side of his unladed face. How neatly he picked out each elegantly dressed fly from its little bunch, drawing it out with trembling liand 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 performed in his childhood and youth. -^ These precious relics of a bygone sport were wont to be brought out in the early spring, long before sickness ^ A year or two earlier he writes to liis 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." CLOSING YEAES. 357 confined him to his room. It had been a habit of many years, but tlien 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 ring- ing reel." This outward life was at an end. Witli 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 ! intersect- ing 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." ^NTor did he belie the words. We were naturally desirous of keeping from his knowledge anything that would surprise him into agi- tation. Tliis could not, however, always be done, for family distress, as a matter of course, he must parti- cipate in. The day which brought us intelligence of Mrs. Eutherfurd's death was one of startling sorrow to him. His own widowed life had been one of long 358 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. and faitliful mourning ; and the bereavement which liis friend, Lord Eutherfurd, was called npon to en- dure, 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 un- selfishness of his nature, he made his own. More unbounded sympatliy I never knew. Therein lay the feminine delicacy of his nature, the power of win- ning 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 simple rule, — Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you. So, through another spring into summer, and once a^ain to the mellowed autumn and winter snows, he lingered on contented, almost cheer- ful, but also sometimes very sad. At such times he never spoke. Can we doubt tliat these visitations of solemnity had a meaning ? The \"eil 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 oTandchildren continued to cheer and interest him al- most to the end. That silence, so incomprehensible to common minds, looking too often for consolation in the recited words of Scripture, which they convey to curi- ous ears as expressing the last interest and liope of dying hours, was no otlier 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 CLOSING YEAES. 359 1853. I drove witli liini 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 unaljle to rouse himself from a certain air of indifference which, when disap- pointed, 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 thouglit to amuse him in one of his gloomy moments l)y introducing his youngest grandchild, some four years of age, dressed as '' Little Eed Eiding-hood." This picturesque small figure, in a scarlet cloak, with a shock of long curls hanging about his merry face, made his entree into grandpapa's room, holding up in his cliubl)y hands a 1 )asket 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 wel- come he received, observing that grandpapa's hands were so white, and that he never once groioled. The tender and anxious question which he asked concerning; Eobert Burns, " Did he read his Bible ? " 360 MEMOIE OF JOHN WILSON. 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 mornino; and evening regu- larly. His servant also read it frequently to him. In the strong days of his prime, he wrote, not without ex- perience, these words in reference to sacred poetry : — " He who is so familiar with his Bible, that each chapter, open it where he will, teems with household words, may draw thence the theme of many a pleasant and pathetic song. For is not all human nature and all human life shadowed forth in those pages ? But the heart, to sing well from the Bible, must be imbued with religious feelings, as a flower is alternately with dew and sunshine. The study of The Booh must have begun in the simplicity of childhood, when it was felt to be indeed divine, and carried on throuoh all those silent intervals in which the soul of manhood is restored, dur- ing the din of life, to the purity and peace of its early l)eing. 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 understand what he feels ; thoughts and feelings breathing in upon him, as if from a region hanging, in its mystery, between heaven and earth." CLOSING YEAES. 361 On Christmas day, 1853, he assembled, aromid him his entire family, sons and daughters, with their chil- dren, to spend the day in his house. It was ahnost merry. His servant decorated the rooms with ever- greens, and one little garland, with touching love, he ordered 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 fervour and animation 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 glories of another world, purified in his thoughts from all earthly contact, renewed in spirit and in beauty, just as his siffht was about to close, and his heart to cease from participation in things here below ? I cannot say, but the name of " Jane " and of " EUeray '' never more escaped his lips. Another spring is announced amid sunshine, and the cheerful twittering of birds. Even in towns the beauti- 362 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. fnl influence of this season is felt, for the very air has caught up the fresh loamy perfume from the far-off flekls, and a feeling of exhilaration is participated in by all creatures. The lanouid invalid is not indifferent to this emotion, and, witli reanimated nature, new life invigorates every sentient being. And so did we hope tliat this advent of spring would cheer, and for a time console the heart of him Avhose eyes, yet able to bear the light of day, were often turned from the bed where lie 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 for ever. On the 1st of April, I received a mes- sage that my father had become worse. I hurried im- mediately to Gloucester Place. On entering the room a sad sight cauglit my 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 arrived, his bed was being prepared for him, and he still lay in his large chair. A mortal change was visil)le over his whole frame. The shock affected one entire side, from his face downwards, and at that moment he appeared quite unconscious. AVe laid him gently in bed, com- posing that still powerful-looking body as comfortably as possible, and in a few moments the medical attend- ants arrived. There was no hope given us ; his hour liad 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 CLOSING YEAES, 363 took place the whole of that day. His brother Eobert never left his bed-side, but sat there holding the big hand, now aljle only to return the pressure given it ; the last grateful sign of still conscious love. We all watched through the niglit 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 unal3le 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 bed- side. 