THE PET BASKET 83 



upon passing down my hand to ascertain the fact, I 

 found to my great astonishment and delight that I 

 was once more in possession of my lost line, hooks, 

 fish, and all. The fish had fairly drowned each other, 

 and, by a curious coincidence, were passively passing 

 in the current at the time my legs stemmed it. 



Originally I had what in Scotland is called a poke 

 or bag to carry my trouts in. This being rather of a 

 coarse appearance, I panted after a basket. One of 

 my school-fellows had exactly the thing ; and I 

 bargained for it by giving in return all my personal 

 right in perpetuity to two young hawks. Proud of 

 my acquisition, I set out with no small share of 

 vanity, carrying my basket through the whole length 

 of a neighbouring village, which was considerably out 

 of the way. When I arrived at the happy spot where 

 my sport lay, I was successful as usual. At length 

 the declining sun admonished me of some ten miles 

 betwixt me and home ; so I resolved only to take a 

 few casts in a dark and deep pool which was close 

 at hand, and then to bend my course homeward. 

 There I hooked a fine fish, which I was obliged to 

 play for some time, and then, after he was fairly 

 tired, to lift out with my hands, not having yet 

 arrived at the dignity of a landing net. In stoop- 

 ing low to perform this process, the lid of my new 

 pet basket, which from want of experience I had 

 omitted to fasten, flew open, and two or three of 

 my last-killed fish dropped into the deep water 

 immediately before me. In suddenly reaching for- 

 ward to secure these, round came my basket, fish 

 and all, over my head, and fairly capsized me. 



