“You don’t say so!” said Jim, evidently disappointed and chop-fallen at this discovery of his groundless fears.  “Well, I only wish I’d known it, that’s all!”—­then, cogitating inwardly for a minute, he continued—­“but, I say, Tom, you won’t mention this little fright of yours?”

“No; but I’ll mention the great fright—­of Jim Smith—­rely upon it,” said Tom, firmly; and he kept his word so faithfully, that the next day the whole story was circulated, with many ingenious additions, to the great annoyance of the practical joker.

FISHING FOR WHITING AT MARGATE.

“Here we go up—­up—­up;
And here we go down—­down—­down.”

“Variety,” as Cowper says, “is the very spice of life”—­and certainly, at Margate, there is enough, in all conscience, to delight the most fastidious of pleasure-hunters.

There sailors ply for passengers for a trip in their pleasure boats, setting forth all the tempting delights of a fine breeze—­and woe-betide the unfortunate cockney who gets in the clutches of a pair of plyers of this sort, for he becomes as fixed as if he were actually in a vice, frequently making a virtue of necessity, and stepping on board, when he had much better stroll on land.

Away he goes, on the wings of the wind, like—­a gull!  Should he be a knave, it may probably be of infinite service to society, for he is likely ever afterwards to forswear craft of any kind!

Donkies too abound, as they do in most watering placesand, oh! what a many asses have we seen mounted, trotting along the beach and cliffs!

The insinuating address of the boatmen is, however, irresistible; and if they cannot induce you to make a sail to catch the wind, they will set forth, in all the glowing colors of a dying dolphin, the pleasurable sport of catching fish!

They tell you of a gentleman, who, “the other day, pulled up, in a single hour, I don’t know how many fish, weighing I don’t know how much.”  And thus baited, some unwise gentleman unfortunately nibbles, and he is caught.  A bargain is struck, ‘the boat is on the shore,’ the lines and hooks are displayed, and the victim steps in, scarcely conscious of what he is about, but full well knowing that he is going to sea!

They put out to sea, and casting their baited hooks, the experienced fisherman soon pulls up a fine lively whiting.

“Ecod!” exclaims the cockney, with dilated optics, “this is fine—­why that ’ere fish is worth a matter of a shilling in London—­Do tell me how you cotched him.”

“With a hook!” replied the boatman.

“To be sure you did—­but why did’nt he bite mine?”

“’Cause he came t’other side, I s’pose.”

“Vell, let me try that side then,” cries the tyro, and carefully changes his position.—­“Dear me, this here boat o’yourn wobbles about rayther, mister.”

“Nothing, sir, at all; it’s only the motion of the water.”