Business and Recreation; Sunshine and Shadow

The sun upon the Wierdlaw-hill,

In Ettrick’s vale, is sinking sweet,
The westland wind is hush and still,

The lake lies sleeping at my feet.
Yet not the landscape to mine eye

Bears those bright hues that once it bore;
Though evening, with her richest dye,

Flatnes o’er the hills of Ettrick’s shore. — The quiet lake, the balmy air,

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — Are they still such as once they were,

Or is the dreary change in me?” — Scott.

“Who are the men of history to be admired most? Those whom most things became:.... who could be considerate in a sick-room, genial at a feast, joyous at a festival, capable of discourse with many minds, large-souled, not to be shrivelled up into any one form, fashion, or temperament. Their contemporaries would have told us, that men might have various accomplishments and hearty enjoyments, and not for that be the less effective in business, or less active in benevolence.” — Helps.

Having no professional engagements, it was assumed that Mr Wilson abounded in leisure; but to do all the work which busier men are unable to overtake, is itself an arduous calling. It was the advantage of his learned brethren, that most of them had ostensible occupations, and from any inconvenient intrusion the professor could take refuge in “the business of his class,” the doctor and the lawyer in the demands of his “practice,” but our friend had no such apology; nor even if he had possessed it, would it have availed a disposition so kind and courteous. He had a deep and true desire to serve his generation: there was no one from whom it was less formidable to ask a favour; and when invited to bear another’s burden, no one could lend the helping hand with more unfeigned alacrity. Happy was the board or committee which could enlist his name, for it was sure of a conscientious member; and no less happy was the scientific stranger who sought out his abode, and who, certain of a cordial welcome, not unfrequently commenced an enduring and delightful intimacy. Happy was the secretary who had such a colleague, 19 i BUSINESS, RECREATION; SUNSHINE, SHADOW.

and not less happy was the editor who had such a neighbour. But happier still was the man himself, who, when an emergency arose, could always meet it, and who, when the forthcoming serial was arrested by a desertion or a downbreak, possessed the ready pen and readier zeal which supplied the gap and saved the capitol. If Sidney Smith claimed it as his function, that he acted in society as a general amalgam; in the literary and scientific world of Edinburgh — the lecturing world not included, and his own chosen pursuits superadded — Mr Wilson might have claimed it as his province to be the universal succedaneum. His engagement with the Encylopcedia Britannica amounted to a virtual editorship; for it made him responsible for all the natural history, and, as happens to all editors, his subordinates sometimes left him in the lurch. The following letter was called forth by such a conjuncture: —

TO SIR WILLIAM JARDINE, BART.

“Woodville, lltk May 1835. “I have not time to enter into particulars; suffice it to say that I have been grievously disappointed by what I cannot call otherwise than the misconduct of an individual, to whom years ago I had intrusted the article Ichthyology for the Encyclopaedia Britannica. To that individual I have written and spoken every two or three months on the subject, have sent books and other necessary articles, and it never entered into my mind for a moment to suppose that he was not advancing steadily in a matter which was originally consigned to Mm much more on his own account than on mine. Judge, then, of my surprise and disappointment on being informed a day or two ago, in answer to an intimation that the said article might be required in a month or thereby, that other engagements made it impossible for him to undertake it if it were required in anything like that time. I shall only add that these other engagements, of a somewhat advantageous nature, were bestowed on my own recommendation at a period subsequent to his written pledge regarding the said Ichthyology. All this, of course, is no excuse as between myself and the principal editor, who takes no concern in my engagements, and to whom I stand pledged altogether independent of other individuals. I think it likely that not less (though certainly not more) than seven weeks will be allowed from about this time; but even during that period it would be hard work for any one individual, not prepared by any previous study in anticipation, to get up a worthy article on so important a subject. I shall, however, indeed I must, sacrifice all other ensragements and work like a horse, and I have no hesitation in applying to you for assistance, which I doubt not you will grant if you can do so consistently with prior duties. All that I wish from you is, that you would undertake an abstract of the fourth family of Cuvier’s Malacopterygian fishes, viz., our friends the Salmonidce. I should like you to adhere in a general way to Cuvier’s arrangement, as I must do so myself in the other portions; but, of course, the opinions of species, &c, and other details, to be according to your own views. You are so familiar with this department, that I doubt not you will do it with ease — indeed you probably have all the necessary materials already by you. I assure you your doing it will be a great favour to myself.”