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 frecpiently across his eyes and head, as if to remove something 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. 364 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. The following lines came into my hands after my father's death. They were written in youth; but the fact that his prayer was granted, 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, T 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 !" RESURaAM. APPENDIX. APPENDIX. I. PUBLIC FUNERAL AND PEOPOSED STATUE. I AM indebted for the foUowincf account to a O friend : ''On the 7tli of April 1854 tlie 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 Gloucester Place, up Doune Terrace, Moray Place, and Eandolph Crescent, on to that lovely sequestered ground, where now repose a goodly company of men whose names will not soon die, — Jeffrey, Cockburn, Ptutherfurd, 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 ' tlie Professor,' whom they loved, and for old Scotland's sake were so proud of Tears were shed by manly eyes ; and none were there who did not feel that the earth closed that day over such a man as the world will not soon see again. 368 APPENDIX. '^ That Edinburgh, rich in monuments for a northern city, should unhesitatingly determine to add to these a statue of John Wilson, was most fitting and natural. The resolution was not only at once formed, but speedily acted upon. Shortly after his death, a public meeting was held, the Lord Provost (M'Laren) presiding, at which it was formally resolved that such a statue sliould be erected ' on a suitable and conspicuous site/ A com- mittee was appointed witli that view, consisting of the Eight Hon. tlie Lord Justice-General (M'Neill), Lord Neaves, Sir John Watson Gordon, P.E.S. A., E.A., Mr. John Blackwood, Mr. Piobert Chambers, Mr. P. S. Eraser, and Dr. John Burt. Much time was necessarily occupied in the receipt of subscriptions, and other arrangements ; but early in 1857 tlie committee found themselves in a position to commission Mr. John Steell, E.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 nortli-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 tlian to say that it promises to prove wortliy alike of the sculptor, of his noble subject, and of the very ' suitable and conspicuous 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 portraiture was indispen- sable ; and it was well tliat the sculptor, in presenting APPENDIX. 369 to US that memorable figure in liis liabit as lie lived, was able also, even by faithful adlierence to tliat habit, to attain much of the heroic element. Tlie 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 frequent habit of wearing, supplies the needed folds of drapery, and the trunk of a palm-tree gives a rest to the figure, while it indicates, comme- nioratively, his principal poetical work. Tlie 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 correspond with the grandly elevated expression of the countenance. To his contemporaries the statue will vividly recall Professor Wilson, at once in his everyday aspect, and as he was wont to appear in his class-room or on the platform, in the verv fervour of his often fiery oratory ; while to succeeding times it will preserve a vivid and worthy repi'esenta- tion of one who, apart from all his other claims to such commemoration, was universally recognised as one of the most striking, poetic, and noble-looking men of his illustrious time. VOL. II. 2 A 370 APPENDIX. II. CORRESPONDENCE RELATING TO JANUS. Mr. Lockhart to Mr. Boyd. ^ " Chiefswood, Uh SejUemher. '' Dear Sir, — I am miicli surprised at the Professor's silence. However, time must not be lost needlessly, so I send you to be put up in slips, 1st, ' Thoughts on Bores,' which paper is by Miss Edgeworth, who, I believe, will allow that to be said when you publish your volume. " 2d, Hints on the Universities ; 3d, Eabbinical 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 ^\all 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 re\^sed sheets corrected for press. I hav^e seen Mr. Lockhart, and find you have an Arabian tale of his in hand, which put in anywhere 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. Lock- hart leaves town to-morrow, and I believe he intends to tdter a Httle the poem on Lord Byron. Brown on Beauty may be put into forms ; a few corrections will be made on it. Make a new para- eak of the emotion,' etc. — Yours truly, J. Wilson." 1 '' Janus, or the Edinburgh Literary Ahuanac." Oliver & Boyd, 1826. Fcap. 8vo. APPENDIX. 371 Wilson to Mr. Boyd. " Elleray, Kendal, " Thursday, 6th October 1825. '' Dear Sir, — Along with this you will receive three papers, two of them complete 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 anything else, l^eing excel- lent 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 j^er mail, letting me know by letter the day they leave Edinburgh. " They shall be returned instantly, corrected for press. Send also the incomplete 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 receiv- ing 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. Tlie volume will con- clude 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 contents of this letter. — Yours very truly, " John Wilson." The Same to the Same. ^* Elleray, \6th October 1825. *' Dear Sir, — Yesterday I sent per coach three articles for Jarms^ 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 372 APPENDIX. ago, wliich he is doing or to do, and from those I have in hand, the voUime cannot easily be less than 550 pages, which, since there is to be no embellishments, may probal>ly 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 l>y sending me a bill for £150, which I could discount at Kendal at