Flowery May! Well, not exactly. To us here this month generally spells fish, and is looked forward to as a pleasant change from the usual regime. It may probably surprise many to learn that though planted here, right in the centre of the fishing grounds, our table for the greater part of the year is “fishless”; for, unlike Mahomet and the mountain, the fish must come to us, even to our very door--for from our doorway the most of our fish are caught, save an occasional one taken with rod and line from the deep pools left on the Rock by the receding tide. The catching of fish from one’s doorstep will be easily understood when it is known that a stumble from our door at full tide means a sheer fall of fifteen feet into two or three fathoms of water. A stay fixed in the doorway, with its outer end attached to the landing-slip fifty feet from the tower, carries a weighted pulley, to which is attached the fishing line, while pending from the pulley is the snid and hook. The pulley is carried to the extremity of the stay by its own momentum, and is hauled back by means of the fishing line. The most of our fly-fishing is carried on with this apparatus, our largest catches being generally in the fall and consisting principally of poddlies, with an occasional lithe or cod. Strangers often ask why we do not keep a boat here; it might almost as reasonably be asked why we don’t keep a cow. Simply because we have not the necessary accommodation--that is, unless one could be devised with the properties of a limpet, and be none the worse for several hours’ immersion every tide. Besides, our Commissioners have decreed that it would not be advisable, as the temptation to wander might end in our being cast away, and the possible result of the Rock being left even for one night without its customary warning light might be too horrible to contemplate.