BIOGRAPHY OF PROFESSOR WILSON.

and beyond them rise ridges of romantic and rugged mountains. No poet in Europe has so noble and agreeable a

JOHN WILSON, the distinguished poet and scholar, was born in the month of May, 1789, in Paisley, North Britain. He was chiefly educated at the residence of a clergyman of the established church of Scotland, within a few miles of his native town. Having inherited a good fortune, he, at an early age, entered the University of Oxford as a gentleman commoner, after going through a preparatory course of tuition under Dr. Jardine, of Glasgow University. At both places he exhibited specimens of his talents, far outshining his compeers; at Oxford gaining Sir Roger Newdigate's prize for English poetry, in the teeth of three thousand competitors. Magdalen was the college at which he entered himself, and to which he belonged for nearly four years, or until he left the university in 1807. At this college he pursued a life of study and boisterous relaxation intermingled. He had his intimates among all classes, from the doctor in divinity to the stable-boy. He was fond of exhibiting his skill in pugilism, and ever ready to exercise his talents in that "refined" art with any one who would engage with him, noble or ignoble, gentle or simple. Strong and active in frame, and fond of gymnastic exercises, he gave his inclination for such sports the fullest range.

Of the sum left him by his father, amounting to forty thousand pounds sterling, a great part was lost, through the failure of a mercantile concern in which it was embarked. Being warned of the danger he hastened to withdraw his funds, but arrived in Glasgow three hours too late. Soon after quitting the university he purchased a beautiful estate, called Elleray, a few miles from Ambleside, on the noble lake of Winandermere in Cumberland, one of the finest and most picturesque sites in England. The house, which stands on a sort of mountain terrace, high over one side of the lake, is a most commodious one in every respect, and was planned by himself and erected under his own superintendence. It is backed by deep woods, shielding it from the storms to which its lofty situation exposes it; while the view from the front is very rarely surpassed for magnificence and beauty. In front below, the lake expands its noble waters,

every comfort and convenience of life, a spacious habitation and literary leisure, few writers have ever had finer opportunities for courting the Muses, or have lived so little unvexed by the inquietudes caused by our ordinary existence. At one period of his life, full of buoyant spirit and high excitement, the poet established a sailing club on the lake of Winandermere. He lavished large sums of money upon the scheme, and would not be out-done in the splendour of his vessels by men of larger fortunes. He sent for shipwrights from the nearest seaports to construct his little vessels, of which he had a number on the lake at one time; one of these, his largest, cost him five hundred pounds. He also kept a number of seamen to man them, and lavished his money profusely on his dependents. At one place he had an establishment for his boatmen ; at another, one for his servants, and a third for himself. These expenses, continued for a considerable time, together with the pecuniary loss above alluded to, impaired his fortune, and are supposed to have led him ultimately to be a successful candidate for the chair of moral philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, which he obtained in 1820.

In early life he was active in mind as in body. About eighteen years of age, he had an idea of penetrating to Timbuctoo, without any just notions of the danger and hazard of such an exterprise, but simply from the excitement the adventure created in his mind, and the desire to attempt something striking and important. The certain death that awaited one of his temperament, which is irritable and febrile, never entered into his head. Naturally careless of his health, he would from the first have exposed himself needlessly, and been added one of the speediest victims to the horrible African climate that its melancholy list can shew. This scheme he ultimately dropped. We have heard that when young he left his friends, and, from mere love of adventure, for he was without fixed aim in most of his eccentricities, served at sea as a ship-boy. However trying for his family, this youthful frolic may have contributed one of the brightest gems to the poet's crown, since to it we must be indebted for many of the beauties in his description of a shipwreck, beginning:

"So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse for ever and aye; Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast,

Hush! hush! thon vain dreamer! this hour is her last!"

He also formed the idea of visiting the Spanish provinces, the islands of the Mediterranean, Turkey, Syria, and Egypt; but the occupation of Spain by Napoleon, put an end to this project. He subsequently confined himself to his estate of Elleray, occupying himself with the various pleasures a country-life affords, until 1810, when he married Miss Penny (whose sister is married to his brother), a Westmoreland lady of beauty and considerable accomplishments, having, moreover, a dower of ten thousand pounds. His marriage has been a most fortunate one, and has produced two sons and three daughters. Peace and comfort have shed happiness over his domestic retirement, and thus (the fate of few literary men) even love has blessed him.

