SKETCHES BY SEYMOUR Part 3. THE JOLLY ANGLERS. On a grassy bank, beside a meandering stream, sat two gentlemen averagingforty years of age. The day was sultry, and, weary of casting theirlines without effect, they had stuck their rods in the bank, and sought, in a well-filled basket of provisions and copious libations of bottledporter, to dissipate their disappointment. "Ain't this jolly? and don't you like a day's fishing, Sam?" "O! werry much, werry much, " emphatically replied his friend, taking hispipe from his mouth. "Ah! but some people don't know how to go a-fishinq, Sam; they are suchfools. " "That's a werry good remark o' your'n, " observed Sam; "I daresay as howhangling is werry delightful vhen the fishes vill bite; but vhen theyvon't, vhy they von't, and vot's the use o' complaining. Hangling isjust like writing: for instance--you begins vith, 'I sends you this 'ereline hoping, ' and they don't nibble; vell! that's just the same as nothanswering; and, as I takes it, there the correspondence ends!" "Exactly; I'm quite o' your opinion, " replied his companion, tossing offa bumper of Barclay's best; "I say, Sammy, we mustn't empty t'otherbottle tho'. " "Vhy not?" "Cos, do you see, I'm just thinking ve shall vant a little porter tocarry us home: for, by Jingo! I don't think as how either of us cantoddle--that is respectably!" "Nonsense! I'd hundertake to walk as straight as a harrow; on'y, I mustconfess, I should like to have a snooze a'ter my pipe; I'm used to it, d'ye see, and look for it as nat'rally as a babby does. " "Vell, but take t'other glass for a nightcap; for you know, Sammy, if yousleep vithout, you may catch cold: and, vhatever you do, don't snore, oryou'll frighten the fish. " "Naughty fish!" replied Sammy, "they know they're naughty too, or elsethey voud'nt be so afear'd o' the rod!--here's your health;" and hetossed off the proffered bumper. "Excuse me a-rising to return thanks, " replied his friend, graspingSammy's hand, and looking at him with that fixed and glassy gaze whichindicates the happy state of inebriety, termed maudlin; "I know you're asincere friend, and there ain't nobody as I value more: man and boy haveI knowed you; you're unchanged! you're the same!! there ain't nodifference!!! and I hope you may live many years to go a-fishing, and Imay live to see it, Sammy. Yes, old boy, this here's one of them daysthat won't be forgotten: it's engraved on my memory deep as the words ona tombstone, 'Here he lies! Here he lies!'" he repeated with a hiccup, and rolled at full length across his dear friend. Sammy, nearly as much overcome as his friend, lifted up his head, andsticking his hat upon it, knocked it over his eyes, and left him torepose; and, placing his own back against an accommodating tree, hedropped his pipe, and then followed the example of his companion. After a few hours deep slumber, they awoke. The sun had gone down, andevening had already drawn her star-bespangled mantle over the scene oftheir festive sport. Arousing themselves, they sought for their rods, and the remnants oftheir provisions, but they were all gone. "My hey! Sammy, if somebody bas'nt taken advantage of us. My watch toohas gone, I declare. " "And so's mine!" exclaimed Sammy, feeling his empty fob. "Vell, if thisain't a go, never trust me. " "I tell you vot it is, Sammy; some clever hartist or another has seen ussleeping, like the babes in the wood, and has drawn us at full length!" THE BILL-STICKER. What a mysterious being is the bill-sticker! How seldom does he makehimself visible to the eyes of the people. Nay, I verily believe thereare thousands in this great metropolis that never saw a specimen. We seethe effect, but think not of the cause. He must work at his vocation either at night or at early dawn, before theworld is stirring. That he is an industrious being, and sticks to business, there cannot bethe shadow of a doubt, for every dead-wall is made lively by hisoperations, and every hoard a fund of information--in such type, too, that he who runs may read. What an indefatigable observer he must be;for there is scarcely a brick or board in city or suburb, however newlyerected, in highway or byeway, but is speedily adorned by his handiwork--aye, and frequently too in defiance of the threatening--"BILL-STICKERS, BEWARE!"