Glimpses of the Hidden Life, and Close of the Mortal Pilgrimage

“When by a good man’s grave I muse alone, Methinks an angel sits upon the stone: Like those of old, on that thrice-hallowed night, Who sate and watch’ d in raiment heavenly brig*it; And, with a voice inspiring joy, not fear, Says, pointing upward, ‘Know he is not here! ‘”

Rogsrs.

“It is a favourite speculation of mine, that if spared to sixty, we tbn Miter on the seventh decade of human life; and that this, if possible, ihould by turned into the Sabbath of our earthly pilgrimage, and spent habl’atic.dly, as if on the shoie of an eternal world, or in the outer coiuts, ;is it v ere, of the tenple that is above, the tabernacle in heaven.” — Cha.jiers.

Of Mr Wilson’s piety no intimate friend had any doubt; and yet no friend was so intimate as to know the exact time and circumstances in which that piety originated. On any subject if his feelings could not be surmised, they were not likely to be spoken, and his own religious experience was about the last theme on which his Christian humility, not to say his constitutional delicacy of mind, would have allowed him to expatiate. His love to the Saviour, the deep reverence with which he approached sacred things, his intimate acquaintance with the Word of God, his tenderness of conscience, his meek, gentle, peacemaking spirit, were known and read of all men; but at what period, and through what agencies the amiable man became the still more amiable Christian, is more a matter of inference than a point on which any one can give precise information.

As already mentioned, from the time when he quitted the writer’s office until he had nearly reached his thirtieth year. Mr Wilson contended with weak health and broken

spirits. Contrasting his own blighted prospects with the radiant paths and redundant vigour of friends and contemporaries, members of his own family inclusive, if he did not say, “I do well to be angry,” he could not help feeling many times gloomy; nor does it appear that there came at the critical moment any helping hand, any counsellor so appreciating and sympathising, as to indicate the alternatives of honourable occupation, and cheer into hope and self-reliance his sensitive spirit. But whilst his contemplative and poetical propensities entailed the reproach of day-dreaming, and whilst others were too busy with their own pursuits to look after the interests of the romantic invalid; betwixt native diffidence and bodily languor, he had not sufficient energy for self-assertion, and was often ready to succumb to the dreariest of all anticipations, a life of inglorious inutility.

Since his death a fragment has been found among his papers, the only contribution towards an autobiography now in existence, or which it is likely that he ever wrote. It seems to have been commenced as an effort at self-examination, and begins with some allusion to his early trials and disappointments. But with characteristic tenderness and humility, he soon passes from his afflictions to his own faults and infirmities, and the retrospect is alike indicative of the clearer light and habitual lowliness of his later years.

retrospect. 323

“When a person is actuated by the love of God as whT as man, when he applies the Saviour’s gracious words ’ do this in remembrance of me, not solely to the partaking of the sacrament of the Supper, but to the performance of whatever he may be called upon to do, however destructive to himself — when he has respect to the recompence of reward, and remembers that the eye of the all-seeing God, for ever sleepless and undimmed, is upon him by night and day, then is he truly steadfast and not afraid, then shall not his youth be joyless, nor his manhood useless, but even his old age, so often desolate, ’ snail be clearer than the noon-day’ I shall not say that I lived without God in the world, but I often felt God-forsaken, which I surely would not have done had I simply laid myself and all my sins and sorrows at the foot of the Cross, trusting to ’ the blood of sprinkling, which speaketh better things than that of Abel.’ I thought, in truth, far more of my sufferings than of my sins, and looked not, at least confidingly, ‘on Him whom I had pierced.’ Had I acknowledged the Lord in all my ways, He would have directed my paths, and made my darkness light. 0 God, may I now say, ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid? ‘May that faithful saying be accepted and deeply engraven on my heart, ‘that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, to ’ blot out o’2i THE HIDDEN LIFE.

the handwriting of ordinances that was against us,’ to reconcile the world to God, ‘not imputing to them their trespasses,’ so that I who was some time ’ afar off, may be made nigh by the shedding of the Saviour’s blood, while I confess with my tongue and believe with my heart that Jesus is the Son of God, who raised Him from the dead. 0 holy Father, may it come to pass that in the place where it was said unto us, ‘Ye are not my people,’ there shall we be called ’ the children of the living God.’

