454 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



fine frame of the one ; the heart-energies and interests of the other ; 

 nor could it be but a melancholy retrospect which crossed their 

 thoughts in looking back to the days of gigantic strength in " life's 

 mornino- march when the spirit was young." There was the same 

 contrast between them as of yore, attributable to the different con- 

 dition of their mental health. The indestructible buoyancy of my 

 father's spirit gave to his mind an almost perennial freshness, and 

 he was not less susceptible to emotions of joy and sorrow than in 

 the passionate days of old. But now all within was tempered by 

 the chastening hand of time, and the outward expression showed 

 it. There was no more exuberant happiness, but a peaceful calm ; 

 no violent grief, but a deep solemnity. Mr. Lockhart, on the other 

 hand, seemed to live with a broken heart, while all about him had 

 a faded and dejected air. He spoke despondingly of himself. 

 Health, happiness, and energy, he said, were gone ; he was sick of 

 London, its whirl and its excitements. 



" I would fain return to Edinburgh," he said, " to be cheered by 

 some of your young happy faces, but you would have to nurse me, 

 and be kind to me, for I am a weary old man, fit for nothing but to 

 shut myself up and be sulky." He certainly looked very much out 

 of health and spirits at that time ; indeed, he was like a man 

 weighed down by inward sorrow. The momentary vivacity which 

 lightened his countenance was almost more painful to witness than 

 the melancholy natural to it. Now and then, some of the old sar- 

 castic manner came across him, and as he sat at the writing-table, 

 with the once tempting pen and ink before him, one could fancy 

 him again dashing off one of those grotesque sketches in which he 

 had delighted to commemorate friends and foes. But the stimulus 

 was gone. A few hours were spent together by these old friends, 

 during which there was much talk of bygone days. They parted 

 as they met, with kindness and affection, expressing hopes that re- 

 newed health might enable them to meet again. My father stood 

 at the door while Lockhart got into his carriage, and watched him 

 out of sight. He never saw him again.* 



As long as my father's mind remained unclouded, he continued to 

 take an interest in the welfare of his friends, participating with un- 

 affected sincerity in their pleasures, and rejoicing in their affection. 

 The following little note to Mr. Robert Findlay, says more than 



* Mr. Lockhart died at Abbotsford, November 25, 1354, about seven months after the Profess >r. 



