As I sat on the seashore, repeating to myself the lines of Mr. Watson's poem, and breathing the fresh air, which an official of the bath-house told me was _made in Germany_ (meaning thereby that the wind was blowing from the east), the thought struck me that it would be a pardonable pastime to employ the spare time I had before the boat started for Lerwick, in writing a _Sonnet to Mr. William Watson_. In such exercitations it is necessary to employ the second person singular: Watson! I would thy pen were fluenter, And yet, perchance, thou usest stores of ink, Ampler than any of thy readers think, In blotting that wherein the first quick stir Of thought and genius made the language err. If Heaven had lent thy polished Muse a blink Of saving humour for her crambo-clink, Then never-dying fame had fallen to her. Yet Heaven be thanked for what it has bestowed On thee of what is tunefullest and best: The trim epistle, the heart-stirring ode, The witching freshness of a _Prince's Quest_, The soft romance that dreams of years gone by, Bright noons and dewy glades of Arcady. [25] A recent publication shows that Greek verse is well written at the University. Paisley folk should know that an Aberdonian Hellenist has put some of Tannahill's verses into Greek. EN ROUTE. The little steamer that plies between Aberdeen and Lerwick is timed to leave the former port at 11.30 a.m., _or as soon afterwards as the tide will permit_. Often the boat does not leave for some hours after 11.30 a.m., the tide not being always to blame. What a capacity the boat has for empty barrels! I counted six heaped lorry-loads of them that were rolled on board, destined, later on, to be filled with herring up north among the islands. It is extremely interesting (see Virgil III., 690) to stand in calm weather on the deck of a moving vessel and talk about the notable places on the coast with one who knows them well. Much information of a varied and piquant kind may thus be acquired. The Aberdeenshire coast is rather unpicturesque, but many historical legends linger airily on the stern old ruins that are passed from time to time. I omit mention of these, preferring to tell an anecdote of recent years that is associated with the immense rocky sea-caverns, of world-wide fame, not far from Cruden Bay. During the Boer War, some Scotch journalists, strong in the science of genealogy, undertook to prove that all the generals at the front had Scotch blood in their veins. It seems that these patriotic penmen succeeded quite easily in making their contention good with respect to all the generals _save one_. No Scotch lineage could be found for General Buller. The difficulty was at last surmounted by the felicitous conjecture that he was one of the famous _Bullers of Buchan_!