“The test, as it seems to me, of a person acting upon, or being actuated by the highest principles, is this, that under similar circumstances we would again follow precisely the same course, altogether irrespective of results. But as I myself would, if I could throw myself back into former times and circumstances, in all probability follow an entirely opposite course from that which I have actually pursued, I conceive there must have formerly been (and may still exist), as great a mixture of pride and folly in the feelings by which I have been regulated, as of true humility and Christian wisdom.

“Most people in early life «are fond of building castles in the air, and are constitutionally careless at that period of their own interests; and my poor castles, however fair and glittering to my own fancy, certainly far brighter and more beautiful than anything I can now conjure up, were in no way founded on filthy lucre Alas! for ’ gorgeous cloudland,’ and the ‘world of dreams! ‘Alas! for the difference now greater than that of light and darkness, between the confiding; imaginations of vonth and the actual knowledge of after-years! Eomance and reality! the peaceful repose of early and undoubting affection, and then — the battle of life. Who can relieve us from the body of sin and death? vain is the help of man; may we lock evermore to that Rock which is sure and steadfast, and which, in its serene brightness, overlooks and illumines the darkness even of the valley of the shadow of death (making death itself a shadow), and which the waters of Jordan cannot overflow Yet in reading the Word of God, although my views of God’s providence and scheme of redemption were very dark, I was not without consolation, and I often dwelt with pleasure on such passages as the following: — ‘The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart, and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.’ ‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.’ ‘He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds.” Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” To this man will I look, even to him that is of a poor and contrite spirit and tremble th at my word.’ I fear I trembled not at the ‘word,’ though my soul was disquieted within me; though broken down by my sorrows, the burden of sin was not grievous, and I lightly esteemed the God of my salvation. Though weary and heavy laden, I went not to the fountain of living water, I sought not the bread of life (Lord, evermore give us that bread), but endeavoured (a vain endeavour) by a dogged resolution, an obstinate endurance of great discomforts of mind and body, to withstand adversities of whatever kind, instead of looking to Him who redeemeth the soul of His servants, so that ’ none of those that trust in Him shall be desolate.’ For we have not an high priest who ’ cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities, .... I had great conconsolation then from all promises to the downcast and disconsolate, such as ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven;’ ‘Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted;’ and so far this was well. But did I not put my sufferings in front of my faith, and my patient endurance almost in place of it, as if I merited the compassionate love of God simply because I suffered, instead of seeking to be justified (solely as well as freely) by His grace, ’ through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus? ’

“That the love of God was upon me I do not doubt, because we know that He ’ first loved us,’ and this only shews how great and abounding is the compassionate goodness of Him who calleth sinners to repentance. But that I loved God in return, or that the cross which I took

COME UNTO ME.” 327

tip and bore, was the cross of Christ, I can scarcely believe, when I call to remembrance my anxious dissatisfied condition, my unmanly depression and discontent, and my entire want of anything that could be called Christian cheerfulness, or actual heartfelt resignation to the will of God. In fact, I brooded over my own sufferings and distresses, instead of rejoicing in that ’ one offering by which He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified — the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world, “What marvel, then, that I was so often disconsolate, that I felt so seldom and so slightly the ‘joy of believing?’ I laboured and was heavy laden and was sore oppressed, with a painful constitution of body and a feeble constitution of mind; I was hedged in by difficulties on every side and surrounded by thick darkness; and yet I refused the call of the Divine Redeemer’s love, — ‘Come unto me, and I will give you rest, Had I accepted of that invitation fully and without reserve, then assuredly I might have been ’ troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.’

“I therefore come to the conclusion that my sufferings have been greatly imbittered by my sins, and chiefly by my disobedience in not recognising, in almost any of my misfortunes, the chastening hand of a loving Father. But ‘if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled unto

God, how much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by His life!’”

