" He
never seems to have revolved the question as to the share of his admired
Muscovy in instigating the revolt. For the barbarism of the north he had
ready apologies, for the savagery of the south mere execration; and he
writes of the Hindoos as he did, both before and afterwards, of the
negroes in Jamaica.
Three sympathetic obituary notices of the period expressed his softer
side. In April 1854, John Wilson and Lord Cockburn died at Edinburgh. His
estimate of the former is notable as that generally entertained, now that
the race of those who came under the personal spell of Christopher North
has passed:--
We lived apart as in different centuries; though to say the
truth I always loved Wilson, he had much nobleness of heart,
and many traits of noble genius, but the central tie-beam
seemed always wanting; very long ago I perceived in him the
most irreconcilable contradictions--Toryism with
Sansculottism, Methodism of a sort with total incredulity,
etc.... Wilson seemed to me always by far the most gifted
of our literary men, either then or still: and yet
intrinsically he has written nothing that can endure.
Cockburn is referred to in contrast as "perhaps the last genuinely
national type of rustic Scotch sense, sincerity, and humour--a wholesome
product of Scotch dialect, with plenty of good logic in it." Later,
Douglas Jerrold is described as "last of the London wits, I hope the
last.
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