Health in our mountain gales,
Who would not hie to the moorland away?
Come, then; the heather bloom
Woos with its wild perfume.
Fragrant and blithesome thy welcome shall be;
Gaily the fountain sheen
Leaps from the mountain stream,
Come to the home of the moorland and lea.
“That’s something like, Bricket. You’ve sung it better than ever, and it’s a rattling good ditty,” cried a voice. “Here’s your health, and long life to ’ee.”
A large amount of “brown October” had been consumed by this time, and some of the company were giving indications of being nearly “Three sheets in the wind.”