Of human helps, the first and greatest undoubtedly was his excellent wife; and the consolations to which he was introduced under her gentle guidance became unspeakably precious, when he was again left alone in the house of his pilgrimage. “Christianity is the religion of the sorrowful,” and the balm which then healed his wounded spirit left a deepened tincture in all his after history. Nor amongst the outward influences which tended to confirm his faith and mature his piety, can we omit a faithful and earnest ministry, and the ecclesiastical events of 1843. Like every ordeal, the Disruption was an application of first principles. Few of his personal friends saw the matter in the same light; but if the sentiments which, as a Presbyterian, he had hitherto professed were not mere ecclesiastical phrases, but the expression of solemn truths, he saw no alternative but to carry them out, and quit, with all its immense advantages, the old and time-honoured Establishment. His minister, the Rev. Dr Julius Wood, excepted, he and another elder were the only members of New Greyfriars’ Session who took this step; and, like every other step in his career, he took it quietly and unobtrusively: but the taking of it was not without significance at the moment, nor, as will be at once conceded by the candid render, whether approving or condemning, was such a step likely to be without considerable import in his subsequent history. As one incidental consequence, he was brought into much more intimate relations with his then youthful kinsman already mentioned, the Bev. John Sym, who now became his pastor, in whom he beheld the specimen of living Christianity wdiich realised his own ideal — sound sense, yet deep devotion; strong convictions and decided actings, without aught of censoriousness or controversial asperity; true spirituality in union with great intellectual vigour; and an ardent enjoyment of the sublime and the beautiful: and whilst they found in each other’s society all the delight of kindred spirits, Mr Wilson did not enjoy the scriptural instructions and fervent exhortations of the preacher the less because of the lucid cogency of his reasoning and the many charms of his style.

On the day when he was ordained an elder, the late Sir Ralph Abercrombie said to those assembled, “I have been often entrusted by my Sovereign with honourable and important commands in my profession as a soldier, and His Majesty has been pleased to reward my services with distinguished marks of his royal approbation; but to be the humble instrument, in the office of an elder, of putting the tokens of my Saviour’s dying love into the hands of one of the meanest of His followers, I conceive to be the highest honour that I can receive on this side heaven.” Such were Mr Wilson’s feelings. To his sensitive nature, everything like an appearance in public was trying; but regarding the office as one highly honourable and responsible, after he had undertaken it he would allow nothing to deter him from the discharge of its duties. He was an excellent elder. Shrewd and sagacious, his opinion was all the more weighty on account of the modesty with which it was stated, and his mild conciliatory spirit made him a favourite with all his colleagues. With his tender-heartedness, he was a welcome visitor in the poor man’s home and in the house of mourning; and his accurate methodical habits made him anxious that all things should be done “decently and in order.” On the eve of the communion Sabbath he used always to visit the church, in order to satisfy himself that all its arrangements were complete, and he was extremely solicitous to ensure that outward decorum and solemnity, which in his own case he found so conducive to the full impression and enjoyment of the sacred season. It was on such occasions that the two following letters were addressed to his dear friend and fellow-elder, D. Crole, Esq.: —

“Woodville, 21d Oct. 1846.” My deae Sir, — I have written a few lines with regret to our minister, informing him that, in consequence of an increased attack of swelling and internal inflammation in the face, I am very apprehensive of being unable to leave home to-morrow. I am now fearful that I may not be able to rally in time for the performance of my public

duties on the Sacramental Sabbath The sacred

nature of those duties debars that forced service which one may sometimes bring to bear on worldly works. I think if called upon to actual labour during sickness, I could break stones till I broke my back; but I cannot bring myself, at least am very unwilling to do so, to connect this great privilege and labour of love with such painful bodily effort as might be required of me, if my present attack does not abate. I have scarcely any hope of getting out to-morrow; but I shall anxiously hope and pray that it may please God to remove some of my discomfort before the Sabbath morning. I am sure that in my present state I could not go through even the manual part of the ceremony, even were it not one requiring a tit ring frame of mind not often vouchsafed during bodily suffering. My particular complaint unfortunately unfits me more than most others from any comfortable intercourse with my fellow-creatures, while it continues in any excess. Even in its ordinary condition, it renders that intercourse much less easy or convenient than I would desire it. But amid many blessings I must not repine. ‘THY will be done.’”

TO D. CROLE ESQ.

“Woodville, July 26, 1852.” My deak Sik, — Our Communion Sabbath proceedings, notwithstanding your lamented absence, went on with all comfort and propriety, so far as external forms were concerned, and I trust with spiritual advantages to not a few. The Lord of the vineyard who discerneth the heart, alone knows what good fruit may be borne through these solemn observances. One’s own experience too truly tells him how transitory the deeper and more holy affections are apt to be; but this renders it just the more necessary that, in all abasement, we should seek again and again to draw from the well of living waters. ‘And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life; he that cometh unto me shall never more hunger — he that believeth on me shall never thirst.’ What a complexity of toil and trouble would be saved to us by a sincere, simple, unbroken belief in any one of many brief statements in the Holy Scriptures — to have it so engraven upon our hearts by the Holy Spirit (vouchsafed to them that ask it), as to be felt like an existing presence with every breath we draw! ‘If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from tha dead, thou shalt be saved.’ How strange that there should be either doubt or difficulty in the matter, yet how certain “ONLY BELIEVE.” 333