His application had been made to one who, like himself, knew what it is to be a friend in need, as the following rescript shews: —

“Woodville, 28th May 1835.

“My dear Sir William, — I had the pleasure to receive your response, which is quite satisfactory as far as your will is concerned, although your prior engagements seem to run it rather further back than I could wish. Perhaps Selby’s being with you during that first week of your return home, may not interfere with your doing something. Of course, I don’t care when the thing is begun, if it is only ended in time. I am sitting very close myself, as in duty bound, and am already a long way from the beginning, though I can’t say whether I am at all getting towards the end.”

In like manner, we find him a few months afterwards come to the rescue of Messrs Oliver and Boyd, whose three volumes on China, got up with great care, and at a great exjiense, were delayed by the non-appearance of a much desired sketch of Chinese zoology. In a few days he supplied the lacking contribution, and the stranded volumes floating off, enjoyed a prosperous voyage.

At one period, as already mentioned, he took much pains arranging the admirable collections in the College Museum, and besides being a zealous member of the Wernerian Society to the last, he acted as its librarian. To the “Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh” he never contributed, but no one of its fellows could take a livelier interest in its prosperity, or feel more proud of its fame; nor amongst all his offices of generous friendship, was there ever one more cordially rendered, than his discharge of the secretaryship during the temporary absence, through illness, of Professor J. D. Forbes. For those researches amongst the Alpine and Norwegian glaciers, which had procured for the ardent investigator a celebrity more than European, Mr “Wilson felt intense admiration; and when, as a consequence of such researches too eagerly pursued, the health of the professor gave way, Mr Wilson supplied his place with affectionate anxiety, and by the diligence with which he catered for contributions, and edited the “Transactions,” and by the affability and address with which he conducted the business of the Council and of the Society itself, he proved an able and not unsuccessful substitute for his eminent and accomplished friend.

During the later years of his life, Mr Wilson interested himself in territorial churches, and in efforts for improving the dwellings of the poor, and, as an elder, he had considerable outlet in his district and elsewhere, for the tenderness of his sympathy, and for more substantial benefactions. But there were few associations, either benevolent or scientific, which, in later years, engrossed so much of his time and thought as the Fishery Board. In the fishes themselves, as an angler and a naturalist, he felt a certain interest, but as a patriotic Scotchman he felt still more interest in their captors and consumers. The brave and hardy seamen of our northern coasts commanded his highest admiration, and knowing well the finny wealth of those stormy waters, he was anxious that all should be done which proprietors or a government can do, to lessen the dangers, and augment the productiveness of this great branch of national industry. First, in conj miction with Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, and afterwards with the Hon. Bouverie F. Primrose, many were the months which he spent afloat, in order to examine stations, quays, and harbours; many were the days spent in London and elsewhere, urging on official personages points so vitally affecting the food of the community and the defences of the realm; and many were the memorials for private perusal, and many the articles appealing to periodical readers, which he prepared with infinite labour, in the onerous discharge of his honorary duties.

Betwixt his stated pursuits and such occasional services, the last five-and-twenty years of Mr Wilson’s life were abundantly and sometimes excessively occupied; but he neither made himself nor others believe that he was busy. Making no fuss, and never in a bustle, the stranger who found him in a public room writing rapidly, and often interpolating amidst the talk a comic hit or repartee, could hardly have guessed that the sheets he was so fast accumulating were copy for a standard work, or that they would go to the printer untranscribed and with scarcely an erasure. And he himself, whilst producing manuscript sufficient to supply all the zoological professorships of the kingdom, simply because he pocketed no fees, and was not obliged to take down his umbrella every winter’s day, and go forth to lecture to a class of students for an hour, used to sigh over himself as one of the unproductive classes, and revert betwixt mournf ulness and mirth to the days of the “stickit writer ship.”

So constant were his occupations that he found it hard to secure a holiday. Occasionally, however, he carried off his family to Westmoreland, or some other pleasant hiding-place, and occasionally, as we have seen, he consented to accompany a party of friends fly-catching or fly-fishing. During a solitary excursion in 1835, he wrote the following letter to his little daughter:

“The Buen, Fetteecairn,
Monday night, 2lst Sept. 1835.

