LIFE AT OXFOKD. 45 



doubt conscious strength is in itself a spur to high achievements, 

 and the enviable possession of great gifts of mind and body gives, as 

 it were, two lives, fitting a man for a Titan's work. It was this com- 

 bination of gifts that made Wilson singular among the men of his 

 time ; and the preservation of their harmony was proof that, amid 

 the various influences tending to overthrow the balance, a healthy 

 moral nature reigned supreme. The hard-working intellect was not 

 led astray by the fertile imagination ; the indefatigable bodily energy 

 and exuberant sportiveness were still subservient to reason ; and all 

 worked healthily together, despite the recurring gloom of cheerless 

 days, and the restless wanderings that hardly brought repose. 



Judged by his poems alone, Wilson was to be classed with the 

 most refined and sensitive of idealists ; tested by some of his prose 

 Avritings and his professional reputation, he was one of the most 

 acute and eloquent of moralists. That such a man should have de- 

 lighted in angling and in boating, in walking, running, and leaping, 

 is not extraordinary ; but that he should also have practically en- 

 couraged and greatly enjoyed the ruder pastimes of wrestling, box- 

 ing, and cock-fighting, may appear to some people anomalous. For 

 the notion is not yet wholly extinct, that a poet should be a delicate 

 and dreamy being, all heart and nerves, and certainly destitute of 

 muscles ; while the philosopher is held bound to be solemn and dys- 

 peptic, dwelling in a region of clouds remote from all the business 

 and pleasures of men. It is unnecessary, I presume, to show the 

 absurdity of such views. But neither is it necessary to say a word 

 in favor of the cock-pit or the prize-ring. Suffice it, that at the time 

 when my father studied at Oxford, there were few young gentle- 

 men, with any pretensions to manliness, by whom these now pro- 

 scribed amusements were not zealously patronized. The fashions 

 change with the generations, and the fox-hunter may ere long be 

 considered a barbarian, and the deer-stalker a kind of assassin. Cer- 

 tain it is, that literary men do not now patronize cock-fighting, and 

 the world would probably be scandalized to hear of Mr. Dickens 

 inviting a party of friends to " a main."* Yet about this time there 



* Although it has been said that the sage and refined Henry Mackenzie did not consider it in- 

 consistent with his character to patronize this amusement, I must omit his name from the num- 

 ber. He was very fond of field-sports, but I am assured, on the best authority, that there is not 

 a word of truth in the tradition, nor in the following capital story, quoted from Burgon's Life of 

 Tytler:—" Drinking tea there (at Woodhouselee) one evening, we waited some time for Mr. Mac- 

 kenzie's appearance ; he came in at last, heated and excited : ' What a glorious eveuing I have had P 

 We thought he spoke of the weather, which was beautiful ; but he went on to detail the intense en- 



