56 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



1st Poacher. Ax himsel ; he seems hard put to't. 

 The four half mutchkins hae spoilt him a'thegither. 

 There's a muckle chap there has got him clear under, 

 and he's no sma' beer. 



4th Poacher. It's time for us to be aff, callants ! I'm 

 a' a clod o' sairs. They're no canny customers thae 

 gentry. 



2d Poacher. Geordie's in the richt ; it's nae fun 

 gettin' lickit like a wheen. bairns. Tak to your legs, 

 Jock, an' leeve the exceeseman ; he's no worth a bodle 



at rinnin' ! 



Exeunt POACHERS. 



Swivel. Nobly done, my hearties ! We've doctored 

 them in style, my river militia-men ! But what 

 carcass is this on the field ? The black- whiskered 

 gauger, I declare. Vulnerable after all, old boy ? 

 Are there cracks and fissures in the hide of such a 

 rhinoceros ? How he grunts, like the mandarin of a 

 boar-stye ! We must pommel him up again ; he is only 

 semi-thrashed, and can spare half a stone additional 

 of ruby blood. Run, May-fly, and fetch a capful of 

 river water ; there is no restorative like a good 

 sousing ! 



May. Beyond all compare, it is the best of soberers, 

 if largely administered. Methinks I espy a tub not 

 far from this, belonging to some washerwoman, which 

 should answer dashingly. Gaff and I will run for it. 



Exeunt GAFF and MAY-FLY. 



