STUDIES FROM MR. PUNCH'S STUDIO. No. XXIX.-THE FISHERMAN. SURELY, Piscator, like Poeta, nascitur non fit. To no one but the born Fisherman are his patience, his infinite capacity for taking pains, and his Stoical indifference to personal discomfort, at all intelligible. To the world at large, his quiet satisfaction with apparently meagre results is quite inexplicable; for the true sportsman will be more elated by the capture of one brace of trout from certain streams, than if he had drawn hundreds from a Scotch loch. To him the surmounting of difficulty is the grand object, and the smallest basket may often only be obtained at the price of the most consummate judgment, address, resource, and perseverance. Do the fish rise better in the morning than later in the day? The Fisherman will rise still earlier, and he will not grudge, if need be, to walk miles so as to be present at their levée. -don't the rascals abuse their privileges? Have they no JACK WILKES to egg them on to sedition ?" "Don't be too hard on JACK WILKES, your Majesty," said Mr. Punch. "Remember the 'merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite,' said a good word for you, after all. Vide BYRON'S Vision of Judgment." (The Shade shuddered.) "No, your Majesty, I don't think HARCOURT, LABOUCHERE, and BRADLAUGH, Cerberus'd water; every trout has an opportunity of seing the flies which are into one, would make quite an equivalent to that dauntless demagogue, that ribald wit. But then we have no BUTE OF GRAFTON, to give point to the would-be Lucianic scurrility of a WILKES, or power to the pseudo-Juvenalian rhodomontade of a JUNIUS." 66 Happy VICTORIA!" repeated her Royal Ancestor. 'But, seriously, my dear Mr. Punch,-to think that I should ever learn to love a Caricaturist!-how do you do it? Hay ?" The Sage of Fleet Street smiled mildly, but meaningly, upon his anxiously interrogative guest. "Your Majesty,' " said he, "I cannot undertake to show you, summarily and off-hand, the whole secret. I have already explained some portions of it. I will do more. We have our troubles still in Ireland and elsewhere-but, on the whole, HER MAJESTY's is a jocund Jubilee, compared with all previous ones. We have had the advantage of fifty years of the reign of a pure lady, a good mother, a constitutional Sovereign. That is much. But that is not all. For nearly the same term, for close upon fifty years, England has been brightened and blessed by a certain Great Light which shone not upon your own lengthened reign." "What is it? What is it? What? What?" almost shrieked the excited Shade. "Your Majesty cannot guess, then ?" said Mr. Punch, with a compassionate smile. No-no-no!" cried his visitor. "Never could understand conundrums and puzzles and things. Give it up.' 66 Why," said Punch, "it is a Light which beats the Electric Light, and would outshine even the Duke of WESTMINSTER's proposed hundred-thousand-million-candle-power Jubilee illumination. It teems with wisdom which would dispel even your doubts; with 'boetry' which even your royal relative could not dislike; and with caricature which you would understand-and relish. It goes far to explain the wondrous difference between our well-beloved VICTORIA's Jubilee and your own. For nearly the whole of the fifty years of VICTORIA's reign it has shone upon a welcoming world. It shines from this sanctum, Sire, and it beams from the eyes ofPUNCH!!" "What?-what? Hay ?-hay? Well, I never!" ejaculated the startled Shade. "I suppose it is so, however, strange as it seems. Would that I had had you at my side!" "You need not then have lost America, or have brooded in lonely seclusion whilst your people were celebrating your Jubilee," said the Sage, kindly. Sally forth, Sire-if-if-such things are permitted -when the People to-morrow pours into the streets of the City to welcome and joyously shout at their Sovereign, and you will understand the world-wide difference between the Two Jubilees!" The dawn glimmered gently in, the Royal Shade shimmered slowly out, and Mr. Punch, meditating many things, dressed himself to go forth with the rest of the world and greet his QUEEN. See him as he approaches the river, his eye fixed upon the likely places! With what practised speed, and yet how carefully, he sets up his rod, standing the while some distance