Messrs. Wakefield. This would be a great convenience for me, just at present on the eve of my leaving the neighljourhood. This request is rather before date, but I will send my receipt for the money, and in final settlement 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. Boyd. " Chiefswood, 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 tlivee articles, and his intention to send more in a few days. He also says he has told you to begin the volimie 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 l>y Fire; 3. Specimens of the Eabbin A}>o- loo-ue ; 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 uj) one of the Professor'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 the Gipsy King, now sent ; 20. Inscription at Hoch-heim, now sent ; 21. Epitaph of De Ranzau, now sent ; 22. Epigrams, now sent ; 23. Essence of the Opera, now sent ; 24. Ballad from the Norman-French. u ly^ reo-ard to all these, you need not bother yourself with slii>s, APPENDIX. 373 l)ut set up in slieets. 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 correct- ing of them). In the meantime, 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 everything. — Yours truly, J. G. Lockhart. ''From Mr. Wilson, 17th October 1825 : — ''Antipathies; Dante and Milton; on the character Bnona- partic." Wilson to the Same. "Ellekay, Saturday, October 22, 1825. " Dear Sir, — Many thanks for your kind letter, and enclosure of £150 on account of Janus. " In sheet 6, I agree with the compositor that the white lines should be taken out. Fill up the S2)ace with the ' Player and Poodle,' and ' The Return.' After the article on the Eise 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 consequence, 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 ])ages of excellent articles, and the remainder also I expect will be good. The volume should not he less than 550 pages, which I hope you can afford at 12 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, 374 APPENDIX. so send nothing here after receipt of this. — I am, dear Sir, yours ^^^ibs John Wilson." Wilson to Mr. Boyb. '• Gloucester Place, 2d 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 l)efore 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 unknown 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 encouragement. The other articles are not good, but I know the quarter from which one of them comes, and will Tv^ite to the author, who is a man of genius. By the time the MS. now sent is in ty[)es, I shall send you more ; and I have reason to think what will add greatly to the value of James. E-emember not to scrimp it, and I presume it will be in time if shijiped by the end of the month. I shall see Mr. Lockhart to-morrow at one o'clock. " Wednesday Morning. — I 'v^Tote this last night. — Yours tin.ily, "J. Wilson." To THE Same. " I5th November 1826. " Dear Sir, — I liave 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 hy his MS. No word j^et from the Opium-Eater. " I hope to send some MS. in a cou])]e of days, as not much time now remains. — Yours truly, John Wilson." To THE Same. " 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 APPENDIX. 375 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, nth Novemher 1855. — P.S. — I will send back the other things to-morrow, for I cannot lay my hands on them just now." To THE Same. "2lst JSTovemher 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 tiiily, J. Wilson." To THE Same. " 6, Gloucester Place, 2? -ij Do. ,,5, 2, Sept. October. January. February. March. May. June. July. August. September. October. November. Do. 5? 55 6, PAGES. 23 18 17 8 8 31 32 12 30 17 24 1, 28 141 7 9 22 14 16 12 20 12 8 12 26 16 16 lo 17 8 9 15 9 21 19 13 17 384 APPENDIX. lO—Ster- 1836. December. The Metaphysician, No. 7, Epigrams of Theocritus, The Mountain Decameron, 1837. January. Do. Fel)raary. The Metaphysician, No. 8, March. The Biitli Day, April. Our Two Vases, October. Do. November. Poetry by Our New Contributor, ling, IGl . 1838. February. Loss of Our Golden Key, April. The Latin Anthology, . May. Our Two Vases, June. Our Two Panniers, July. Extracts, August. Christopher in His Cave, Sept. Christopher among the Mountains October. A Glance over Thomas Warton, November. Our Pocket Companion, December. Tupper's Geraldine, 1839. February. New Edition of Ben Jonson, April. Christopher in his Alcove, May. Our Descriptive Poetry, July. The Antediluvians, or the World August. Our Pocket Companions, November. Have you read Ossian l 1840. March. Leigh Hunt's Legend of Florence, 1842. December. Lays of Ancient Rome, 1845. February. North's Specimens of the British Critics, March. Do. do. April. Do. do. Extracts from the Drawer of our What-not. May. North's Specimens of British Critics, Destroved, PAUES. 10 9 20 27 7 24 20 24 10 33 44 28 32 20.1- 17^ 32 20 29 18 25 33 13 2.5 23 22 16 9 91 2 2() 32 26 30 APPENDIX. 6i5i 1845. PAGES June. North's Specimens of British Critics, 23 July. Do. do. 15 August. Do. do. 28 Sept. Do. do. 23 1848. October. Byron's Address to the Ocean, 16 1849. June. Dies Boreales, 26 July. Do. 32 August. Do. 28 Sept. 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 VOL. IT. 2 B INDEX. INDEX. Accident to Mrs. Wilson, ii. 80. to Mrs. Gordon, senior, ii. 269. Achlian, visits to, see Campbell. Aird, Thomas, ii. 115, 14^ 291. letters to, on Bums, ii. 260-262. on the Festival, ii. 294-296. Alibon, Sir A., i. 170, 185 ; ii. 292. Allan, Mr., of the Caledonian Mer- cury , i. 151. Allan, Sir William, i. 300 ; ii. 288. Ambleside, fair at, ii. 129-131. See Elleray. America and the Americans, ii. 308, 309. Anderson, Samuel, i. 270. Anecdotes of College life, i. 76-82. Anglers' Tent, the, i. 130. Angling, early fondness for, i. 4, 5, 10, 17. See Fishing excursions. his last " cast,"^ii. 340. Animals, love of — the peaseweep in the moor, i. 13. cock-fighting, i. 69. spiders and their habits, i. 140. game-cocks, i. 141, 178. ])onies and cows, calves and pigs, ii. 111. chickens and dogs, ii. 236. the dog Rover and the witch, ii. 226. a pet dog shot, ii. 247. list of dogs, ii. 2.52. his four-footed friends, ii. 253. Bronte, Tory, and Grog, ii. 252- 255. l]is ^^ aviary" in the back-green, ii. 256-259. . interference in behalf of an ill- used horse, ii. 305, 306. Anniversary, The, an annual of Allan Cunningham's, ii. 