“My dear Lassie, — I am sure you will be glad to hear that I will be home in two or three days. The chief pleasure in going from home is the coming back again. What rounds of the garden we will have, and how happy mamma will be, and how Corby will jump for joy! I daresay the leaves are now growing yellow in the face and will soon tumble to the ground, and then, till a little frost comes, everything will look wet and dirty. Never mind, there are plenty of coals at the canal, and we will keep good fires, and have plenty of fun within doors. Mamma says there has been very bad weather since I went away, but on the whole it has been good here. To-morrow we are to take a long drive to Loch Lee, which is about fifteen miles from this. In that part of the country, almost a hundred years ago, an old woman hanged herself, and the custom is, when any one commits suicide, to bury them where the lands of two lairds meet. Well! they tried to carry this woman there, though it is a long way off among the hills. A storm of snow came on — they were all like to perish with cold and hunger; so, long before they came to the proper place, they just threw her into a wet black hole in the moor. Well! what do you think? — not long ago when all the people themselves were dead (though their sons and daughters remembered the story, because they had been told it by their fathers and mothers), the old woman was discovered by a shepherd looking out of the hole in the moss; and there she lies at this present moment, and may be seen by any one that chooses. I shall shake hands with her, I hope, to-morrow. Would you like me to bring her home to Woodville V

With his tender feelings and strong affections, it was sometimes well for Mr “Wilson that he was obliged to be busy. Like Baron Cuvier, who sought to dull the anguish caused by the death of his lovely daughter Clementine, by burying himself in absorbing study, many a scholar has had cause to be thankful for the task which tore him away from the too near companionship of sorrow. So was it in 1 835, when a double bereavement had befallen Mr Wilson in the death of two of his sisters within a fortnight of one another, but when, in the midst of his grief, he was obliged to sit down for eight unbroken weeks to an article on Ichthyology; and so was it destined to prove in a lesser degree under the sorer visitation which overtook him in 1837, when he lost his beloved and excellent wife.

After the death of Mrs Foster, with his characteristic severity in self-reviewing, John Foster says: — “When a person’s ill health is habitual, and complaints seldom nttered, it is the fault of associates, who are themselves in exempt condition, not to shew or feel the due attention or sympathy. And it now comes upon me, with some degree of regret and self-reproach, that I too seldom testified the due sympathetic interest on this subject. It was an interest which she most rarely claimed, and, therefore, should have been the more spontaneously given. Not that I am deeply accusing myself in this respect. I loved and valued her deeply, cordially, and continually, and delighted to reciprocate her devoted affection; but it is strange to observe how anything that was less than the most watchful attention can now come back to memory as a cause of regret.” But even from the gentlest measure of such upbraiding* Mr Wilson was saved by the uniform solicitude and tenderness with which he devoted himself to a wife who had all the stronger claim on his sympathy from the spirit with which she bore her infirmities, and the quiet steadfastness with which she discharged domestic duties, even in days of great personal suffering. Nevertheless, although free from compunction, and blissfully assuaged by the hope full of immortality, his grief was great; and it was well for him that an unusual pressure of literary engagements necessitated the bestowment of some thought on other themes. During the two following winters Mr

ABERFOYLE. Siv, ’

Wilson took a house in George Square, which brought him nearer his Edinburgh friends.

The first letter after this event which has come into our possession was written during a short fishing excursion, in which he was tempted to join his friends, Sir T. D. Lauder and John Kirkpatrick, Esq.