from the water's edge! On the way he has determined what flies he will use first; he does not hesitate an instant as he attaches the casting-line, though already his heart beats fast with excited speculation as to the result of his first few throws. All is ready at last, and now he begins to fish, working slowly and steadily towards the ideal spot where fish should be, if anywhere. Mark how his line traverses the whole area of presented in succession even before the wily veterans lurking coyly in snug retreats which are either inaccessible to, or neglected by, inferior anglers. Oftentimes only by a hair's-breadth does the tailfly escape the treacherous snag or overhanging bough that seems to lean forward on purpose to catch it; and though he cast with every precaution, mishaps will constantly occur even to the most dexterous Fisherman. When misfortunes come, as they often do on a bad day, "not as single spies, but in battalions," then the temperament of the true angler is needed. Who but a Fisherman can comprehend the feelings of one who in a failing light finds his last and only "killing" fly fast in a bush, while he knows that within a few yards lie fish waiting to be caught? He who wields the fishing-rod pursues an unsociable calling. If he start forth in the morning with a brother of the angle, the pair will possibly return together at night. But during the day the two will probably hardly interchange more than a word; as likely as not they will not meet. Isolation from his fellow creatures is essential to the Fisherman; Nature and his own thoughts are his companions. For him the fleecy clouds as they scud across the sky are eloquent, the ruffled surface of the shallows and the opaque black or white of the depths bring each their message, the "leaves and zigzag branches write wonderful words against the evening sky." The fisherman, like every solitary sportsman, becomes of necessity a philosopher. Unconsciously his mind absorbs somewhat of the serenity of the landscapes among which he moves. As a result the Fisherman is of all men least prone to glory in his own prowess; heavy baskets he knows to be at times impossible to the expert, and at others hardly to be missed by the novice. To do as well as circumstances will permit is all that he aspires to achieve. But he who is heart and soul in his craft will take fish when no one else in the neighbourhood can so much as catch sight of a fin. His gear is always adjusted with the nicest precision, and the knots of his line contain part of the man's character. He does not seek the applause of others, he wishes to use the best tackle to the best purpose. Overnight Piscator selects his tackle, and rigs his casting-lines; on the morrow, by the river's brink, he sits down to mend, to replace, to make alterations, with a cheerful intentness than it is good to see. In his ears sound the murmur of waters, and the hum of insects; before his eyes a panorama of light and shade is continually shifting. Cattle eye him occasionally with a lazy indifference as they stumble to the ford to drink, and the water-rat flops into the stream, making off with all possible dispatch as he approaches. The Fisherman's day is indeed an idyl, ever changeful and charming as the music of CHOPIN. Some it delights to destroy pheasants with noise, and to stand in "hot corners.' To others are vouchsafed the Angler's gentle zeal, and the soul to appreciate his privileges. THE JUBILEE OF KING EDWARD THE THIRD. (Gathered from the John Hollingshead Chronicles.) On the morning of the 25th of January, 1377, the King was early astir. He sent for the Poet Laureate and invited him to partake of breakfast. The meal of the period was composed of an infusion of herb and hot water, sweetened with a sort of sugar and mixed with milk. His Majesty was merry. "Gadzooks," he exclaimed, using the strange idiom of the century, "but this concoction suits me to a T! Come, CHAUCER, can you not think of some food particularly toothsome for this auspicious occasion ?" 66 Ay, that can I," replied the Poet, dreamily, "I have a fancy that the flesh of a pig fried with a crushed egg would be most palatable." "Be it so," returned the Monarch, heartily, and a few minutes later King and Trobadour were discussing a dish that for many years afterwards was known as " Iggs and Bakun." "And now, CHAUCER, what shall I do next? Beshrew me, I am a needy one! So-look you-let not thy plan cost me a silver penny. I want something cheap and popular.' 