On the death of Dr. Thomas Brown, the successor of Dugald Stuart in the chair of moral philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, Wilson became the candidate to fill the vacant office. His election was violently opposed. The rival candidate, too, was unfortunately his early friend, but a man of honour, a scholar, and a gentleman. The partisans of the two candidates were alone intemperate, for the latter were, speedily after the election, as warm friends as ever. It suffices to say that Wilson succeeded in obtaining the chair after a warm contest; and the manner in which he fills it fully justifies the partiality of his friends. His bearing towards his pupils is most engaging; his lectures, always talented, are often splendid, and not unfrequently adorned by bursts of impassioned eloquence.

The conduct of "Blackwood's Magazine" is generally understood to be in the hands of Wilson. This publication owes its success (barring party principles) to the playful, cutting, and acute articles of Wilson. In other literary publications there is too much of the lamp, the toil of the student, and cold, correct caution observed. In "Blackwood the articles come out warmly and fluently as they would be spoken, with irregularity, whim, sportiveness, satire, and what not, currente calamo; all perfectly after nature. This is the secret of its success, and originates in the style and manner of Wilson himself. It is in this respect his very counterpart. The gall

and wormwood, the ferocious Tory zeal, the severe castigations, and the goodnature, the strong truth, and the leniert or biting criticism, flow in the same breath and from the same source. They have all the variety of Wilson's conversation and the force and vigour of his thoughts impressed upon them; and many of his own articles furnish an extraordinary contrast to those which preceded them, as if they could never in the nature of things have proceeded from the same pen, running one so counter to another. If Campbell, in the conduct of the "New Monthly Magazine," was too timidly correct, so as to paralyze the pens of his contributors, no such fault can be attached to Wilson. He suffers them to run wild, and seems to enjoy the exuberance of fancy which is thus constantly developing itself. Wilson's known animosity to those opposed to him in the field of politics, is more editorial than personal. There was even a time when his political principles leaned the other way, and the last man to champion the cause of high church and ultratoryism that could be named, would have been Professor Wilson. Time works marvellous changes, and the levity of his physiognomy, such as it frequently assumes, and the versatility of his talents, seem to have extended themselves to principles. Wilson is a highly-gifted man, and had he devoted himself steadily to one pursuit, such as law or divinity, he would have arisen to the highest summit of professional honour. He appears to have, at one time, turned his attention to the Scottish bar, but abandoned that career at the time of his marriage.

In addition to his high reputation as a poet, professor Wilson enjoys that of successful authorship in another department of literature. To his pen are generally attributed the prose tales entitled "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," "The Trials of Margaret Lindsay," and "The Foresters."

The residence of Professor Wilson is now principally in Edinburgh, where he mingles much in a society which his talents are well calculated to adorn. Neither he nor his family, however, appear to join with much zest in the gaieties of the fashionable circles of the Scottish metropolis. Led by circumstances to give up the freedom of a country life for the drudgery of a professorship, he makes the best of the evil, and finds a substitute in the free interchange of thought with friends, for the rural liberty of which he was ever so fond, and from

which it could never have been supposed, at one time of his life, that anything but absolute force could have disunited him. Though his works have not met a very extensive circulation, his poetical productions display great power and originality, and justly entitle him to the praises that have been bestowed on talents so rich and so varied.

A DUEL IN THE TIME OF HENRY III.:

A SKETCH FROM FRENCH HISTORY.

FOR Some time past King Henry the Third had neglected his puppies, his monkeys, and paroquets. He was no longer seen to hurry through the streets of Paris, and running from convent to convent to deprive the nuns of their lapdogs, poodles, and other pets whose beauty or tricks had attracted his notice. The true friends of the house of Valois, in their gratification at witnessing such an alteration in his habits, were loud in their exultation, and declared that the king was ashamed of his former follies, and would yet restore to the throne of France its old majesty, and reinstate it in the integrity of its power. The partizans of Guise, on the contrary, were dispirited and anxious, as they were apprehensive that Henry would recall to mind the promise of his youth, and his glorious victories at Jarnac and Moncontour. They were both, however, quickly undeceived; his friends in their hopes, and his enemies in their forebodings; as the festivities and masquerades of the carnival had only temporarily suppressed the monarch's regard for his old friends, the dogs, monkeys, and paroquets; and to this absurdity were superadded other attachments, both pernicious to the state and discreditable to the king.

During the tumultuous and extravagant revelry of the last days of the carnival, and that unrestrained license with which the penances, fasting, and mortification of Lent are ushered in, the king had occupied his time in running at the ring, sallying out at night to assault and maltreat the citizens of his good city of Paris, and committing all manner of disorders in its streets and alleys, in company with his four minions, the Seigneurs Livarot, Caylus, Maugiron, and Saint Megrin, disguised as nymphs and satyrs.

