60 AN ANGLER'S BASKET. 



I have fished but I know 'tis useless 

 For that one lost trout so fine 



That dash'd down the surging river 

 With eightpen'orth of flies of mine. 



THE ANGLER AND HIS FLY. 



[AFTER LONGFELLOW.] 



I made a long-cast sweep through the air ; 



It stopped half way I knew not where ; 

 So sudden it stopped I thought it might 



Have hooked a haystack in its flight. 



I heard a cuss word rise on the air ; 



It came from a friend I knew he was there ; 

 It began with big D, was deep and strong, 



And rose in the twilight, loud and long. 



Very soon afterwards, 'tis no joke, 



I found my tail fly still unbroke, 

 And the barb of the hook, the story to end, 



Was half an inch deep in the nose of my friend. 



THREE OTHER FISHERS. 



Three fishers went trailing out into the west, 



Off by the railway, and out of the town ; 

 Each thought of the fly that would kill the best 



In the moor-tinted fresh that was just coming down. 

 For women must work while husbands fish, 

 Though they don't catch one-tenth the trout they wish, 

 And an angler 's always groaning. 