that now as of old the seed still falls by the wayside and is trodden down, or withers on the barren rock, or is choked up by thorns! I desire to dwell upon my own waywardness and want of (abiding and sustaining) faith. It cannot be but that the frequent absence of ‘joy ’ in believing must arise from the weakness of belief — that is, from a want of simplicity and earnestness, and from an effort to build up a ‘living temple’ for ourselves — -instead of resting; in the blessed assurance that in our Father’s house are many mansions prepared for them who through faith are inheritors of the promises,”

As early as 1842, Mr Wilson had written the following letter to a young friend, like himself, an ardent zoologist, but who appears to have cherished some thoughts of entering the ministry: —

“I hope I may infer from your letter that you are as determined in your natural histoiy pursuits as ever. I heard it rumoured with regret that you were meditating a change towards a more sacred calling, against which it may seem unnatural that any one should endeavour to persuade another. But if you feel yourself under the influence of such a solemn and spiritual state of mind, I think you should consider how useful you maybe without any change in your worldly calling. Your good conduct and intelligence have brought you, under God’s blessing, into an honourable and independent position, in which your influence may be considerable over the minds of many thoughtless persons, and I think you are called upon rather to maintain that position than to sacrifice it. Our great want in all societies at present, is the absence or rarity of spiritually-minded laymen, and of these the influence is often greater than that of the clergy themselves. They mingle more easily in society and under less formal restraints, and frequently obtain more credit from the inconsiderate than the professed — I mean the professional — servants of the Saviour. You should consider the good, though it may be in a more limited way than you desire, which you have it in your power to effect even now, and the years which would require to elapse before you could be called into a wider field of action, to say nothing of the obstacles which may intervene to prevent your being effectively so called at all. Perhaps I have no business to enter into this matter; but I know you will take it in good part, as you cannot misconstrue my motives.”

Mr Wilson exemplified his own maxims. With a disposition the reverse of aggressive, it would have been impossible for him to burst the barriers and assail formalism or indifference as some conversational evangelists have done so admirably; but he fulfilled his function. His light shone. It was known that he was a Christian, and in his entire deportment it was seen what a gracious, endearing thing practical Christianity is. It did not quench his wit. It did not make him ascetic or austere. It did not burn his fishing-rod, nor did it banish poetry and belles lettres from his library. It did not even hinder him from laughing or making others laugh. But it made him temperate in all things, and scrupulously truthful. His natural kindness and tenderness of feeling it systematised into a painstaking habit of beneficence; and whilst it took from his pungent humour every trace of personal acerbity, into his own pensive and once dejected spirit it infused an element no less sustaining than the hope full of immortality. In his blameless, peaceful walk there was a visible sermon, and the cordial sunshine he diffused was a contribution to the gospel more rare and precious than texts scholastically explained, or tracts, however excellent, mechanically distributed.

The subject of this biography had now finished his sixtieth year, and entered that seventh decade which Dr Chalmers calls “the Sabbath of our earthly pilgrimage.” But as in the case of his illustrious friend himself, the last day of the great week could scarcely be said to dawn sabbaticaliy. His hands were full of occupation, and his health was utterly broken.

TO THE EEY. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.

‘• Woodvelije, IGth Jan. 1856. “My deae Sie, — We were talking of you this morning at breakfast-time, and now your note is put into ray hand. I often thought of yourself and ‘Excelsior ’ in the course of the autumn, and bore in mind your application and my promise to do what I could in the way of another paper. I had rather a sore time of it, having not well got round from the debilitating effects of an early spring illness, and feeling somewhat feeble all summer; then I was laid up again by a severe attack of rheumatic gout, which confined me to my room for nearly two months, and left me crippled and very much shaken. As the winter advanced, I somehow took it into my head that ‘Excelsior’ was finished, and that any natural history article you might have wanted had probably been supplied by some abler and nearer hand. My autumn illness was very unfortunate, as it came upon me in the middle of an article on Fisheries, which I had promised Adam Black — a promise which I fulfilled ineffectively and with ’ difficulty and labour hard, for I could scarcely hold the pen. At this moment I scarcely know what to say about anything beyond this, that to-morrow morning Sir William Gibson-Craig, Mr Bouvciic Primrose, and myself, have to start for Lonlon as a deputation to Lord Palmerston on business of the

Board of Fi- - which the Powers that be arc- about to

olish. I shall endeavour to see you when in London,

or shall write. We go to Fenton’s Hotel, St James’

t.”

brief visit to London was accomplished, and the ;tation found a favourable reception from the Government On the clay after his return, Mr Wilson wrote the foil a letter: —

TO MISS TAYLOR.

