ocks, no collisions, no landings for lotion, you know,
And, but for Miss BELL and the bottle, it might a bin jest a bit slow.

But the prog was A 1, and no kid. Though JACK stuck to his tackle
like wax,
BELL and me was soon stodging like winkles; that gal _did_ make play
with the snacks.
"_Strike!_" cries JACK--"you've a _bite_!" "Yes, I know it," sez I,
with my mouth full of 'am.
"Wot do _you_ think, Miss B.?"--and she larfed till 'er cheeks went
like raspberry jam.

JOLTER looked jest a mossel disgusted, and turned a bit rusty, for _him_,
When we made the punt rock in our romps, which he said was "disturbing
the swim."
And when he had hooked a fine perch, and Miss BELL made a dash at
the line,
And the fish flobbered back with a flop, JACK'S escape from a cuss cut
it fine.

Then he pulled in his "trimmer," and, scissors! a jolly big jack
came aboard,
Wich flopped round us, and showed his sharp teeth, till Miss BONSOR
went pasty, and roared.
Reg'lar shark; made a grab at my pants when I tried to cut in
to BELL'S aid;
And I'm blowed if she didn't turn raspy, and chaff me for
being _afraid_.

Arter this things appeared to go quisby; BELL'S skirt 'ad got slimed,
dontcher see.
And she vowed it was spiled, while JACK looked jest as though he could
scrumplicate me.
So sez I, "Let us turn up this barney, and toddle ashore for some grub;"
And we pulled up the stone and the hanchor, and made a bee-line for
our pub.

The dinner soon smoothed down our feathers, though JACK 'ad a sad
sort o' look.
Selfish fellows these hanglers are, CHARLIE, they carn't keep their
heye off the 'ook.
Bless yer 'art, 'cos we struck arter dinner, and chucked up the perch
for a spree,
And took a turn round, me a pulling, that JACK looked as blue as
could be.

'Owsomever we chaffed 'im a good 'un. Miss BELL and yours truly
got thick,
Wen I told 'er 'er lips wos true "spoon"-bait, _she_ twigged wot
I meant pooty quick.
"Oh, I carn't abide anglers," she whispered, "they're flabby and cold
like their fish,
'Ow I wish JACK would jest sling 'is 'ook, and leave hus,--well,
_you_ know wot I wish."

"Oh. I'm fly, dear," sez I, with a 'ug. So I nobbled the Guard
with a tip,
And we managed to nip in fust-class, and so gave Master JOLTER the slip.
It give 'im the needle in course, being left in the