--staring him in the face. Like nature, he appears to abhor avacuum. When we behold the gigantic size of some of the modern arches, we are almost led to suppose that the bill-sticker carries about hisplacards in a four-wheeled waggon, and that his paste-pot is a hugecauldron! How he contrives to paste and stick such an enormous sheet soneatly against the rugged side of a house, is really astonishing. Whetherthree or four stories high, the same precision is remarkable. We cannotbut wonder at the dexterity of his practised hand: The union is asperfect as if Dan Hymen, the saffron-robed Joiner, had personallysuperintended the performance. The wind is perhaps the only real enemy he has to fear. How his heartand his flimsy paper must flutter in the unruly gusts of a March wind! Weonly imagine him pasting up a "Sale of Horses, " in a retired nook, andseeing his bill carried away on an eddy! We once had the good fortune to witness a gusty freak of this kind. Thebill-sticker had affixed a bill upon the hooks of his stick, displayingin prominent large characters--"SALE BY AUCTION--Mr. GEO. ROBINS--CapitalInvestment, "--and so forth, when a sudden whirlwind took the bill off thehooks, before it was stuck, and fairly enveloped the countenance of adandy gentleman who happened at the moment to be turning the corner. Such a "Capital Investment" was certainly ludicrous in the extreme. The poor bill-sticker was rather alarmed, for he had never stuck a billbefore on any front that was occupied. He peeled the gentleman as quickly as possible, and stammered out anapology. The sufferer, however, swore he would prefer a bill against himat the ensuing sessions. Whether his threat was carried into execution, or he was satisfied with the damages already received, we know not. OLD FOOZLE. There is a certain period of life beyond which the plastic mind of manbecomes incapable of acquiring any new impressions. He merely elaboratesand displays the stores he has garnered up in his youth. There areindeed some rare exceptions to the rule; but few, very few, can learn alanguage after the age of forty. 'Tis true that Cowper did not commencethe composition of his delightful poems till he had attained that age;but then it must be remembered that he had previously passed a life ofstudy and preparation, and that he merely gave the honey to the worldwhich he had hived in his youth, bringing to the task a mind polished andmatured by judgment and experience. But, generally speaking, we ratherexpect reason than rhyme from an elderly gentleman; and when the reverseis the case, the pursuit fits them as ridiculously as would a humming-topor a hoop. Yet there are many who, having passed a life in the soleoccupation of making money--the most unpoetical of all avocations--thatin their retirement entertain themselves with such fantastic pranks andantics, as only serve to amuse the lookers-on. A retired tradesman, itis true, may chase ennui and the 'taedium vitae, ' by digging and plantingin his kitchen-garden, or try his hand at rearing tulips and hyacinths;but if he vainly attempt any other art, or dabble in light literature orheavy philosophy, he is lost. Old Foozle was one of those who, havingaccumulated wealth, retire with their housekeepers to spend the remnantof their days in some suburban retreat, the monotony of whose life isvaried by monthly trips to town to bring tea and grocery, or purchasesome infallible remedy for their own gout, or their housekeeper'srheumatism. Unfortunately for his peace, Old Foozle accidentally dippedinto a tattered tome of "Walton's Complete Angler;" and the vividdescription of piscatorial pleasures therein set forth so won upon hismind, that he forthwith resolved to taste them. In vain were theremonstrances of his nurse, friend, and factotum. The experiment must betried. Having more money than wit to spare, he presently suppliedhimself with reels and rods and tackle, landing-nets and gentle-boxes, and all the other necessary paraphernalia of the art. Donning his best wig and spectacles, he sallied forth, defended from theweather by a short Spencer buttoned round his loins, and a pair ofdouble-soled shoes and short gaiters. So eager was he to commence, thathe no sooner espied a piece of