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. * * * * * [Illustration: _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!"] * * * * * [Illustration: 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!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "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!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "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." * * * * * [Illustration: 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.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Robson._ "Do you think fishes can hear?" _Dobson._ "I should _hope_ not. Listen to old Smith--he's smashed his rod!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _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----"] * * * * * THE GENTLE CRAFT (_By Our Own Trout_) How gentle is the fisherman who sits beside the brook, And firmly puts the wriggling worm upon the pointed hook How pleasant for the hapless trout to find, from some strange cause, The fly conceals a something that makes havoc with its jaws!