446 MEMOIK OF JOHN WILSON. 



A picture of the past visiting the present, as time glides on, 

 making more perceptible the cruel changes which come to mortal 

 strength. How now do his feet touch the heather ? Not as of'old, 

 with a bound, but with slow and unsteady step, supported on the 

 one hand by his stick, while the other carries his rod. The breeze 

 gently moves his locks, no longer glittering with the light of life, 

 but dimmed by its decay. Yet are his shoulders broad and unbent. 

 The lion-like presence is somewhat softened down, but not gone. 

 He surely will not venture into the deeps of the water, for only one 

 hand is free for "a cast," and those large stones, now slippery with 

 moss, are dangerous stumbling-blocks in the way. Besides, he 

 promised his daughters he would not wade, but, on the contrary, 

 walk quietly with them by the river's edge, there gliding " at its 

 own sweet will." Silvery bands of pebbled shore, leading to loamy- 

 colored pools, dark as the glow of a southern eye, how could he 

 resist the temptation of near approach ? In he goes, up to the ankles, 

 then to the knees, tottering every other step, but never falling. Trout 

 after trout he catches, small ones certainly, but plenty of them. 

 Into his pocket with them, all this time manoeuvring in the most 

 skilful manner both stick and rod ; until weary, he is obliged to rest 

 on the bank, sitting with his feet in the water, laughing at his 

 daughters' horror, and obstinately continuing the sport in spite of 

 all remonstrance. At last he gives in, and retires. Wonderful to 

 say, he did not seem to suffer from these imprudent liberties. Occa- 

 sionally he was contented to remain away from the water, enjoying 

 the less exciting interest of watching others. His son John delighted 

 him by the great achievement of capturing two fine salmon, their 

 united weight being about forty-five pounds. It was a pleasant 

 holiday-time. There was no lack of merriment, and though my 

 father was not in his best spirits, he rallied now and then from the 

 gloom that oppressed him at the outset of the excursion. 



On his return to Edinburgh, he was prevailed on by his brother 

 Robert to pay him a visit at Woodburn. While there, the painful 

 question of his retirement from public life was agreed on, and caused 

 him much mental distress. He sent in his resignation, after thirty 

 years' service. The remaining portion of this autumn was spent at 

 Billholm. His retirement from active life was a step that interest- 

 ed all parties, and Government was not backward in rewarding the 

 faithful services of one who, though not of their party, merited 



