BAIT OF THE AVERAGE FISHERMAN.
H. C. DODGE.
This is the bait the
fishermen take,
the fishermen
take, the fishermen take,
when they start out the
fish to wake so
early in the
morning. They
take a nip before they go—a
good one, ah! and long and slow,
for fear the chills will lay them low
so early in the morning. Another when
they're on the street, which they repeat each
time they meet for "luck"—for that's the
way to greet a fisher in the morning. And
when they are on the river's brink again
they drink without a wink—to fight ma-
laria they think it proper in the morn-
ing. They tip a flask with true delight
when there's a bite; if fishing's light
they "smile" the more till jolly tight,
all fishing they are scorning. An-
other nip as they depart: one at the
mart and one to part, but none
when in the house they dart, ex-
pecting there'll be mourning.
This is the bait the fisher-
men try who fishes buy at
prices high and tell each
one a bigger lie of fish-
ing in the morning.
Whose Cold Feet?
"Are you troubled with cold feet on retiring?" asked Yeast of Crimsonbeak, Saturday night, as they were returning from market freighted with provender.
"I should say I was!" replied Crimsonbeak emphatically, while a regular chills-and-fever shudder was seen to distribute itself over his frame at the recollection which the question recalled.
"I suppose you would like to learn how to avoid them?" replied the philanthropist, smiling at the thought of an opportunity to fire off one of his pet theories.
"I would give almost anything to be fortunate enough to escape them," said the despairing Crimsonbeak, in all truthfulness.
"Well it is easy enough done," went on his companion; "soak your feet in cold water the first thing when you get up in the morning; towards night run about three-quarters of a mile, and then soak your feet again in cold water on retiring."