LIFE OF WILSON. clxvii 



his love of study and retirement preserving him from the con- 

 taminating influence of the convivial circle. But as no one is 

 perfect, Wilson in a small degree partook of the weakness of 

 humanity. He was of the Genus irritabile, and was obstinate 

 in opinion. It ever gave him pleasure to acknowledge error, 

 when the conviction resulted from his own judgment alone, 

 but he could not endure to be told of his mistakes. Hence his 

 associates had to be sparing of their criticisms, through a fear 

 of forfeiting his friendship. With almost all his friends he had 

 occasionally, arising from a collision of opinion, some slight 

 misunderstanding, which was soon passed over, leaving no dis- 

 agreeable impression. But an act of disrespect he could ill 

 brook, and a wilful injury he would seldom forgive. 



In his person he was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of 

 body; his cheek-bones projected, and his eyes, though hollow, 

 displayed considerable vivacity and intelligence; his complex- 

 ion was sallow, his mien thoughtful; his features were coarse, 

 and there was a dash of vulgarity in his physiognomy, which 

 struck the observer at the first view, but which failed to im- 

 press one on acquaintance. His walk was quick when travel- 

 ling, so much so that it was difficult for a companion to keep 

 pace with him ; but when in the forests, in pursuit of birds, he 

 was deliberate and attentive he was, as it were, all eyes, and 

 all ears. 



Such was Alexander Wilson. When the writer of this hum- 

 ble biography indulges in retrospection, he again finds himself 

 in the society of that individual, whose life was a series of those 

 virtues which dignify human nature; he attends him in his 

 wild-wood rambles, and listens to those pleasing observations, 

 which the magnificence of creation was wont to give birth to; 

 he sits at his feet, and receives the instructions of one, in sci- 

 ence, so competent to teach; he beholds him in the social cir- 

 cle, and notes the complacency which he inspired in all around. 

 But the transition from the past to the present quickens that 

 anguish with which his heart must be filled, who casts a me- 

 lancholy look on those scenes, a few years since endeared by 



