himself, but that of all other men. I remember of leaving Altrive Lake
once with him, accompanied by the same Mr. Laidlaw, and Sir Adam Fergusson,
to visit the tremendous solitudes of The Grey Mare's Tail, and Loch Skene.
I conducted them through that wild region by a path, which, if not rode by
Clavers, was, I daresay, never rode by another gentleman. Sir Adam rode
inadvertently into a gulf, and got a sad fright, but Sir Walter, in the
very worst paths, never dismounted, save at Loch Skene to take some dinner.
We went to Moffat that night, where we met with some of his family, and
such a day and night of glee I never witnessed. Our very perils were
matter to him of infinite merriment; and then there was a short-tempered
boot-boy at the inn, who wanted to pick a quarrel with him, at which he
laughed till the water ran over his cheeks.

I was disappointed in never seeing some incident in his subsequent works
laid in a scene resembling the rugged solitude around Loch Skene, for I
never saw him survey any with so much attention. A single serious look at
a scene generally filled his mind with it, and he seldom took another; but
here he took the names of all the hills, their altitudes, and relative
situations with regard to one another, and made me repeat them several
times. It may occur in some of his works which I have not seen, and I
think it will, for he has rarely ever been known to interest himself,
either in a scene or a character, which did not appear afterwards in all
its most striking peculiarities.

There are not above five people in the world who, I think, know Sir Walter
better, or understand his character better, than I do; and if I outlive
him, which is likely, as I am five months and ten days younger, I will
draw a mental portrait of him, the likeness of which to the original shall
not be disputed. In the meantime, this is only a reminiscence, in my own
line, of an illustrious friend among the mountains.