128 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



off ! ay, and eight twice told ; which, with our 

 morning's walk to boot, is no small matter. We have 

 been sixteen hours agog, Doctor I don't bate a 

 minute and no cheer at our lips neither. 



Swivel. Keep up heart, Bill, we're in old Scotland 

 still, and by a stream-side. 



May. Plague on the stream ! Now that you talk 

 on't, these fish on my back are not feathers. 



Swivel. Toss them to the ravens, Bill no marvel 

 thy courage is low under such a burden. 



May. Art thou serious, Doctor ? is it in thy philo- 

 sophy to separate us from our spoils ? Thou hast 

 broad shoulders ; prithee carry them awhile, and ex- 

 change panniers. 



Swivel. Ay, Bill, with wondrous satisfaction. Is all 

 to thy mind ? [Exchange baskets.] 



May. Even so. 



Swivel. And to mine also, Bill. [Drops May-fly's fish 

 among the heather.} This load steadies me, and puts 

 vigour into my limbs. I can now resist the wind, 

 and plant my foot with more firmness on the heath. 



May. I wish thee all joy of such blessings, Doctor. 

 But where are we, and why advance ? What a 

 wilderness I can fancy around me ! hills, mosses, 

 and decayed forests. This glimmer is more frightful 

 than utter darkness I like it not. The stone-blind 

 night hath fewer horrors. Ha ! what is yon ? 



Sivivel. A white ghost to be sure ! Maybe, Bill, 

 'tis the ghost of the inn we are searching after. 



