76 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



often upon the subject, and know too well how it is. I shall 



not injure them so far as to let you know all they have said on the 

 subject; the enclosed letter may give you some faint idea of it, as 

 it is the mildest and most fitted to inspire hope of them all. 



"J. W." 



We are now approaching the close of this tender episode. 

 That summer the lovers met, and the obstructing clouds for a brief 

 space clear away in the light of mutual confidence and utter joy. 

 But the obstacles remain, nevertheless ; and as soon as he is left 

 alone, he becomes a prey to the most distracting fears and perplex- 

 ities. Thus he writes to his dear Robert from " Bowness," some 

 time, as I conjecture, in the autumn of 1807 : — 



" Mi dearest Robert : — I have often said that I would write 

 you a long letter, and as often have I tried it ; but such a crowd of 

 feelings of all different kinds comes across my heart, that I sit for 

 hours with a paper before me, and never write a single word. 

 Indeed, even if we were together, I know not if I could say much 

 to you, for with me all is strange and inextricable perplexity. I 

 love, and am beloved to distraction, and often the gleams of hope 

 illumine the path of futurity with a glory hardly to be looked at ; 

 while, again, extravagance of love seems only extravagance of 

 folly, and excess of fondness excess of despair. I am betimes the 

 most miserable and the happiest of created beings. So for I am bet- 

 ter than during former years, when I had no hope, no wish to live. 

 Now, indeed, my sadness almost wholly regards Margaret. For 

 myself, I have been inured to wretchedness, and though, in some 

 respects, or as far as it made me a man of worse conduct than of 

 principles, I have yielded to the common effect of misery, in future 

 I could look forward to dreary solitude of spirit with some tolerable 

 degree of composure. But for her, whose peace is far dearer to me 

 than my own, I have many dreadful anticipations. Should our union 

 be rendered impracticable, and Miss W. to die, an event which, I 

 trust in God, is far, far distant, God only knows what would 



become of her." 



In anticipation of these obstacles being removed, he turns his 

 thoughts to home, and addresses a beautiful short poem (" My 

 Cottage") to Margaret. His spirit then did 



