Punch (73.1877)

August 4, 1877.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVAEL

45

A FEW DAYS IN A COUNTRY-HOUSE.

OING a Fishmg.
Being some Notes
of a short stay in
the old-fashioned
Country-house be-
longing to my
friend Boodels of
boodels.

" Haven't seen
you for an age!
Name your day,'and
come down. Place
looking lovely."

This was from Boo-
dels of Boodels.
He is quite right.
I have not seen him
for an age; or, at all
events, for a con-
siderable time. It
is, in . fact, some
years since I was
invited to his place,
to assist in dragging
the pond. That
ceremony was de-
ferred sine die, and

we did not drag that pond, brave boys, and " we did not catch that
Whale "—or, rather, that Eel. There has always been a big Eel—a
tremendously big Eel—in BooLELs'pond. It's a.traditional Eel: it is
to Boodels' pond what the Sea Serpent is to the ocean. The Eel in
Boodels' pond has been seen more than once : in fact, it must have
been seen to have been appreciated ; but it is difficult to arrive at the
fortunate person [jwho has seen him. The Head Gardener hasn't,
but " he knows he's there." But why should a Head Gardener see
an eel more than anybody else ? He has nothing to do, profession-
ally, with the fish-pond. Boodels' Head Gardener wears mous-
tachios, and has a military air. He evidently delights in planting
all his vegetables and fruit in lines. He passes along the lines,
reviewing, as it were, his troops. "When the right moment arrives,
he will say, " Up, Strawberries, and at'eml," The Under Gar-
dener, who is, somehow, officially connected with the ducks, is
reported to have seen the Eel. This individual, however, is of a
taciturn disposition, and if he has seen the Eel, he won't tell. When
asked about the Eel, he smiles, wags his head, (a sign of pleasure
with him when addressed, and is, probably, a habit acquired from
having a good deal to do with the animals on the establishment), and
mutters something about there being a big "Eel" somewhere,
(he is unintelligible beyond this), and walks on. My private im-
pression, after awhile, founded upon observation, is that if this
Under Gardener has seen the Eel, he has eaten him. Hence his
silence, and hence the smile. Hence, also, the mysterious legends
still current at Boodels', and in the neighbourhood, about the Mar-
vellous Eel. The Butler, in idle moments (of which, I fancy, he has
several at command), has set lines for this Eel.

[Happy Thought.—The Butler and the Bel, a fine subject for a
poem.]

No result. The Eel, if there, stayed where he was, and the Butler
retired.

Everybody having nothing better to do at Boodels', wanders down
to the pond, hears from some one (generally from Boodels himself,
who finds this subject likely to interest his visitors—visitors being
always interested where there is a probability of their getting some-
thing by it, and that something, eatable), about the Eel, and imme-
diately says, meditatively, as if it were quite a new and original
idea, "I should like to catch that Eel."

"Why," the visitor diffidently adds, turning to his host, "why
don't you set lines ? "

Boodels smiles at this. It is what every visitor has said to him
from the first day he took the house with the fish-pond. He
only replies, in a guarded manner, that, from what he has heard
(as the Police say, "from information received,") he believes that
any one fond of the sport can have capital fishing in the pond.

[Happy Thought—To say to Boodels ; "There may be ' capital
fishing; but is there ' capital catching f ' "

That depends on the fisherman," replies Boodels, drily.

J don t think so. It seems to me to depend upon the fish.]

lhere was a Poet stopping at Boodels' who made this suggestion
about setting lines. 1 seconded the motion, for several reasons.
Birst—Because it was something to do. Secondly—Because I had
often heard of "lines," and wanted to find out what they were.
lhirdly—Because I wished to find out if the Poet, who tried to ap-
pear so sporting, knew any more about it than I did. Judging from

his blank look, when Boodels, pointing to something on the ground
that appeared to me like a very large and very dirty-white tee-to-
tum wound round with thick cord, said, "Here's the Trimmer and
the lines," I am convinced that the Poet had not the smallest idea
what he had been talking about.

The Poet said " Oh! " and looked at the Trimmer, then at me.

