Brown (enthusiastic angler, who has brought his friend and guest out for a "delightful day's fishing"). "Confound it! I've left them—I say, old chap, got any flies with you?"
Jones (not enthusiastic, and a non-smoker, wearily). "Flies!!!"
CATS WHO CATCH CAN
Uncle George, just returned from a morning's fishing, recounts how he landed some of the "most magnificent trout ever taken in these waters," and his audience anticipate much satisfaction from the contents of his basket.
Meanwhile the contents of Uncle George's basket are being fully appreciated in the hall!
Lunatic (suddenly popping his head over wall). "What are you doing there?"
Brown. "Fishing."
Lunatic. "Caught anything?"
Brown. "No."
Lunatic. "How long have you been there?"
Brown. "Six hours."
Lunatic. "Come inside!"
A Gentle Hint.—Mr. Giglamps (who has been caught by keeper with some fish in his basket under taking size). "Oh—er—well, you see, fact is, my glasses—er—magnify a good deal. Make things look larger than they really are!"
Keeper (about to receive smaller tip than meets the occasion). "Ah! makes yer put down a shillin' when yer means 'alf-a-crown, sometimes, I dessay, sir!"
Paying too dear for his Whistle.—Donald. "E—h, sir, yon's a gran' fesh ye've gotten a haud o'!"
The Laird. "Oo, aye, a gran' fesh enoo, but I'd be gay an' glad if I saw my twa-and-saxpenny flee weel oot o' his mooth!"
Jones (the adventurous). "It—it's gettin' almost too d-deep, I fear, Miss Hookem!"
Miss Hookem. "Oh, please do go on! It'll be the fish of my life!"
Jones (who is not a champion swimmer). "M-mine too!"
An Acute Angler.—The judicious Hooker.
Angler's Motto.—Carpe diem. A carp a day.
The Angle of Incidence.—When you're fishing, and tumble into the water.
Walton's Life of Hooker.—Is this another name for Izaak Walton's Complete Angler?
HINTS TO BEGINNERS—SEA FISHING
In fishing for conger eels, it is sometimes convenient to have a spare
boat.
Returned Empty.—Old Mayfly (who had dropped his flask further down stream, and has just had it returned to him by honest rustic). "Dear me! Thank you! Thank you!" (Gives him a shilling.) "Don't know what I should ha' done without it!" (Begins to unscrew top.) "May I offer you a——"
Honest Rustic. "Well, thank y', sir, but me and my mate, not seein' a howner about, we've ta'en what there were inside."
Hints to Beginners.—When casting with a fly rod, be sure to get your line well out behind you.
Hooking a lobster
I have fished in every way,
Fished on every kind of day,
But my basket still remains in statu quo,
Not a stickleback will rise,
Not a gudgeon as a prize
To the quite amazing flies
That I throw.
When I try the purling brook
Many trout just have a look
At my fly, or at the minnow that I spin,
With fishy leer they squirm
Off, and my belief is firm
That I'd better use a worm
On a pin.
Wherever I get leave,
Still I fish from morn to eve,
Though I never—hardly ever—rightly cast,
With a body soaking wet,
With a mind intent and set
On success achieving yet
At the last.
In my coat of wondrous tweed,
And on every wandering weed,
Hooks and flies unnamed invariably I fix.
Here I cannot land a fish—
I can only hope and wish
I may creel a goodly dish
In the Styx.
Relief.—Piscator (about the end of a very bad day). "Donald, hang the boat here a bit, we may get a rise."
Donald. "Hang!"—(Giving way)—"I shall tamm the boat if you will, and the trouts—and the loch too!"
Catching her-ring
Deep C fishing
Q. What is the difference between a dunce and an angler?
A. One hates his books and the other baits his hooks.
Enthusiastic.—That indefatigable angler, Trollinson, never forgets his craft. Even in writing to you, he is sure to drop a line.
