48 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



1st Poacher. Ax himsel; he seems hard put 

 to't. The four half mutchkins hae spoilt him 

 a'thegither. There's a muckle chap there has got 

 him clear under, and he's no sma' beer. 



4th Poacher. It's time for us to be aff, callants ! 

 I'm a' a clod o' sairs. They're no canny customers 

 thae gentry. 



2d Poacher. Geordie's in the richt ; it's nae fun 

 gettin' lickit like a wheen bairns. Tak to your 

 legs, Jock, an' leeve the exceeseman ; he's no worth 

 a bodle at rinnin' ! 



Exeunt POACHERS. 



Swivel. Nobly done, my hearties! We've doc- 

 tored them in style, my river militia-men ! But 

 what carcass is this on the field ? The black 

 whiskered gauger, I declare. Vulnerable after all, 

 old boy ? Are there cracks and fissures in the hide 

 of such a rhinoceros ? How he grunts, like the 

 mandarin of a boar-stye I We must pommel him 

 up again; he is only semi-thrashed, and can spare 

 half a stone additional of ruby blood. Run, May- 

 fly, and fetch a capful of river water; there is no 

 restorative like a good sousing! 



May* Beyond all compare, it is the best of 

 soberers, if largely administered. Methinks I espy 

 a tub not far from this, belonging to some washer- 

 woman, which should answer dashingly. Gaff and 

 I will run for it. 



Exeunt GAFF and MAY-FLY. 