“Wo iDVILLE, 2i’h January ‘.

“The Crystal Palace is certainly a great, even ;i grand r, and in the full flush of summer the terra iinds

striking But inside, oi

the redundant outpouring of the ricl the

the precious natural product- baric

gold,’ which were former!;, ishly outspread

ibjccts of deliberate study. I doubt nut ti. tsts and

s and architectural imitatioi Id be of great inst and extremely instructive; but the apparent failure

in the bazaar and industrial departs bher an

- well as was ness — a look of inuwhich to me injured the general impression. 1 was too n’uch fatigued to be able to go round the gardens, or -tudy the stucco beasts outside, although I had often discussed them with poor Edward Forbes, who gave up a good deal of his time to their fabrication and arrangement, as well as to that of the ’ human ’ illustrations in the interior

“The other clay I was amused by the address on a letter from a naturalist in Paris, who is rather proud of his English: —

‘England,

Sir James Wilson,

Lover of Insects,

Woodville, Edinburgh, He sends me a priced catalogue of Spanish and Algerian beetles. Many of them are very beautiful, but I have more insects already than I can keep in order, and so must decline any additions, at least by purchase. Talking of beetles: a good ninny of ‘nine are getting a little mouldy on the back, I suppose from being, many of them, on a ground floor, and so seldom aired by being looked at. As you can see small things close at hand, it will surely be a good work, and a very useful one to me, for you to undertake, — touching the backs of a lew thousands with a fine hair pencil, dipped in alcohol. Spirit of turpentine is fully the best, — the peculiar and penetratingodour being distasteful to insect life, and so keeping off moths, &c. But the fumes, as I have found from ex-IN VEEN ESS. So’.)

perience. are apt to produce headache on the part of the performer, so I promise you a glass of whisky.

“Just before Christinas I paid a visit to the Black Isle in Ross-shire. On returning home I started at six in the morning, in an open dog-cart, the wind high and piercing. I was half frozen before I got down to Kessock Ferry, opposite Inverness. Instead of crossing it, as usual, in ten minutes, we were beat back, and took more than half-an-hour. I had then to walk against the wind (a boy carrying my bag a good (to me i ad) mile and a half, up to Inverness. I tried to wear a respirator, but didn’t know how, and thought it impeded my breathing At all events, I got very asthmatic, with discomfort from pain in chest and side, and had to stop ever and anon, and crawl like a snail even when under way. All the other people, men, women, and children, were running like roe-deer to catch the train! For me such ‘Excursion ‘I felt, as Lord Jeffrey said,: would never do; ’ so I gave up the attempt, and was more than ten minutes past my time. However, this had no worse effect than that I finally got to Edinburgh next day to supper instead of to dinner, as I would have done had I not missed the morning train. I am sure you would have commiserated your Uncle James, had you seen him exhausted and breathless, leaning against a buttress, near Inverness, and heaving heavily, even like a stranded porpoise left alone upon the shallow sands,”

TO THE REV. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.

“Woodville, 2.7th February 1856.

“My dear Sin, — I regretted not having the pleasure of seeing you during my very brief .stay in London. I was obliged to devote myself almost exclusively to the business I had in hand, and when that was over, felt rather too tired to undertake other things. So I came home as soon as possible. I have had rather more than enough to do since I got back. I thought myself just about to be at leisure when the Blackwoods applied to me for an article on the Fishery Board question, which, under the circumstances, I could scarcely refuse. I got that launched off for the March number of their magazine, and now our worthy representative, Mr Adam Black, has put into my hands two articles (Helminthology and Ichthyology) which it seems I wrote for his ‘Encyclopaedia Britannica’ long-ago, and which must now be revised for the current edition of the same. Helminthology is required without delay, and so to oblige Black I must do it first and foremost.