64 Why not confirm Magna Charta?' suggested the poet, who was inhaling a vapour that passed from a bowl full of smouldering dried cabbage-stalks through a tube into his mouth, "why not confirm Magna Charta?" "I have done this kind of thing several times before," replied the King, musingly, "but as thou sayest it costeth me nothing. So here goes. " With this the aged Sovereign taking a feather from a goose that happened to be passing, made a large cross upon the palladium of British Liberty, and smiled graciously. "So much for the people, and now for myself. Canst not hit upon some plan for my entertainment?" then followed the King himself. The cheers were continuous, and they had not then been invented), containing some of the nobilitythe enthusiasm immense. In those days there were no houses along "That indeed can I?" returned the Poet, putting his hand in his the line of route, which extended to Kensington, Knightsbridge, pocket, "knowing South Belgravia, Piccadilly, Leicester Fields, and the Mary le Bone King, thou Gardens, and thus the people were forced to stand on the ground. Some of them derived an advantage over others by standing on a plank supported by two barrels. A man coarsely attired, but whose language spoke a gentler calling (it was as flowery as that of any Poet), collected the money. This man was here, there, and everywhere. For a portion of the time he drove a sort of conveyance (not an omnibus, because omnibuses were not in vogue for many a long Illuminations. wouldst wish to The Monarch sighed, and leaving the break fast-table, threw himself on a couch which had recently been sent to him by the POPE from Italy. This couch, which was gallantly furnished with a padded seat and a sort of cushion, was called a sofa. "I can always listen better with a covering over my head," observed the Sovereign suiting the action to the word. "I call my little effort The Canterbury Tales," commenced CHAUCER, them." Then he read for the space of three hours while EDWARD THE THIRD expressed his great satisfaction by breathing loudly at regular intervals. At the end of the third hour the King sat up with a start. "Where am I?" he exclaimed, and then quickly added, "I mean to say Capital! Excellent! You should send them to a comic journal.' "I will," replied CHAUCER. "I have long intended to start one. I should like it to be called, The London Charivari." "Why not call it Punch?" asked the King. "Or the London Charivari," persisted CHAUCER, who was an obstinate kind of person when contradicted. "And so thou art indeed needy, O King," continued the Poet. "I am sorry for that, as, had it been quite convenient to thee, I should have asked for the payment of my own salary, now three quarters in arrears." "It is thine own fault, old word-jigger," returned the Monarch. "Thou art fond of inhaling the vapour of cabbage-stalks-why dost thou not discover tobacco? Did thou invent it, thou shouldst have the monopoly of its sale, which wouldst pay thy salary a hundredfold." By my halidom, I have it!" exclaimed CHAUCER. "Have what?" asked the King. "And halidom is an anachronism, and will not be used until a later century than that wherein thou and I exist." Coster's Stand. year afterwards), and was extortionate in his fares. However, the good citizens paid merrily themselves, saying, "By our troth, but a Jubilee cometh but once in fifty years!" The day ended, and once more Troubadour and Sovereign were closeted together. They were enjoying the illuminations. CHAUCER poured into his Master's hands vast sums of copper money. "Of a verity this is a brave display!" exclaimed his Majesty. "Sire, thou hast not forgotten the terms?" questioned the Poet. "That thou, O King, were to have the takings of the stands after my salary had been paid in full." 66 A goodly arrangement and a just one-now have I no more to receive ?" The Poet shook his head signifying that he had paid over all that he had received, and then putting forth his hand exclaimed, "And now, O King, my salary ?' "Shall be paid in full out of the tobacco monopoly when that next is discovered," replied the Monarch locking up