94 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



you take him in ? This will depend entirely on your setting any 

 value on the bird you now may have, and who, I presume, is Dung- 

 hill. If you do, on no account displace him from his own throne. 

 If you do not, I will bring mine down on Thursday, and see him 

 safely deposited in your back court. In that case, his present 

 majesty must either be put to death or expatriated, as if put to- 

 gether they will fall by mutual wounds. Yours affectionately, 



"J. Wilson." 



Apparently the only article from his pen during 1840 in Black- 

 wood was a review of " A Legend of Florence," by Leigh Hunt. If 

 he had not long ere that made the amende honorable for the unjust 

 bitterness of the past, he certainly in this review used " the gracious 

 tact, the Christian art," to heal all wounds, illustrating finely his 

 own memorable words, " The animosities are mortal, but the human- 

 ities live forever." 



Preparatory to beginning an essay upon Burns, wdiich he had 

 enofasred to write for the Messrs. Blackie, he was desirous to seek 

 the best domestic traces of him that could be found, and naturally 

 turned to Dumfriesshire for such information. Two interesting let- 

 ters to Mr. Thomas Aird, will, better than words of mine, show how 

 earnestly he set about his work, although I cannot, at the same time, 

 avoid drawing attention to certain expressions of anxious interest 

 concerning the better part of the man. For example, his desire to 

 hear " if Burns was a church-goer, regular or irregular, and to what 

 church." All his inquiries show a tender sympathy, a Christian de- 

 sire to place that erring spirit j ustly before men, for well did he 

 know how in this world faults are judged. There is a touching 

 simplicity, too, in the personal allusions in these words, '■'■Her eyes 



never having looked on the Nith." 



"May 3, 1840. 



" My dear Mr. Aird : — I have been ill with rose in my head for 

 more than a fortnight, and it is still among the roots of my hair, but 

 in about a week or so, I think I shall be able to move in the open 

 air without danger. I have a leaning towards Dumfriesshire, it being 

 unhaunted by the past, or less haunted than almost any other place, 

 her eyes never having looked on the Kith. Perhaps thereabouts I 

 might move, and there find an hour of peace. Is Thornhill a pleasant 

 village ? and is there an inn between it and Dumfries ? Is there an 