water, than, with trembling hands, he puthis rod together, and displayed his nets, laying his basket, gaping forthe finny prey, on the margin of the placid waters. With eager gaze hewatched his newly-varnished and many-coloured float, expectingevery-moment to behold it sink, the inviting bait being prepared'secundum artem. ' He had certainly time for reflection, for his floathad been cast at least an hour, and still remained stationary; from whichhe wisely augured that he was most certainly neither fishing in a runningstream nor in troubled waters. Presently a ragged urchin came sauntering along, and very leisurelyseated himself upon a bank near the devoted angler. Curiosity is naturalto youth, thought Foozle--how I shall make the lad wonder when I pull outa wriggling fish! But still another weary hour passed, and the old gentleman's arms andloins began to ache from the novel and constrained posture in which hestood. He grew nervous and uneasy at the want of sport; and thinkingthat perhaps the little fellow was acquainted with the locality, heturned towards him, saying, in the blandest but still most indifferenttone he could assume, lest he should compromise his dignity by exposinghis ignorance-- "I say, Jack, are there any fish in this pond?" "There may be, sir, " replied the boy, pulling his ragged forelock mostdeferentially, for Old Foozle had an awful churchwarden-like appearance;"there may be, but I should think they were weary small, 'cause there vosno vater in this here pond afore that there rain yesterday. " The sallow cheeks of the old angler were tinged with a ruddy glow, calledup by the consciousness of his ridiculous position. Taking a penny fromhis pocket, he bade the boy go buy some cakes: and no sooner had hegallopped off, than the disappointed Waltonian hastily packed up histackle, and turned his steps homeward; and this was the first and lastessay of Old Foozle. THE "CRACK-SHOTS. " No. I. A club, under the imposing style of the "Crack-Shots, " met everyWednesday evening, during the season, at a house of public entertainmentin the salubrious suburbs of London, known by the classical sign of the"Magpye and Stump. " Besides a trim garden and a small close-shavengrass-plat in the rear (where elderly gentlemen found a cure for 'taediumvitae' and the rheumatism in a social game of bowls), there was a meadowof about five or six acres, wherein a target was erected for the especialbenefit of the members of this celebrated club; we say celebrated, because, of all clubs that ever made a noise in the world, this bore awaythe palm-according to the reports in the neighbourhood. Emulationnaturally caused excitement, and the extraordinary deeds they performedunder its influence we should never have credited, had we not receivedthe veracious testimony of--the members themselves. After the trials of skill, they generally spent the evenings together. Jack Saggers was the hero of the party; or perhaps he might be moreappropriately termed the "great gun, " and was invariably voted to thechair. He made speeches, which went off admirably; and he perpetratedpuns which, like his Joe Manton, never missed fire, being unanimouslyvoted admirable hits by the joyous assembly. Their pleasures and their conversation might truly be said to be of apiece. "Gentlemen"--said Jack, one evening rising upon his legs--"Do me thefavour to charge. Are you all primed and loaded? I am about to proposethe health of a gentleman, who is not only an honour to society at large, but to the 'Crack-Shots' in particular. Gentlemen, the mere mention ofthe name of Brother Sniggs--(hear! hear!)--I know will call forth avolley!