he sedgy bank of stream or river. No!--on no account will I draw
upon these banks again, with the melancholy prospect of no effects! The
most 'capital place' will never tempt me to 'fish' again!

My best hat is gone: not the 'way of all beavers'--into the water--but to
cover the cranium of the owner of this wretched 'tile;' and in vain shall
I seek it; for 'this' and 'that' are now certainly as far as the 'poles'
asunder.

My pockets, too, are picked! Yes--some clever 'artist' has drawn me
while asleep!

My boots are filled with water, and my soles and heels are anything but
lively or delighted. Never more will I impale ye, Gentles! on the word
of a gentleman!--Henceforth, O! Hooks! I will be as dead to your
attractions as if I were 'off the hooks!' and, in opposition to the maxim
of Solomon, I will 'spare the rod.'

Instead of a basket of fish, lo! here's a pretty kettle of fish for the
entertainment of my expectant friends--and sha'n't I be baited? as the
hook said to the anger: and won't the club get up a Ballad on the
occasion, and I, who have caught nothing, shall probably be made the
subject of a 'catch!'

Slush! slush!--Squash! squash!

O! for a clean pair of stockings!--But, alack, what a tantalizing
situation I am in!--There are osiers enough in the vicinity, but no hose
to be had for love or money!

SCENE II.

A lark--early in the morning.

Two youths--and two guns appeared at early dawn in the suburbs. The
youths were loaded with shooting paraphernalia and provisions, and their
guns with the best Dartford gunpowder--they were also well primed for
sport--and as polished as their gunbarrels, and both could boast a good
'stock' of impudence.

"Surely I heard the notes of a bird," cried one, looking up and down the
street; "there it is again, by jingo!"

"It's a lark, I declare," asserted his brother sportsman.

"Lark or canary, it will be a lark if we can bring it down," replied his
companion.

"Yonder it is, in that ere cage agin the wall."

"What a shame!" exclaimed the philanthropic youth,--"to imprison a
warbler of the woodlands in a cage, is the very height of
cruelty--liberty is the birthright of every Briton, and British bird! I
would rather be shot than be confined all my life in such a narrow
prison. What a mockery too is that piece of green turf, no bigger than a
slop-basin. How it must aggravate the feelings of one accustomed to
range the meadows."

"Miserable! I