AN ADDRESS TO THE AUTHOR. 91 



But this did naught avail the trout, 

 For quick as thought I pull'd him out, 

 And then for lack of better cover, 

 1 stowed him safely in my beaver; 



When taking up my rod with glee, 



A. circumstance 1 failed to see ; 



My line, which down the stream the while 



Had floated, hook'd upon a pile. 



The pile, to all appearance, sound. 

 And firmly hedded in the ground, 

 Was standing on a sloping ledge, 

 A distance from the water's edge. 



Thinking it well might me uphold, 

 To place my hand on't 1 made bold; 

 But scarce an ounce required to show, 

 The rottenness of all below. 



A crash ensued, and quick as thought, 

 1 headlong to the stream was brought. 

 And but that of the bank I'd hold. 

 In sooth I had been fairly sold. 



As 'twas, 1 only got a fright, 

 And soon recovering, all was right ; 

 When looking round, as in a dream, 

 My hat was floating down the stream. 



Where is the fish ? was my next thought 

 The fish I had so lately caught 

 The unlucky cause of my disaster 

 And how shall I regain my castor ? 



The rest's soon told : the fish vrent down, 

 And[tho' I'd e'en ha' giv'n a crown. 

 Had it been brought me safe and sound , 

 I verily believe.that it was drown'd. 



My hat was scarce in better plight, 

 And on my head felt somewhat tight ; 

 And for myself, a word, a letter, 

 "Would be too much the less the better. 



