LIFE AT ELLF.RAT. 89 



fall, and even later. There was not a more skilful boatman, or a 

 steadier steersman on the lake, and he was about the best judge of 

 a pretty craft and good sailing to be found. He could sing a sailor's 

 song, had an undeniable love of fun, understood humor, and felt the 

 difference of wit. No one knew how to tell a story better, and 

 with a due unction of excusable exaggeration combined with reality ; 

 and in every tale of Billy his master was invariably the hero. He 

 was a little man, weather-beaten in complexion, and much marked 

 from smallpox. His hair was of a light sandy color ; his eyes blue 

 and kindly in expression, as was also his smile ; his gait, rather 

 doglike, not quite straight ahead, but, like that honest animal, he 

 Avas sure-footed, and quick in getting over the ground. That plea- 

 sant broad Westmoreland dialect of his, too, gave peculiar charac- 

 ter to his voice ; and there is a grateful remembrance of the hearty 

 grasp of his little, hard, horny hand when it greeted welcome, or 

 bade adieu, while the whole picture of the man, in his blue dres*, 

 sailor fashion, stands distinctly before me, either as he steered the 

 " Endeavor" or mowed the grass on the lawn at Elleray.* 



One or two anecdotes still linger about the country, showing how 

 recklessly Wilson could expose himself at all hours to the chances 

 of the weather. Cold, snow, wind, and rain were no obstacles ; 

 nothing could repress the impulse that drove him forth to seek na^ 

 ture in all her moods. During a stormy December night, when 

 the snow was falling fast, with little or no light in the heavens, he 

 took a fancy to tempt the waters of Windermere, and setting off 

 with the never-failing Billy, they took boat from Miller-ground and 

 steered for Bowness. In a short time all knowledge of the point 

 to which they were bound was lost. The darkness became more 

 dismal every moment ; the cold was intolerable. Several hours 

 were spent in this dreary position, poor Billy in despair, expecting 

 every instant would find them at the bottom of the lake, when sud- 

 denly the skiff went aground. The oars were not long in being 

 made use of to discover the nature of their disaster, what and 

 where they had struck, when, to their great satisfaction, a landing- 



* "Seldom rose we," said my father in after years, "from our delightful dormitory till, about 

 twelve o'clock, we heard the south breeze come pushing up from the sea. Then Billy used to tap 

 at our door, with his tarry paw, and wnisper, 'Master, Peggsis ready. I have brailed up the fore- 

 Bail: her jigger sits as straight as the Knave of Clubs, and we have ballasted with sand-bags. 

 We'se beat the Liverpoolean to-day, Master. 1 Then I rose." See also Wil-on's Works. 



