(_By a Disappointed Sportsman._)
The plane's broad plates of weather-beaten gold
Lie shrunk and sodden in the miry way,
Never around the dappled trunk to play
Again with tricksy beams, and breezes bold.
Night swathes the sober light in thickening fold,
Like a grey moth, webb'd in a prison grey,
And the wan willow to the dying day
Gleams like despair, unsolaced and untold.
Now from the village tow'r the bells begin
Their sad-soul'd chiming, as a sullen boy
Wails on in wantonness. Oh, to greet again
Thames's bright Strand, his theatre-studded joy,
The postman's frequent rap, the newsboy's din,
The constant cab, the ever-circling train.
* * * * *
"IN THE SO-CALLED NINETEENTH CENTURY."--When giving three Bishops a
little touching up in Mr. KKOWLES'S _Nineteenth Century_, why does
the playful Professor always write "_a priori_" instead of
"_a priori?_" As no one would accuse Mr. HUXLEY of falling into a
"clerical error," the explanation must be that he had nothing to do
with it, or didn't know any better, or his printer would have it
so, or the Printer's Devil possessed him, or Bathybius got loose and
played the mischief with the type. Perhaps it is we who are wrong, if
so, we ask has it anything to do with the new accent which is to
be used in the pronunciation of Latin? A trifling matter--but for
a Professor so "acute" such an accent may be considered a "grave"
mistake.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE GLADSTONE BAIT.
"As regards Home Rule for Ireland, I may say I am prepared to go as far
as Mr. Gladstone's own words warrant," &c., &c.--_Times_, Nov. 9.
_Joe, the Incomplete Angler (to himself)_, "I THINK I'LL CATCH 'EM WITH
THIS!"]
* * * * *
_The Incomplete Angler singeth_:--
It was all very well, when afar from the "swim,"
With tackle unready, and plans rather dim,
To go in for splashes and plunges.
Though, whether Lord S-L-SB-RY thought it so well,
I am not quite assured. How the papers did yell
At my whirls, and my whisks, and wild lunges!
But now, on the spot, with the fish all about,
The Waltonian _role_, there is not the least doubt,
Befits a diplomatist Angler.
I must not dance war-dances, shy heavy stones,
Or talk in the strident stentorian tones
Of a partisan public-house wrangler.
I frighten the fish with my shindy? No, no!
I will show there's a fisherman's tact about Joe.
I make a _fiasco_? No, thankee!
I'll be as discreet as _Piscator_ could wish,
In a style will enchant the Canadian fish,
And utterly ravish the Yankee.
But now, as to bait? Well, ahem!--yes, I fear,
The Gladstonian minnow is popular here,--
It's a bait I abominate wholly.
And yet--if I fish as I fancy--I feel
I perhaps may go home with no fish in my creel,--
And that would be most melancholy!
I am sure my own patent assortment of flies
Ought to make _any_ fish in the universe rise;
My spoon-bait is terribly killing
In some Irish waters. But here,--well, my hook
Must be hidden with something from Hawarden's old book,
Though to use it I own I'm unwilling.
Ha! ha! Yes, I have it. I've made up a bait
That some will think Old, and that some will think Great,
And all will deem Grand--if it nicks 'em.
It's green--shot with orange; the fins have a look
Of a pair of big collars. Great Scott, what a hook!
Yes, this, I am certain, must fix 'em.
It is--and it isn't--the very same bait
That the Nottingham fellows--as anglers so great--
Consider the pink of perfection.
Why, WILLIAM himself might well capture a dish
With this bait; did he use it, I'm sure, not a fish
Would so much as think of rejection.
Now, my Starred-and-striped beauties! Canadian pets!
Crossed-Irish, so doubtful of hooks and of nets!
I drop it in--so! Won't it rummage 'em?
Some sneer at my angling. How savage they'll be
When the secret of my great success they will see
Is Gladstonian bait--_a la_ Brummagem!
[_Left winding and winking._
* * * * *
By GEORGE!--A first-rate speech was made by the new Patent
Commander-in-Chief GEORGE RANGER, Duke of CAMBRIDGE, at the dinner of
Volunteer Sergeants, Justice COTTON,--Gun-Cotton on this occasion--in
the Chair. "I have always stated," said the Brave old Chief, "that the
best way to avoid war, is to be so strong that nobody would think of
attacking you." Hear! Hear! _F. M. Punch_ likes this sort of strong
language from GEORGE RANGER, and hopes that His Royal Highness will be
made Patent President of the International Arbitration Court.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CHILD OF THE PERIOD.
"WHY DID THAT POLICEMAN TOUCH HIS HAT TO YOU, AUNTY? HAVE YOU GOT ONE
AS WELL AS NURSE?"]
* * * * *