FAREWELL FEAST OF ANGLING CLUB. 223 



Wandle. Nay, I said not so : never was hand more 

 gory. But a truce, a truce, sweet Doctor good, let 

 forks wag before tongues. 



Swivel. Amen ! valiant sir. 



[After partaking of the bountiful repast provided by our 

 worthy landlady, Messrs. Wandle-weir and Herl-broke 

 proceeded to amuse the club with an account of their 

 wanderings in the north. It is not, however, within 

 the province of these pages to enter into any elaborate 

 detail of the manifold incidents met with by our 

 intelligent brethren of the angle ; we find it incumbent 

 to offer nothing further than such portions of their 

 relation as have reference to the pastime daily pursued 

 by them among the least frequented of our Highland 

 lochs and rivers. To this purpose we shall devote the 

 following chapter.] 



