90 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



place was found. They had been beating about Miller-ground all 

 the time, scarcely a stone's-throw from their starting-place. Billy's 

 account of the story was, "that Master was well-nigh frozen to 

 death, and had icicles a finger-length hanging from his hair and 

 beard." This adventure ended in the toll-keeper on the Ambleside 

 road being knocked up from his slumbers, and their spending the 

 rest of the night with him, seated by a blazing fire, telling stories 

 and drinking ale, a temptation to which Billy had no difficulty in 

 yielding. 



These lake escapades were not confined to boating. Riding one 

 day Avith his friend, Mr. Richard Watson, by the margin of Rydal 

 Lake, my father's horse became restive. Finding that no ordinary 

 process would soothe the animal, he turned his head to the lake, 

 with the intention of walking gently among the oozy reeds that 

 grew on its banks, when, quite forgetful or heedless that they sud- 

 denly sloped to the water, the horse and his rider were in a mo- 

 ment plunged beyond their depth. Having got into deep waters, 

 there was nothing for it but to swim through them ; and presently 

 he became aware that his friend's horse, true to the lead, was fol- 

 lowing close behind. Fortunately the lake was not very broad, 

 and their passage across was soon made, though not without some 

 little feeling of apprehension ; for his friend Watson could not swim 

 a stroke. 



This equestrian performance suggests a story of another kind of 

 diversion in which, according to Mr. De Quincey's account, my 

 father occasionally indulged at Elleray. It is best given in the 

 Opium-Eater's own words : — " Represent to yourself the earliest 

 dawn of a fine summer's morning, time about half-past two o'clock. 

 A young man, anxious for an introduction to Mr. Wilson, and as 

 yet pretty nearly a stranger to the country, has taken up his abode 

 in Grasmere, and has strolled out at this early hour to that rocky 

 and moorish common (called the White Moss) which overhangs 

 the Vale of Rydal, dividing it from Grasmere. Looking south- 

 wards in the direction of Rydal, suddenly he becomes aware of a 

 huge beast advancing at a long trot, with the heavy and thundering 

 tread of a hippopotamus, along the public road. The creature is 

 soon arrived within half a mile of his station ; and by the gray light 

 of morning is at length made out to be a bull apparently flying from 

 some unseen enemy in his rear. As yet, however, all is mystery ; 



