m he had likely come on the remains of an old picnic, and that
the leather was the skin of the ham they had taken out to make
sandwiches of; but the impudent creature laughed in my face, as if any
child doesn't know that leather is the skin of beasts, and cork, of a
tree!"

"Nevertheless, Corry, he was no doubt right, and you were wrong in your
scepticism. What are called mountain cork and mountain leather are forms
of asbestos. They are of no use, unless it be for the lining of safes.
The fibrous asbestos can be made into fire-proof clothes."

"So, old Leather Corks had the laugh on me there! Dad, I'll apologize
for sending him to the marines next time he comes in. What a thing it
is to have the larnin' like you, Wilks!"

"A mere mineralogical trifle, my dear Corry, nothing more."

"Wilks, do you mind the 'Fisher's Song,' composed by the late Mr.
William Bass, that's in the 'Complete Angler'? I don't suppose it would
scare the fish much. It goes to the tune of 'The Pope, he leads a happy
life,' like this:--

Of recreation there is none
So free as fishing is alone;
All other pastimes do no less
Than mind and body both possess;
My hand alone my work can do,
So I can fish and study too.

I care not, I, to fish in seas--
Fresh rivers best my mind do please,
Whose sweet calm course I contemplate,
And seek in life to imitate:
In civil bounds I fain would keep,
And for my past offences weep.

And when the timorous trout I wait
To take, and he devours my bait.
How poor a thing, sometimes I find,
Will captivate a greedy mind;
And when none bite, I praise the wise,
Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise.

But yet, though while I fish I fast,
I make good fortune my repast;
And thereunto my friend invite,
In whom I more than that delight:
Who is more welcome to my dish
Than to my angle was my fish."

"Well done, Corry--a very good song and very well sung,

Jolly companions every one.

Why will these wretched rhymsters couple such words as sung and one? It
is like near and tears in the American war-song, 'The Old Camp-Ground.'
Some people are like these fish; they have no ear at all. A practical
joker, like you, Corry, once corrected a young lady who was singing:--

Golden years ago,
In a mill beside the sea,
There dwelt a little maiden,
Who plighted