THE PET BASKET. 79 



I scampered ashore, under the impression that I was 

 trailing after me some sharp-toothed monster, perhaps a 

 lamper eel ; when, upon passing down my hand to as- 

 certain 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 ox- 

 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 stooping low to perform this pro- 

 cess, 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 

 forward to secure these, round came my basket, fish and 