--(Hear! hear!) Gentlemen, I give you the health of BrotherSniggs! make ready, present and fire!" Up went the glasses, and down went the liquor in a trice, followed bythree times three, Jack Saggers giving the time, and acting as"fugle-man. " Sniggs, nervously fingering his tumbler of "half and half, " as if hewanted the spirit to begin, hemmed audibly, and "Having three times shook his headTo stir his wit, thus he said, " "Gentlemen, I don't know how it is, but somehows the more a man has tosay, the more he can't! I feel, for all the world, like a gun rammedtight and loaded to the muzzle, but without flint or priming----" "Prime!" exclaimed Jack Saggers; and there was a general titter, and thenhe continued; "as we cannot let you off Sniggs, you most go on, youknow. " "Gentlemen, " resumed Sniggs, "I feel indeed so overloaded by the honorsyou have conferred on me, that I cannot find words to express mygratitude. I can only thank you, and express my sincere wish that yourshots may always tell. " And he sat down amidst unbounded applause. "By no means a-miss!" criedJack Saggers. "A joke of mine, when I knocked down a bird the other morning, " saidSniggs: "you must know I was out early, and had just brought down mybird, when leaping into the adjoining field to pick it up, abird-catcher, who had spread his nets on the dewy grass, walked right upto me. " "I've a visper for you, Sir, " says he, as cool as a cucumber; "I don'tvish to be imperlite, but next time you shoots a bird vot I've brought tomy call, I'll shoot you into a clay-pit, that's all!" "And pray what did you say, Sniggs?" asked Jack Saggers. "Say?--nothing!but I looked unutterable things, and--shouldering my piece--walked off!" THE "CRACK-SHOTS. " No. II. "Sniggs's rencontre with the bird-catcher reminds me of Tom Swivel'smeeting with the Doctor, " observed Smart. "Make a report, " cried Jack Saggers. "Well, you must know, that I had lent him my piece for a day's shooting;and just as he was sauntering along by a dead wall near Hampstead, looking both ways at once for a quarry (for he has a particular squint), a stout gentleman in respectable black, and topped by a shovel-hat, happened to be coming in the opposite direction. With an expression ofterror, the old gentleman drew himself up against the unyielding bricks, and authoritatively extending his walking-stick, addressed our sportsmanin an angry tone, saying: 'How dare you carry a loaded gun pointed atpeople's viscera, you booby?' Now Tom is a booby, and no mistake, and sodropping his under jaw and staring at the reverend, he answered: 'I don'tknow vot you mean by a wiserar. I never shot a wiserar!'" "Devilish good!" exclaimed Saggers; and, as a matter of course, everybodylaughed. Passing about the bottle, the club now became hilarious and noisy; whenthe hammer of the president rapped them to order, and knocked down Sniggsfor a song, who, after humming over the tune to himself, struck up thefollowing: CHAUNT When the snow's on the ground and the trees are all bare, And rivers and gutters are turned into ice, The sportsman goes forth to shoot rabbit or hare, And gives them a taste of his skill in a trice. Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice. CHORUS. Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And he bags all he kills in a trice. II. If he puts up a partridge or pheasant or duck, He marks him, and wings him, and brings him to earth;He let's nothing fly--but his piece--and good luckHis bag fills with game and his bosom with mirth. Bang! bang! goes his Joe, And the bird's fall like snow, And good sport fills his bosom with mirth. CHORUS. Bang! bang! et. Etc. III. When at night he unbends and encounters his pals, How delighted he boasts of the sport he has had;While a kind of round game's on the board, and galsAre toasted in bumpers by every lad. And Jack, Jim, and JoeGive the maid chaste as snowThat is true as a shot to her lad! CHORUS. And Jack, Jim and JoeGive the maid chaste as snowThat is true as a shot to her lad! The customary applause having followed this vocal attempt of Sniggs, hewas asked for a toast or a sentiment. "Here's--'May the charitable man never know the want of--'shot. '" saidSniggs. "Excellent!" exclaimed Saggers, approvingly; "By Jupiter Tonans, Sniggs, you're a true son of--a gun!" THE "CRACK-SHOTS. "--No. III. "Sich a lark!" said Bill Sorrel, breaking abruptly in upon the noisychorus, miscalled a general conversation; "sich a lark!" "Where?" demanded Saggers. "You've jist hit it, " replied Sorrel, "for it vere worry near 'Vare vhereit happened. I'd gone hout hearly, you know, and had jist cotched sightof a bird a-vistling on a twig, and puttered the vords, 'I'll spile yoursingin', my tight 'un, ' and levelled of my gun, ven a helderly gentleman, on t'other side of the bank vich vos atween me and the bird, pops up hispowdered noddle in a jiffy, and goggling at me vith all his