388 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



My father, since the clays when he wrote in the Edinburgh, had 

 achieved a position in letters not only different from Jeffrey's, but 

 higher and more enduring. As a critic, he had worked in a deeper 

 mine than the Edinburgh Reviewer, dealing less with mere forms, 

 and more with the true spirit of art. 



His great work, indeed, was that which to me seems the highest 

 destiny of man, to teach ; and his lessons have spread far and near. 

 In the limitations of his genius lay its excellence; it made him pat- 

 riotic ; and if, for example, his name is not linked with individual 

 creations of character such as bind the name of Goethe with Faust 

 or Werther or Wilhelm Meister, yet his immediate influence extends 

 over a wider sphere of life. These creations of the great German, 

 though quite accordant with nature, speak but to a high order of 

 cultivation. They are works containing a spirit and action of life, 

 the sympathies of which can never enter the hut of the peasant or 

 the homes of the poor. On the other hand, Wilson is thoroughly 

 patriotic ; there is not a class in the whole of Scotland incapable of 

 enjoying his writings ; and I believe his influence in the habits and 

 modes of thought on every subject, grave or gay, is felt throughout 

 the country. Be it politics, literature, or sport, there is not one of 

 these themes that has not taken color from him — a sure test of 

 genius. In the " Noctes" alone is seen his creative power hi indi- 

 vidual character ; yet its most original conception is not a type, but 

 a being of time and place. The Shepherd is not to be found every- 

 where in Scotland, either sitting at feasts, or tending his flocks on 

 the hill-side. We are not familiar with him as weare with the char- 

 acters of Charles Dickens. We have to imagine the one ; we see 

 and know the others. Christopher himself is typical of what has 

 been ; he presides at these meetings, when philosophy mounts high, 

 with the dignity of a minister of blue-eyed Athene. The sjjirit of 

 the Greek school is upon him, and we can fancy, that, before assem- 

 bling his companions together, he invoked the gods for eloquence and 

 wisdom. There he was great ; but in his tales, his Recreations, and 

 his poetry, the true nature of the man, as he lived at home, is to be 

 found. In the simple ways of his daily life, I see him as he some- 

 times used to be, in his own room, surrounded by his family — the 



Jeffrey's house in his latter yearB, which, under the mellowed lustre of a simple domestic fire- 

 side, rivalled the sprightliest fascinations of a Hotel Eambouillet. No friend went to them, or 

 was there greeted, with more cordial sympathy than Professor Wilson. 