The king took no pleasure in any society but that of these gentlemen, who boasted everywhere of their extraordinary influence over their master, in order

to gratify their ambition, as well as to create a party in their favour. No place could be obtained but by their interest, and those who had occasion to solicit anything at court, paid homage to them; they were constantly surrounded by a gang of intriguers, who buzzed about them like a swarm of wasps ready to assault a hive, to plunder it of its sweets. The ladies, too, received them every where with smiles and caresses; for they were the king's favourites, and all benefices and courtly distinctions de. pended upon their good will. Their arrogance and luxury exceeded all that had yet been seen even at the court of Catherine de Medicis. Discontents and murmurs were daily excited by their insolence and audacity, while the ranks of the Guises were swelled by the mal

contents.

An affair of gallantry, in whish Marguerite, the queen of Navarre, had figured, embroiled Caylus with a spark named D'Entraguet, one of the boldest of the youthful adherents of Lorraine. King Henry had exerted all his influence to prevent the feud from breaking into open violence, and he frequently repeated to his courtiers-" If I do not get rid of my sister, I shall have a civil war even in my closet."

Notwithstanding the earnest instances of Queen Marguerite's brother, the two amorous rivals hated each other with the utmost cordiality, and no opportunity was omitted of a mutual interchange of injury and mischief.

It happened on the 27th of April, 1578, that D'Entraguet was on duty at the Louvre, and amused himself in the palace court at the noble game of primero, in which he had an opportunity of profitably applying the lessons he had learned therein from Madame De Montpensier, at the Hotel de Guise. each deal of the cards, he swept the board of the stakes, and quickly emptied the purses of the rival players.

At

By St. Marguerite!" exclaimed Caylus, throwing a handful of gold crowns on the table, "it shall never be said that the Guises win gentlemen's money, to pay their rebel shopkeepers with," and he challenged D'Entraguet to another game.

with which it was uttered, made all the bystanders laugh. Caylus's cheek became deadly pale, but as he had been ridiculously jilted in his intrigue with Marguerite, he was reluctant to make use of this pretext to quarrel with his successful rival. He therefore suppressed his resentment, and sat down at the table with as indifferent an air as he could assume. The contest, however, did not continue long, and in two throws Caylus lost all the money he had in his

purse.

"Confusion!" exclaimed Caylus, flinging his glove in D'Entraguet's face; "there is roguery or witchcraft here!"

The other responded to this with an awful malediction, and instantly precipitated himself upon his enemy poignard in hand. In an instant the table, benches, stools, and money were upset, while the two opponents, whom their friends had seized and held fast, made vain attempts to get at each other.

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"Bastard of St. Barabbas," foamed out Caylus, I proclaim you for a heretic, a scoundrel, and a traitor!" "You are a wretch, and unworthy of the_name of man!" was D'Entraguet's reply.

I shall expect you at the Tournelles, in two hours," shouted Caylus, "with sword and dagger, to fight to extremity, without mercy, and while the heart beats, and the hand can hold the weapon."

"Yes, crawling reptile, I will wait you there until death, and I promise you before the sun sets I will have your body thrown to the crows of the slaughterhouses."

Caylus was on the point of replying to this injury, when Henry the Third appeared on the balcony, over which he idly leaned, accompanied by Livarot and De Maugiron. Not to alarm his master, Caylus resumed his calmness, and left the spot to look for his seconds.

"Who are these groups," demanded Henry ; "have the Leaguers taken arms, and do they come to besiege my palace of the Louvre?"

The king covered his face with both hands, and stamping furiously on the ground, entered his oratory to pray God to deliver him from his enemies.

On his side D'Entraguet hastened to the Hotel de Guise to take advice, and to find friends to act as his seconds. He made the duke acquainted with his wishes respecting the disposition of his estates and family. Having made his preparations for the combat, he presented himself to the duke to bid him farewell, when the latter stopped him, saying

"You surely cannot intend to go to the field in this manner - why, you would be massacred like a child, for what resistance could you possibly make with such a slight weapon as that by your side? It is but a mere paradesword, only fit to hunt the heretic dogs. D'Entraguet, I lend you this good and trusty rapier; its blade is strong and well tempered; and remember, young man, it is the weapon I used under the walls of Chateau Thierry."

Henri of Guise unbuckled his sword from his belt, and handed it to his friend, who received it respectfully, and kissing the hilt which was worked into the shape of the cross, he left the hotel, attended by Schomberg and De Riberac. duke hastened after them, and stationed himself at a window in a house which overlooked the place of combat.

The

The clock of St. Paul struck four, when Schomberg, D'Entraguet, and De Riberac made their appearance on the Tournelles. Three minutes afterward Caylus, Maugiron, and Livarot arrived in a royal carriage. Having taken their position, the two combatants bowed to each other, while the others formed a ring around them.

