[Sidenote: Training for public life.]
The years which followed the completion of his academical studies—those golden years which generally determine the complexion of a man’s future life—were not devoted in his case to any definite pursuit; for though he entered himself of Lincoln’s Inn in June, 1835, he does not appear to have ever embarked in the professional study of law.
The scanty notices which remain of this period show him chiefly residing at Broomhall, where, in his father’s absence, he takes his place in the affairs of the county of Fife; commands his troop of yeomanry; now presides at a farmers’ dinner, for which be has written an appropriate song; now, at the request of Dr. Chalmers, speaks at a public meeting in favour of church extension. At one time we hear of long solitary rides over field and fell, during which the thoughts and feelings that stirred in him would take the shape of a sonnet or a poem, to be confided to one of his sisters; at another time he is keeping up a regular correspondence on abstruse questions of philosophy with his brother Frederick, still at Oxford.
In these pursuits, as well as in the somewhat harassing occupation of disentangling the family property from its embarrassments, be was preparing himself for future usefulness by the exercise of the same industry and patience, the same grasp both of details and of general purpose, which be showed in the political career gradually dawning upon him. It was observed that, whatsoever his hand found to do, he did it with all his might, as well as with a judgment and discretion beyond his years, and a tact akin to genius. He was undergoing, perhaps, the best training for the varied duties to which he was to be called—that peculiarly British ‘discipline of mind, body, and heart’ to which observers like Bunsen attribute the effectiveness of England’s public men.