brother and me; and has the means in his power to assist usand I know he will. In the mean time, if you and William unite in the undertaking, I promise you as far as I am concerned, to make it the best plan you could pursue. "Accustom yourself, as much as you can, to working out. Don't despise hagging down trees. It is hard work, no doubt; but taken moderately, it strengthens the whole sinews; and is a manly and independent employment. An old weaver is a poor, emaciated, helpless being, shivering over rotten yarn, and groaning over his empty flour barrel. An old farmer sits in his arm chair before his jolly fire, while his joists are crowded with hung beef and gammons, and the bounties of Heaven are pouring into his barns. Even the article of health is a consideration sufficient to make a young man prefer the labours of the field: for health is certainly the first enjoyment of human life. But perhaps weaving holds out advantages that farming does not. Then blend the two together; weave in the depth of winter, and work out the rest of the year. We will have it in our power, before next winter, to have a shop, looms, &c. provided. Consider all I have said, and if I have a wrong view of the subject, form your own plans, and write me without delay." TO MR. WM. DUNCAN. Gray's Ferry, December 23, 1802. "The two Mr. Purdies popped into my school, this afternoon, as unexpected as they were welcome, with news from the promised land. I shall detain them with me all night, on purpose to have an opportunity of writing you a few lines. I am glad you are all well. I hope that this is the last devilish slough of despond which you will have to struggle in for some time. I will do all that I said to you, in my last, by the middle of March; so let care and sorrow be forgotten; and industry, hope, good-humour and economy, be your bosom friends. "I succeed tolerably well; and seem to gain in the esteem of the people about. I am glad of it, because I hope it will put it in my power to clear the road a little before you, and banish despondence from the heart of my dearest friend. Be assured that I will ever as cheerfully contribute to your relief in difficulties, as I will rejoice with you in prosperity. But we have nothing to fear. One hundred bushels of wheat, to be sure, is no great marketing; but has it not been expended in the support of a mother, and infant brothers and sisters, thrown upon your bounty in a foreign country? Robert Burns, when the mice nibbled away his corn, said: "I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, "Where he expected one, you may a thousand. Robin, by his own confession, ploughed up his mice out of ha' and hame. You have built for your little wanderers a cozie bield, where none dare molest them. There is more true greatness in the affectionate exertions which you have made for their subsistence and support, than the bloody catalogue of heroes can boast of. Your own heart will speak peace and satisfaction to you, to the last moment of your life, for every anxiety you have felt on their account. Colonel Sullivan talks with pride and affection of you. "I wish Alexander had written me a few lines of the old German text. I laugh every time I look at his last letter: its a perfect antidote against the spleen. Well, Alexander, which or the ax? When John And, dear sister, let me is the best fun, handling the shuttle, M. comes down, write me largely. hear from you also. "I would beg leave to suggest to you the propriety of teaching the children to behave with good manners, and dutiful respect, to yourself, each other, and every body. "You must excuse me for any thing I may have said amiss, or any thing I may have omitted to mention. I am, with sincere attachment, your affectionate friend." The foregoing letters place the character of Wilson in the most amiable point of view; and they entirely supersede any remarks which I might make upon those social affections that distinguished him through life. In his new situation Wilson had many enjoyments; but he had likewise moments of despondency, which solitude tended to confirm. He had addicted himself to the writing of verses, and to music; and, being of a musing turn of mind, had given way to those seductive feelings, which the charming scenery of the country, in a sensible heart, never fails to awaken. This was a fatal bias, which all his efforts could not counteract or remove. His acquaintance perceived the danger of his state; and one in whose friendship he had placed strong reliance, and to whom he had freely unburthened himself, Mr. Lawson, the engraver, entertained apprehensions for the soundness of his intellect.