Sketches by Seymour Part 2

Cool and unmoved he receives the sharp blows of the bl.u.s.tering wind--as if he were playing dummy to an experienced pugilist.

Although he would undoubtedly prefer the blast with the chill off, he is so warm an enthusiast, in the pursuit of his sport, that he looks with contempt upon the rude and vulgar sport of the elements. He really angles for love--and love alone--and limbs and body are literally transformed to a series of angles!

Bent and sharp as his own hook, he watches his smooth float in the rough, but finds, alas! that it dances to no tune.

Time and bait are both lost in the vain attempt: patiently he rebaits, until he finds the rebait brings his box of gentles to a discount; and then, in no gentle humour, with a baitless hook, and abated ardor, he winds up his line and his day's amus.e.m.e.nt(?)--and departs, with the determination of trying fortune (who has tried him) on some, future and more propitious day. Probably, on the next occasion, he may be gratified with the sight of, at least, one gudgeon, should the surface of the river prove gla.s.sy smooth and mirror-like. (We are sure his self-love will not be offended at the reflection!) and even now he may, with truth, aver, that although he caught nothing, he, at least, took the best perch in the undulating stream!

SCENE VII.

"Help! help! Oh! you murderous little villin? this is vot you calls rowing, is it?--but if ever I gets safe on land again, I'll make you repent it, you rascal. I'll row you--that I will."

"Mister Vaterman, vot's your fare for taking me across?"

"Across, young 'ooman? vy, you looks so good-tempered, I'll pull you over for sixpence?"

"Are them seats clean?"

"O! ker-vite:--I've just swabb'd 'em down."

"And werry comfortable that'll be! vy, it'll vet my best silk?"

"Vatered silks is all the go. Vel! vell! if you don't like; it, there's my jacket. There, sit down a-top of it, and let me put my arm round you."

"Fellow!"

"The arm of my jacket I mean; there's no harm in that, you know."

"Is it quite safe? How the wind blows!"

"Lord! how timorsome you be! vy, the vind never did nothin' else since I know'd it."

"O! O! how it tumbles! dearee me!"

"Sit still! for ve are just now in the current, and if so be you go over here, it'll play old gooseberry with you, I tell you."

"Is it werry deep?"

"Deep as a lawyer."

"O! I really feel all over"--

"And, by Gog, you'll be all over presently--don't lay your hand on my scull."

"You villin, I never so much as touched your scull. You put me up."

"I must put you down. I tell you what it is, young 'ooman, if you vant to go on, you must sit still; if you keep moving, you'll stay where you are--that's all! There, by Gosh! we're in for it." At this point of the interesting dialogue, the young 'ooman gave a sudden lurch to larboard, and turned the boat completely over. The boatman, blowing like a porpoise, soon strode across the upturned bark, and turning round, beheld the drenched "fare" clinging to the stern.

"O! you partic'lar fool!" exclaimed the waterman. "Ay, hold on a-stern, and the devil take the hindmost, say I!"

SCENE VIII.

In for it, or Trying the middle.

A little fat man With rod, basket, and can, And tackle complete, Selected a seat On the branch of a wide-spreading tree, That stretch'd over a branch of the Lea: There he silently sat, Watching his float--like a tortoise-sh.e.l.l cat, That hath scented a mouse, In the nook of a room in a plentiful house.

But alack!

He hadn't sat long--when a crack At his back Made him turn round and pale-- And catch hold of his tail!

But oh! 'twas in vain That he tried to regain The trunk of the treacherous tree; So he With a shake of his head Despairingly said-- "In for it,--ecod!"

And away went his rod, And his best beaver hat, Untiling his roof!

But he cared not for that, For it happened to be a superb water proof, Which not being himself, The poor elf!

Felt a world of alarm As the arm Most gracefully bow'd to the stream, As if a respect it would show it, Tho' so much below it!

No presence of mind he dissembled, But as the branch shook so he trembled, And the case was no longer a riddle Or joke; For the branch snapp'd and broke; And altho'

The angler cried "Its no go!"

He was presently--'trying the middle.'

SEYMOUR'S SKETCHES

A DAY'S SPORT

"Arena virumque cano."

CHAPTER I.

The Invitation--the Outfit--and the sallying forth.

TO Mr. AUGUSTUS SPRIGGS,

AT Mr. WILLIAMS'S, GROCER, ADDLE STREET.

(Tower Street, 31st August, 18__)