“Aberfoyle, 15th June 1838.” I hope you have been wearying to hear from me. I snatch a few minutes while Sir Thomas treats himself to a pipe, though smoking by no means makes him hold his tongue. The chief disadvantage of his unfailing good humour and cheerfulness is the contrast which these excellent qualities offer to my own depression, and which, I fear, may make Kirkpatrick suppose that I am a sulky rascal, which I don’t think I naturally am. But of this I leave you to judge for yourself. We had but a murky and indifferent voyage up to Alloa on Monday; but we sat near the funnel, and kept our backs warm. Kirkpatriek met us at Alloa, from whence we walked up to Tullibody, a nice, old-fashioned place, where we were well received. We started in a shandrydan on Tuesday morning early, and got to Aberfoyle by about one o’clock, so as to admit of our walking up to Lochard and enjoying a few hours fishing before dinner. We killed only eight or ten, but they were very fine fish; and the evening being beautiful, with a fine sun-set behind Benlomond, which stands like a giant at the head of the loch, we enjoyed ourselves somewhat. When I talk of enjoyment, it is, perhaps, more in reference to the general feeling of the party than my own individual feelings, which cannot be otherwise than disconsolate; for the greater the apparent resources of enjoyment within my reach, the more bitterly do I feel the dread change which has befallen us in the removal of one whose happiness I often hoped to connect with some such scene as that which is now before my eyes. During my former excursions my chief pleasure was in writing to, or receiving letters from, her whose place knows her no longer; and if for a moment the sun seems to shine as it was wont, and a sense of pleasure passes through my heart, then a wave of darkness seems to overshadow me, and I feel as if it were selrish and unkind to others even to seek for any happiness. But all this, I know, proves the low and eartniy nature of my hopes and aspirations, and how unable 1 am to raise my thoughts to that brighter world, where we know there are; many mansions.’ I pray God I may be enabled by degrees to wean myself from all these ’ vexing thoughts, by which for some time past I have been so disquieted. We know unto whom we may go when weary and heavy laden, and He will give us rest. I hope you have been enjoying the two fine days we have had. I was thankful lor them, fully as much on R ’s account as my own. We went

up yesterday to Loch Con, a wild Highland region of craggy rocks, with a rich sprinkling of oaks and birches in the lower grounds, and. towering mountains all around. I fished pretty steadily all day, chiefly to keep my mind from wandering into the unseen world; but when I looked up into the sky, and saw the glory of the castellated clouds of snow, how could I help rambling away from this ’ dim spot,’ serenely beautiful though it was, to the bright array of that imperishable land, where there is fulness of joy for evermore? In my present state of mind I must mix all things together. The angling in Loch Con is not very inspiriting. The trouts are few, but very fine. We only killed ten, of which seven fell to my share, and three to Sir Thomas.’

TO HIS DAUGHTER.

“Castle-Craig, by Noble-House,
10th October 1838.

“My dearest Lassie, — On the whole the weather has been charming, and I have been enjoying myself as much as I can well do, considering that I am away from my sweet home, and that I cannot help reflecting on the days that are past, and that can now be recalled no more for ever. We were often asked to come out here long ago. Had we done so, there might have been great enjoyment;

20G BUSINESS, RECREATION; SUNSHINE, SHADOW.

but it was the will of God to ordain it otherwise, and therefore T ought not to grieve or think myself desolate when alone in these melancholy woods, for God is ever with me, and all who love Christ the Saviour are ever beneath the shadow of His wings. I wish I was always more cheerful for your sakes; but we know that we are not willingly afflicted, and if my discomforts of mind and body have the effect of weaning me from this world, and fixing my affections on things above, happy will it be for me and mine. How thankful should I be that while one beloved parent, who so deeply desired your happiness, has been removed from earthly struggles, you have so affectionate a friend and teacher in dear H, whom may

God bless for all she does for you! Both Johnnie and yourself have it in your power to give her what she will think her highest human reward, by your fearing God, obeying His commandments, loving one another, and being gentle and kind to all around you. This do, as a faithful follower of Christ, whose sinless nature we cannot approach unto, but whose divine example may, by God’s grace, when daily dwelt on, ennoble our thoughts and purify our actions, so that we grieve not the Holy Spirit. When weaiy and heavy laden, as all must often be during our pilgrimage here, let us cast our burden on One who will not leave us nor forsake us. While thus depending upon God and the Saviour whom He sent, let us enjoy with a grateful heart whatever earthly blessings are within our reach. Let us cultivate and increase our human friendship and affections, and believe that although sin has made this world a world of sorrow, yet that there is much true happiness at the command of the children of God, among whom I earnestly pray my own may ever be. When I sat down to write to yon, my beloved daughter, it was not my intention to write you a little sermon, though, perhaps, it ought to have been. If I speak but seldom to you of sacred things, believe it is not that they are absent from my mind, but that the equally strong affection, and much greater knowledge and capacity of your beloved mother made my services less essential, and that still, by the goodness of God, you

enjoy the instructions of your dear H. But yet I

say to you, now and always, ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’”

In 1839. the scene of a little trip was London, and his first letter wras to his son. Its tone is abundantly sprightly, as befits the subject and his youthful correspondent, then a school-boy at the Academy.

