nervous," and a certain song about a
wheelbarrow, of whose twenty-four verses I can
only call to mind one, running, I think,

  "The Mayor of Hull come in his coach,
    Come in his coach so slow—
    And what do you think the Mayor come for?
    Why, to borrow my wheelbarrow—oh, oh, oh!"
                                                            Ad libitum.

It is a sight to see the captain savagely fishing
in all weathers, fair or foul; pouring
maledictions on all who dare to meddle with his
tackle; gloomily cooking the fish he has
caught, or driving doggedly along in the
basket cart with the vicious poney—which
brute anon attempts to bite crossing
passengers, anon stands stock still, whereat
Bumblecherry gets out and kicks him till he
moves again. He abuses Dorothy very
frequently, but as he occasionally makes her
presents of odd hanks of floss silk he uses in
fly-making, meat-pies, and other confectionary,
and once attempted to kiss her in disengaging
a double-barbed hook from her dress,
there is a report that he means to marry
her, and at his decease endow her with the
fabulous wealth he is supposed to have
accumulated during his connection with the
British excise.

A frequent visitor to the Swan is a tall
high-dried French gentleman in a short cloak,
decorated with the almost obsolete poodle
collar. Nobody knows his name, so he is
generally called, with reference to his foreign
extraction, as the "Moossoo." He is a very
assiduous, but pensive and melancholy,
fisherman, and, sitting on a stump with the poodle
collar turned up over his countenance, looks
very like " Patience on a monument." In
hot weather he will not disdain to take off his
stockings, and, rolling up his trousers, fish
bare-legged at a considerable distance from
the bank. He is an amateur in the breeding
and care of gentles and worm-bait, and
generally carries about with him a box of
lob-worms, which, he laments to Mrs. Groundbait
(who speaks a little French), are continually
getting loose, and walking up and
down the stairs of his house "la canne à, la
main"—an anecdote I venture to relate with
a view to signalling a peculiarity, hitherto
unknown, in the natural history of
lob-worms.

In summer weather a great crowd of dandy
fishermen invade the Swan. These gay young
brothers of the Angle—bucks of Cheapside
and exquisites of the Poultry—come down on
afternoons and Sundays in the most astonishing
fishing costume, and laden with the most
elaborate fishing tackle. Wide-awake hats
of varied hue, fishing jackets of curious cut,
veils, patent fishing boots, belts, pouches,
winches like small steam-engines, so complicated
are they; stacks of rods, coils of lines,
bait cans painted the most vivid green: such
are the panoplies of these youths. Tremendous
is the fuss and pother they make about
bait and hooks, elaborate are their preparations,
bold and valorous their promises, but,
alas, frequently and signally lame and
unsatisfactory their performances. With all their
varied armament and intricate machinery, I
have seen them, many a time and oft,
distanced and defeated by a stick and a string, a
worm at one end and a little barelegged boy
at the other.

SAINT CRISPIN

The Emperor Charles the Fifth, being
anxious to know the sentiments of his
humbler subjects concerning himself and his
government, often went incog., and mixed
himself among them. One night at Brussels,
his boot requiring immediate mending, he was
directed to a cobbler. Unluckily, it happened
to be Saint Crispin's Day; and, instead of
finding the cobbler inclined for work, he was
in the height of jollity among his acquaintances.
The Emperor made known his wants,
and offered him a handsome gratuity.

"What! friend," said the cobbler, "do you
know no better than to ask one of our craft
to work on Saint Crispin's Day?  Were it
Charles himself, I'd not do a stitch for him
now; but if you'll come in and drink to Saint
Crispin, do, and welcome; we are as merry
as the Emperor can be."  The Emperor
accepted the offer; but while he was
contemplating their rude pleasure, instead of
joining in it, the jovial host thus accosted him
—" What! I suppose you are some courtier
politician or other, by that contemplative
phiz; but be you who or what you will, you
are heartily welcome. Drink about. Here's
Charles the Fifth's health!"

"Then you love Charles the Fifth?"

"Love him!" says the son of Crispin;
"ay, ay, I love his long nose-ship well enough,
but I should love him much better would
he but tax us a little less."  After a time
they parted; and the Emperor, liking the
frankness of the cobbler, sent for him next
day.

When the poor fellow found that his
unknown guest and the Emperor were one and
the same person, he was scared out of his
wits; he feared that the "long nose-ship"
would be the death of him. The Emperor,
however, allayed his fears, and promised to
grant him any reasonable wish he might
express. Crispin thereupon requested that,
in future, the cobblers of Flanders might bear
for their arms a boot, with the Emperor's
crown upon it; and that in all processions the
Company of Cobblers should take precedence
of the Company of Shoemakers.

And this is how it arose that the cobblers
of Brussels possess these honorary
distinctions.

Saint Crispin, whether in England or
Flanders, greatly disapproves of his sons
working on his natal day. He bids them
all feast and be merry, and they do so—