Catching min'nose on the bridge
First instance of the cure of soles (Vide Life of St. Anthony)
SUPERB
Podgson (a recently joined disciple of the gentle craft). "Ah, now I flatter myself that I played that fellow with considerable skill, and landed him without the net, too!"
"I'll punch your 'ead, directly, if you don't leave orff. How do yer think the what's-a-names 'll bite, if you keep on a splashin' like that?"
An Original Corner Man.—The Complete Angler.
A Brother of the Angle.—A fellow mathematician.
When is a fisherman like a Hindoo? When he loses his cast.
Irate Landowner (to Angler). "Hi, you, sir! This is my water. You can't fish here."
Angler. "Oh, all right. Whose is that water up there round the bend?"
Irate Landowner. "Don't know: not mine. But this is."
Angler. "Very well. I'll wait till that flows down here!"
"Many a Slip."—Boisterous Friend (bursting suddenly through the shrubbery, and prodding proprietor with his umbrella). "Hul-lo, Hackles, my boy! Ketching lots o' salmon!"
Angler. "There! Tut-t-t-t—confound you! I should ha' settled that fish if you hadn't come bothering about! Three people coming to dinner without notice, and only chops in the house! You'd better go and tell my wife what you've done"
Piscatorial Politeness. (From a Yorkshire stream.)—Privileged Old Keeper (to member of fishing club, of profuse and ruddy locks, who is just about to try for the big trout, a very wary fish). "Keep yer head doon, sir, keep yer head doon!" (Becoming exasperated.) "'Ord bou it, man, keep yer head doon! Yer m't as weel come wi' a torch-leet procession to tak' a fish!"
Something like Preservation.—Irate Individual. "Are you aware, sir, that you are fishing in preserved water?"
'Arry (not quite so innocent as he would appear). "Preserved water! And is all the fish pickled, then? Bless'd if I've seen any live 'uns about."
Mrs. Brown. "Well, I must be going in a minute."
Mr. B. "What for?"
Mrs. B. "Why, I forgot to order the fish for dinner."
More Ornamental than Useful.—"Just give that bit o' lead a bite atween yer teeth, will yer, matie?"
"Ain't ye got no teeth of yer own?"
"I got some, but there ain't none of 'em opposite one another."
Anticipation.—Piscator (short-sighted; he had been trolling all day for a big pike that lay in a hole about here). "Quick, Jarvis—the landing-net—I've got him!"
Jarvis. "Ah, sir, it's only an old fryin'-pan! But that will be useful, y'know, sir, when we do catch him!"
I'm a fisherman bold,
And I don't mind the cold,
Nor care about getting wet through!
I don't mind the rain,
Or rheumatical pain,
Or even the tic-douloureux!
I'm a fisherman damp,
Though I suffer from cramp,
Let weather be foul or be fine,
From morning till night
Will I wait for a bite,
And never see cause to repine!
I'm a fisherman glad,
And I never am sad;
I care not to shoot or to hunt;
I would be quite content
If my whole life were spent
From morning to night in a punt!
I'm a fisherman brave,
And I carol a stave
In praise of the rod and the line!
From the bank, or a boat,
Will I gaze on my float—
What life is so happy as mine?
Big Scotchman. "Confound these midges!"
Little Cockney. "Why, they 'aven't touched me!"
Big Scotchman. "Maybe they have na noticed ye yet!"
The Greatest Angle of Elevation.—Fishing off the top of Shakespeare's Cliff.
The "gentle" craft some people angling name;
The "lobworm" might more truly call the same.
First Angler (to country boy) "I say, my lad just go to my friend on the bridge there, and say I should be much obliged to him if he'd send me some bait."
Country Boy (to second angler, in the Eastern Counties language). "Tha' there bo' sahy he want a wurrum!!"
The dainty artificial fly
Designed to catch the wily trout,
Full loud laudabunt alii,
And I will join, at times, no doubt,
But yet my praise, without pretence,
Is not from great experience.
I talk as well as anyone
About the different kinds of tackle,
I praise the Gnat, the Olive Dun,
Discuss the worth of wings and hackle
I've flies myself of each design,
No book is better filled than mine.
