If Ever You have An Evening To Spare, Up The River, I Should Advice You To Drop Into One Of The Little Village Inns, And Take A Seat In The Tap-Room. You Will Be Nearly Sure To Meet One Or Two Old Rod-Men, And’ Thy Will Tell You Enough Fishy Stories In Half An Hour To Give You Indigestion For A Month. ha ha ha ha. Ok The Story Is As Under And Enjoy:

                George and I—I don’t know what had become Harris; he had gone out and had a shave, early in the afternoon, and had then come back and spent full forty minutes in pipe-claying his shoes, we had not seen him since—–George and I, therefore, and the dog left to ourselves, went for a walk to Wallingford on the second evening, and, coming home, we called in a little riverside inn, for a rest, and other things.
                We went into the parlour and sat down. there was an old fellow ther smoking a long clay pipe, and we naturally behgan chatting.                 He told us that it had been a fine day today, and we told him that it had been a fine day yesterday, and then we all told each other that we thought it would be a fine day tomorrow; and George said the crops seemed to be coming up nicely.
                 After that, it came out, somehow, or other, that we were, strangers in the neighbourhood, and that we are going away the next morning.                 Then a pause ensued in the conversation, during which, our eyes wandered round the room. They finally rested upon a dusty old glass-case, fixed very high up above the chimney-piece, and containing a trout. It rather fascinated me, that trout; it was such a monstrous fish. in fact, at first glance, I thought it was a cod.                  ‘Ah!’   said the old gentleman, following the direction of my gaze, fine fellow, that, ain’t he?                  “Quite uncommon” I murmured; and George asked the old man how much he thought it weighed.                 ”Eighteen pounds six ounces; said our friend, rising and taking down his coat,  ”Yes”, he continued, ‘it was over sixteen years ago; i caught him just below the bridge with a minnow. They told me he was over in the river, and I said i’d have him, and so I did. You don’t see many fish that size about here now, I’m thinking. Goodnight; gentlemen, good night.’                           And out he went, and left us alone.
                  We could not take our eyes off the fish after that. It really was a remarkably fine fish. We were still looking at it, when the local carrier, who had just stopped at the inn, came to the door of the room and he also looked at the fish.                              “Good-sized trout, that,” said George, turning round to him.                              “Ah! you may well say that, sir,” replied the man; and then he added, “May be you weren’t here, sir, when that fish was caught?”                              “No,” we told him. “We are strangers in the neighbourhood.”                              “Ah!” said the carrier, “then of course, how should you? it was nearly five years ago that i caught that trout.”                              “Oh!” was it you who caught it, then?” said I.                              “Yes, sir,” replied the genial old fellow. “I caught him just below the lock-leastways, what was the lock then, one Friday afternoon; and the remarkable thing about it is that i caught him with a fly. i’d gone out pike-fishing, bless you, never thinking of a trout, and when I saw that whopper on the end of my line, blest if it didn’t quite take me back. Well, you see, he weighed twenty  six pounds. Good night, gentlemen, good night”.                                            Five minutes afterwards, a third man came in, and described how he had caught it early one morning with bleak; and then he left, and a stolid, solemn-looking, middle-aged individual came in, and sat down over by the window.                  None of us spoke for a while; but, at length, George turned to the newcommer, and said:                               ”I beg your pardon, I hope you will forgive the liberty that we perfect strangers in the neighbourhood are taking, but my friend here and myself would be so much obliged if you would tell us how you caught that trout up ther.”                                “Why, who told you I caught that trout?” was the surprised query.                  We said that nobody had told us so, but somehow or other we felt instinctively that it was he who had done it.                                “Well, it;s a most remarkable thing——most remarkable,” answered the stolid stranger, laughing; “because, as a matter of fact, you are quite right, I did catch it. But fancy your guessing it like that. Dear me, it’s really a most remarkable thing”.                 And then he went on, and told us how it had taken half an hour to land it, and how it had broken his rod. He said he had weighed it carefully when he reached home, and it had turned the scale at thirty-four pounds.                           He went in his turn, and when he was gone, the land lord came in to us. We told him the various histories we had heard about his trout, and he was immensely amused, and we all laughed very heartily.                                 ”Fancy Jim Bates and Joe Muggles and Mr. Jones and old Billy Maunders all telling you that they had caught it. Ha! ha! ha! Well, that is good,” said the honest old fellow, laughing heartily. “Yes, they are the sort to give it me, to put in my parlour;    if they had caught it, they are Ha! ha! ha!”                And then he told us the real history of the fish. It seemed that he had caught it himself, years ago, when he was quite a lad; not by any art or skill but by the unaccountable luck that appears to always wait upon a body when he plays the wag from school, and goes out fishing on a sunny afternoon, with a bit of string tied on to the end of a tree.                He said that bringing home that trout had saved him from a whacking, and that even his school master had said it was worth the rule of three and practice put togethe.                                He was called out the room at this point, and George and i again  turned our gaze upon the fish.                It really was a most astonishing trout. The more we looked at it, the more we marvelled at it.                It excited George so much that he climbed up on the back of a chair to get a better view of it.                And then the chair slipped, and George  clutched wildly at the trout-case to save himeself, and down it came with a crash, George and the chair  on top of it.                                   ”You haven’t injured the fish, have you?” I cried in alarm, rushing up.     “I hope not,” said George, rising cautiously and looking about. But he had. The trout lay shattered into a thousand fragments—-I say a thousand, but they may have been only nine hundred. I did not count them. we thought it strange and unaccountable that a stuffed trout should break up into little pieces like that. And, so it would have been strange and unaccountable, if it had been a stuffed trout, but it was not.

THAT TROUT WAS PLASTER OF PARIS