FISHING LINES
SIR,— Ill fares that man whose moral mind is smit
By what some scribbler in the paper's writ, Someone about a TRUMPET makes a fuss, Or damns'the manners of a motor bus. There are the joys of CROQUET loudly sung, Here smoking causes cancer of the lung; One shakes at CRICHEL DOWN th' in- dignant fist, Another is a Cornish nationalist.
Nevertheless, among your columns free May I put forward my impassion'd plea, And with my native-warbled woodnotes rude Fear not the censure of the multitude. Here do I humbly suggest you ought Look upon FISHING as a major sport. Throwing the worm, casting the subtle fly, To sing of needs a greater man than I.
Yet oft your paper up the fisher picks, Finds wit with KENNARD DAVIS, some- times STRIX, Discovers all the Erudite could wish Of CRICKET, TENNIS, GOLF, but not of FISH.
Therefore I pray that my poor Muse may prove, Sufficient some far Editor to move, Mackenzie or Mallalicu, eloquent and fine To sing the glories of the rod and line (Here will I finish, for I find my verse, Becoming longer and becoming worse).
—Yours faithfully, DAVID G. MARTIN
HMS Centaur
[But there's no cause for anglers to repine Since CRANKSHAW'S caught on the Spectator's line,
Who for SPRING SALMON braving High- land rain Wrote of the finny sport and will again.
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