eyes, bawlspout in a tantivy of a fright, 'You need'nt be afear'd, sir, ' says I, 'Iaint a-haiming at you, ' and vith that I pulls my trigger-bang! Vell, Ilost my dicky! and ven I looks for the old 'un, by Jingo! I'd lost himtoo. So I mounts the bank vere he sot, but he vas'nt there; so I looksabout, and hobserves a dry ditch at the foot, and cocking my eye alongit, vhy, I'm blessed, if I did'nt see the old fellow a-scampering alongas fast as his legs could carry him. Did'nt I laugh, ready tosplit--that's all!" "I tell you what, Sorrel, " said the president, with mock gravity, "Iconsider the whole affair, however ridiculous, most immoral andreprehensible. What, shall a crack-shot make a target of an elder?Never! Let us seek more appropriate butts for our barrels! You mayperhaps look upon the whole as a piece of pleasantry but let me tell youthat you ran a narrow chance of being indicted for a breach of the peace!And remember, that even shooting a deer may not prove so dear a shot asbringing down an old buck!" This humorous reproof was applauded by a "bravo!" from the whole club. Sorrel sang--small, and Sniggs sang another sporting ditty. "Our next meeting, " resumed Saggers, "is on Thursday next when thepigeon-match takes place for a silver-cup--the 'Crack Shots' against the'Oriental Club. ' I think we shall give them I taste of our quality, 'although we do not intend that they shall lick us. The silver-cup istheir own proposal. The contest being a pigeon-match, I humbly proposed, as an amendment, that the prize should be a tumbler--which I lost by aminority of three. In returning thanks, I took occasion to allude totheir rejection of my proposition, and ironically thanked them for havingcut my tumbler. " "Werry good!" shouted Sorrel. "Admirable!" exclaimed Sniggs; and, rising with due solemnity, heproposed the health of the "worthy president, " prefacing his speech withthe modest avowal of his inability to do what he still persisted in doingand did. "Brother Shots!" said Saggers, after the usual honours had been dulyperformed, "I am so unaccustomed to speaking (a laugh), that I rise witha feeling of timidity to thank you for the distinguished honour you haveconferred on me. Praise, like wine, elevates a man, but it likewisethickens and obstructs his speech; therefore, without attempting anyrhetorical flourish, I will simply say, I sincerely thank you all for thevery handsome manner in which you have responded to the friendly wishesof Brother Sniggs; and, now as the hour of midnight is at hand, I bid youfarewell. It is indeed difficult to part from such good company; but, although it is morally impossible there ever can be a division among suchcordial friends, both drunk and sober may at least separate--in spirits, --and I trust we shall all meet again in health--Farewell!" DOCTOR SPRAGGS. Old Doctor Spraggs! famed Doctor Spraggs!Was both well fee'd and fed, And, tho' no soldier, Doctor SpraggsHad for his country-bled. His patients living far and wideHe was compell'd to buyA horse; and found no trouble, forHe'd got one in his eye! He was a tall and bony steedAnd warranted to trot, And so he bought the trotter, andOf course four trotters got. Quoth he: "In sunshine quick he bounds"Across the verdant plain, "And, e'en when showers fall, he proves"He--doesn't mind the rain!" But, oh! one morn, when Doctor SpraggsWas trotting on his way, A field of sportsmen came in view, And made his courser neigh. "Nay! you may neigh, " quoth Doctor Spraggs, "But run not, I declare"I did not come to chase the fox, "I came to take the--air!" But all in vain he tugg'd the rein, The steed would not be stay'd;The "Doctor's stuff" was shaken, andA tune the vials play'd. For in his pockets he had stow'dSome physic for the sick;Anon, "crack" went the bottles all, And forma a "mixture" quick. His hat and wig flew off, but stillThe reins he hugg'd and haul'd;And, tho' no cry the huntsmen heard, They saw the Doctor--bald! They loudly laugh'd and cheer'd him on, While Spraggs, quite out of breath, Still gallopp'd on against his will, And came in at the death. To see the Doctor riding thusTo sportsmen was a treat, And loudly they applauded him--(Tho' mounted) on his feat! MORAL. Ye Doctors bold, of this proud landOf liberty and--fogs, No