188 TYLNEY HALL. Serene, or ruffled by the storm, On present waves, as on the past. The mirror'd grove retains its form, The self-same trees their semblance cast. The hue each fleeting globule wears, That drop bequeaths it to the next. One picture still the surface bears, To illustrate the murmur'd text. So, love, however time may flow, Fresh hours pursuing those that flee. One constant image still shall show My tide of life is true to thee ! Having wound up these lines, instead of his fishing- ones, he returned to the Hall, where an exchange of prisoners had taken place during his absence. Mrs. Hamilton was walking in the garden; the Creole was gone out for a ride; and Ringwood had previously cantered off towards Hollington, with an anxiety all his own, as to the convalescence of the Head of the Hive. In lieu of all these, Squire Ned was sitting in the drawing- room, tete-a-tete with the Baronet; the worthy friends being deeply engaged in the same pastime as those celebrated Irish gamesters, The Trout and the Salmon A-playiny Backyammon.
TYLNEY HAI.L. 189 Luckily for our Piscator the interest of the throws with the dice quite superseded the ineffectual ones he had made with the May-fly, and the unsuccessful issue only drew from his father one protracted remark. *' I don't wonder in the least—traydeuce— It would surprise me a deal more—cinque- ace—if Jie brought home even a stickle-back or a miller's thumb—sizes.— Eg-ad ! the fellow's head has got so bookish and wool-gathering—tray-cater — I shouldn't stare to see him some day—tray-ace — with a jack upon his hook, trying to catch a minnow;—the hit by Jove ! "