may be caught, which come up to spawn; but they are generally, when
caught, immediately thrown into their element again, as they are worth
nothing, on account of the looseness of their flesh.

But to the subject. _Trout binning_ is a name given to a peculiar method
of taking trout. A man wades any rocky stream (Pot-beck for instance)
with a sledge-hammer, with which he strikes every stone likely to
contain fish. The force of the blow stuns the fish, and they roll from
under the rock half dead, when the "binner" throws them out with his
hand.

_Night-Fishing._--I have frequently gone out with a fishing party at
about ten o'clock at night to spear trout. We supplied ourselves with an
eel spear and a lantern, and visited Cannon's "beck." We drew the light
gently over the water near the brink. Immediately the light appeared,
both trouts and eels were splashing about the lantern in great
quantities. We then took the spear, and as they approached, thrust it
down upon them, sometimes bringing up with it three or four together.
One night we took nearly twenty pounds of trout and eels, which, for the
short time we were out, may be considered very fair sport, and some of
those were of a very large size.

Should you notice this, I may be led to recur to the subject in a future
paper.

W.H.H.

* * * * *

A proud man is a fool in fermentation,
that swells and boils over like a porridge-pot.
He sets out his feathers like an owl,
to swell and seem bigger than he is.

* * * * *

THE TOPOGRAPHER.

AN EXCURSION TO THE RUINS OF RIEVAULX AND BYLAND ABBEYS; AND TO THE
RESIDENCE OF LAURENCE STERNE, COXWOLD, YORKSHIRE.

(_For the Mirror_.)

"The air around was breathing balm,
The aspen scarcely seem'd to sway;
And, as a sleeping infant calm,
The river stream'd away--
Devious as error--deep as love,
And blue and bright as heaven above."

_Alaric A. Watts_.

Though I am as romantic a being as ever breathed on the face of this
beautiful earth; yet, I will promise the reader, that in detailing the
events of an interesting day, I will not tinge them with that colouring;
yet, such a glorious bard as Wordsworth could, alone, do justice to our
excursion. Leave him to wander alone in that woody dell, with the
thrilling picture spread around him--the sinking walls of elaborate
Gothic, clouded by the hanging woods--the rural dwellings of