A SPORTIVE SONG
A Sojourner in North Britain goes Salmon-fishing with a New Young Woman.
Far from the busy haunts of men,
Mid hazel, heather, gorse,
You are the Beauty of the glen,
And I the Beast, of course.
I fetch and carry at your wish,
I wait your beck and nod,
And yet your soul is with that fish,
Your ardour in your rod.
He struggles hard, gives now a lunge,
Like boxer in the ring,
And now he executes a plunge
That makes your tackle spring;
And then again he quiet lies,
As if in cunning thought
Of how to lose this worst of flies
That he so gladly caught.
Anon we see his silver back
Rush madly up the stream,
And then he takes another tack,
An effort that's supreme;
He tries to leap the rocky wall
That environs the pool.
How hot that rush! How low that fall!
While you are calm and cool.
You utter not a word; your wrist
Must surely be of steel;
For, let your captive turn or twist,
You never spend the reel.
But with your eye fast fixed you stand—
Diana with a hook—
Determined that good grilse to land,
And bring your fly to book.
Well done! He weakens! With the gaff
I'm ready for the prey.
And now you give a little laugh
That means "He must give way!"
"Look out!" you cry. I do look out,
And then I lose my head.
You've missed the fish without a doubt,
But captured me instead!
A Point of Trespass.—Irate Owner of this side of water. "Are you aware that you are trespassing in this water, young man?"
Sharp Youth. "But I'm not in the water, sir."
Irate Owner (more irate). "Confound you, but you've just taken a fish out!"
Sharp Youth. "Yes, sir. The fish was trespassing!"
Enthusiastic Fisherman. "What a bore! Just like my luck. No sooner have I got my tackle ready, and settled down to a book, than there comes a confounded bite!"
Visitor. "Are there any fish in this river?"
Native. "Fish! I should rather think there was. Why, the water's simply saturated with 'em!"
Angling in the Serpentine.—Saturday, p.m.—Piscator No. 1. "Had ever a bite, Jim?"
Piscator No. 2. "Not yet—I only come here last Wednesday!"
A Bad Bargain.—No water!—and after having rented a stream, and travelled five hundred miles, too!!
Di would go sea-fishing to-day. I went too. She says we had a grand day, so I suppose we had. At the same time, I don't think it was quite right to give my lunch to the boatman without asking me whether I wanted it or no. Di says she'll ask her cousin—hang him!—to go with her next time.
Irate Angler (waking tramp). "Why can't you look after your beast of a dog? It's been and eaten all my lunch."
Tramp (hungrily). "What, all the lot, mister! Well, he shouldn't ave done that if I could 'ave 'elped it!"
Shakspearian Motto for August 12
"Now will I hence to seek my lovely moor!"
Titus Andronicus, Act II., Sc. 3.