“I wish to know how ‘Excelsior’ stands. When do you require a short article, or how long can you wait? Which article is it that you most incline to? I think you said you had two- wood-cuts.”

TO MISS TAYLOR.

“Woodville, 25th April 1856.

“If you wish to know about Uncle James, I am sorry to say that he still continues very feeble, with an increase of asthma, which makes locomotion, that is self-sustained or pedestrian motion, so burdensome, that he has not been beyond his own gate for a couple of months, except in a cab.

“God forbid I should complain, or be otherwise than thankful, not only for the enjoyment resulting from the more active exercises of days gone by, but for the many bl< ssings and comforts by which I am still surrounded. These asthmatic feelings come upon me now even in the house, and when I am scarcely moving at all. AVhether they will subside as the season improves, I know not. Their approaches and increase have been very gradual and long continued, and so it may be that they are destined to increase. I hope I may be grateful in the one case, and patient in the other. I am taking frequent drives now, as I cannot walk beyond the garden boundaries, and even within these my steps are few and slow. T’other day I ‘put in’ some mignonette seed with my own hands, but had a chair beside me, and performed most of the work sitting. A redbreast, which perhaps remembered me in a more robust condition, seemed somewhat surprised at my attitude and mode of working. Talking of gardening; I send you a few hollyhock seeds, which I believe ought to be sown at this time. Of course, they will not flower till the autumn of next year. If they make growth this season, they should be planted out early next spring, when they will be about the size of smallish carrots. I think I said once before that I am not very anxious as to your cultivating autumnal plants. I think you may then be better, that is, more humanely occupied in cultivating other people, and recovering, in the breezy north, from the enervating effects of a southern locality. By the by, tell me about turtle-doves and things of that kind which occur in Kent, and of which we here know nothing. Please also to send me a small supply of early glow-worms. I believe they are still more abundant in the south of England than in our own beloved vales [of Westmoreland. J The posts are so rapid now that I have no doubt a small colony might be sent safely and salubriously in any lozenge box, with a few stalks of moist grass to lay hold of, and prevent their being too much tossed about.

“To-day my people are all off on foot, some three miles westward towards Colinton, with the Sym children and some other youngsters, including two dogs, and about two dozen of harcl-boikd eggs and sandwiches. Joy be with them. I thought at one time of joining them in a cab, but the expectation of my doing so might have hampered their movements ’ in dingle and bushy dell, and so I have fixed to stay at home in solitude. I am to have my chop and potatoes along with their tea and toast, when they return, no doubt well wearied, ‘twixt five and six.

“I am now getting wearied myself, having had other writing to do already, with more in expectancy. I cannot do much at a time, but being so much within-doors, and paying no visits, I have plenty of time, had I the capacity to use it to any proper purpose. The only things I have got through since I reported to you my return from London, are two articles for Blackwood, — one on ‘The Scottish Fisheries,’ and another, not out till the first of May, on ‘Fish Ponds and Fishing Boats.’ I also re-wrote the article ‘Helminthology ’ (leeches, earth-worms, &c), for the current edition of the ‘Encyclopsedia,’ and a short paper on the ‘ColuinbidsB,” or Pigeons, for which I was entreated by Dr James Hamilton for his ‘Excelsior,’ which in my ignorance I had fancied finished long ago. I have other things in hand, but t must take them leisurely, and begin in good time so as not to be pressed, as I have so often been. When you come down you will lend me a helping hand. Do send us a line or two soon touching your summer and autumnal plans. We shall rely on seeing you some day, and remember that with myself time is passing quickly. Give our kindest regards to your mother, and believe me ever, dear child, your affectionate,

“James Wilson,”
o44 THE CLOSE.

His work was done. Ever since his severe illness in the spring of 1855, owing to the state in which his lungs were ascertained to be, he evidently knew that his life was precarious; and although from consideration for the feelings of those around him, he forbore from saying much on the subject, by gentle allusions he sought to prepare their minds for the event which he foresaw could not be distant. Nor were these hints the less plain from being sometimes playfully made. During that spring the Life of Etty the j ainter was sent to his house amongst other books, from the Reading Club; but so similar were the details of Etty’s illnesses to the attack under which Mr Wilson was labouring, that his daughter and niece privately agreed to return the volumes. However, his interest in art made him ask for the book. He read it, and, as was expected, the same thing which had struck his family struck himself; for, as he closed the work, with his quiet smile he said, “Poor Etty! his case seems to have been very like my own; asthma, rheumatic gout, and — a niece.”