2 Stashope Place, Hyde Park, London,
ISth July 1839.

“I have been twice to the Zoological Gardens. The live Camel eopardsj three in number, are, of course, the most curious and surprising of all the beasts. They are extremely mild in their manners, with sweet faces and beautiful black eyes, very like many of the ladies I see in Hyde Park, only far prettier than most of them, and with longer and more graceful necks. As they don’t like to stoop down when they browse, their cribs are placed at a considerable height. These are merely small baskets like* fish-creels, of open texture, hung upon the wall and filled with a dry wispy-looking plant, neither hay nor clover. They often stretch up their necks and pull out their food, without taking the trouble to rise from their sides. The one that had the young one is the least of the three, and scarcely cared at all when her child died. The latter is now stuffed and placed near its mother, but she never looks at it. Now, we know that a sheep whose young has died will keep by the dead body for a long time, and will follow any one even from its sweet solitary pastoral hills into the heart of a crowded city, if he carries the skin of the lamb in his hand.

“The deers and llamas are very fine, and the camels, bisons, &c, of great size. Most of these animals are very tame, but there is an otter which bites every one who is foolish enough to put his hand within its railing. It is kept in a pretty large circular wired enclosure, with a pond in the middle, and a small rock-work island in the centre, with a hollow den for it to sleep in. On each side of its enclosure are written the words, ‘The otter bites;’ and when I was there, it had nearly bitten an old woman’s toe. I suppose she had ten of them, so the loss of one at her time of life would not have mattered much.

“There are hundreds of parrots, and one entirely yellow, just like a canary in colour. The cranes are very graceful, and of diverse kinds; the bears likewise of diverse kinds, but quite the reverse of graceful. The ducks and geese are likewise divers of their kind, and there is a cormorant with a throat that would swallow a rolling-stone.

“The cheetah, or hunting tiger, is the first true one I ever saw. The animal usually shewn under that name is more of a leopard, but the true cheetah has a pale-coloured coat, covered over by numerous small single sejparate spots, not forming circular groups as in the leopard We went to see the lions and tigers fed, and their roaring was dreadful. There is a great lot of live dogs, which also at feeding time pretended to be fierce, but I saw that most of them were laughing all the time. One of the largest and finest is a Persian shepherd’s dog, as big as a Newfoundland, which uncle M’Neill sent home. He spoke to it in Persian, which made it turn round, but it would not shake its tail or speak to him in return. By the by, there is a Persian cat here (a blue one), which is to be boarded at Wuodville till the M’Neills are settled. It is accustomed

to be chained up, so there is no fear of our birds.”

In subsequent letters to his niece he describes the rehearsal of the Eglinton Tournament, visits to the British Museum, and interviews with various eminent zoologists. “I did not see poor Children, whose wife, I fear, is dying; but Samouelle and both the Grays were very civil. What I admire in these people is their devotion to their own business. They seem to look upon London just as a great ornithological or entomological world, and care no more about Hyde Park or the House of Commons than they do about Kirkaldy or Canonmills. It would be well for some of us if we could care keenly for anything.” “Young White was delighted with the Java insects, six or seven of which were not in the Museum, although Mr Children had them in his private collection. I have got a few tilings from them, and might have got more, if I had been in a taking humour,”’

“Wednesday, 2ith July 1839.

“On Tuesday of last week I lunched at Blackheath with the Hays, and went through Greenwich Hospital. Near the Observatory, in Greenwich Park, I saw a man with two other men. He stared at us, and at everything, and I stared at him. None of our party discerned who it was, till I told them: and I had no business to know; but instinct told me it could be nobody but Lord Brougham, and so it was Saturday being a closed.

