The joys of Elleray were destined to be fleeting.  The fortune of its master was melted away by the mismanagement of others, leaving him but a slender pittance.  He bore his loss like a man, sorrowing, but not repining.  The estate was given up, and a new home found with his mother, in Edinburgh.  This was in 1815.  Four years later, fortune had smiled on his cheerful labors, and given him the wherewithal to provide a home of his own for his wife and little ones,—­the well-known house in Anne Street, which was for so many years the abode of domestic joys, the shrine of literature, the centre of friendship and hospitality.  On his arrival at Edinburgh, Wilson, already famous, though young, finding fame an unsubstantial portion for a man with a family, looked about him for something more tangible, and determined to get his livelihood by the law.  Kit North a lawyer, eating bread earned by legal sweat!  The very idea seems comical enough.  Yet it cannot be doubted, that, with his intellect, energy, eloquence, and capacity for work, he would, when driven to concentration and persistence by the spurs of necessity, duty, and affection, have run his race manfully, and reached the goal with the very foremost.  Happily the question is an open one, for his affairs took another turn, which may have given Scotland one legal lord the less.  For some time the briefless barrister diligently frequented the Edinburgh courts, on the lookout for business.  If he had few cases, he had excellent company in another “limb,” of his own kidney, John Gibson Lockhart.  These two roystering pundits, having little to do, filled up their moments mainly with much fun, keeping their faculties on the alert for whatever might turn up.  The thing that soon turned up was “Blackwood.”

The “Edinburgh Review”—­the first in the field of the modern politico-literary periodicals—­commenced its career in 1802, under the leadership of Brougham, Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, and Horner, all stanch Whigs.  At first, literature had the second place, while politics occupied the chief seat; though in later years their relative positions have been reversed.  Then, the one great thing in view was to have an able party-organ, the fearless champion of a certain policy in matters of State.  The Whigs must be glorified, and the Tories put down, at all events, whatever else might be done.  The rejoicings of the former, and the discomfiture of the latter, soon bore witness to the ability and success of this new-fledged champion.  But this one-sided state of things could not continue always.  The Tories, too, must have a mouth-piece to testify of their devotion to “the good old cause,” and silence the clamors of their opponents.  Accordingly, in 1809, appeared the “Quarterly Review,” with Gifford as editor, and Scott, Southey, Croker, Canning, and others, as chief contributors.  Under the conduct of such men, it became at once an organ of great power, yet still not quite what was wanted.  It did not seem to meet entirely the demands of the