112 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 



for things gone from before his eyes had softened a stern nature, 

 bringing it through trials which left him a sadder and a wiser man : — 



"Fair Lawn, Tunbridge, 



Easter Wednesday, 1844. 



" My deae Wilson : — I had your kind letter here yesterday, and 

 the resolutions as to the Scott and Kemp affairs, which seem to me 

 drawn np in the best possible taste, not a word to give offence, and 

 much very delicately calculated to conciliate. I came to this place 

 a week ago, utterly done up in body and mind ; but perfect repose 

 and idleness, with cold lamb and home-brewed beer, and no wine 

 nor excitement of any sort, have already done wonders, and in fact 

 convinced me that I might have health again, if I could manage to 

 cut London, and Quarterly Reviews. As for any very lively interest 

 in this life, that is out of the question with me as with you, and from 

 the same fatal date, though I struggled against it for a while, instead 

 of at once estimating the case completely as I think you did. Let 

 us both be thankful that we have children not unworthy of their 

 mothers. I reproach myself when the sun is shining on their young 

 and happy faces, as well as on the violets and hyacinths and burst- 

 ing leaves, that I should be unable to awaken more than a dim ghost- 

 like semi-sympathy with them, or in any thing present or to come, 

 but so it is. No good, however, can come of these croakings. Like 

 you, I have no plans now — never. Walter must fag hard all this 

 summer in Essex with a Puseyite tutor, if he is to go to Balliol in 

 October with any advantage, and therefore I think it most likely I 

 shall not stir fir from London. * * * * 



« * * * * j used to have a real friendship for the water of Clyde 

 and some half-dozen of its tributary Calders and Lethans, familiar 

 from infancy ; and, most of all, for certain burns with deep rocky 

 beds and cold invisible cascades. As it is, I could be well contented 

 to abide for the rest of this life in such a spot as this same Fairlawn 

 — well named. It is a large ancient house built round a monastic 

 court, with a good park, most noble beeches, and limes and oak?, 

 looking over the rich vale of the Medway, with a tract of rough 

 heath, and holt, and sand-hill, lying behind it, six or seven miles in 

 length, and about two in breadth. This was the original seat of the 

 Vanes ; and old Sir Harry lies buried here with many of his ances- 

 tors. It is now possessed by Miss Yates, cousin-german to Sir R, 



