40 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. II. 



jured ; one, after enduring great pain, died next day in the 

 Infirmary ; the other is slowly recovering ; the third was re- 

 moved to his own house, where he lies at present suffering under 

 his injuries. The fire became much less at about half-past two, 

 and at three o'clock, as all the burning was within, and all effect 

 gone, we returned home, but not to sleep for some hours. The 

 following day the houses appeared as if they had been some of 

 the exhumed mansions of Pompeii, that had stood for seventeen 

 centuries the ravages of time and decay, and their tottering con- 

 dition rendered their immediate demolition necessary. Excuse 

 this fiery letter ; my mind was too full of the subject to permit 

 me writing otherwise. I have now disburdened myself, and 

 promise you a calmer, more peaceable letter next time ; till 

 which time believe me your most affectionate friend. 



" GEORGE WILSON." 



" EDINBURGH, 6th February 1835. 



" Hoping with parental solicitude that the last offspring 

 of my pen has safely reached, and found you in your usual 

 health and spirits, and unwilling to trouble you by post, 

 unless when peculiar circumstances interfere, and anxious to 

 unburden my heart to my clearest friend, I take the opportunity 

 of my cousin's return to Glasgow, and sit down to pen you a 

 few lines, at least showing you are not forgotten. Forgotten, 

 no ! I have lost all the friends of my younger days except you, 

 and have no heart or opportunity to make new ones ; but no 

 one has many real friends, and I have plenty in you and my 

 own nearest relations. I have got on since you left me in the 

 old way ; the reality of life through the day, and its pleasure 

 and comforts at night. I am not well at all at present, how- 

 ever. Bilious you can sympathize no distinct illness, but 

 melancholy and sad, and a mournful despondency so affect- 

 ingly described by Byron, on waking in the middle of the night, 

 a feeling I am a stranger to generally, for I love to lie awake in 

 darkness all the worse feelings of my heart leave me then, and 

 in calmness and quietness I ponder over happy ideas and fond 

 associations. 'Tis a strange thing (I am superstitious you will 

 say), that for years I have always been unhappy in February ; 



