100 



Refreshed then I rose and ascended the hill, 

 To gaze on the landscape so lonely and still; 

 Where I met an old shepherd, and near "him lay down, 

 At the hack of a cairn, where the heather was "brown ; 

 And we talked of old times, and he sang an old strain, 

 Till 'twas time to he gone to nay fishing again. 



Though my creel be so large, to the lid closely filled, 

 It will not hold the trouts which since morning I've 



killed; 



I must string on a withy three dozen or more 

 I ne'er in a day caught so many before, 

 But though heavy my creel, yet my heart is so light 

 That I'll sing a song of my fishing at night. 



SIMPSON. Now, a toast to conclude with, Mr. 

 Tweddell. 



TWEDDELL. " The gentle Art of Angling ! " 



FISHER A charming toast; no "ball-room "belle 

 so deserving of a "bumper. "Her ways are the ways 

 of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." 



SIMPSON. The best thing you have said to-night, 

 Fisher; and most cordially do I say, Ditto. 



(Exeunt omnes.) 