the cash, "say, old friend, what thinkest thou?" "That if my salary depends upon tobacco, it will end in 'smoke.'" The King laughed long at this quaint conceit. The Poet also smiled, but whether the smile was intended for the quibble (which truth to say, was not a very new one) or was caused by a recollection that out of the stand-lettings he had already paid himself his salary told a hundred-fold, the Chronicles do not testify. DEAR CHARLIE, 'ARRY ON THE JUBILEE. You are a old 'ermit! Did think as you'd trot up to town, The town's painted red I can tell yer, a reglar flare-up and no kid; We shan't see sech another dust-up, CHARLIE; Juberlees ain't like green peas, Wot with dynimite, CHARLIE, and duffers like HYNDMAN, KRAPOTKIN & Co., And dashed traitors like GLADSTONE and MORLEY, kings' cribs are not wuth arf a blow. They seem always a gitting kicked out or blown up, mate, and suddent at that, But HER MADGESTY-bless 'er!-'as bested 'em. No one, dear CHARLIE, can't say It's a rare fillaloo, and no error, Q. J. is all over the shop; Heard a bloke cryin' Juberlee Winkles," and arter that where will they stop? I am hup in the sterrups jest now, as you know, my dear CHARLIE, thanks be! Well, she won't be ashamed of 'er subjeck, that's poz, dear old pal, and no flies! It's in me, my pippin, it's in me, and, 'ang it, it's bound to come out, [lout; I did 'ope to git into the Habbey; I ought to 'ave bin there, you see, But there is sech a lot of red-tape, CHARLIE. Fancy wot might 'ave bin done Wy ain't there no Fireworks, for instance ? That there Dook of WESTMINSTER Wy when GEORGIE THE THIRD, poor old buffer!-was playin' 'is Juberlee game, If our toppers mean stickin' up top, mate, and not coming down with a run, 'ARRY. IT is said that Mr. DAVITT depends largely upon supply from American funds. The Irish-American party are fond of Mr. DAVITT, and he of them. Strong affection between the parties. Quite-(no, not quite)-" DAVITT and JONATHAN. No better Show than the Military Tournament, with Major TOLLY in command, and Captain DANN-the 66 hoarse soldier," as Mr. Punch first christened him years ago as Master of the Ring. The building the bridge, the crossing it, and the assault on the fort gallantly defended by the Military Band under the noble old flag of Refreshment Contractors" waving above the Armed Train, which runs in screaming like a wild their heads, were more exciting than last year, owing to Injine, and with Blue Jackets in front to work the gun with a handle, as if it were a common street-organ. The stage arrangements, the carrying off of the wounded boy, and the ambulance lending assistance, reflected the greatest credit on Colonel ONSLOW. The dead men acted their parts to the life. The audience was crowded, hot, and enthusiastic. The welcome given to the Princess of WALES's Own Hussars (or Lancers, we forget which) was spontaneously hearty. Altogether a great success; and BUFFALO BILL'S Show (except the Buckers) not "in it" with the Military Tournament, which, it is to be regretted, lasts only one week. THE Reform Club Ball was a splendid affair last Wed"THE FLO REVELATIONS."-We've heard the last of them. They are now nesday. The dancers were plucky, and, in spite of crush the "Over-Flô." and heat, formed and re-formed over and over again. For we greet the fiftieth recurrence Compounded by Baboo Chatterjee Mookerbhoy, as On this rompish Day of Jubilation In the groves of calorific India, Making a poojah. MR. PUNCH had quite set his heart upon ("The recitationer," says the Baboo, "should Next he crowns it with a wreath of champak, (Imitate a popping gesture, and skip back Then he lays his letter down before it, (Fold your arms across your stomach, with a We are blessed with better education No malignant deity is V. R. That we've ornamented all the lamp-posts Let there be no sign of any snip-snap! Flourish the trombones! got a dazzlement on his Horatio, or mind's Here she comes, the Governess of Albion! O VICTORIA, we thy loving subjects One little simper! (With an action of imploration, you should retire backward, avoiding the emotional displays of feeling which are likely to proceed from those by whom you may be audited.) Mr. DAVITT has made a few mistakes lately. When Mr. PARNELL is inclined to use strong language, he says "O DAVITT!" |