ioo AN ANGLER'S BASKET. 



glory of the white waistcoat, we resolved to be revenged on 

 our own ground, and with the assistance of one or two others 

 about the inn, we were ; for the following is an authentic 

 list of what there was on his night line when he drew it 

 from the lake early on Monday morning : ist, a perch with 

 his back fin cut off and carefully stitched on underneath ; 

 2nd, a sole ; 3rd, a bloater in an advanced stage of decompo- 

 sition ; 4th, an eel with a row of shirt buttons down his 

 back ; 5th, a small crab with a bit of blue ribbon attached to 

 his hard bosom ; 6th, and last, a flat iron. And as we 

 gazed at the victim from behind neighbouring trees, while 

 he surveyed the spoil with the air of a man who was not 

 quite clear whether it was a joke or the jimjams, somebody 

 shouted " Sic transit gloria Mundi morning and the white 

 waistcoat." 



With regard to cold weather, did you ever hear this ? 

 A village Scot passed his minister with a cheery " Good 

 morning," and the remark, " It's cauld." " Ay, ay, Sandy," 

 was the answer, "many are cauld, but few are chosen." 

 " Ah, weel, minister, if ye are no chosen, ye'll no be long 



cauld." 



# & 



A certain keen angler in one of the Dales, a parson who 

 had married a Scotch wife, had had a day's angling with 

 another clerical friend, and after dinner they sat talking over 

 old college days and other things, including an odd tumbler 

 or two, until at length the host suggested that his guest 

 should remain all night. A violent private demonstration of 

 grimaces, frowns, and head shakes from his better half 

 against the proposal did not suffice to stop his pressing 

 request that his friend would stay, and eventually he 

 consented. Just before parting for the night, the good lady 

 went off for a Bible, and almost at the same moment the 



