ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 197 



IV. 



Go forth, ye anglers jovial ! 

 The ring of the trout we spy, 



And the south winds pour 



In a pleasant shower 

 The merry March-brown fly ; 



With vigorous wand 



The fisher band 

 Among the dark pools ply. 



Swivel. The day's labours, Harry, have in no- 

 wise lessened the vigour of thy song. But how is't 

 thou preferrest the fowling-piece now-a-days, and 

 puttest thy rod-arm out of practice? 'Tis a leaning 

 towards revolt in thee and Master Timothy, which 

 I, Nathan Swiveltop, take upon me to reprehend. 



Hackle. They are twin sports, Doctor, those of 

 the stream and field the one vernal, the other au- 

 tumnal. Faith! I love them both. 



Swivel. Not without a preference, master rene- 

 gade. Be honest, Harry, and detail to us thine ang- 

 ling exploits during the last three months. 



Hackle. Ay! that I will. Riddled with my gun 

 three pike on the third of September; marred a fly- 

 ing salmon on the nineteenth of August; and, only 

 a fortnight ago, pinked, off the coast of Ayrshire, 

 an oily porpoise! 



Swivel. Bravo! Harry. And now, Tim, 'tis thy 

 turn to give account of thyself or, failing to do 

 so, render a song instead. 



[GAFF sings.'] 