But when I reach the river's side
Alone, for none of these I wish,
No victim to a foolish pride,
My object is to capture fish;
Let me confess, then, since you ask it—
A worm it is which fills my basket!
O brown, unlovely, wriggling worm,
On which with scorn the haughty look,
It is thy fascinating squirm
Which brings the fattest trout to book,
From thee unable to refrain,
Though flies are cast for him in vain!
Deep gratitude to thee I feel,
And then, perhaps, it's chiefly keen,
When rival anglers view my creel,
And straightway turn a jealous green;
And, should they ask me—"What's your fly?"
"A fancy pattern," I reply!
Catching crabs and flounders in the Thames
Catching wails at Whippingham
Catching soles and skate on the (sea) Serpentine
Catching whiting from the Strand
Something like a Catch.—Mrs. Binks (sick of it). "Really, John! How can you bear to spend your time whip—whip—whipping at the stream all day long and never a single fish taking the least notice of you?"
John. "Ah, but think o' the delight, Maria, when you do get a fish! Lor' bless us, my dear, have you forgotten the day when you hooked me?"
From Dee-side.—Piscator. "Yes, my boy, ain't he a beauty? Forty pounds—three foot eight from tail to snout—fresh run! I'm going to have him photographed, with a full-grown man standing by, to show the proportions. By the way"—(faintly)—"would—er—would you mind being the man?"
Imperturbable Boatman. "Haud up yer rod, man! Ye have 'm! ye have 'm!"
Anecdote by Izaak Walton.—One Piscator, whom I will not further name, had a certain acquaintance who, through the credit he had gotten by his wealth, worth, and wit, came to be made a magistrate. Whereupon Piscator goes me to the river and catches a fish, which having brought home, he sends to the new-made justice with a note, saying, "Inasmuch, sir, as you are now promoted to the condition of a beak, I do send you a perch."
ANGLING EXTRAORDINARY
Customer (in a great hurry). "A small box of gentles, please. And look sharp! I want to catch a 'bus!!"
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!"
(After Longfellow)
I shot a partridge in the air,
It fell in turnips, "Don" knew where;
For just as it dropped, with my right
I stopped another in its flight.
I killed a pheasant in the copse,
It fell amongst the fir-tree tops;
For though a pheasant's flight is strong,
A cock, hard hit, cannot fly long.
Soon, soon afterwards, in a pie,
I found the birds in jelly lie;
And the pheasant, at a fortnight's end,
I found again in the carte of a friend.
(By an Absent-minded Sportsman)
Well, I'm blest! I'm pretty nearly
Speechless, as I watch that bird,
Saving that I mutter merely
One concise, emphatic word—
What that is may be inferred!
English prose is, to my sorrow,
Insufficient for the task.
Would that I could freely borrow
Expletives from Welsh or Basque—
One or two is all I ask!
Failing that, let so-called verses
Serve to mitigate my grief
Doggerel now and then disperses
Agonies that need relief.
(Missing birds of these is chief!)
Blankly tramping o'er the stubbles
Is a bore, to put it mild;
But, in short, to crown my troubles,
One mishap has made me riled,
Driv'n me, like the coveys, wild.
For at last I flush a partridge,
Ten yards rise, an easy pot!
Click. Why, bless me, where's the cartridge?
Hang it! there, I clean forgot
Putting them in ere I shot!
"Turn about."—George. "I say, Tom, do take care! You nearly shot my father then!"
Tom. "Sh! Don't say anything, there's a good fellow! Take a shot at mine!!"
