318 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. VII. 



of prayer more fully than when I knelt at my cousin's dying 

 bed and implored our great, sinless, sympathizing High Priest's 

 promised help for him in his last extremity. That it was 

 given I do not doubt. That last and precious verse of the 

 eighth chapter of Eomans would alone give me assurance that 

 it was. 



" His death makes a great blank to me greater, indeed, than 

 that of any other friend of my own sex can make. We have 

 grown up together, physically and intellectually. There were 

 great dissimilarities between us, but we had so much in com- 

 mon that these rather increased our love for each other. I never 

 knew how much I loved him till now, how worthy he was of 

 being loved, how unkind I often was to him. I have tried in 

 vain all last week to get through a little needful work. Had it 

 been hand- work, I could have done it ; but I had to think and 

 write, and my mind wandered always to the thought of my dear 

 cousin taken away. I can unburden my heart to you, and con- 

 fess that I have wept more this week than ever before since 

 childhood, without fearing you will think me less a man or a 

 Christian for that. 



" I am now calm, and able to think of James as I should 

 wish ever to do. The thought of him is so mingled with every- 

 thing I do, that no effort could detach him if I wished it. But 

 I thank God he has made the memory so precious. The presence 

 of a glorified spirit is something only to rejoice in. This is self- 

 ish, however. ... I bear up well, and walk about alone with 

 the help of a stick. I could forget my whole winter's work, 

 willingly and easily, were it not that I feel it was the means of 

 keeping me away from James's side. This will make the thought 

 of last winter full of bitterness. . . . 



"... I thank God devoutly that I was able in this predica- 

 ment to guide myself by his commandments. Pray for me that 

 I may be able to witness a good confession beside the watchful 

 sceptics I am among. I could write to you whole reams ; for- 

 tunately for you, the paper is done." 



To a sister : " We buried dear James yesterday in that beau- 

 tiful churchyard. Young trees were budding out, and the grass 

 wearing the bright green of spring, as if to show us how many 



