23i MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



to Sir William Hamilton, who knew all about it ; he did afterwarda 

 speak to him accordingly, somewhat to my surprise, as I thought 

 he would be unlikely to remember either me or my talk — and I 

 thus made an acquaintance which afterwards strengthened into an 

 admiring friendship for that great man. Then another point came 

 up, on which De Quincey might be consulted, and would give very 

 curious information, if he could be caught. He was then dwelling 

 with the Professor — as much as he could be said to dwell any- 

 where. Suppose then I should come and dine with them ? That 

 would be my best chance of seeing De Quincey. That it was 

 quite right to take advantage of this frank invitation, and, an ob- 

 scure stranger, to catch at an opportunity of thrusting myself on 

 the hospitalities and the family circle of a distinguished man, may 

 be questioned. But most people will admit that the temptation 

 was great. It was too much for me, and I accepted, with immense 

 satisfaction. 



" I went to Gloucester Place accordingly. The poet's residence 

 did not represent the traditional garret, nor his guests the eccentric 

 troop familiar to Smollett and Fielding, although I had gone there 

 to meet one who had tJie reputation of bringing into the nineteenth 

 century the habits of that age in their most grotesque shape. Him, 

 however, I did not see. The Opium-Eater was supposed to be 

 somewhere about the premises, but he chose neither to appear in 

 the drawing-room nor the dining-room, and years passed before I 

 became acquainted with the most peculiar man of genius, in Britain 

 at least, of the age. Otherwise, there was good company, hand- 

 somely housed, and entertained with hospitality thoroughly kind, 

 easy, and hearty, but all in perfect taste and condition. 



" It w T as a sort of epoch to myself, and therefore I remember 

 pretty well who were present. We had Professor Jameson, then at 

 the zenith of his fime as a mineralogist, Law T rence M'Donald, the 

 sculptor, and John Malcolm, then a popular poet and writer of mis- 

 cellanies, whose fame, though considerable then, has probably been 

 worn out ere this day ; he was, as I knew him afterwards, a pleas- 

 ant, gentle, meditatively-inclined man, though I think he had seen 

 military service, and knew the mess-room of the old war, — a differ- 

 ent thing from that of the present day. Youngest, as well as I 

 remember, of these seniors, was a Captain Alexander, whom I take 

 to be the traveller, Sir J. E. Alexander. 