137-143. ^^ Apperdeen stockingks," ii. 20. Aray, the river, i. 190, 218. Art, love of, ii. 310, 311, 359. Astley, the Messrs., i. 130. Audubon, John James, the ornitho- logist, ii. 208. letter from, ii. 212, 213. '^ Auld lang syne," as sung by Wil- son, i. 34 ; ii. 316. Authors, calamities of, ii. 121, 266. " Aviary," the, ii. 256. treatment of its invalids, ii. 257, 258 Awe, *Loch, i. 212-218, 234; ii. 269- 271. Aytoun, Professor W. E., ii. 21. marriage of, to Jane Emily Wil- son, ii. 321, 322. Babies, the Professor's ^^way" of carrying, ii. 327. Bachelor degree, examination for, at Oxford, i. 110-113. Baillie, Joanna, i. 171, 200. Baird, Principal, i. 331. letter from, ii. 81. Ballantynes, the, i. 158, 166, 169, 171, 176, 270, 273 ; ii. 121. Balmer, Billy, a boatman on Win- dermere, i. 135-137, 205, 208, 230, 316. some account of, ii. 328-331 . Bar, Scottish^ called to the, i. 179, 185. Barber, Samuel, ii. Ill, 127, et seq. Barley-sugar, fondness for, i. 35 ; ii. 251. Ba'rlow, Mrs., ii. 129, 161. Barton, Mr., i. 219. Baxter, Mr., i. 205. 390 INDEX. Bell, Henry GUisstbrd, ii. 142, 143, 388 Hell', *Mr., i. 218, 219. Ben Ciuaclian, i. li)0. Benthani, Jeremy, ii. 77, 78. Bereslbrd, Admiral 8ir J., ii. 184. Berkeley's ]»liiloso])hy, papers on, in lUitrkiiHUHl, i. 324. Bil)le, remarks un the, ii. 3fJ0. l^illbnlm, the residence of his son John, description ol", ii. 274-277. a summer at, ii. 277. letter to, ii. 289-21)1. visits to, ii. 328,312. Bhackwood, (Japtain, ii. 191. Blackwood, Sir Henry, ii. 181. Bhackvvood, John, ii. 3(j8. Blackwood, William, i. 176, 250, 254. his saloon described by Lock- hart, i. 258. letters from, ii. 54, 60-70, 98- 100. his illness and death, ii. 228-234. BlackwoocV s Marjazine versus Edin- burgh Revieui,''!. 238, 250, 251, 265. account of the rise of the Maga- zine, i. 244-247. its early defects, i. 2.50, 251. contributors to, i. 257. fictitious names used in, i. 263, 268. troubles occasioned by its as saults, i. 276-295. — Wilson's allegiance to, ii. 51. his contributions to, ii. 106, 135, 159, 160, 168, 208, 234, 235, 259, 268, 278, 298, 302. — his last papers, ii. 344. For titles of contributions see Appendix III. ii. 377-385. Blair, Dr. Alexander, i. 'SS, 150. letters to Findlay on Wilson's attachment to Margaret of Dych- mont, i. 99-111. aVc^^ Love e]usode. visit to Elleray, i. 130, 131. letter from, i. 179. correspondence with, when pre- ' paring Moral Philosophy Lectures i. 321-330. — mentioned, ii. 178, 214, 331. — accompanies Wilson to the High- lands, ii. 296-298. reminiscences of his friendship with Wilson, ii. 333-335. Blantyre Priory, i. 32. Boating, love of, i. 135-137. Bothwell Banks, i. 6Q, ^^. Boyd, John, ii. 89. Boyhood, i. 1-20. '' Breeches Review," the, ii. 78. Brewster, Sir David, i. 257 ; ii. 285. '^British Critics," North's Specimens of the, ii. 298, 299. Bridges, David, ii. 58. Bronte, the dog, ii. 252. Brougham, Lord, i. 144 ; ii. 43, 283, 286. Brown, Dr. John, ii. 103, 226. Brown, Peter, Bishop of Cork, i. 328. Brown, Dr. Thomas, i. 301, 307, 332. Browne, Dr. James, editor of the Cahidonian Mercury, ii. 151. Bryant, Jacob, i. 324. Bull, midnight chase of a, i. 1.38-140. Bidl {John) Magazine, ii. 71-96. Burke and Hare, the Edinburgh murderers, ii. 147, 253. Burnev, Charles Parr, Ai'ch deacon of Colchester, i. 75, 113 ; ii. 184. Burns Festival, ii. 291-295. Burns, Ptoberl, i. 242. essay on, ii. 259-262. Burnside, Mary, the friend of the ^^ Orphan Maid," ii. 261. Burt, Dr. John, ii. 368. Burton, John Hill, his reminiscences of the Professor and his class, ii. 11-29. Byron, Lord, i. 200, 240. paper on his ^^ Address to the Ocean," ii. 302. the look-out for Cab-drivers on Wilson, ii. 304. Cadell, T., i. 220 ; ii. 55, et seq. Caird, the great, and his ^vife, i. 194. Calder Bank, i. 32, 51. Calderwood, i. 51. Calvinus, attack by, on Drs. M'Ciie and Andrew Thomson, i. 257, 282. Campbell, Captain Archil )ald, i. 218. Campbell, Dugald, of Achlian, i. 192; visit to, i. 212-220, 225. Campbell, Thomas, ii. 184, 204, 237. Canning, George, ii. 72. letter from, ii. SQ. visit to Elleray, ii. 91, 92. mentioned, ii.' 95, 97. Carlisle, sports at, i. 144. Carlyle, Thomas, letter from, ii. 149- 151. Carter, a speechless, looking after the Professor with his horse, ii. 305, 306. Cashel, Mrs. (Grace Wilson), i. 3; ii. 203. Cay, Sheriff, i. 185, 270; ii. 285. INIJEX. 391 a Chaldee Maiuiscript ," i. 2^8, 257, 27^. Chaml^ers, Robert, ii. 325, 368. Chauuing, Dr., ii. 3()1). Cheese, Rev. Benjamin, i. 111. ^-Iiildren, the Professor's love of, ii. 325-328, 359, 3(31. Christmas vacations, i. 27-20 ; his last Christmas-day, ii. 361. '' Christopher North," ii. 51. letter on, ii. 123. portrait of, in liis Sporting Jacket, ii. 311. t^iurcli servi.'e, Scottish, ii. 320, 321. >S'e6 " Dies Boreales." ''City of the Plague," puhlication of, i. 203, 209. See also 179. Cladich, ii. 270. Cleghorn, James, i. 21:1-247. Cockburn, Lord, ii. 219, 313, 367. Cock-tighting, i. 69-71. Cocks, establishment of, at EUeray, i. 70, 110-113. Codrington, Sir Edward, ii. 191. Colbnrn, Henry, ii. 73. Coleridge, Hartlev, ii. 127, ct seq., 133, 131, 161. Coleridge, Sani'iel Tavlor, i. 125, 205, 207. his Biogrcqyhia Liter aria, i. 218. review of his poetical works, ii. 231. College life at Glasgow, i. 21-39. at Oxford, i. 56-118. See Oxford. Collier, Sir F., ii. 177, et seq. ^'Colonsay, Christo^^her on," origin of, ii. lil-113. Combe, George, i. 217. Commonplace Books, begun at Oxford, plan of, i. 61-65, 103. extracts from, in prose and verse, i. 131, 135. Composition, halnts of, ii. 265-268. Constable, Archibald, i. 176, 201, 217; ii. 90. Coop, the, in the attic, ii. 257, 250. Copleston, Rev. Edward, i. 328. ''Copy, copy!" ii. 266. Cranstoun, Mr., i. 171, 318. Critic, Wilson as a, ii. Ill, 206. ^ Croker, John Wilson, ii. 71, 72, 75. Cruikstone, i. 5Q. Cunningham, Allan, ii. 70. letters from, ii. 136-113. Cupples, Mr., extract from his morial" of Wilson, ii. 217. Ciirwen, William, i. 205, 208. Dalyell, Sir J. G., i. 271, 272. '^ xMe- Death of a sister, i. 21. of Wilson's father, i. 21, 22. of his mother, ii. 80. ■ of his wife, ii. 210-212. of Professor Wilson, ii. 363. '' Delta," see Moir, Dr. De Quincey, Thomas, remarks of, on Wilson's pugilistic and leaping at- tainments, i. 71-73. on his friends at Oxford, i. 75. description