ST MARY'S LOCH. 213 



interesting, was less beautiful than when I saw it for the 

 first time, one still autumn clay in the year 1834. The 

 lake was then as smooth as glass, and reflected the green 

 grassy hills so perfectly that you could scarcely tell where 

 the shore commenced and the water terminated ; but 

 t'other day the little waves were chafing and roaring in a 

 perfect rage. Poor things ! they do not know what they 

 will meet with in their after course of life towards their 

 ocean of eternity, and how much happier they are, sur- 

 rounded by pure pastoral hills, than when acting as scaven- 

 gers to the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, sweeping fish- 

 guts into the everlasting sea. But so it ever is, not only 

 with lakes and lochs, but lads and lassies — still pressing 

 onwards, onwards, for a few brief years ; then stand- 

 ing still to ponder dubiously ihe amount of gain, and 

 then finding little worthy even of remembrance but that 

 ' crystal youth,' so carelessly cast away, yet no more to 

 be recalled than can the mountain dew-drops from the 

 slimy sea. We have had but little sport; yet John seems 

 well pleased with his doings. The angling here seems 

 much inferior at this season to what it is in spring. The 

 scenery, however, is beautiful; and when I sat me down, 

 towards day's decline, by the side of this melancholy 

 stream, and looked up to the ruins of Elibank Castle, and 

 thought of the years that had passed since I had last 

 mused by its shattered walls, alas ! how mournful was the 