(To the Tune of the "Temptation of St. Anthony")
A LITTLE CHECK
There are many fools that worry this world,
Fools old, and fools who're young;
Fools with fortunes, and fools without,
Fools who dogmatise, fools who doubt,
Fools who snigger, and fools who shout,
Fools who never know what they're about,
And fools all cheek and tongue;
Fools who're gentlemen, fools who're cads,
Fools who're greybeards, and fools who're lads;
Fools with manias, fools with fads,
Fools with cameras, fools with tracts,
Fools who deny the stubbornest facts,
Fools in theories, fools in acts;
Fools who write Theosophist books,
Fools who believe in Mahatmas and spooks;
Fools who prophesy—races and Tophets—
Bigger fools who believe in prophets;
Fools who quarrel, and fools who quack;
In fact, there are all sorts of fools in the pack,
Fools fat, thin, short, and tall;
But of all sorts of fools, the fool with a gun
(Who points it at someone—of course, "in fun"—
And fools around till chance murder is done)
Is the worsest fool of them all!
HIS FIRST PARTRIDGE SHOOT
SPORTING EXTRAORDINARY—THE OLD DOG POINTS CAPITALLY
"I tell yer wot it is, Sam! If this fool of a dog is a going to stand still like this here in every field he comes to, we may as well shut up shop, for we shan't find no partridges!"
Trials of a Novice.—"Confess now. Have you ever hit a haystack, even?"
"Well, of course I have."
"What did you aim at?"
The First of September, remember
The day of supremest delight.
Get ready the cartridge, the partridge
Must fall in the stubble ere night.
The breechloader's ready, and steady
The dog that we taught in old days;
He's firm to his duty, a beauty
That cares for but one person's praise.
He's careful in stubble, no trouble
In turnips, he's keen as a man;
But looks on acutely, and mutely
Seems saying, "Shoot well, if you can!"
They flash from the cover—what lover
Of sport does not thrill as they rise
In feathered apparel? Each barrel
Kills one, as the swift covey flies.
So on through the morning, still scorning
All rest until midday has past,
When lunch should be present, and pleasant
That al fresco breaking of fast.
One pipe, then be doing, pursuing
The sport that no sport can eclipse;
So homeward to dinner, a winner
Of praise from the fairest of lips.
A Humane Instinct.—Snob (who has been making himself very objectionable). "I say, what do you do with your game?"
Host. "Give my friends what they want, and send the rest to market."
Snob. "Ah, sell it, do you? With my game, don'tyer-know, I give my friends some, and send the rest to the hospitals."
Host. "And very natural and proper, I'm sure. The only thing I've seen you shoot to-day was a beater!"
Husband. "Look out, Kitty. There are some birds just in front of you!"
Wife (out for the first time). "Then, for goodness sake, keeper, call that silly dog of yours! Can't you see he's standing right in my way?"
An Unfortunate Remark.—Novice (to host, after walking for two hours under a brilliant sun without seeing a single bird). "Grand day, isn't it?"
A WISE PRECAUTION
Sportsman (to his wife, who is rather a wild shot.) "By Jove! Nelly, you nearly got us again, that time! If you are not more careful, I'll go home!"
Old Keeper (sotto voce). "It's all right, squire. Her bag is full of nothing but blank 'uns!"
"GUNNING WITH A SMELL DOG"
(B. Jonathan, Esq., having missed a hare, the dog drops to the shot)
B. J. (scornfully). "Call that a good dawg? I reckon he ain't worth candy! When the beast's sitting, he stands and looks at him; and when he runs away, he lies down and looks at me!"
Keeper. "Would you gentlemen kindly tell me which of you two is a lord, as I've been told to give him the best place."
Gentleman. "That looks a well-bred dog."
Owner. "I should think he was well-bred. Why, he won't have a bit er dinner till he's got his collar on!"
"Now at the birds, me boy, let dhrive!"
Says Mike, exhorting Dan.
"That's how we'll keep the game alive,
By killing all we can!"
Damaged Goods.—Sportsman (invited to help shoot some bucks in Mr. Meanman's park, and has just knocked one over). "By Jove! what a lovely head! You must let me have that for mounting."
Mr. Meanman (frightfully indignant). "What! cut his head off! Why, man, it would ruin the sale of the carcase!"
UNNECESSARY QUESTIONS.
Lady (with gun). "Am I holding the thing right?"