of Elleray, i. 120- 122. first meeting with Wilson, i. 126- 129. story ot the bull-chase, i. 138- 110. — remarks on Wilson as a natural- ist, i. 111. — letters to, i. 151, 181 ; ii. 153. mentioned, i. 205, 206, 228, 257, 331 ; ii. 11, 83, 102, 171, 332, 371. — letter from, ii. 76-80. friendship with Wilson, ii. 155- 158. De Tabley, Lord, ii. 118. Diary in 1801, i. 26. See Memoran- dum-! )Ook. Dickens, Charles, i. 69; ii. 250. public dinner to, ii. 268. " Dies Boreales," composition of the, ii. 320. the last contributions to Black- vxml, ii. 311, 350. " Dilettanti Club," i. 275. " Dim acclivity," the, ii. 300. Disraeli, Benjamin, ii. 105. Dixon, Rev. Richard, i. 111. Dobson, Mr., i. 207. Dogs, the, at Thirlstane Castle, ii. 221-227. anecdote of one shot at Roslin, ii. 217. list of Wilson's dogs, ii. 252. Douglas, Mr., of Glasgow, his fracas with Mr. Blackwood, i. 278, 279. Dow, John, ii. 71. Doyle, John, ii. 283. Doyle, Richard, ii. 283. Drawing, early attempts at, i. 6.. .S'^^Art. Dress, peculiarities of, ii. 301. Drovers, King of the, Wilson's match with, in a Highland village, i. 191. Drummond, Mr. Home, i. 75. Duel, Scotsman-Mercury, ii. 151. Dumfries, visit to, ii. 262. Duncan, Thomas, Wilson in his studio, ii. 311, 312. Dundas, Admiral, ii. 199. 392 INDEX. Dimdas, Robert, ii. 84. Eloquence, the Gormandizing School Dundas, William, ii. 84. of, ii. 58. Du Perron, Cardinal, as a leaper, i. Equestrian adventure, i. 137, 138. 73. Dunlop, William, i. 36, 38, 109, o 21 :i Dunlops, the, of Garnkirk, i. 3. Dychmont, i. 32. the ladies of, i. 50-56. PEARLY companions, i. 38. '- Edderline's Dream," ii. 140-143. Edgeworth, Miss, ii. 58, 104. Edinburi2;h, removal of tlie family to, Ferrier, Professor, i. 249 ; ii. 106, i. 181-185. ' 161. Ann Street and its associations, marriage of, to Miss Wilson, ii. Fairy, funeral of a, described, ii, 271- 273. Fairy -land. Lays from, ii. 49. Fang, the dog, ii. 225, 252. Father, death of Wilson's, i. 21, 22. Ferguson, Dr. Adam, i. 332. Fergusson, Sir Adam, i. 300 ; ii. 58, 59. Fergusson, James, i. 171, 213. i. 296-300. , 247. removal to Gloucester Place, i. Findlay, Robert, i. 36, 38. 81, 82. Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, i. 234, 244-247. Edinburgh Revieio, strictures of, on education at Oxford, i. 82. " Isle of Palms" reviewed in, i. 176. Wilson's contributions to, i. 186, 240. See Jeffrey. — review of the '' City of the Plague," i. 209. the Revieio versus Blackwood j i. 238, 250, 251. EUeray, purchase of, i. 105, 106. description of, bv De Quincey, i. 120-122. society in the district, i. 125, 147 — excursions around, i. 129, 130, 133-135, 228. — boatins' on Windermere, i. 135- 137. -^ regattas, i. 149 ; ii. 92. ^ — plans of composition at, i. 178. — departure from, i. 179-182. — visits to, i. 204-208, 226-230 ; ii. 53, 68. — the new house at, ii. 6S. visit of Sir Walter Scott, ii. 91- 93. letters to Mrs. Wilson and family from, ii. 107-111, 126-133, 162-164 ; to Sheriff Gordon, 299. intention to let, ii. 124. visits in 1845 and 1848, ii. 299, 301. .. ^^^ resolution not to return, ii. 6i)Z. Elliot, Ebenezer, the Corn-Law Rhy- mer, ii. 208-212. Ellison, Nathaniel, i. 76. correspondence with, on the Orphan Maid, i. 92-118 (see Love episode). letter to, on hiitj marriage with Miss Penny, i. 161, 162. — letter to, on the death of Mrs. Findlay, senior, and of Mrs. Wil- son, senior, ii. 80-82. — mentioned, ii. 159. — note to, ii. 237. — letter to, from Rothesay, ii. 269. — invited to the marriao-e of John Wilson, jun., ii. 301. letter' to, congratulating him on his son's marriage, ii. 353. his death, ii. 358. Finlav, John, a voung x:)oet, i. 103, 109, 155, 159. Finlav, Mr., of Glencorse, i. 1S6. Fish, tlie first, i. 4. Fishing excursions— to the Tweed and Yarrow, i. 185. to tlie Hio-hlands, i. 194. to Loch Awe, i. 212-218. to the wilds of Rannoch, i. 234. to the Dochart, ii. 296-298, 339. his last excursion, ii. 338-340. Fleming, Rev. John, of Rayrig, i. 125. letters to, i. 309-311 ; ii. 123-126, 16-148. Forbes, Professor Edward, i. 231. ^'Foresters, The," ii. 67, 69, 88. Fortune, unencumbered, i. 59. circumstances connected with the loss of it, i. 180. Eraser, P. S., ii. 319, 368. Erasers Magazine, i. 280 ; ii. 99, 216, 222. Free Trade, views on, ii. 83, 118. INDEX. 393 Friend, The, a serial of Coleridge's, referred to, 1. 130, 131. (^AiSFORD, Dr. Thomas, i. 77. Gale House and its inmates, i. 147, et seq. Gait, John, i. 300 ; ii. Q5, 67. '' Gangrel bodies" from the South, i. 193. Garnet, William, i. 228 ; ii. 110, 130, 131,162. Gas versus Candle, ii. 267, 325. '' Gemm eggs, a i^ouchfu' o'/' i. 143. Gibl), Mr., an Edinburgli artist, ii. 117, 118, 165. Gill, Mr., i. 172. Gillies, E. P., i. 244, 245, 255, 257. Gipsies, the Howitts' story of his joining a gang of, i. 74. Gladstone, W. E., ii. 161. Glasgow University, enters, i. 22. college life, i. 21-39. recollections of, i. 58, 59. Glassford, Mr., i. 171. Gleniffer, i. 1. Gloucester Place, removal to new house in, ii. 82. " Gold Medal, Professor Wilson's," ii. 46. Gordon, Sir John Watson, i. 299 ; ii. 368. Gordon, Mrs., senior, accident to, ii. 269. Gordon, John Thomson, ii. 21. marriage of, ii. 247. letters to, ii. 292, 299. letter to, from the Lord Advo- cate, intimating the grant of a i)en- sion to Wilson of £300 per annum, ii. 341. Gordon, John, ii. 149. " Goulden Vanitee, The ;" music and words of this quaint ballad, ii. 317- 319. . Graham, Dr., ii. 89. Graham, Sir James, ii. 201, 285. Grahame, Kev. James, author of '' The Sabbath," publication of '^ Lines" to his memory, i. 168-171. Grandfather, Wilson as a, ii. 325-328, 359, 361. Grant, Mrs., of Laggan, i. 188, 193, 225, 311-313. Grants of Lifforchy, i. 222. Gray, James, author of ''Cona," i. 199. Gray, Lieutenant Charles, i. 201 ; ii. 178. Greave, Mr., i. 205. Grenville, Lord, i. 152. Grey, Sir Charles E., i. 76, 113. Grieve,. John, i. 186, 195. letter to, on Hogg's dispute with Blackwood, ii. 219-223. Grog, the dog, ii. 255. Grosart, Rev. A. B., of Kinross, his account of an illness of the Pro- fessor, ii. 335, 336. Haddington, Lord, ii. 178.. Hall, Mrs. S. C, ii. 204. Hallam, Henry, ii. 235. Hallside, Piofessor Jardine's resi- dence, society and diversions at, i. 31, 32, 51. Hamilton, Archibald, i. 38. Hamilton, Captain Thomas, i. 257, 278, 300. Hamilton, Sir