uide. Under her
influence he began for the first time to see his way in life, and to
believe hopefully and manfully in his own powers and future. To
encourage such hopes further, and to lend what hand one could towards
their fulfilment, became quickly one of the first of cares and
pleasures. It was impossible not to recognise, in this very
un-academical type of Scottish youth, a spirit the most interesting and
full of promise. His social charm was already at its height, and quite
irresistible; but inwardly he was full of trouble and self-doubt. If he
could steer himself or be steered safely through the difficulties of
youth, and if he could learn to write with half the charm and genius
that shone from his presence and conversation, there seemed room to hope
for the highest from him. He went back to Edinburgh in the beginning of
September full of new hope and heart. It had been agreed that while
still reading, as his parents desired, for the bar, he should try
seriously to get ready for publication some essays which he had already
on hand--one on Walt Whitman, one on John Knox, one on Roads and the
Spirit of the Road--and should so far as possible avoid topics of
dispute in the home circle.

But after a while the news of him was not favourable. Those differences
with his father, which had been weighing almost morbidly upon his
high-strung nature, were renewed. By mid-October his letters told of
failing health. He came to London, and instead of presenting himself, as
had been proposed, to be examined for admission to one of the London
Inns of Court, he was forced to consult the late Sir Andrew Clark, who
found him suffering from acute nerve exhaustion, with some threat of
danger to the lungs. He was ordered to break at once with Edinburgh for
a time, and to spend the winter in a more soothing climate and
surroundings. He went accordingly to Mentone, a place he had delighted
in as a boy ten years before, and during a stay of six months made a
slow, but for the time being a pretty complete, recovery. I visited him
twice during the winter, and the second time found him coming fairly to
himself again in the southern peace and sunshine. He was busy with the
essay _Ordered South_, and with that on _Victor Hugo's Romances_, which
was afterwards his first contribution to the Cornhill Magazine; was full
of a thousand dreams and projects for future work; and was passing his
invalid days pleasantly meanwhile in the companionship of