REBUS IN ARDUIS
Reading edition
Tell me, stranger, ere I perish, Of the fish men call the trout, Ere I lose the hopes I cherish, Summer in and summer out, Hopes of hooking one and landing Him before the day is done, Waist deep in the water standing, From the dawn to set of sun. Tell me, is his belly yellow? Is he spotted red and black? Does he look a splendid fellow When you turn him on his back? Is there any fly can rise him, Any hook can hold him tight? Is one able to surprise him Any time from morn to night? Stranger, years I've passed in trying Every artifice and lure, Standing, crawling, wading, lying, Casting clean and long and sure. Empty yet remains my basket, Cramped and weary grows my fist, Stranger, in despair I ask it, Does the trout in truth exist?
HAGIOLOGY.—Patron of a Fishmarket.—St. Polycarp.
Encouraging Prospect.—Piscator Juvenis. "Any sport, sir?"
Piscator Senex. "Oh, yes; very good sport."
P.J. "Bream?"
P.S. "No!"
P.J. "Perch?"
P.S. "No!"
P.J. "What sport, then?"
P.S. "Why, keeping clear of the weeds!"
Teaching the Teacher.—New Curate. "Now, boy, if, in defiance of that notice, I were to bathe here, what do you suppose would happen?"
Boy. "You'd come out a great lot dirtier than you went in!"
"Small Mercies."—First Jolly Angler (with empty creel). "Well, we've had a very pleasant day! What a delightful pursuit it is!"
Second Ditto (with ditto). "Glorious! I sha'n't forget that nibble we had just after lunch, as long as I live!"
Both "Ah!!"
"VERY LIKELY A WHALE"
Lady Visitor (who has been listening to Piscator's story). "I didn't know that trout grew as large as that!"
Piscator's Wife. "Oh, yes, they do—after the story has been told a few times!"
A Reflection by an Angler.—Nature's aristocracy. Mortal man being but a worm, is therefore by nature of gentle birth.
Net Profit.—A fisherman's.
PISCATORIAL.—Shakespearian angler's song to his bait: "Sleep, gentle, sleep."
Our Friend Briggs contemplates a Day's Fishing.—He is here supposed to be getting his tackle in order, and trying the management of his running line.
Robson. "Do you think fishes can hear?"
Dobson. "I should hope not. Listen to old Smith—he's smashed his rod!"
Lambertson (who is nervous, and weighs about a cart-load of bricks, to Dapperton, who has just nipped across, and weighs about nine stone nothing). "Oh, yes! All very fine for you to say, 'Don't dwell on it.' B—B—BUT——"