I had only found out a few minutes before that he was a Poet. 11
should have thought from his general^ appearance that he was clerk
in something—not '\in orders "—but something official. The only
outward sign of genius about him is his nose. He has a low fore-
head (I don't believe in foreheads), and a very large nose. What he
loses in forehead he makes up in nose. Most Poets are strong in the
nose. Boodels, who is always enthusiastic about his friends,
specially if only recently made, tells me that Hamlin Mtjmley is a
very clever man, simply " the cleverest man," he (Boodels) "had
ever met." This sounds as if Boodels' circle of acquaintances were
limited. A consoling thought,is "present company always ex-
cepted." " He has," adds Boodels, vaguely, " something coming
out very soon; and he's had some wonderful reviews in the papers."

" What papers ? " I ask, as I don't remember to have seen the
name of Hamlin Mdmlex anywhere.

" Oh," replies Boodels, evidently not expecting to be cross-
examined on the subject, "I don't know. You can read 'em for
yourself." And so the subject drops.

I eye Mumley distrustfully. At present " the cleverest man that
Boodels ever knew " is throwing bits of stick into the pond, and
frightening the ducks. Our attention is now centred on the Trim-
mer. It looks to me such an awkward antiquated piece of machinery
that I cannot understand any eel, associated as he is with .slipperi-
ness, wriggling, and low cunning generally, could be caught by
such a very apparent trap as this Trimmer. It occurs to me that,
as a boy, I used to learn "easy lessons" out of a Trimmer.
These were, if I remember rightly, Trimmers Guide to the
Alphabet^''—(By the way, I wonder at what distance from the
Alphabet one would require a Guide ?)—and so, perhaps, a Trimmer,
piscatorially, is a sort of Little Angler's First Step to Fishing.
The second title might be Line upon Line.

There is another friend (new to me) of Boodels staying here—
a fresh-coloured, round-faced, light-moustached, small stout man,
always ready to smile. His expression seems to be saying beseech-
ingly, "Do, please, make me smile ! I'm only waiting to be asked
to smile I" i set bim down at once as a Gentleman Farmer. I
propose talking to him about crops. I will lay myself out to get
some information about corn, hay, pigs, poultry, and turnips. I
begin by a few remarks on the weather being bad for the country.
He smiles, and fancies that it is worse in some parts than others.

"It's bad for crops," I suggest, throwing much sympathy with
his supposed losses into my tone.

"Is it?" he replies; then adds, inquiringly, "Do you know
this part of the country well ? "

" No," I say ; but I had thought he did. No, he doesn't: in fact,
it's his first visit. The conversation flags. Getting Boodels alone,
I ask him,

"Who's that?"

" Oh! " replies Boodels, " I thought you knew. That's Pogmoee
the Composer."

" What does he compose ? " I ask.

" Why music, of course," retorts Boodels, rather testily. He
never likes to be pressed too closely as to his friends' accomplish-
ments. He accepts a clever friend as a genius, en gros, and
disdains details as a disloyalty.

" He's one of the cleverest men I ever met," says Boodels, still
speaking of the Composer. " He's got something coming out." He
says this as if Pogmoee was going to exemplify, personally, a Dar-
winian theory. He explains, however, " an Oratorio, I think—Sims
Beeves, Santley ; in fact," adds Boodels, rather vaguely, and being
a little tired of the subject, " everybody's going to smg in it."

It occurs to me that the Oratorio must be a work of gigantic
proportions. We all walk down the garden to the fish-pond. As
a matter of fact, the walks in Boodels' garden are limited. You
either go to the fish-pond, or you don't. The walks are:—
Towards the fish-pond, which means loitering in a beautiful flower-
garden ; to the fish-pond, round the fish-pond, which includes
chance interviews with curious-looking creatures and big rats ;
half-round the fish-pond, and back the same way, nervously; and
when you don't go to the fish-pond, you go to the kitchen-garden.

As a rule, every one on arriving for the first time at Boodels',
looks out of the drawing-room window, and immediately exclaims,

" Oh ! let's walk as far as the fish-pond! "

There has never been an exception to the rule, except in the
instance of a grumbling old Gentleman, who on his arrival in the
middle of summer, begged that all the windows and doors might be
shut; growled out that the place lay very low ; that the beauty of
the flowers, specially the roses, was only a clear sign of the damp-
ness of the atmosphere ; and, on being asked if he would like to
walk as far as the fish-pond, replied, surlily,