ll make the lad wonder when I pull out
a wriggling fish!

But still another weary hour passed, and the old gentleman's arms and
loins began to ache from the novel and constrained posture in which he
stood. He grew nervous and uneasy at the want of sport; and thinking
that perhaps the little fellow was acquainted with the locality, he
turned towards him, saying, in the blandest but still most indifferent
tone he could assume, lest he should compromise his dignity by exposing
his ignorance--

"I say, Jack, are there any fish in this pond?"

"There may be, sir," replied the boy, pulling his ragged forelock most
deferentially, for Old Foozle had an awful churchwarden-like appearance;
"there may be, but I should think they were weary small, 'cause there vos
no vater in this here pond afore that there rain yesterday."

The sallow cheeks of the old angler were tinged with a ruddy glow, called
up by the consciousness of his ridiculous position. Taking a penny from
his pocket, he bade the boy go buy some cakes: and no sooner had he
gallopped off, than the disappointed Waltonian hastily packed up his
tackle, and turned his steps homeward; and this was the first and last
essay of Old Foozle.

THE "CRACK-SHOTS." No. I.

A club, under the imposing style of the "Crack-Shots," met every
Wednesday evening, during the season, at a house of public entertainment
in the salubrious suburbs of London, known by the classical sign of the
"Magpye and Stump." Besides a trim garden and a small close-shaven
grass-plat in the rear (where elderly gentlemen found a cure for 'taedium
vitae' and the rheumatism in a social game of bowls), there was a meadow
of about five or six acres, wherein a target was erected for the especial
benefit of the members of this celebrated club; we say celebrated,
because, of all clubs that ever made a noise in the world, this bore away
the palm-according to the reports in the neighbourhood. Emulation
naturally caused excitement, and the extraordinary deeds they performed
under its influence we should never have credited, had we not received
the 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 more
appropriately termed the "great gun," and was invariably voted to the
chair. He made speeches, which went off admirably; and he perpetrated
puns which, like his Joe Manton