day at the British Museum, I went there by invitation and went through the rest of the Entomological Collection. Saw Mr Children, who is a gentlemanly man, and apologised for being unable to shew me any hospitality. I knew well by sad experience how sick at heart he might then be. On Sunday, to church twice. Monday evening, the House of Lords. As we entered, the Duke of Wellington was speaking. He appeared to much greater advantage, and with a more commanding air, in plain clothes, and with his hat off, than on horse-back in the Park. He evidently rules the House of Lords, and knows that he does so. He has a very fine appearance when he stands up speaking. His features being large, his neck rather long, and his chest broad, he has the aspect of a tall man, though he is not so. As soon as he had done speaking he plumped down, and pulled his hat over his eyes, perhaps to shade them from the fast-failing daylight which streamed upon him through the tall Gothic windows. At this time there was nothing visible but a hat and a large chin. As soon as a man came in with a taper at the point of a long pole, to light the wax-candles in three or four large chandeliers above their lordships’ heads, he threw himself back, pushed up his hat, and followed every candle as it was lighted, from the beginning to the end of the illumination, exactly as I myself, an idle, unaccustomed stranger, might have done had I not been staring at him all the time. He appeared almost intent upon this, although several lordly statesmen were delivering their speeches in the interval. I was in the front row, and in the course of the evening caught his eye several times. I think he wanted to know how long I would glower at him. Lord Brougham spoke several times.”

In the close of the following month we find him gone for a few days’ fishing in the Tweed, and accompanied by his son and Sir John M’Neill.

TO HIS DAUGHTER,

“Innerleithen, Friday evening, the
day of the month unknown. [The
postmark is August 31, 1839.]

“Uncle M’Neill (tell H she still spells that family

name extremely wrong) left us yesterday morning about five minutes after seven; and in spite of my usual morning idleness, I was up and stirring to give him a cup of coffee and my company to the coach office. John, I am sorry to say, had suffered all night from toothache (the effect, I doubt not, of wading), so I allowed him to snooze on till nine. I suppose that by this time you will have received my letter. I think I told you we had gone up for some hours to St Mary’s Loch. The day was raw and gusty (this is the French for disgusting); and the scene, though interesting, was less beautiful than when I saw it for the first time, one still autumn clay in the year 1834. The lake was then as smooth as glass, and reflected the green grassy hills so perfectly that you could scarcely tell where the shore commenced and the water terminated; but t’other day the little waves were chafing and roaring in a perfect rage. Poor things! they do not know what they will meet with in their after course of life towards their ocean of eternity, and how much happier they are, surrounded by pure pastoral hills, than when acting as scavengers to the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, sweeping fishguts into the everlasting sea. But so it ever is, not only with lakes and lochs, but lads and lassies — still pressing onwards, onwards, for a few brief years; then standing still to ponder dubiously the amount of gain, and then finding little worthy even of remembrance but that ’ crystal youth,’ so carelessly cast away, yet no more to be recalled than can the mountain dew-drops from the slimy sea. We have had but little sport; yet John seems well pleased with his doings. The angling here seems much inferior at this season to what it is in spring. The scenery, however, is beautiful; and when I sat me down, towards day’s decline, by the side of this melancholy stream, and looked up to the ruins of Elibank Castle, and thought of the years that had passed since I had last mused by its shattered walls, alas! how mournful was the

21 4 BUSINESS, KECEEATION; SUNSHINE, SHADOW.

remembrance! The ’ great magician,’ he who so devotedly loved the Tweed, that even in the valley of the shadow of death its murmuring was music to his ears, where was he? That mighty minstrel, whose eye had so often delighted in those varying lights and shadows which my feeble vision still saw adorning the green mountains in undiminished glory, was now in the ’ narrow house.’ This very day, amid all the pomp and proud emblazonry of the so-called tournament, how few will think of him whose creative genius brought to life and light the little that we know and feel of knightly prowess! Sir Walter has been much in my mind since I came here; and every beautiful hill or graceful bend in the river that I see brings him to my remembrance; for I know how every feature of the Tweed was a part almost of himself. Our present intention is to be home on Tuesday before dinner; but don’t be uneasy. We may write again. Adieu, beloved.”

The summer of 1841 was devoted to a somewhat extensive exploration of the Scottish coasts and islands, in the company of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, and on board the government cutter, the Princess Royal. The voyage lasted nearly a hundred days, that is, from the 17th of June till the 12th of September, and, as usual, its incidents were reported in long and lively letters home. On his return, he was persuaded to revise these letters, and towards the close of next year, he published, in two volumes, “A Voyage round the Coasts of Scotland and the Isles,” a book rich in poetry and humour; and, with its magnificent descriptions and amusing information, still the best guide to the romantic regions which he visited; or, to those who have not courage for a yacht-voyage, the best substitute for an actual survey.