* There was one subject which contributed not a little to increase his mental gloom, and this was the consideration of the life of penury and dependence to which he seemed destined as the teacher of a country school. Mr. Lawson immediately recommended the renouncing of poetry and the flute, and the substituting of the amusement of drawing in their stead, as being most likely to restore the balance of his mind; and as an employment well adapted to one of his recluse habits and inclinations. To this end, sketches of the human figure, and landscapes, were provided for him; but his attempts were so unpromising that he threw them aside with disgust; and concluded that one at his period of life could never succeed in The following incident was communicated to me by Colonel Carr, who had it from Wilson himself. While the latter laboured under great depression of spirits, in order to sooth his mind he one day rambled with his gun. The piece by accident slipped from his hand, and, in making an effort to regain it, the lock was cocked. At that moment had the gun gone off, it is more than probable that he would have lost his life, as the muzzle was opposite to his breast. When Wilson reflected on the danger which he had escaped, he shuddered at the idea of the imputation of suicide, which a fatal occurrence, to one in his frame of mind, would have occasioned. There is room to conjecture that many have accidentally met their end, whose memories have been sullied by the alleged crime of self murder. the art of delineation. Mr. Bartram now advised a trial at birds; and being tolerably skilful himself, exhibited his portfolio, which was graced with many specimens from his own hands. The attempt was made, and succeeded beyond the expectation of Wilson, or that of his friends. There was a magic in the employment which aroused all the energies of his soul; he saw, as it were, the dayspring of a new creation; and, from being the humble follower of his instructors, he was soon qualified to lead the way in the charming art of imitating the works of the GREAT ORIGINAL. That Wilson likewise undertook the task of delineating flowers, appears from the following note to Mr. Bartram, dated Nov. 20th, 1803: "I have attempted two of those prints which Miss Nancy* so obligingly, and with so much honour to her own taste, selected for me. I was quite delighted with the anemone, but fear I have made but bungling work of it. Such as they are I send them for your inspection and opinion; neither of them is quite finished. For your kind advice towards my improvement I return my most grateful acknowledgments. "The duties of my profession will not admit me to apply to this study with the assiduity and perseverance I could wish. Chief part of what I do is sketched by candle-light; and for this I am obliged to sacrifice the pleasures of social life, and the agreeable moments which I might enjoy in company with you and your amiable friend. I shall finish the other some time this week; and shall be happy if what I have done merit your approbation." As Wilson advanced in drawing, he made corresponding progress in the knowledge of Ornithology. He had perused the works of some of the naturalists of Europe, who had written on the subject of the birds of America, and became so disgusted with their caricatured figures, fanciful theories, fables and misrepresentations, that on turning, as he himself observes, from these barren and musty records to the magnificent repo * Mr. Bartram's niece, now the consort of Col. Carr. sitory of the woods and fields-the Grand Aviary of Nature, his delight bordered on adoration. It was not in the inventions of man that the DIVINE WISDOM could be traced; but it was visible in the volume of creation, wherein are inscribed the AUTHOR'S lessons of goodness and love, in the conformation, the habitudes, melody and migrations, of the feathered tribes, that beautiful portion of the work of his hands. To invite the attention of his fellow-citizens to a study, attended with so much pleasure and improvement, was the natural wish of one who had been educated in the School of Wisdom. He humbly thought it would not be rendering an unacceptable service to the GREAT MASTER OF CREATION himself, to derive from objects that every where present themselves in our rural walks, not only amusement and instruction, but the highest incitements to piety and virtue. Moreover, self-gratification, that source of so many of our virtuous actions, had its share in urging him to communicate his observations to others * He examined the strength of his mind, and its resources; the undertaking seemed hazardous; he pondered it for a long while before he ventured to mention it to his friends. At length the subject was made known to Mr. Bartram, who freely expressed his confidence in the abilities and acquirements of Wilson; but, from a knowledge of the situation and circumstances of the latter, hinted his fears that the difficulties which stood in the way of such an enterprise were almost too great to be overcome. Wilson was not easily intimidated; the very mention of difficulties suggested to his mind the means of surmounting them, and the glory which would accrue from such an achievement. He had a ready answer to every objection of his cautious friend; and evinced such enthusiasm, that Mr. Bartram trembled lest his intemperate zeal should lead him into a situation, from the embarrassments of which he could not well be extricated. The scheme was unfolded to Mr. Lawson, and met with his cordial approbation. But he observed that there were several VOL. I.-E * Introduction to vol. i. |