STORIES. 



Two anglers were fishing from a boat on an Irish lough> 

 the boatman being, as usual, at the oars in the middle. 

 The surface of the lough was very placid, when a fine trout 

 rose about twenty yards away, and one of the anglers, 

 making a long cast, succeeded in dropping his tail fly into 

 the middle of the widening rings on the water. In an 

 instant the fish rose again at the angler's fly, and was struck 

 and just touched, and then was gone. " Tare an' ounds," 

 said the boatman. " Ah ! that was a grand fish, yer hornier. 

 Yez'll not see the likes of that fish again to-day. Oh ! be 

 the powers, he was a fine gentleman, he was." " A big fish, 

 was he, Pat ? " " Troth, an' he was, sorr ; he was the full 

 of a door." " As large as that ? Did you see him ? " 

 " Shure, an' I did, sorr ; troth, sorr, he was a rale treasure 

 of a trout." " How big would he be, do you think ? " 

 " Troth, sorr, I can't say to two foot ; but yer honner's 

 clothes wouldn't have fitted him." 



If it has ever been your lot to travel from Skipton to the 

 head of Wharfedale, or vice versa, by one of the conveyances 

 dignified by the name of a 'bus, you will know how, on wet 

 and busy fair days, an arrangement designed to carry ten 

 people in moderate comfort is capable of expanding its 

 holding capacity by any number up to, say, twenty-five,. 



