260 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP, IX. 



bleeding wounds in his sensitive heart ; and to none of them 

 could time reconcile him. We wonder not that he is graver 

 than of old, but rather that any of the buoyant fun survives. 

 "I have had," he says in 1853, "to look at this world as 

 full of the most serious realities this summer, from a point 

 of view which seems new to me ; but it is all for the best." 



In one way alone could he still unite the broken circle. 

 A letter to his brother, at a time of domestic trial, gives the 

 receipt, one that cannot fail to cement in bonds beyond the 

 reach of earthly changes. It is written in the last year of 

 his life. 



"Illnesses are the times that make me despise penny 

 postages, as premiums on tortoise and snail paces, and long 

 for electric wires from door to door all round the world. 

 Were we beside each other, I should be seeking to comfort 

 you with all kinds of medico-surgical reasonings, showing 

 that there was more of good than evil in particular symp- 

 toms. But as we are, I can only wait for the next mail 

 with patient impatience, and hush alarms by repeating the 

 blessed words : ' Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently.' 

 Yet, after all, I can do more. When we kneel together each 

 evening to offer our prayers to God, you are never forgotten. 

 Jessie and I are the priestess and priest, and she reads the 

 lesson ; and when we pray, commending all our beloved 

 ones to the mercies of God and the consolations of Christ, 

 I seem to go round the world, passing from Birkenhead, 

 where Jeanie has had many anxieties and trials ; to you 

 with your mingled sunshine and shade ; to Alick at Ade- 

 laide, still refusing to be comforted for the loss of three 

 children ; and to Brazil and Hanover, whence Mina and 

 her sister write claiming relationship, and beseeching re- 

 membrance in our prayers. 



"I say to myself with a sigh, Are they dead 1 Are they 



