100 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



tedious to enter into a detail of all unlucky causes which have occa- 

 sioned this. Such as they are, they could not in the present junc- 

 ture be avoided ; and I have at least the satisfaction to know, that 

 my plans failed not from any Avant of zeal or determination on my 

 part. 



" I have not, however, by any means relinquished my scheme of 

 going to Spain, and whether we shall meet this summer or not 

 seems very doubtful. I agree with you that travelling will make 

 me, for some years at least, happier than any thing else. The 

 knowledge it bestows can be acquired by no other means, and, un- 

 less a man be married, it seems very absurd to remain, during the 

 prime of his youth, in one little corner of the world, beautiful and 

 glorious as that corner may be. I do not, I hope, want either bal- 

 last or cargo or sail, but I do want an anchor most confoundedly, 

 and, without it, shall keep beating about the great sea of life to 

 very little purpose. Since I left Edinburgh, I have had a very dear 

 old friend staying with me, and we have studied to the wonder of 

 the three counties. We have made some progress in Spanish, 

 though not much, the perplexity attending our change of scheme 

 having occasioned some little interruption. I have written many 

 poems, some of considerable length, which I may some night or 

 other repeat to you over a social glass, or a twinkling fire. 



"A little elegy I wrote on poor little Margaret Harden* last 

 spring, and which I promised to send to your mother, has been 

 lost. I shall, however, endeavor to recollect it the first time I can 

 vividly recall the melancholy event that gave rise to it. Let it be 

 considered as the affectionate sympathy of a friend. I am, you 

 know, the worst correspondent breathing ; yet to hear from you 

 often and minutely, as to your pleasures and occupations, will 

 always afford me genuine satisfaction. 



" While I write this, your paintings of Stavely and the Brathay 

 smile sweetly upon me, though all without doors is wild and stormy, 

 it being the most complete hurricane I ever saw at Elleray. The 

 windows of the parlor have, during the night, been almost entirely 

 destroyed, and the floor is literally swimming. I cannot conclude 

 without again observing what pleasure I shall have in hearing from 

 you, especially while you are just entering on such a new scheme 

 of life." 



* A daughter of his friend. 