hunters ride, or you will goLike poor Spraggs--to the dogs! SCENE IX. (b) "Well, Bill, d'ye get any bites over there?" "No, but I'm afeard I shall, soon have one. " Two youths, by favour of their sponsors, bearing the aristocratic namesof William and Joseph, started early one morning duly equipped, onpiscatorial sport intent. They trudged gaily forward towards aneighbouring river, looking right and left, and around them, as sharp astwo crows that have scented afar off the carcase of a defunct nag. At length they arrived at a lofty wall, on the wrong side of which, musically meandered the stream they sought. After a deliberateconsultation, the valiant William resolved to scale the impediment, andcast the line. Joseph prudently remained on the other side ready tocatch the fish--his companion should throw to him! Presently anexclamation of "Oh! my!" attracted his attention. "Have you got a bite?" eagerly demanded Joe. "No! by gosh! but I think I shall soon!" cried Bill. Hereupon theexpectant Joseph mounted, and seating himself upon the wall, beheld tohis horror, Master Bill keeping a fierce bull-dog at bay with the buttend of his fishing-rod. "Go it, Bill!" exclaimed Joe, "pitch into him and scramble up. " The dog ran at him. --Joe in his agitation fell from his position, whileBill threw his rod at the beast, made a desperate leap, and clutched thetop of the wall with his hands. "Egad! I've lost my seat, " cried Joe, rolling upon the grass. "And so have I!" roared Bill, scrambling in affright over the wall. And true it was, that he who had not got a bite before, had got abite--behind! Bill anathematised the dog, but the ludicrous bereavement he hadsustained made him laugh, in spite of his teeth! Joe joined in his merriment. "What a burning shame it is?" said he; "truly there ought to be breachesready made in these walls, Bill, that one might escape, if not repairthese damages. " "No matter, " replied Bill, shaking his head, "I know the owner--he's aMember of Parliament. Stop till the next election, that's all. " "Why, what has that to do with it?" demanded Joe. "Do with it, " said Bill emphatically, "why, I'll canvass for the oppositeparty, to be sure. " "And what then?" "Then I shall have the pleasure of serving him as his dog has served me. Yes! Joe, the M. P. Will lose his seat to a dead certainty!" THE POUTER AND THE DRAGON. "Another pigeon! egad, I'm in luck's way this morning. " Round and red, through the morning fogThe sun's bright faceShone, like some jolly toping dogOf Bacchus' race. When Jenkins, with his gun and curOn sport intent, Through fields, and meadows, many fur----longs gaily went. He popp'd at birds both great and small, But nothing hit;Or if he hit, they wouldn't fall--No, not a bit! "It's wery strange, I do declare;I never see!I go at sky-larks in the hairOr on a tree. " "It's all the same, they fly awayHas I let fly--The birds is frightened, I dare say, And vill not die. " "Vhy, here's a go! I hav'nt ramm'dIn any shot;The birds must think I only shamm'd, And none have got. " "I'll undeceive 'em quickly now, I bet a crown;And whether fieldfare, tit, or crow, Vill bring 'em down. " And as he spake a pigeon flewAcross his way--Bang went his piece--and Jenkins slewThe flutt'ring prey. He bagg'd his game, and onward went, When to his viewAnother rose, by fortune sentTo make up two. He fired, and beheld it fallWith inward glee, And for a minute 'neath a wallStood gazing he. When from behind, fierce, heavy blowsFell on his hat, And knock'd his beaver o'er his nose, And laid him flat. "What for, " cried Jenkins, "am I mill'd, Sir, like this ere?""You villain, you, why you have kill'dMy pouter rare. " The sturdy knave who struck him downWith frown replied:--"For which I'll make you pay a crownNor be denied. " Poor Jenkins saw it was in vainTo bandy words;So paid the cash and vow'd, againHe'd not shoot birds-- At least of that same feather, lestFor Pouter shotSome Dragon fierce should him molest--And fled the spot. THE PIC-NIC. No. I. A merry holiday party, forming a tolerable boat-load, and well providedwith baskets of provisions, were rowing along the beautiful andpicturesque banks that fringe the river's side near Twickenham, eagerlylooking out for a spot where they might enjoy their "pic-nic" toperfection. "O! uncle, there's a romantic glade;--do let us land there!" exclaimed abeautiful girl of eighteen summers, to a respectable old gentleman in abroad brimmed beaver and spectacles. "Just the thing, I declare, " replied he--"the very spot--pull away, mylads--but dear me" continued he, as they neared the intendedlanding-place, "What have we here? What says the board?" "PARTIES ARE NOT, ALLOWED TOLAND AND DINE HERE" Oh! oh! very well; then we'll only land here, and dine a little furtheron" "What a repulsive board"--cried the young lady--"I declare now I'm quitevex'd"-- "Never mind, Julia, we won't be bored by any board"--said the jocose oldgentleman. "I'm sure, uncle"--said one of the youths--"we don't require any board, for we provide ourselves. " "You're quite right, Master Dickey, " said his uncle; "for we only cameout for a lark, you know, and no lark requires more than a little turffor its entertainment; pull close to the bank, and let us land. " "Oh! but suppose, " said the timid Julia, "the surly owner should pounceupon us, just as we are taking our wine?" "Why then, my love, " replied he, "we have only to abandon our wine, and, like sober members of the Temperance Society--take water. " Pulling the wherry close along side the grassy bank, and fastening itcarefully to the stump of an old tree, the whole party landed. "How soft and beautiful is the green-sward here, " said the romanticJulia, indenting the yielding grass with her kid-covered tiny feet; "Doesnot a gentleman of the name of Nimrod sing the pleasure of the Turf?"said Emma: "I wonder if he ever felt it as we do?" "Certainly not, " replied Master Dickey, winking at his uncle; "for theblades of the Turf he describes, are neither so fresh nor so green asthese; and the 'stakes' he mentions are rather different from thosecontained in our pigeon-pie. " "But I doubt, Dickey, " said his uncle, "if his pen ever described abetter race than the present company. The Jenkins's, let me tell you, come of a good stock, and sport some of the best blood in the country. " "Beautiful branches of a noble tree, " exclaimed Master Dicky, "but, uncle, a hard row has made me rather peckish; let us spread theprovender. I think there's an honest hand of pork yonder that is rightworthy of a friendly grasp;--only see if, by a single touch of thatmagical hand, I'm not speedily transformed into a boat. " "What sort of a boat?" cried Julia. "A cutter, to be sure, " repliedMaster Dicky, and laughing he ran off with his male companions to bringthe provisions ashore. Meanwhile the uncle and his niece selected a level spot beneath theumbrageous trees, and prepared for the unpacking of the edibles. THE PIC-NIC. No. II Notwithstanding the proverbial variety of the climate, there is no nationunder the sun so fond of Pic-Nic parties as the English; and yet howseldom are their pleasant dreams of rural repasts in the open air fatedto be realized! However snugly they may pack the materials for the feast, the packgenerally gets shuffled in the carriage, and consequently their promisedpleasure proves anything but "without mixture without measure. " The jam-tarts are brought to light, and are found to have got a littlejam too much. The bottles are cracked before their time, and the liberalsupplies of pale sherry and old port are turned into a--little current. They turn out their jar of ghirkins, and find them mixed, and all theirstore in a sad pickle. The leg of mutton is the only thing that has stood in the general melee. The plates are all dished, and the dishes only fit for a lunatic asylum, being all literally cracked. Even the knives and forks are found to ride rusty on the occasion. Thebread is become sop; and they have not even the satisfaction of gettingsalt to their porridge, for that is dissolved into briny tears. Like the provisions, they find themselves uncomfortably hamper'd; forthey generally chuse such a very retired spot, that there is nothing tobe had for love or money in the neighbourhood, for all the shops are asdistant as--ninety-ninth cousins! However delightful the scenery may be, it is counterbalanced by theprospect of starvation. Although on the borders of a stream abounding in fish, they have neitherhook nor line; and even the young gentlemen who sing