William, i. 185, 249, 257, 300. contest with, for the Chair of Moral Philosophy, i. 301, et seq, at Wilson's lectures, ii. 32, 38. Harden, John, of Brathay, i. 131. letter to, i. 151-154. Harden, Captain, of Altna2;oich, i. 2i;5. Hawick fair, adventure at, ii. 7-9. Hay, Andrew, ii. 178. Hazlitt, William, i. 271. H. B. political sketches, ii. 283. Health giving way, ii. 335, et seq. • residence at Woodburn, ii. 344- 354. return to Edinburgh, ii. 354. paralytic stroke, ii. 362. Heber, Pteginald, i. 75. Helensburgh, regatta at, ii. 235, 236. Herbert, William, Dean of Manches- ter, i. 200. Highlands, tour in the, i. 109. — ^ pedestrian tour, accompanied by Mrs. Wilson, i. 188-197. tour of 1816, i. 212-225. of 1817, i. 234-236. short excursion in 1836, after the Paisley festivities, ii. 239. — and again in 1811, ii. 269. his last excursion to, in search of health, ii. 338. Hill, D. O., his calotype of Wilson, ii. 285, 304. Hogg, James, the Ettrick Shepherd, visit to, i. 186. letters to, i. 197-202 ; ii. 215-219. 394 INDEX. Hogg, James, writes for the Edin- bfirr/h Magazine, i. 245, and for Blackwood, i. 257, 268, 270. letter from, ii. 145. liis quarrel with the Blackwoods, ii. 215-223. Home, Wilson at, ii. L59, 251. Home, Professor James, i. 331. " Homer and his Translators," Es- says on, ii. 1G8. Hook, Dr. .James, ii. 67. Hook, Theodoie, ii. 71, 142. Hope, Captain, ii. 128. Hope, Captain (Experimental Squad- ron), ii. 178. Hoi>e, Professor T. C, i. 331. Horner, Francis, i. 248. Horner, Leonard, i. 38. Howitt, William and Mary, i. 74. Hume, David, ii. 59. Humility, his, in speaking of him- self, ii. 273. Humour, Wilson's, ii. 303, 312. Humphries, Mr., i. 130. Hunt, Leigh, attack on, in Blackivood, i. 248, 270-272 ; ii. 55-57. review of his Legend of Florence, ii. 268. Huskisson, W., letter from, on the proposal for a separate Chair of Political Economy, ii. 85, 86. '' Hypocrisy unveiled," the pamphlet so called, and its author, i. 282- 285. Inkstand, the Professor's, ii. 325. Innerleithen, residence at, ii. 122. Innes, Alex. Taylor (his last Medal- list), reminiscences of the Professor and his class, ii. 45-48, 336, 337. Ireland, rambles in, i. 105, 106. visits to his sisters in, i. 177 ; ii. 203. Irving, Rev. Edward, his preaching described, ii. 71. '' Isle of Palms," original draught of, i. Q5. correspondence on its publica- tion, 155-160, 164-178. Ivory, James (Lord), i. 185. Izett, Mrs., i. 195, 198,235; ii. 218. Janus, publication of, ii. 88-90, 100- 104. correspondence relating to, ii. 370-376. contents of, ii. 376. Jameson, Professor Robert, i. 257, 331. letter from, ii. 93, 94. Jamieson, Mrs., author of ^^ King Charles's Beauties," ii. 205. Jardine, Professor George, residence in the family of, i. 22, et seq. first published poems dedicated to, i. 173. his ^'Hints'' for Moral Philo- sophy Lectures, i. 330. meutioned, ii. 82. Jeffrey, Lord, i. 172. his review of the Isle of Palms, i. ]76. visit to the Continent, i. 198. letter on Wilson s poems, i. 209- 211. — letter from, on Contributions to the Edinburgh Revieiv, i. 242. — letter vindicatingr the Review from the charge of infidelity, i. 293- 295. reunioTis at his house, ii. 248, 249. his evening receptions, ii. 313, 314. Jenner, Dr., of Oxford, i. 80. Jones, Sir William, i. 63. Kean, Charles, i. 213. Keepsake, The, an annual, ii. 140-142. Kemp affair and Scott Monument, ii. 281, et seci. Kinnaird, Mr., i. ^1 . Knox, Mr., i. 226, 227. Ladies and Politics, ii. 171-175, 208. Laidlaw, George, of Kintail, i. 225. Laidlaw, Mr., of Traquair Knowe, i. 186. Laidlaw, William, Scott's amanuensis, ii. 59. Lake escapades, i. 135, et seq. " Lalla Rookh," review of, i. 234. Lamb, Charles, i. 67 ; ii. ^^, 178, 208. '' Lament, Captain Raton's," — verses by Lockhart, attributed to the Odontist, i. 273-275. Landon, Miss, ii. 204. Leaping, attainments in, i. 72, 73. Lectures on Moral Philosophy, pre- paration of, i. 321-335. " Leopard, the," i. 251, 255. Lewis, Mr., i. 67. " Lights and Shadows," publication of,'ii. 52, ^'^. INDEX. 31J5 Listen, Rohert, the celebrated sur- geon, consultation with, ii. 230, 231. Literature and politics, i. 243. Litt's Wrestliana, i. 144. Lloyd, Charles, of Low Brathay, i. 125, 148, 170, 208; ii. 171. Lloyd, William H., i. 38. Lockhart, Captain, i. 270. Lockliart, J. G., i. 185, 227, 257-265. letters from, ii. 55, 58, 70, 74, 89, 91, 95, 104, 152, 280-288. becomes editor of the Quarterly Review, ii. 104. his last interview with Wilson ii. 351. his death, ii. 353. London, visits to, i. 81 ; ii. 307. Love episode in early life : Margaret of Dychmont, i. 49-56. poems dedicated to, i. 53-56. letters addressed to, i. 65-67, 87-91. letters on, to Findlav, i. 92-99, 104-109, 114-118. corresxiondence hetween Blair and Findlay, i. 99-104, 109-111. Lowndes, Mr., ii. 61. Lowther, Lord, i. 144; ii. 106, 110. Lubienski, Leon Count, a Polish stu dent, ii. 16, 20. Luib, visits to, ii. 296, 338. Lyndsay, Mr., brother-in-laAV of Pro fessor Jardine, i. 32. See Palmes. Macaulay, T. B. ; his Lays criticised, ii. 268, 278. candidate for the representation of Edinburgh, ii. 346. Wilson's mysterious mission to Edinburgh to vote for, ii. 347 letter'to Sheriff Gordon, express- ing his kindly feelings towards the Professor, ii. 348. MaccuUoch, Horatio, ii. 279. Machell, James P., i. 148 ; ii. 106. Mackenzie, Henry, the '' Man of Feel- ing," anecdote of, i. 70. referred to, i. 257. Mackintosh, Sir James, i. 307 ; ii. 47. Maclaren, Charles, editor of the Scots- 7nan, ii. 151. Macleod, Ptev. Dr. Norman, sen., i. 36. M'Culloch, J. P., editor of the Scots- man, ii. 83. M^Crie, Pev. Dr., i. 257; 282. McDonald, Lawrence, ii. 15. M ^Gibbon, Rev. Mr., i. 218. M^Intyre, Dr., i. 217. M'^Kenzie, Alex., of DingAvall, i. 221- 225. McLaren, Duncan, ii. 368. M'Latchie, Eev. Dr. George, of Mearns, Wilson's second instruc- tor, i. 8-11, 172 ; ii. 159. McNeill, Mr., of Hayfield, i. 219. M'Neill, Duncan, Lord Justice-Gene- ral, i. 185 ; ii. 368. McNeill, Sir John, i. 3; ii. 69, 290. M^Nicol, James, i. 218. Magdalen College, see Oxford. Maoinn, Dr. William, ii. 69, 97-99, 105-204. Maitland, Sir F., ii. 199, 201. Maitland, Thomas, i. 185. Malcolm, John, ii. 15. Malcolm, Sir P., ii. 177. Malthus, Rev. T. R., i. 307. ^^Mansie Wough," ii. 120. Margaret of Dychmont, see Love epi- sode. Marriage, i. 161-163. of his daughters Margaret and Mary, ii. 247. of his son John, ii. 301. of his daughter Jane Emily, ii. 321. ^^ Mathetes," a letter on Education by Blair and Wilson, i. 131. Maule, Hon. Lauderdale, ii. 315. Maxwell, Sir John, of Pollock ; his reminiscences of Wilson at Mearns, i. 9, 10. Mearns manse, education at, i. 7, 8. physical features of the parish, i. 8, 9. reminiscences of, i. 10-12 ; ii. 356. account of his feelincfs on bid- ding it farewell, i. 18-20. Melville, Lord, ii. 75, 84. Memorandum-book, an early, i. 26, 50. extracts, i. 29-37. Menzies, Mr., i. 235. '' Mill, a little," ii. 7. Millar, Robert, bookseller in Edin- burgh, i. 200, 204. Millheugh, i. 51. Moir, Dr. (Delta), ii. 83, 97. letters to, ii. 101, 115-120, 258, 278. Moncreiff, James (Lord Advocate), his letter to Sheriff Gordon intima- ting the grant of a pension to Wil- son of £300 per annum, ii. 34] . 