As everything is interesting, which throws light on the creations of Sir Walter Scott, we transcribe from one of Mr Wilson’s Shetland letters, a passage which he himself has not jDublished: —

TO MISS SYM, BRANDON PLACE, GLASGOW.

“While at Lerwick, I met with a strong illustration of what has often struck me elsewhere, namely, that go where one might, and however restricted the rano-e of their general acquaintance, some one is foregathered with, who serves as a link to connect the present with the past, in relation even to one’s own particular friends and family. When I landed in Shetland, I certainly did not suppose that there existed in that ‘Ultima Thule, a single individual who had ever heard of me or mine, unless the fame of certain literary relations, such as Miss Sym of Glasgow, or Professor Wilson of Edinburgh, might, in some measure, have made them familiar with both the paternal and maternal name. Be this as it may, I was told that an elderly lady, a Mrs Grierson, was very anxious that I should call upon her. Thinking it unlikely (as I had been already two days in Lerwick) that any young lady would be so, I accepted the invitation of ‘mine ancient, and waited upon her accordingly. I found her to be the eldest daughter of a Captain Grant of Pappochy, of whom, in bygone days, I had often heard my mother tell. He had been billeted, I believe, upon my father, probably before I was born; a strong attachment sprang up between them, and he and his wife continued to reside in the Paisley house for months, and carried on acquaintance and correspondence with our people for many a year. Of all this you may probably remember more than I ever heard tell of. I myself well recollect a Miss Helen Grant, and another sister, visiting Queen Street when I was a boy, one of them, a fair-haired woman, with a largish longish nose; and I have a vague notion of their living, during one or more of these visits, with a Mr Manderson, an apothecary, who was afterwards Provost of Edinburgh. Of course it was very interesting to me to hear, in that far distant land, this worthy Mrs Grierson so eloquent in the praises of my parents. I do not know that it was ever my fortune before to hear any one talk of my father as a person whom they had known, excepting, of course, yourself, and others of my immediate relations. I sat a good deal with her, and as she seemed to be fond of talking, which I am not, she had her will. But what struck me as a singular fact in her history was this: You are probably aware, that her father and mother lost their life owing to the well meant and affectionate kindness of one of their daughters (whether Mrs Grierson or not I cannot say) who placed a chauffer of coals in what she feared might be a damp or airless room, in which her parents were to sleep. They were both found suffocated next morning. The knowledge of this dreadful catastrophe is, of course, not new either to myself or you. But this other related fact, or rather fiction, seems to have sprung out of it, though not that I know of traced to its source, either by John Lockhart, or any other of Sir Walter Scott’s biographical commentators. In the novel, called the ‘Pirate,’ the scene of which is laid in Shetland, a wild, almost mad enthusiast is described under the name of Noma of the Fitful Head. She somewhere, in the course of the work, discloses her own early history, and the dire calamities which had befallen her. The most fatal and overwhelming of these resulted from her closing her parents’ bed-room door, which she found ajar one morning at an early hour, when about to fulfil an assignation with her lover. Her parents both died in consequence, from suffocation, and remorse drove her to insanity. Now what has this to do with Mrs Grierson,

21 8 BUSINESS, RECKEATION; SUNSHINE, SHADOW.

who certainly bears about her none of the wild eccentricities of Noma of the Fitful Head? Not much essentially, though I doubt not, it was the narration of the Grant tragedy that furnished Sir Walter Scott with both the designation of Noma, and the most awful event in her history. Mrs Grierson’s husband (a Shetland laird) was proprietor of Fitful Head, the most south-western portion of Shetland, and she herself is at present Mrs Grierson, senior, of the same. I doubt not that when Scott in the course of his Shetland voyage passed by the magnificent promontory so named, and inquired its owners or occupiers, he might learn the fate of Mrs Grierson’s parents, and would afterwards entwine that sad portion of her own or sister’s history in his fictitious picture of Shetland scenery and manners.”