fail in a catch forwant of the necessary bait. Their spirits are naturally damped by theirdisappointment, and their holiday garments by a summer shower; and thoughthe ducks of the gentlemen take the water as favourably as possible, every white muslin presently assumes the appearance of a drab, and, becoming a little limp and dirty, looks as miserable as a lame beggar! In fine, it is only a donkey or a goose that can reasonably expect toobtain a comfortable feed in a field. It may be very poetical to talk of"Nature's table-cloth of emerald verdure;" but depend on it, a damaskone, spread over that full-grown vegetable--a mahogany table--is farpreferable. THE BUMPKIN. Giles was the eldest son and heir of Jeremiah Styles--a cultivator of thesoil--who, losing his first wife, took unto himself, at the mature age offifty, a second, called by the neighbours, by reason of the narrowness ofher economy, and the slenderness of her body, Jeremiah's Spare-rib. Giles was a "'cute" lad, and his appetite soon became, under hisstep-mother's management, as sharp as his wit; and although hecontinually complained of getting nothing but fat, when pork chanced toform a portion of her dietary, it was evident to all his acquaintancethat he really got lean! His legs, indeed, became so slight, that manyof his jocose companions amused themselves with striking at them withstraws as he passed through the farmyard of a morning. "Whoy, Giles!" remarked one of them, "thee calves ha' gone to grass, lad. " "Thee may say that, Jeames, " replied Giles; "or d'ye see they did'ntfind I green enough. " "I do think now, Giles, " said James, "that Mother Styles do feed thee onnothing, and keeps her cat on the leavings. " "Noa, she don't, " said Giles, "for we boath do get what we can catch, andnothing more. Whoy, now, what do you think, Jeames; last Saturday, ifthe old 'ooman did'nt sarve me out a dish o' biled horse-beans--" "Horse-beans?" cried James; "lack-a-daisy me, and what did you do?" "Whoy, just what a horse would ha' done, to be sure--" "Eat 'em?" "Noa--I kicked, and said 'Nay, ' and so the old 'ooman put herself into awoundy passion wi' I. 'Not make a dinner of horsebeans, you daintydog, ' says she; 'I wish you may never have a worse. '--'Noa, mother, ' saysI, 'I hope I never shall. ' And she did put herself into such a tantrum, to be sure--so I bolted; whereby, d'ye see, I saved my bacon, and the old'ooman her beans. But it won't do. Jeames, I've a notion I shall go arecruit, and them I'm thinking I shall get into a reg'lar mess, and getshut of a reg'lar row. " "Dang it, it's too bad!" said the sympathising James; "and when do theego?" "Next March, to be sure, " replied Giles, with a spirit which was naturalto him--indeed, as to any artificial spirit, it was really foreign to hislips. "But thee are such a scare-crow, Giles, " said James; "thee are thin as aweasel. " "My drumsticks, " answered he, smiling, "may recommend me to theband--mayhap--for I do think they'll beat anything. " "I don't like sogering neither, " said James, thoughtfully. "Suppose theFrench make a hole in thee with a bagnet--" "Whoy, then, I shall be 'sewed up, ' thee know. " "That's mighty foine, " replied James, shaking his head; "but I'd rathernot, thank'ye. " "Oh! Jeames, a mother-in-law's a greater bore than a bagnet, depend on't;and it's my mind, it's better to die in a trench than afore an emptytrencher--I'll list" And with this unalterable determination, the half-starved, though stillmerry Giles, quitted his companion; and the following month, in pursuanceof the resolve he had made, he enlisted in his Majesty's service. Fortunately for the youth, he received more billets than bullets, andconsequently grew out of knowledge, although he obtained a world ofinformation in his travels; and, at the expiration of the war, returnedto his native village covered with laurels, and in the Joyment of thehalf-pay of a corporal, to which rank he had been promoted in consequenceof his meritorious conduct in the Peninsula. His father was stillliving, but his step-nother was lying quietly in the church-yard. "I hope, father, " said the affectionate Giles, "that thee saw her buriedin a deep grave, and laid a stone a-top of her?" "I did, my son. " "Then I am happy, " replied Giles.