396 INDEX. Moncreiff, James (Lord Advocate), letter from Lord John Russell to, on the pension, ii. 341, 342. Monro, Dr. Alex., Professor of Ana- tomy, i. 331, 332. Montrose, Marquis of, i. 3. Monument to Professor Wilson, ii. 367-369. Moore, Thomas, i. 67 ; ii. 69, 99, 100. Moors, '' Wee Kit" lost on the, i.12-14. Moral Faculty, orip^in of the, ii. 46. Moral Philosophy Chair in Edinburgh University : becomes a candidate for, i. 301. his competitors, i. 301, 307. Whig opposition, i. 302, 308. his moral character attacked, i. 308, 316. — preparation of lectures, i. 335. 319- — the opening lecture, i. 331, 332. — syllabus of his course, ii. 2-7. — reminiscences by old students of the Professor and his class, ii. 11-48. his last year of jDublic labour, ii. 335, et seq. — resignation of his chair, ii. 340. correspondence relating to the Queen's pension, ii. 341-343. Morehead, Kev. Eobert, i. 170, 172, 287. letter from, on the attack on Playfair, i. 287-291. letter to, on the same, i. 292. Morris, Captain Charles, ii. 70. Mourning, wearing of, ii. 305. Moxon, Edward, ii. 178. ^' Muckle-mou d Meg," of the Mearns manse, i. 14-16. Muir, Leezy, in search of Wee Kit, i. 14. Mure, Mrs., of Caldwell, i. 197. Murray, Rev. George, of Balmaclellan, ii. 2i32. Murray, John A. (Lord), ii. 72, 249. Murray, John, publisher, ii. 73, 104. Music, love of, i. 33 ; ii. 316. Mylne, Dr., ii. 61. Mylne, Professor James, i. 320. Mystification connected with Blark- wood's Magazine J i. 240-251, 270- 272, 279. Napier, Andrew, i. 36. Napier, Macvey, i. 291. Naturalist, qualifications as a, i. 140, 141. Nature^ communion with, ii. 270. Naval experience, ii. 177, 205. Neaves, Lord, ii. 368. Newby, James, i. 143. Newdigate prize at Oxford, i. 112, 113. Newton, Mr., ii. 140. Nicolson, Alexander, reminiscences of the Professor and his class, ii. 42, 48. ^^ Nimmo, Sir Peter," an eccentric visitor of the College classes, ii. 24. his interview with Wordsworth, ii. 25. Nursery, pulpit oratory in the, i. 5. O'CoNNELL, Daniel, reference to, in a Lecture, and its effect on the class, ii. 41, 42. ^^Odontist, The," i. 272-274, 317. O'Doherty, Ensign, i. 278. Old Clothes— ^^ Have you any ?" ii. 24. Old Slop and the New Times, ii. 74. Orator, Wilson's power as an, ii. 38, 39. Ord, JolmW., ii. 21. '' Orphan-maid," the, of Dychmont, i. 50-52. See Love Episode. ^^ Outlines of a Course of Moral In- quiry," projected, ii. 87. Oxford : entered at Magdalen College, i. 5Q. recollections of, in after life, i. 57, 58. studies and manner of life at^ i. 58-118. — expenditure at, 1. 59. — sketches of companions, i. 65-67. — amusements at, i. 'o^, et seq. — friends and acquaintance at, i. 75, 76. — reminiscences of a fellow-student, 1. /b-82. — long solitary rambles, i. 95, 96, 98. examination for De.Lrree of Bachelor, i. 110-113. Paget, Sir C, ii. 199, 201. Paisley, town of, i. 1, 2. public dinner, ii. 237. Palmes, Mrs. (Margaret Lyndsay), i. 32. Paralysis, seized with a shock of, ii. 362. Paralytic affection of the right hand, ii. 268, 302. ' Park, Mungo, Wilson's project of ac- companying him to Africa, i. 91, 92. INDEX. 397 Parliament-House life, i. 185. Paterson, Deacon, and his '' green • ?^ Q y\ ^^inburgh Town-Council, 1. oio-o'ZO. Paton's (Captain) Lament, i. 273-275 Pearson, Mr., i. 207. Peddie, James, Wilsons first Eno-- lish teacher, i. 6, 7. "" Pedestrianism, feats of, i. 36 81 95 96,98,154,188,6^54; ii.W. ^ Peebles, an adventure at, i. 187. Peel, Sir Eobert, letter from, ii. 87. reception of, in Glasgow, ii. 239. Penny, James, i. 160. Penny, Miss Jane, first meetings with, i. 147, et seq. See Wilson, Mrs., junior. Penny, Miss, letters of Mrs. Wilson to, i. 211-'m, 305-308, 316 ; ii. 122, 135, 136, 144, 159, 239. Penny Bridge, Wilson's visits to, and letters from, ii. 160, 165-168. See Elleray. Periodical literature, Wilson's con- nexion with, i. 233, et seq. ; ii. 267. Peter s Letters, quoted, i. 25, 250, 258, 262. Philosophical Institution of Edin- burgh, presidency of, ii. 300. Physical characteristics, i. 60, 68-73. ^^Pizzantry," the Irish, ii. 41. Plans of composition : List of sub- jects for meditation, i. 178. Playfair, Professor John, attacked in Blackioood, i. 280. the excitement caused by it, i. 282-292 Po"etry7 early love of, i. 33, 39-48. MS. volume of, dedicated to '' Margaret," i. 53-56. verses from commonplace book, i. 131-133. correspondence as to his first publication, i. 155-160, 164-178. proposed poems, i. 178 ; ii. 143. a second volume contemplated, i. 202. publication of, i. 203, 209. subsequent poems, ii. 143, 144. principles of, ii. 302, 303. Poets, criticism on the, i. 200. Political Economy, proposal for a separate Chair of, ii. 83-87, 166. Politics and Literature, i. 243. among students, ii. 27-29. Poor, kindness to the, ii. 246. Portraits of Wilson ; by Raeburn, i. 26. Hill's calotype, ii. 285. Portrait of Christopher in his Sport- ing Jacket, ii. 311. Power, the love of, illustrated, ii. 32- 37. Priiigle, Alexander, i. 185. Pringle, Mrs., i. 205. Pringle, Thomas, i. 245-247. Printers' devils, ii. 121, 266. Proctor, mode of shutting up a, i. 76. Pseudonvms of Lockhart, i. 263, 268. Pugilistic skill, i. 71, 72 ; ii. 7, 8. Purdie, Tom, ii. 59. Quarterly Review, Lockhart becomes editor of, ii. 104, et seq. Raeburn, Sir Henry, his portrait of Wilson, i. 26, 87. mansion at St. Bernard's, i. 298. Regattas at Windermere, i. 149 ; ii. 92. at Helensburgh, ii. 235, 236. ^^ Representative" newspax)er, ii. 105. Richmond, Mr., i. 187. Ritchie, David, ii. 89. Ritson, William, i. 145-147, 205. Robertson, Patrick (Lord), i. 185, 227- 231, 270. letter from, ii. 83-85. Lockhart's joke on, ii. 94, 282. his mock-heroic speeches at social gatherings, ii. 314, 315. Roger, Rab, in search of little Kit, i. 14. Roslin, life at, after his wife's death, ii. 245-247. Routli, Dr. M. J., President of Mag- dalen College, i. 24, 75, 112. Rover, the dog, and the witch, ii. 224, 225, 252. Russell, Lord John, ii. 285. letter to the Lord Advocate on Wilson's pension, ii. 341. Wilson's letter to, ii. 343. Russell, Rev. William, i. 112. Rutherfurd, Andrew (Lord), i. 185 ; ii. 248, 249, 367. death of Mrs. Rutherfurd, ii. 357. ^^ Sailor's Life at Sea," — a favourite song of the Professor's, ii. 316. Saturday in the class, ii. 21. Scandler, Dr., i. 205. Schetky, John, ii. 231. '' Scorpion, the," L 251, 255. 