2l8 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. IX. 



The weather is delightful ; my cough reduced to a mild 

 trumpeting; my bed no longer, like Job's, mocking me 

 when I go to it, saying, ' Thou wilt comfort me/ but folding 

 me in its arms, and hushing me asleep ; my conscience 

 is seared or congealed, and goads me in vain to work. 

 I reply bluntly, ' I won't work,' and win the battle. . . . All 

 here looks balm and sunshine. I saw, to be sure, two poor 

 fellows with legs quite naked, sitting exposed to wind and 

 rain, and was about to say to myself, ' There is misery 

 everywhere,' when on closer inspection I perceived that 

 but I don't know that they were any the warmer for that ; 

 however it relieved my mind when I discovered though 

 perhaps it will not yours that they were Highland soldiers. 

 ... A pair of chaffinches who have just entered on married 

 life, stay opposite us in a fine airy larch-tree villa, and chat 

 away about the babies they are looking for in a very plea- 

 sant fashion. The oldest son is to be a poet, and the oldest 

 daughter a musician, but they had not when our reporter 

 left, considered a calling for the third child. You will give 

 them your benediction." 



" April i%tk. 



" They speak of the luxury of doing good, but what is 

 that to the luxury of doing nothing ; especially when, as in 

 the present case, doing nothing is doing good ! What did 

 I do yesterday ? Nothing ! The day before ? Nothing ! 

 What am I doing at present ? Nothing ! Accordingly, a 

 diary of my proceedings would not be very interesting, and 

 need not be extended." 



" April tf>tk. 



" We have been giving all (no ! not all, but many of) our 

 friends drives, the money which they paid being handed 

 over to Greybeard [a horse], who is gathering up - to buy 



