By John G. Saxe.
It was an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well;
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod;
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbors thought it odd.
For science and for books he said
He never had a wish;
No school to him was worth a fig
Except a school of fish.
In short, this honest fisherman
All other toils forsook;
And, though no vagrant man was he,
He lived by hook and crook.
He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth,
Nor cared about a name;
For, though much famed for fish was he,
He never fished for fame.
To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line!
And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If made to speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, the angler had
A mighty taking way!
One day, while fishing on a log,
He mourned his want of luck--
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,
And, jerking--caught a duck!
Alas! that day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And, being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't keep the log!
'Twas all in vain, with might and main,
He strove to reach the shore;
Down, down he went to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before!
The jury gave their verdict that
'Twas nothing else but gin
That caused the fisherman to be
So sadly taken in.
Though one stood out upon a whim,
And said the angler's slaughter--
To be exact about the fact--
Was clearly gin-and-water!
The moral of this mournful tale
To all is plain and clear--
That drinking habits bring a man
Too often to his bier.
And he who scorns to "take the pledge,"
And keep the promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff
Cold-water man at last!