'Ow are yer, my arty, and 'ow does this Summer suit _you?_
Selp me never, old pal, it's a scorcher! _I_ lap lemon-squosh till
all's blue,
And then feel as dry as a dust-bin. Want all SPIERS and POND'S
upon trust,
For it do make a 'ole in the ochre to deal with a true first-class thust.
But it's proper, dear boy, yus it's proper, this weather is,
took on the 'ole,
And for 'oliday outings and skylarks it sets a chap fair on the roll.
Where d'yer think as I spent my last bust up? I know you'd be out
of the 'unt
If you guessed for a 'ole month o' Sundays. I passed it, old pal,
_in a punt!_
"O Walker!" sez you, "that's 'is gammon!" No, CHARLIE, it's righteous,
dear boy.
It's quite true that to chivvy Thames hanglers is jest what we used
to enjoy.
Rekerlek that old buffer at Richmond, and 'ow we shoved foul of his swim,
And lost him a middlin'-sized barbel and set his straw tile on the skim?
Hangling isn't my mark, that's a moral, and fishermen mostly is fools;
To chaff 'em and tip 'em the kibosh is one of my reglarest rules;
And it ain't our sort only as does it, you take the non-anglers
all round,
An you'll find that in potting the puntist they're 'ARRIES right down
to the ground.
All our chicest stock-jokes and pet patter they mops up, like mugs as
they are,
For they _might_ cut their own chaff, eh, CHARLIE? not borrow it all
from the bar.
But I've seen little toffs in white weskits a slinging _our_ lingo
to rights,
About colds, and cock-salmons, and shop 'uns; it's one of the
rummiest sights.
Of course they all trot out SAM JOHNSON; you know the fine crusted
old wheeze.
I chucked it one day at a cove as lay stretched at the foot of
some trees.
"Fool at one end and worm at the other?" sez he. "Ah! that's neat,
and _so_ new,
And as you seem to be worm _and_ fool, one may say 'extremes meet'.
Sir, in _you_."
'Owsomever _I_'ve 'ad a day's 'ooking at last, and it wasn't arf bad.
You know since I turned Primrose Leaguer I've mixed with the Toppers,
my lad;
And one on 'em, pal of the Prince, I believe, got JACK JOLTER a pass
For some fine preserved waters; no pay, mate, and everythink fixed up
fust-class.
JACK arsked me and BELL BONSOR to jine him, and seein' it didn't mean tin,
And the 'ole thing seemed swell, with good grubbing and lots o'
prime lotion chucked in.
I was "on" like a shot. BELL'S a bloomer, and JACK, though a bit
of a jug,
Is too long in the purse to let slip; so the game looked all proper
and snug.
JACK'S a straw-thatched young joker in gig-lamps, good-natured, and
nuts on the sport.
He turns up with four rods and two bait-cans, and tackle of every
dashed sort.
Such rum-looking gimcracks, my pippin; lines coiled up in boxes
and books,
And live-bait, and worms all a-wriggle, and big ugly bunches of 'ooks.
_I_ was a'most afraid to set down, for the things seemed all over
the shop,
And BELL she kep startin' and squeakin', a-settin' me fair on the 'op;
Fust a fish as dabbed flop on her 'at, then a 'ook as got snagged
in 'er skirt,
It was one blessed squork all the time, mate, though nothink much
'appened to 'urt.
Pooty spot; sort o' lake green and windin', with nice quiet "swims"
all about.
Though I must say _I_ missed the Thames gammocks, the snide comic song,
and the shout.
No larks at the locks, no collisions, no landings for lotion, you know,
And, but for Miss BELL and the bottle, it might a bin jest a bit slow.
But the prog was A 1, and no kid. Though JACK stuck to his tackle
like wax,
BELL and me was soon stodging like winkles; that gal _did_ make play
with the snacks.
"_Strike!_" cries JACK--"you've a _bite_!" "Yes, I know it," sez I,
with my mouth full of 'am.
"Wot do _you_ think, Miss B.?"--and she larfed till 'er cheeks went
like raspberry jam.
JOLTER looked jest a mossel disgusted, and turned a bit rusty, for _him_,
When we made the punt rock in our romps, which he said was "disturbing
the swim."
And when he had hooked a fine perch, and Miss BELL made a dash at
the line,
And the fish flobbered back with a flop, JACK'S escape from a cuss cut
it fine.
Then he pulled in his "trimmer," and, scissors! a jolly big jack
came aboard,
Wich flopped round us, and showed his sharp teeth, till Miss BONSOR
went pasty, and roared.
Reg'lar shark; made a grab at my pants when I tried to cut in
to BELL'S aid;
And I'm blowed if she didn't turn raspy, and chaff me for
being _afraid_.
Arter this things appeared to go quisby; BELL'S skirt 'ad got slimed,
dontcher see.
And she vowed it was spiled, while JACK looked jest as though he could
scrumplicate me.
So sez I, "Let us turn up this barney, and toddle ashore for some grub;"
And we pulled up the stone and the hanchor, and made a bee-line for
our pub.
The dinner soon smoothed down our feathers, though JACK 'ad a sad
sort o' look.
Selfish fellows these hanglers are, CHARLIE, they carn't keep their
heye off the 'ook.
Bless yer 'art, 'cos we struck arter dinner, and chucked up the perch
for a spree,
And took a turn round, me a pulling, that JACK looked as blue as
could be.
'Owsomever we chaffed 'im a good 'un. Miss BELL and yours truly
got thick,
Wen I told 'er 'er lips wos true "spoon"-bait, _she_ twigged wot
I meant pooty quick.
"Oh, I carn't abide anglers," she whispered, "they're flabby and cold
like their fish,
'Ow I wish JACK would jest sling 'is 'ook, and leave hus,--well,
_you_ know wot I wish."
"Oh. I'm fly, dear," sez I, with a 'ug. So I nobbled the Guard
with a tip,
And we managed to nip in fust-class, and so gave Master JOLTER the slip.
It give 'im the needle in course, being left in the lurch in this way,
But the petticoats know wot is wot, and so wot's your true dasher to say?
JACK 'as cut me since then at the "Primrose Club," bust 'im!
I don't care a toss;
Your angler is _always_ a juggins, so _he_'s no pertikler big loss.
BELL BONSOR is mashed on me proper, and _if_ I'd a fancy to marry,--
But _if_ there's a fish as _ain't_ easy to 'ook it's
Yours artfully, 'ARRY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "MODEL" LEGISLATION.
_Wandering Student (to his Companion, after reading Poster)._ "'CLASS OF
VISI----' WELL, I'M ---- WHAT ARE THE ARTS IN THIS COUNTRY COMING TO,
JIMMEY!?" [_Exeunt depressed!_]
* * * * *