ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 129 



Alister. And what will ta Sassenach gi'e to her 

 nain sel' ? 



Swivel. Make an honest demand, Alister. 



Alister. Twa guineas frae sic shentlemans, shure 

 enough ? 



Swivel. Get thee to bed, greedy hound ! thou 

 shalt not see a doit of mine. Away, bare-faced, 

 lazy-boned rascal ! we have no need of thee. Put 

 wind into thy sporran, and make a bagpipe o't. 

 Come along, Bill, and leave that boor to learn mo- 

 desty. 



{Alister Macdonald shuts the do;>r t muttering a curse in 

 Gaelic^ 



May. Another specimen of these western Celts ! 

 rude, abject, and rapacious. They have neither 

 conscience nor good-feeling. Marked you how 

 that miserable wretch shook with sheer terror, as he 

 displayed himself cautiously at the entrance of his 

 hovel, after the long colloquy held with his help- 

 mate under the blankets, during which, I have no 

 doubt, they both convinced themselves of our in- 

 tention to rob and murder them ? 



Swivel. Very likely, Bill, but we must now re- 

 trace our steps; for the inn, I feel assured, lies not 

 in this direction, and as for obtaining a night's lodg- 

 ings elsewhere, 'tis out of all likelihood, judging 

 from the reception we have just met with. Quick 

 march, Bill ! what ails thee, thou man of valour ? 



May. What ails a wind-broken horse or a jaded 

 hound? I am desperately flagged, Doctor, quite 



