Serjeant.—Smooth-faced, flattering, and deceitful, indeed, sir. I’ve heard them compared by some to the fair sex, beauteous and smiling outside, and cruelly cold-hearted within. But I think any such comparison is most unjust, for my old woman never deceived me; and, as I have told you, if it had not been for her oatmeal balls I verily believe I should not have been here at this moment.
Clifford.—It would ill become you, indeed, to slander the fair sex, Mister Serjeant, and depend upon it, you will not catch me doing so.
Serjeant.—But about the wallee yonder; I was saying——
Clifford.—Aye, the wallee; I shall never forget the first cold-bath I had up to the neck in one of them. It was all owing to the spite of a cunning old moorcock, which I had severely wounded. Out of revenge, I suppose, for the mortal injury I had done him, he chose to come fluttering down into the very middle of what I conceived to be a beautiful surface of hard green-sward. Being but a young sportsman at the time, and very eager to secure my bird, who sat most provokingly tock-tock-tocking at me, as if he had bid me defiance, I ran down the bank, and made a bound towards him. In I went souse. I shiver yet to think of it—my very senses were congealed—and for a moment I verily believed that I had been suddenly transformed into the North Pole, and that the cock-grouse that fluttered around me was Captain Parry come to explore me. And, i’ faith, if it had not been for the light foot and strong arm of the gilly who was with me, I believe I might have been sticking upright there, preserved in ice till this moment. There was a moorish bath for you!
Serjeant.—They are most unchancy bits for strangers; that is certain, sir.
Clifford.—Unchancy indeed! But if that is all you have to tell us about yonder place in the hill-side, Mr. Archy, you may save yourself the trouble of attempting to astonish me with your information; for, Sassenach though I be, I promise you that I have been long ago initiated into the full depth of the mystery.—Nymphs and Naiads of the crystal Aven, what a beautiful stream there is for fishing!
Serjeant.—’Tis very good, indeed, sir. But yon wallee that I was speaking about would swallow a horse, with you on the top of it. Many a time have I thrust a long pole down into it without reaching any thing the least like firm ground. It would swallow that fishing-wand of yours, sir.
Clifford.—(Already employed in putting his rod together.)—Plague choke it, I should be sorry indeed to see my rod go in any such way. It is one of the best Bond ever made; and though adapted, by means of these different pieces, to any size of stream, it was never intended for such deep sea fishing as you would put it to. I shall apply it to another purpose, my good serjeant. With this sky, the trouts there will take a grey mallard’s wing with a yellow silk body, in great style.
Serjeant.—But the wallee up yonder is worth your notice, because of an ould auncient monumental stone, that once stood on the dry bank beside it.