398 INDEX. Scott, Dr. James, of C41asgow, '' the Odontist;' i. 270, 272-^74, 317, 318. Scott, Sir Walter, i. 171, 200, 257, 268. letter to tlie Lord Provost of Ediiil)iu\L,di, recommendino; Wilson for the Chair of Moral Philosophy, 1. 313-31(3. his visit to Elleray, ii. 91-93. Scots Magazine, i. 245. Sliarpe, C. Kirkpatrick, i. 257, 277. ''Shaving" and its interruptions, ii. 323. Shepherd, G., Wilson's examiner at Oxfcnxi, i. 111. '' Shiells, Tibby," visit of the Pro- fessor and his students to, ii. 10. Sibthorpe, Mr., i. 75. Smith, Dr. Colin, of Inverary ; his reminiscences of Wilson, i. 190- 193, 214, 215. Smith, John, publisher in Cllasgow, 1. 109. letters to, on the publication of his poems, i. 155-1(30, 164-178. offered a second volume, i. 202- 204, 209. letters on the Moral Philosophy Chair, i. 319, 320, 335. vSmith, Rev. William ; his reminis- cences of the Professor and his class, ii. 29-45. Snow-ball riot, ii. 22-23. Social hours at Maudlin, i. 78, 79. Social meetings, reminiscences of, ii. 313-319. Sonnet on the hour of death, ii. 364. Sotheby, William, i. 110. letter from, ii. 169. Southey, Robert, i. 125, 199 ; ii. 138, 139. Southwell, R. H., reminiscences of Wilson at Oxford, i. 76-82. Spain, expedition to, meditated, i. 150, 153. Sparrow, a domesticated, ii. 251, 252, 327. Speculative Society, i. 17^,^180. Speed in composition, ii. 267. Spenser, series of papers on, ii. 235. Spiders and their habits, i. 140. Sporting- Jacket, the Professor in his, ii. 6, '7. portrait of, ii. 311, 312. Sports, early development of his pas- sion for, i'. 4-6, 16-18, 3(J, 68. ]>ugilistic skill, i. 71, 72. attainments as a leaper, i. 72- 74, 146. See Pedestrianism. Sports ; skill in wrestling, i. 63, 143- 147, 194 ; ii. 131, 161. yachting, ii. 235. Squadron, Experimental, cruise with the ; letters to Mrs. Wilson dur- ing, ii. 177-205. Stanley Shaw, i. 1. Statue, proposed, of Wilson, ii. 367- 369. St. Mary's Loch, the Professor and his ''children" at, ii. 10. Steell, John, R.S.A., ii. 368. Stewart, Dugald, i. 306, et seq. Stewart, Mr., of Inverhadden, i. 235. Stewart, Mr., of Ballachulish, i. 189. Stewart, William, author of Highland Sketches, i. 193, 194. Stewart, Sir Henry, ii. 126. Stoddaii;, Sir John, ii. 74. Stoddart, T. T., ii. 21. Street scene, a, ii. 305, 306. Strolling players, i. 74, 75. Student, character as a, see College life. Students, intercourse with, ii. 10, 15, 21. care in examining their essays, ii. 45. Study, description of the Professor's, ii. 262-264. Swinton, Professor Archibald, ii. 21. Syms, the, i. 3. s^randfather and grandmother of Wilson, i. 30, 31. Sym, Catharine, i. 31, 214. Sym, Robert (''Timothy Tickler"), ^i. 3, 30, 265-267. Synge, Edward, i. 77. " Syntax, Dr.," an Edinburgh char- acter, ii. 26. Talfouhd, Sir Thomas Noon, letter from, on his alisence from the Burns Festival, ii. 293. Tarland, market-days at, ii. 12. Taylor, Misses, i. 206. " Teegar, oure John's." i. 6. Tennant, Professor William, of St. Andrews, i. 202. Tennyson, Alfred, review of his Poems, ii. 175, 176. Thirlstane Castle, a summer at, ii. 224. Thomson, Rev. Dr. Andrew, i. 257, 282. Thomson, Thomas, ii. 72, 367. Thorp, Rev. Charles, i. 113. " Thuothy Tickler," see Sym, Robert. INDEX. 399 Tinkers, an adventure with, i. 214, 215. Tipperary shillelaghs, i. 75. Toilette, peculiarities of Wilson's, ii. 323. Tomintoul, i. 193, 222. adventure at the fair, i. 224, 225. Torrance, i. 51, lOS, 115. Tory, anecdotes of the dog, ii. 254. ''Trials of Margaret Lvndsay," ii. 88. Tytler, Patrick Frase/, i. 185, 257. Ullock, Mrs., i. 205, 20(j. WT, Miss, of Dyclnnont, i. 50, 51. Wakefield, Edward Gibbon, ii. 107. Wales, excursion in, i. 103. Warden, Mr., ii. 185. Wardlaw, Rev. Dr., i. 319. Watch, the Professor and his, ii. 323, 324. Watson, Bisho]), i. 125, 175. Watson, George, ii. 108, 111. Watson, Richard, i. 137, 138, 143 148. Watson, Miss D., letter from 171. Watts, Alaric A., ii. 62, 142. Waugh, Edwin, i. 145. Whigs, their opposition to Wilson when candidate for the Chair of Moral Philosophy, i. 302, 308. White, Rev. James, of Bonchurch, ii. 213-215. Wilkie, sir David, ii. 140. Wilson, Andrew, i. 3, 177. Wilson, Blair, letters to, ii. 129, 322, 328, 331, 345, 349. Wilson, James, i. 257. 11. n. Wilson, Robert Syni, of Woodburn, ii. 340. Wilson, Mrs., senior, family of, i. 3. removes with the family to Edin- burgh, i. 28. domestic management, i. 183-185. her death, ii. 80. Wilson, Mrs., junior, i. 161, 162,172. her pedestrian tour in the High- lands, i. 188-197. accident to, ii. 80. letters to her sister, Miss Penny, i. 277-279, 305-308, 316; ii. 159, 239. her death, ii. 240-242. Wilson Family, i. 3. Wilson's Hair, Paisley, i. 2. Windermere Lake, i. 106, 120. boating on, i. 135. — regattas at, i. 149 ; ii. 92. Woodburn, visit to his brother at, ii. 340. takes up his abode there, ii. 344- 354. Wordsworth, William, letter to, i. 39. \ lirst meeting with, i. 125. i — - his " White Doe," i. 199. Jeffrey's estimate of his poetry, i. 211. mentioned, ii. 135, 142. / Wrestling— Wilson *'a varra bad un to lick," i. 69, 146. '' Writing for Blackwood," its signi- licance in the family, ii. 264. YxVRROW, excursion to the, i. 186. York, Duke of, ii. 72, Young, Professor, of Glasgow, i. 23. Wilson's reminiscences of, i. 24. first published poems dedicated to, i. 173. EDINBUKGH : T. CONSTABLE, PKIXTIirv TO THE QUEEN, AND To THE UNIVEKSITY. **^ " c