ioo ANGLING 



Mr. Hopper cannot just now remember what represented the 

 prize, but he knows it was not the " wooden spoon." There were 

 gold and silver medal winners, so no doubt our friend won the 

 shoemaker's prize. Knowing as he does " there's nothing like 

 leather " possibly it may be a leather medal which friend 

 " Bowlingreen " now wears round his neck as a " charm " 

 when angling. It is common knowledge in angling circles 

 that " Bowlingreen's " catch in the competition spoken of 

 would have been much heavier, but he had the misfortune to 

 be drawn next "peg down " to " Rugless," who again astonished 

 the porters and other railway men at the Town station by 

 appearing yet once again in his "Tarn o' Shanter," and those 

 wonderful boots which envelop so much of his martial looking 

 legs. Now Rugless in this costume would terrify an infuriated 

 bull, and it will readily be imagined that when the poor little 

 fishes came to the top of the water for fresh air and beheld 

 friend Rugless they hastened to regions more remote where 

 there were no such spectacles to behold and terrify. The fish 

 being so driven away from Bowlingreen's immediate vicinity 

 he could not be expected to make a heavy catch, and the con- 

 ditions of the competition being that each angler was " pegged 

 down," he was compelled to remain where he was. Report 

 hath it that it rained somewhat that day. This is a long digres- 

 sion, but readers of these notes must excuse Mr. Hopper for 

 referring to these little local matters instead of proceeding un- 

 interruptedly with his Trent-side experiences. 



Harking back to that portion of these notes where it is stated 

 " Bowlingreen Twynkles " accompanied Mr. Hopper to Trent- 

 side it is scarcely necessary to explain that that ardent angler 

 was dead upon catching a barbel, and after prolonged waiting, 

 some of it marked by exemplary patience and some of it by 

 well, fellow anglers, you must be content to guess our barbel 

 hunter became suddenly excited and exclaimed, " I've got him ; 

 by jove, he is a whacker ! " There Twynkles stood holding on 

 like grim death to something which was bending his rod nearly 

 double, but whether to a barbel or mother earth, or a sunken 

 sloop in the bed of the river, he did not know. Picture, fellow 



