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Updated: July 2, 2025
Fishin' Jimmy's real name was James Whitcher. He was born in the Franconia Valley of northern New Hampshire, and his whole life had been passed there. He had always fished; he could not remember when or how he learned the art.
"Well, sir, it depends muchly upon the chicken. All I know is, that I've et some dam queer tack in my time, but sence I ben fishin' I never had no such bundles of sticks parcelled with leather served out to me. I HEV et boot leastways gnawed it; when I was cast away in a open boat for three weeks but it wa'n't bad boot, as boots go.
"Ya, ya, mass'rs! a big ba dis child know um track see'd um many de time de ole coon he be arter de fish too all ob dem a-doin' a bit ob fishin' dis mornin' yaw, yaw, yaw!" And the darkey laughed at what he appeared to consider an excellent joke.
And he used the dialect of the country in which he lived. "As I was tellin' ye," he said, "I allers loved fishin' an' knowed 't was the best thing in the hull airth. I knowed it larnt ye more about creeters an' yarbs an' stuns an' water than books could tell ye.
Andy chained the dog up securely, and cooked some more chops, while Dave went to help Jim out of the hole. And most of this is why, for years afterwards, lanky, easy-going Bushmen, riding lazily past Dave's camp, would cry, in a lazy drawl and with just a hint of the nasal twang ''El-lo, Da-a-ve! How's the fishin' getting on, Da-a-ve? Poisonous Jimmy Gets Left. I. Dave Regan's Yarn.
I s'pose me and Sophrony hadn't ought to worry. Dr. Parker seems to know about the case." "Humph!" grunted the depot master, "there's only two bein's in creation that know it all. One's the Almighty and t'other's young Parker. He's right out of medical school and is just as fresh as his diploma. He hadn't any business to go fishin' and leave his patients. We lost a good man when old Dr.
He 'uz gwine long de street one day, w'en he heared two gent'emen one of 'em was ole Mars' Tom Sellers an' I fuhgot de yuther but dey 'uz talkin' 'bout dat ole ha'nted house down by de creek, 'bout a mile from hyuh, on de yuther side er town, whar we went fishin' las' week. Does you 'member de place?" "Yes, I remember the house."
"Which the eel is the gamest fish," says this Davis. "When I'm visitin' in Virginny, I used to go fishin'. I don't fish with a reel, an' one of them limber poles, an' let a fish go swarmin' up an' down a stream, a-breedin' false hopes in his bosom an' lettin' him think he's loose. Not me; I wouldn't so deloode wouldn't play it that low on a fish. I goes anglin' in a formal, se'f-respectin' way.
"No; he stopped fishin' and went home." Here the conversation was interrupted. The loud tones in which Zeke had been speaking, in order to be heard through the door, had attracted attention below. His father came to the foot of the attic stairs and demanded suspiciously: "What you doin' there, Zeke?" "Tryin' to cheer up Phil Gray," answered Zeke jocosely. "He don't need any cheerin' up.
"She was beginnin' to tell me, Mr Massey, when you came in, something about fishin' for albytresses, an' I always thought albytresses was birds, and " "Quite right, Peggy. See, this is how it is: you bait a hook but come," said the coxswain, rising suddenly, and taking up the ball of twine, "they do say example's better than precept. Come along wi' me an' Nell, an' we'll show you how to do it."
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