The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1869-07-16
THE AeoN1Es OF AN ANGLER,
by JOHN QUILL,

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Walton was q deceiver, and his "Com-
plete Angler is calculated to pervert
public morals, and lead the unsuspecting
astray. In my opinion it's nm over-rated
book, and ought to be suppressed. It
encourages the idea that fishing is gen
teel pastime, which affords time for
meditation, and cultiyates love for the
beautiful in nature.
That this is all nonsense every man
knows who ever went fishing in his
life. I leave it to the sufferers if it
isn't.
Don't you know that you 60 out and
nearly burst blood vessel digging
worms for bait, and then you have to
dig hole as big rs rife-pit before you
can lay your hands on one solitary
wormP .o,..
Then when you get to the water you
very likely sit down on some blackberry
bush or other, and undergo nearly rs
much physical sufferings rs you do when
you stick the fsh-hook into your cuticle
when you are trying to put the bait on.
When you once throw in, you begin to
watch the cork, and you look at it hour
after hour, until you nearly go blind,
and you think you see about twenty
corks, and as it never budges one inch
amt any fish about, until you pull up,
when you find that some we'll balanced
and insid;ous member of the fnny tribe
has sucked all your bait off.
After enough patient endurance to
start eight or nine Christian martyrs nto
life, you get nibtle Yes, the cork
moves slightly, and you think you are at
last going to get fish.
You watch it closely, while your mind
runs over the big fish you have heard of.
You think Of Jonah. of whaling voyages,
and of the surgeons you have seen
around on the wave.
Perhaps this is one of large size, and
you wonder if you hadn't better 90 home
and get drey to fetch it.
Suppose you were to catch the sea
serpent or a thousand-pound snapper!
and you involuntarily suggest soup to
yourself, while all the time the cork
keeps bobbing up and down, until at
last she gives one jerk and goes under
Got him, by George! Pull up, and there
is a wretched little fish on the hook, that
wouldn't satisfy the appetite of sick
sardine, and he cost you just fourteen
worms-enough to bait q school of mack
erel
Throw in again, wait for On hour, and
y
Then you think you are safe to let go
and light your pipe. No sooner do you
'set the match, and you can't throw it
down because it's the last one you we got,
than you get splendid bite; the cork
goes clear out Of sight, and before you
have chance to pick up the rod the fish
gets off.
Any man who says this isn't aggravat-
ing ought to die; he isn't fit to asso ocate
with ordinary human beings.
But yon try to encourage yourself by
saying that while there's life there's
hope, and that perseverance and patience
overcome all things, and by getting off n
lot more of old second class falsehood,
and throw in again.
Wait for several centuries, if you cal
culate according to your sufferings. and
never get any bites but one on the calf
of your leg from sixty-legged spider,
who has been on an exploring expedition
up your pantaloons.
Then you pull out and spit on the
bait for luck; may be you blow on it,
if you IRE superstitious, and you throw
in and get bite. You pull up seve-
raj hundred times and never catch
him.
Then you get mad; you believe it is
al cell eud Jou 6h eur W CdCcQ UQ0C eSL or
die. You feel that life will be perfectly
joyless and destitute of happiness unless
you get chance to put yonr grip on that
eel.
At last you hooked him aud drew him
out. He is active and playful and viva
cious. He is wriggler, and combines
himself into letters s and @ and x, and
runs through the alphabet generally, and
slaps you in the face, and gets around
your legs, and covers you all over with
slime.
Then he tangles your line into hard
knot, and when you get your foot on
him you find he has swallowed the hook,
and just as likely as not you've got to
rip that eel clear open, from head TO tnil,
TO get it out, and when you do he will