handle a rod or tie a fly better than our Tom; but with a foolish whim of his, he never starts with the probable kind of flies that will be required, confident that he can make any that

may be wanted. It is quite impossible to

know exactly the nature of the ephemera that will be on the water; and therefore to be able to tie a fly is an essential accomplishment in a fisherman desirous of obtaining perfection in the art; but by making allowance for the wind and weather, the state of the water, and the change of the seasons, we can form a pretty correct opinion of the desired fly. Previously to the commencement of fishing, therefore, you should consider what will be likely for you to want, and make your selection from the stock according to your judgment."

"I see clearly your meaning," replied John, "and an exceedingly great improvement on my plan, and Tom's too, it appears to be."

"You'll find it such upon adoption," re

joined the Squire; and, as he arrived at the conclusion of his practical lecture, he plucked his rod from the ground, threw his line backwards and forwards, and whipping the fly light as thistle-down on the stream, the whir-r-r of the reel again proved the index of "a fish worth having."

CHAPTER XVI.

"The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

And now loud howling wolves arouse the jades,
That drag the tragic melancholy night;

Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings,
Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air."

COMFORTABLE! that is a purely English expression. In no other language can it be translated so as to convey a sense of its purity. To have happy and cheerful faces around us; to hear the ringing laugh and shout of merriment; to be warm and cozy; to be free and oblivious of the real and imaginary ills of life; to love and be beloved by those both near and dear to

us; to fill and drain to the hearty toast and sentiment; in short, an ENGLISHMAN'S FIRESIDE is, perhaps, the best illustration of that enviable condition which may fitly be described as being comfortable.

And where was there a more comfortable scene, humble as it might be, than that of which we are about to lift the curtain to our readers? There was Mrs. Sykes in Sunday gear,

all

smiles, and, if we cannot say with poetical truth

dimples," yet the ruins of where they had been. And there was her daughter-in-law, charming Nancy, with her dancing ringlets and peach-blossom cheeks, and James, her young and devoted husband; Edward Dixon, the landlord of the Lion, arrayed in the pink of his wardrobe, and honest Job the huntsman, surrounding the crackling faggot blazing on the hearth of his cottage. A warm light was shedding its rays upon the portraits of the Sykes family adorning the walls, and the grimness of the expression of many of them

seemed to be thawed in its influence, and the old fellows blinked, and winked, and grinned in the flickering flames, as if conscious of the merry occasion. It were almost needless to add that a goodly array of "creature comforts" stood on the polished mahogany at hand; for if a fault, albeit a generous one, was shared with balanced equality between Job and his wife, it was the one of extended and almost boundless hospitality.

"Well!" exclaimed Job, slapping his kerseymere "shorts" with an air of satisfaction, "this is what I call comfortable."

"I've been more miserable, certainly," replied Edward Dixon, winking pleasantly at Mrs. Sykes, and looking at every one as if he had earned a compliment, and merited payment at sight.

"You're a dry dog, Ned," rejoined the huntsman, giving the landlord a slight poke in his well-lined ribs with a straightened finger, and then followed sundry nods of acquiescence in