Then we began to crack, our host leading the way with his humorous observations. After taking our fill of rest and talk, we wended our way down again, with the "wimplin' burn" by our side, fresh from the pure springs of the hill, whispering its welcome to us.

We had earned a good appetite for dinner, which was shortly laid before us. The bill of fare was national, and included a haggis:

The haggis was admirably compounded and cooked, and was served forth by our genial host with all appropriate accompaniments. But the most enjoyable was the conversation of Lord Cockburn, who was a master of the art -- quick ready, humorous, and full of wit. At last, the day came to a close, and we wended our way towards the city.

Let me, however, before concluding, say a few words in reference to my dear departed friend David Oswald Hill. His name calls up many recollections of happy hours spent in his company. He was, in all respects, the incarnation of geniality. His lively sense of humour, combined with a romantic and poetic constitution of mind, and his fine sense of the beautiful in Nature and art, together with his kindly and genial feeling, made him, all in all, a most agreeable friend and companion. "D. O. Hill," as he was generally called, was much attached to my father. He was a very frequent visitor at our Edinburgh fireside, and was ever ready to join in our extemporised walks and jaunts, when he would overflow with his kindly sympathy and humour. He was a skilful draughtsman, and possessed a truly poetic feeling for art. His designs for pictures were always attractive, from the fine feeling exhibited in their composition and arrangement. But somehow, when he came to handle the brush, the result was not always satisfactory -- a defect not uncommon with artists. Altogether, he was a delightful companion and a staunch friend, and his death made a sad blank in the artistic society of Edinburgh.