As Dr George Wilson has remarked in his beautiful tribute to the memory of Mr Wilson,* “His mind was essentially a poetical one, and he strongly sympathised with that comparatively small class of scientific men who find food for the imagination as well as for the intellect in their studies, and employ both in prosecuting them.” In early life especially, he read with avidity works of imagination, and was familiar with the masterpieces of British genius. Byron became a great favourite, and he

* Iu the Edinburgh Ne& Philosophical Journal, July 1856.

could repeat the whole of “Childe Harold.” But no one so entirely seized each sympathy, and revealed to himself so much of the inner world and of the wealth around us everywhere as William Wordsworth. To the close of life, if any line of the laureate was repeated, he could always continue the quotation, and amongst all the devotees who repaired to Bydal Mount, no one could be a more intense admirer. Soon after his marriage, he spent a summer at his brother’s beautiful Elleray, and the first time that he went to call on the poet, “his mind’s father,”* he was so nervous and excited that he would not allow Mrs Wilson or any one to accompany him. A few days afterwards, however, as the ladies were sitting in the drawing-room, he rushed out exclaiming, “Wordsworth! Wordsworth” and sure enough Wordsworth came across the lawn, and entering by the open window, spent with them a long and delightful day. The acquaintance thus begun lasted for more than twenty years, and in the attractions which so often drew Mr WTilson to Westmoreland, one of the very chiefest was the shrine of “The Excursion.”

When Mr Wilson published his “Voyage,” he sent Wordsworth a copy. The reader will be amused by the naivete of the criticism, which assumes that his correspondent was not “practised in writing for the press.” Although so familiar with the living forms around him,

* See page 92.

and so accurate in describing them, the poet was not much acquainted with books of natural history; and so little of an egotist or pedant was Mr Wilson, that one might have lived with him a century without ever suspecting that he had published anything. Conversely, it might be feared that some good naturalists are little acquainted with the poems of Wordsworth. Mr Wilson had an entomological acquaintance of high attainments, who had spent all his days buried in beetles, and who had never heard the name of Sir Walter Scott till Mr Wilson mentioned it to him.

“Hydal Mount, 14tk March ’43.

“My dear Mr Wilson, — You will almost be at a loss to think what has become of me, I have been so tardy in acknowledging the kind present of your ‘Voyage.’ If I am not mistaken, I told you that the book would remain at Carlisle till my son William had read it. He was then upon the point of going to Herefordshire,..,. and various causes have kept him from Carlisle seven weeks, so that I have not long had your book in my possession. But I am now enabled to say, that though I have not read every part of it, it has given me very great pleasure, both on account of the interesting and rarely visited regions you passed through, but also by the manner in which you have described what you saw. Your pages abound with lively pictures, and not unfrequently occurs a very happy and original expression, such as ’ the small pure breathing places through the deep blue sky,’ in your animated picture of the Loch Corruiskin.

“When there is so much to admire, I feel little scruple in expressing an opinion that here and there your descriptions might advantageously have been pruned down a little, a fault which has arisen entirely from your not being practised in writing for the press. Had I been a man of fifty years, or even sixty (and not of seventy-three, as I shall be if I live to the 7th of next April), I should have wished heartily to be your fellow-voyager. Thanking you again for the pleasure you have afforded me, I remain, my dear Mr Wilson, sincerely your much obliged,

“Wm. Wordsworth.”

The letter inclosed a then unpublished poem on Grace Darling.

TO ADAM WHITE, ESQ.

Woodville, 8th December 1842.

“My dear Sir, — I was glad to receive your letter this morning, with its miscellaneous intelligence. Poor Hoo-o-! the last day I spent with him was at ‘Tibbie’s,’ on St Mary’s Loch. His hand was very unsteady till he had gone three times from the sitting-room to the kitchen, taking each time a caulker of whisky, which actually seemed to strengthen him for the time, but I suppose, in the long-run, and continued as it was from day to day, was his destruction. I hear nothing of my brother’s life of the Scotch worthy. Except a Life of Burns, I understand he has written little or nothing for several years, having never resumed his literary labours (apart from what was required for the duties of his class) since his wife’s death. It gives me great pleasure, however, to know that he took up his pen again recently, at least for a day or two, while writing the review (of course a very laudatory one) of Macaulay’s magnificent ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’ in the last number of Blackwood’s Magazine.

“We passed a delightful autumn in Westmoreland, where we found the ‘eternal hills’ much as they were of old, when I first knew them some thirty years ago, but the society, of course, greatly changed. However, a few remained of those whom I desired to see, especially old Wordsworth, who is in great force both of mind and body. I regret to say that poor South ey is in a deplorable state, so far as his once splendid intellect is concerned. He knows no one, not even his own wife, and requires to be fed and led like a child.”