212 ANGLING REMINISCENCES. 



I know not to this day how I reached Loch Ran- 

 noch 



Swivel. On the back of a hippopotamus, was it not, 

 Bill? Say so, man, an thou wantest credit for this 

 exploit of thine ! To superadd a marvel or twain 

 will improve the effect on't, and in nowise harm its 

 probability ! 



May. Courtesy, it appears, Nathan, is no director 

 of thy faith. 



Swivel. If so, Bill, my creed would' be a mon- 

 strous one. 



May. Marry, indeed! Doctor thou hast swal- 

 lowed rawer fictions ere now than are of my fashion- 

 ing. How little credit findeth an angler's tale! 

 'Tis among truths unsworn to, the oftest ridiculed. 

 Men stare on't, as it were moon-dropt, and would 

 take the say of a pagan into more account. 



Swivel. Well might they, Master May-fly, opining 

 from these feats of thine. But how, gentlemen, is 

 the bowl run dry? 



je Season. 



We part not thus ! nay, anglers, nay- 



A farewell to the season ! 

 So fill the bowl and drink away; 



Who drinks not harbours treason. 



