ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 93 



Nay, if my company prop thee, 'tis well. I love to 

 look on an able angler. It kills all jealousy, and, 

 to tell the truth, 'tis with me a matter of indiffer- 

 ence which turns out to be the winning party, pro- 

 vided each individual so performs as to win the re- 

 spect of his rivals. 



Heron. I agree with you entirely, and shall not 

 take a defeat to heart so deeply as my friend Wan- 

 die-weir; however, fight I shall, were my bones to 

 crack. 



Swivel. A wise resolution. You pricked a pretty 

 fish just now. 



Heron. Ay, but he is gone. I hit him on his re- 

 flective organ ; he will abjure flies during this fore- 

 noon at least. Wandle-weir, I perceive, has some- 

 thing weighty at his lines, and ha ! ha ! a dead 

 sheep what a trophy ! Into your pannier with it, 

 Mark, should you land him ! 



Wandle. 'Tis an excellent Cheviot, Dick, and 

 in glorious order very savoury, I assure you ; but, 

 alas! I must bid good-bye to it, for my flies are clear, 

 and a tiny par, moreover, dangling at the trailer. I 

 trust, Doctor, you compassionate our miseries. 



Swivel. Not a whit how should I, when I be- 

 hold your good fortune ? nay, nay, Mr Wandle-weir, 

 thou art loading thy shoulders in style. Shew them 

 some charity, an* thou lovest them. 



Wandle. They merit little ; my pannier has only 

 three brace of honest-sized fish in't, none of which 