"I only invoke my lady and my king," said Caylus, putting himself on his guard, then gracefully lifting his lefthand to his lips, he blew a kiss to a lady who stood at a window of the Hotel Boisy, covered from head to foot with a white veil.

"I," said D'Entraguet, "call upon heaven, and my true heart."

"If I recoil one inch, or overstep this limit," observed Caylus, fixing his scabbard in the sand, "may I be ever hereafter looked upon as a poltroon." D'Entraguet did the same, and their swords crossed.

The contest was fearful and protracted; strength and agility had alternately the advantage. Caylus was the more practised and skiful, but the other was

the robuster; and thrusts and ripostes, lunges and cuts were parried as quickly as they were delivered. Sparks of fire followed the clashing of their swords; and the two antagonists kept their word faithfully, for neither receded an inch, covering themselves adroitly with the guard of the sword and the poignard's hilt. The Leaguer, perceiving that his adversary sustained the combat less vigorously than at first, pressed him with increased fury and vivacity. Caylus had already received several wounds, when Maugiron, seeing his friend covered with blood, endeavoured to part the combatants.

"Fall back," screamed Caylus, "fall back!-we have promised to fight to extremity, without pity or mercy." Saying this, he made a desperate lunge, and grazing D'Entraguet's arm, could not recover his guard in time enough to parry the latter's thrust, which he received in the breast, the point passing clean through his body.

"Heaven is with us," cried M. de Guise, impatiently drawing aside the curtain behind which he had viewed the fight "yes, gentlemen, heaven has preserved one of the bravest champions of its catholic army." "" The duke then reverentially crossed himself, and those who stood around, followed his example. The veiled lady who had been observed at the Hotel Boisy, shrieked and fell as Caylus rolled in the dust, and was not seen again. The hapless minion was almost expiring, when he was raised, and carried into the hotel. The only injury suffered by D'Entraguet, was a slight scratch in the arm.

The quarrel was supposed to be settled, and the surviving parties prepared to leave the ground, when De Maugiror stepped forward, and almost inarticulate with rage, said, "No, no, gentlemen, we cannot allow this pretty business to go off so. Before we bid you good morning, I must measure swords with De Riberac."

"I am not the man to balk you," answered the latter, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"As for this little Schomberg," observed Livarot, "I had intended to let him off after I had pulled his ears; but now, blood calls for blood."

In an instant, the four gentlemen's weapons flashed in the air. No entreaty, no remonstrance, availed to prevent the fight. The minions and their adversaries flung themselves upon each other furiously; and, at the very first onset, Maugiron and Schomberg were

killed on the spot. Livarot received a cut on the head, which opened his skull, and Riberac, pierced through and through, gave up the ghost when the sword was drawn out of the wound.

The fight ceased only for lack of combatants; and the two factions, their passions (somewhat moderated by this dreadful slaughter, carried off their killed and wounded; and tears of sorrow succeeded their shouts of maddened rage.

The last thrust had been scarcely made, when the anxious monarch, advertised too late of what was going on, hurried to the scene of death. He had so repeatedly inquired for his minions, that his attendants were under the necessity of communicating to him what had transpired in the court of the Louvre. As his carriage turned the corner of the Boulevard, he was stopped by those who bore De Maugiron's corpse. The prince put his head out of the window, and recognizing his friend's body, flung himself out of the carriage, and rushed like a madman to the litter, upsetting all who were in his way. Perceiving the blood-stained dress, and pale features of Maugiron, he burst into such a fit of tears, and uttered such cries, that the by-standers were confused and ashamed; and, keeping a mournful silence, they entered the Hotel Boisy together.

The king rushed headlong to the room where Caylus was lying; who, on seeing the king, said, "You, at least, will not abandon me."

The monarch would have clasped him to his heart, but the surgeon interfered.

"Take care, sire; have a care;" said ⚫Master Ambrose Paré; "nineteen wounds are not so easy to close up."

"Nineteen wounds!" murmured Henry, with a deep sigh, and almost fainting.

Master Paré exerted all his skill, and used the cabalistical terms of his surgical vocabulary to prove to his king, that the wounds were not essentially or necessarily mortal.

"Ah! repeat again those blessed words of comfort, Master Ambrose; save my friend-save him doctor-and Í will give you a hundred thousand livres. And for you, my dear Caylus, when you recover, I have a hundred thousand crowns ready." These words the king constantly repeated, as well as his sighs would allow him.

The minion lay in this state three-andthirty days; during which time the king scarcely quitted his pillow. He administered his drink with his own hand,