122 MEMOIR OF JOHN WILSON. 



There being no beds in his domicile, we last night came here, a 

 farmer's house about a quarter of a mile from him, where I have 

 been treated most kindly and hospitably. The house and entertain- 

 ment something d la Wastdale, but much superior. I have risen at 

 seven o'clock, and am preparing to take a complete day's fishing 

 among the streams near St. Mary's Loch. 



" To-morrow night I fish down to Selkirk, to catch the coach to 

 Hawick in the evening ; thence on Friday morning to Richmond's, 

 whom I will leave on Sunday evening. So if I can get a seat in the 

 coach on Sunday night at Hawick, you will see me in Edinburgh on 

 Monday morning before breakfast. Mrs. Scott informs me breakfast 

 is ready, so hoping that you will be grateful for this letter, bald as 

 it is, I have the honor to subscribe myself your obedient and dutiful 

 husband, " John Wilson." 



On one of these fishing excursions he had proceeded from St. 

 Mary's Loch to Peebles, where he could not at first get admittance 

 to the inn, as it was fully occupied by a party of country gentlemen, 

 met together on some county business ; on sending in his name, 

 however, he was immediately asked to join them at dinner. It is 

 needless to say that under his spell the fun grew fast and furious. 

 No one thought of moving. Supper was proposed, and as nothing 

 eatable was to be had in the house, Wilson asked the company if 

 they liked trouts, and forthwith produced the result of his day's 

 amusement from basket, bag, and pocket, in such numbers that the 

 table was soon literally covered. As the Shepherd afterwards said, 

 " Your creel was fu' — your shooting-bag fu' — your jacket-pouches 

 fu' — the pouches o' your verra breeks fu' — half-a-dozen wee anes in 

 your waistcoat, no to forget them in the crown o' your hat, and last 

 o' a', when there was nae place to stow awa' ony mair, a w T illow-wand 

 drawn through the gills o' some great big anes." 



The fresh fragrance of summer, as enjoyed by the running streams 

 and " dowie dens o' Yarrow," combined with the desire to show 

 his English wife something of the beauty of Scotland, suggested 

 about this time an excursion, which was regarded by many as an act 

 of insanity. 



About the beginning of July my father and mother set out from 

 Edinburgh on a pedestrian tour through the Western Highlands. 

 That such a feat should be performed by a delicate young English- 



