172 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. IV. 



forts would reward a more diligent search. I was, however, 

 satisfied with what I saw, and, after listening for a few minutes 

 to the maledictions of the women against the fumes which filled 

 the place and made them cough, I turned away and treated my- 

 self to a walk in the crowded streets of London." Next day, 

 along with his brother, he attended divine service in Westmin- 

 ster Abbey, and passed a happy evening with kind friends. 



Part of the holidays were spent in writing long letters to the 

 home circle, which being forwarded by " a private opportunity," 

 took a month to reach their destination, much to the annoyance 

 of the writer. The following alludes to this disappointment : 



" LONDON, February 9, 1839. 



" MY DEAR MOTHER, These horrible ' opportunities' are so 

 disappointing, that I have resolved to give you the expense of 

 a postage, rather than trust to the precarious chances, especially 

 as I have delayed writing in hopes of getting the books, and if 

 I wait longer, must keep you in unwelcome suspense regarding 

 your boys. This non-arrival of the parcel from Edinburgh has 

 served to keep up the vexation, which your notice of that long- 

 delayed bundle of letters caused me. I have by no means got 

 over the disappointment yet. I know I can appeal to you for 

 sympathy when I say, that we often feel much disappointed 

 when those little arrangements, by which we hoped to surprise 

 our friends, fail in their success, or produce an opposite effect. 



" I believe women oftener than men, and the best of women 

 too, busy themselves in such kindly stratagems, and suffer the 

 bitterness of disappointment when all their plots fail or are 

 disregarded. You will think of your favourite authoress's beau- 

 tiful, beautiful lines of her most beautiful poem, 



' To make idols, and to find them clay, 

 And to bewail that worship.' 



Now, when Mr. Graham's departure and the Christmas holidays 

 left me a period of leisure, a breathing time, between the 

 labours past and the worse labours to come, I turned my willing 

 thoughts homewards, and remembering that the Christmas week 

 must pass more quietly there than it had done on most former 