But even although he had said nothing, the eye of affection could not fail to mark various indications of his own presentiment. Not only did he arrange his worldly affairs, but he shewed more than usual anxiety to bring to a completion any work he had undertaken. Above all, there was a deepening earnestness in his allusions to sacred things, and the Bible, which was laid on his pillow, was often studied during the sleepless watches of the night.

His journey to Inverness at the close of 1855, and his visit to London at the beginning of 1 856, did not so much indicate any real convalescence as they shewed how readily his active spirit forgot the frailties of the frame. He was an invalid, “feeble and sore broken;” and it was chiefly his long- confirmed habit of alacrity in the service of others which carried him through the large amount of work achieved in the last eighteen months of his assiduous and benevolent career.

A month before his death he wrote as follows: —” Did

M mention poor A. H ’s death from bilious fever?

It is very striking so soon after her brother’s. How few remain now of my own generation! — of the preceding, none that I know of. May those in the fore-front of the battle now make peace upon the sure foundation!”

The close of April brought round the communion season in Edinburgh, and he shewed great anxiety to join his brethren in commemorating the Saviour’s dying love, as well as to officiate once more as an elder. His desire was granted, but at the cost of much suffering. So distressing was his breathlessness that his friends feared he would not be able to go through the services of’ the day; and when he returned to his home he quitted it no more, till he exchanged it for the Father’s house.

On the 2d of May. he was unable to leave his room, nor could he even lie down; he sat with his head supported on a table,, a position which he was obliged to retain day and night through the remainder of his illness He liked to listen to reading, and often asked to have the Bible read to him; but all utterance was attended with such effort that he seldom attempted more than a few broken words. On one occasion he said,” It is not easy to speak when one is struggling for breath, and feeling as if about to suffocate; but I wish you to know that my

Ind is perfectly satisfied; He is my Lord and my God. ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.’ I have had much forgiven me, and may well love much.” He then gave several messages and orders, mentioning some little memorials which he wished to be given to several friends. He also expressed a desire to be buried in the Dean Cemetery, where his brother the Professor had been buried two years before, adding, in allusion to his wife’s grave elsewhere, “The other spot will still be sacred ground to you.” Next day when asked how he felt, he said, “Faint, yet pursuing. Looking unto Jesus.”

His mind continued calm and peaceful to the last. Even when most exhausted, he was still upon the watch lest those around him should be over-fatigued, and many and touching were his expressions of affectionate gratitude. Amongst the words which fell from his lips are remembered. “Christ the hope of glory.” “There is none other name given under heaven, whereby men can be saved.” “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” During the night between Saturday the 17th and Sabbath the 18th of May, he took leave of his family, saying, i; There is no darkness in the valley; it is all bright.” The twenty-third Psalm was read to him, and at the fourth verse he repeated the words,” I will fear no evil, for thou art with me;:’ and so, early on that Sabbath morning, the beautiful place which had known him so long, knew him no more, for he had fpone to dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

If the foregoing pages have at all answered their purpose, there is no need to conclude with a formal delineation of Mr Wilson’s character. Its main features can scarcely be overlooked — its meekness of wisdom, its warmth of affection, its unostentatious all-comprehending kindness. And although some of its most exquisite lineaments can never be described, and will therefore be no longer remembered when a few faithful memories have passed away, it is fondly hoped that even this imperfect memorial may preserve a few of the lessons of his history. For ourselves, we confess that we greatly admire those contrasted qualities which, in his happy example, found themselves in harmony — the scientific accuracy which neither clogged his excursive imagination, nor stiffened into academic pedantry; the fantastic playfulness under which, like a deep tide beneath a sunny ripple, still flowed on his strong affection and his steadfast purpose; the large amount of work which he contrived to do with a look of leisure, and almost under the pretext of recreation; the freshness of feeling, and the width of innocent enjoyment, which co-existed with such tenderness of conscience and such faith unfeigned. And if there are some readers exempted from the constraints of a calling to whom his career, so useful and honourable, says, “Go and do likewise;” others may find consolation in those early disappointments which Fatherly Goodness transformed into eventual blessings, and amidst the clouds of their morning may still hope and pray for a bright, afternoon and a peaceful evening.