The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher
Beatrix Potter loved the countryside and she spent much of
her otherwise conventional Victorian childhood drawing and studying animals. Her passion for the
natural world lay behind the creation of her famous series of little books. A particular source of
inspiration was the English Lake District where she lived for the last thirty years of her life as a
farmer and land conservationist, working with the National Trust.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher, like Peter Rabbit, began life as an illustrated letter to a young child. It was written when she was on holiday in Scotland where her father and his friends enjoyed fishing expeditions. Mr. Jeremy has a day full of the worst fisherman’s mishaps when he sets out to catch minnows for his dinner.
www.peterrabbit.com
for stephanie
from cousin b.
Once upon a
time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher; he lived in a little damp house amongst the
buttercups at the edge of a pond.
The water was all slippy-sloppy in the larder and
in the back passage.
But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet; nobody ever scolded him, and he never
caught a cold!
He was quite pleased when he looked out and saw
large drops of rain, splashing in the pond —
“I will get some worms and go fishing and catch a
dish of minnows for my dinner,” said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. “If I catch more than five fish, I will invite my
friends Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton. The Alderman, however, eats salad.”
Mr. Jeremy put
on a macintosh, and a pair of shiny goloshes; he took his rod and basket, and set off with enormous hops to
the place where he kept his boat.
The boat was round and green, and very like the
other lily-leaves. It was tied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond.
Mr. Jeremy
took a reed pole, and pushed the boat out into open water. “I know a good place for minnows,” said Mr.
Jeremy Fisher.
Mr. Jeremy
stuck his pole into the mud and fastened the boat to it.
Then he settled himself cross-legged and arranged his fishing tackle. He had the
dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass, his line was a fine long white horse-hair, and
he tied a little wriggling worm at the end.
The rain trickled down his back, and for nearly an
hour he stared at the float.
“This is getting tiresome, I think I should like some lunch,” said Mr. Jeremy
Fisher.
He punted back again amongst the water-plants, and
took some lunch out of his basket.
“I will eat a butterfly sandwich, and wait till the shower is over,” said Mr. Jeremy
Fisher.
A great big water-beetle came up underneath the
lily leaf and tweaked the toe of one of his goloshes.
Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs up shorter, out of reach, and went on eating his
sandwich.
Once or twice something moved about with a rustle
and a splash amongst the rushes at the side of the pond.
“I trust that is not a rat,” said Mr. Jeremy Fisher; “I think I had better get away
from here.”
Mr. Jeremy
shoved the boat out again a little way, and dropped in the bait. There was a bite almost directly; the float
gave a tremendous bobbit!
“A minnow! a minnow! I have him by the nose!” cried Mr. Jeremy Fisher, jerking up his
rod.
But what a horrible surprise! Instead of a smooth
fat minnow, Mr. Jeremy landed little Jack Sharp the stickleback, covered with spines!
The stickleback floundered about the boat,
pricking and snapping until he was quite out of breath. Then he jumped back into the water.
And a shoal of other little fishes put their heads
out, and laughed at Mr.
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