"Beside a meandering stream
There sat an old gentleman fat;
On the top of his head was his wig,
On the top of his wig was his hat."
I once followed a venerable gentleman along the banks of a mill-stream,
armed at all points with piscatorial paraphernalia, looking out for some
appropriate spot, with all the coolness of a Spanish inquisitor,
displaying his various instruments of refined torture. He at last
perched himself near the troubled waters, close to the huge revolving
wheel, and threw in his float, which danced upon the mimic waves, and
bobbed up and down, as if preparing for a reel. Patiently he sat; as
motionless and unfeeling as a block. I placed myself under cover of an
adjoining hedge, and watched him for the space of half an hour; but he
pulled up nothing but his baited hook;--what his bait was, I know not;
but I suppose, from the vicinity, he was fishing for a "miller's thumb."
Presently, two mealy-mouthed men, from the mill, made their appearance,
cautiously creeping behind him.
I drew myself up in the shadow of the luxuriant quickset to observe their
notions.
A paling in the rear offered the rogues an effectual concealment in case
the angler should turn.
Close to his seat ran some wood-work, upon which they quietly drew the
broad tails of his coat, and driving in a couple of tenpenny nails, left
the unconscious old gentleman a perfect fixture; to be taken at a
valuation, I suppose, part of his personal property being already
"brought to the hammer!" the clattering clamour of the wheel precluding
him from hearing the careful, but no less effectual taps. I certainly
enjoyed the trick, and longed to see the ridiculous issue; but he was so
intent upon his sport--so fixed that he did not discover the nature of
his real attachment while I remained.
Doubtless if he were of a quick and sudden temperament, a snatch of his
humour rent his broad cloth, and he returned home with a woful tail, and
slept not--for his nap was irreparably destroyed!