376 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



Monday with, a violent toothache ; dined there alone ; saw the 

 Blackwoods, and went to bed at nine. On Tuesday called on Mr. 

 Blackwood, and found him tolerably well. Lost all that day in be- 

 ing unable to settle to any thing ; finding the bank-house most tin- 

 comfortable in all respects — no pillows to the beds, no sofas, no 

 tables on which it was possible to write, from their being so low 

 and the chairs so high. I did nothing. On Wednesday did a little, 

 but not much; and dined, perhaps injudiciously, with Liston,* to 

 meet Schetky ;f stayed till one o'clock ; and to-day had an open 

 and confused head ; wrote in the back shop, but not very much. I 

 sent for Nancy to the Bank, and found from her that she w\as pick- 

 ing currants in Gloucester Place, and told her that I would be there 

 to-morrow (Friday) at nine o'clock, and write in my room, which, 

 she says, is open, and sleep at the Bank. I dine at Mr. Blackwood's. 

 Mr. Hay called on me at the shop to-day, and is well, having been 

 ill with cholera or colic. The Magazine is in a sad state, and en- 

 tirely behind, and as yet I have done little to forward it. I am not 

 quite incog., I fear, but have avoided seeing any of my old friends 

 of the Parliament House. I will 'write by Sunday's mail, so you 

 will hear from me on Tuesday, telling you when to send the gig to 

 Innerleithen. I think it will be on Wednesday night, therefore keep 

 it disengaged for that day; but I will mention particulars in my 

 nest. My face is swelled, but not so bad as before nearly. The 

 Whigs are all in again, or rather were never out, except Lord 

 Grey, who remains out. Poor Blackwood looks as well as ever, and 

 there seem to be hopes, but the disease is very, very bad, and I 

 do not know what to say. Love to all. Yours ever affectionately, 



" John Wilson." 



" Saturday Evening. 

 " My dear Maggie : — Mr. Blackwood is in the same state, wear- 



* Robert Liston, the celebrated surgeon ; died in 1847. 



t John Schetky, an artist, a friend of my father's. — " I have no conceit of those 'who are all 

 things to all men.' Why, I have seen John Schetky himself in the sulks with sumphs, though he 

 is more tolerant of ninnies and noodles than almost any other man of genius I have ever known; 

 but clap him down among a choice crew of kindred spirits, and how his wild wit even yet, as in 

 its prime, wantons! playing at will its virgin fancies, till Care herself comes from her cell, and 

 sitting by the side of Joy, loses her name, and forgets her nature, and joins in glee or catch, be- 

 neath the power of that magician, the merriest in the hall." — Nodes, No. lxvi., 1834. 



" A gentleman who served with our army in the Spanish campaigns, and has painted several 

 wild scenes of the Pyrenees in a most original manner. He is, I imagine, the very finest painter 

 of sky since Salvator Rosa." — Letters on the Living Artists of Scotland. 



