120 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



with our morning's walk to boot, is no small matter. 

 We have been sixteen hours agog, Doctor I don't 

 bate a minute and no cheer at our lips neither. 



Swivel. Keep up heart, Bill, we're in old Scot- 

 land still, and by a stream-side. 



May. Plague on the stream ! Now that you 

 talk on't, these fish on my back are not feathers. 



Swivel. Toss them to the ravens, Bill no mar- 

 vel thy courage is low under such a burden. 



May. Art thou serious, Doctor? is it in thy 

 philosophy to separate us from our spoils ? Thou 

 hast broad shoulders; prithee carry them awhile, 

 and exchange panniers. 



Swivel. Ay, Bill, with wondrous satisfaction. 

 Is all to thy mind ? [Exchange baskets."] 



May. Even so. 



Swivel. And to mine also, Bill. [Drops May- 

 jhfs fish among the heather. ~] This load steadies 

 me, and puts vigour into my limbs. I can now re- 

 sist the wind, arid plant my foot with more firmness 

 on the heath. 



May. I wish thee all joy of such blessings, 

 Doctor. But where are we, and why advance? 

 What a wilderness I can fancy around me ! hills, 

 mosses, and decayed forests. This glimmer is 

 more frightful than utter darkness I like it not. 

 The stone-blind night hath fewer horrors. Ha! 

 what is yon ? 



Swivel. A white ghost to be sure! Maybe, 

 Bill, 'tis the ghost of the inn we are searching after. 



