140 Sporting Sketches in Pen and Pencil. 



the land of dreams when a handful of gravel propelled from below against 

 my bedroom window one June morning woke me with a start. It could 

 hardly be called morning, for the day had hardly broken, and it was 

 about half-past four. Looking out of window, there stood my faithful 

 attendant Terry. 



" Hiirry, sir, hurry ! If we're not on the river soon, the gentleman 

 from Belleek will be there before us. Sure, he's mighty keen." 



The gentleman from Belleek — ^my old friend H, A, S.— was there, 

 notwithstanding all our haste ; for, as we came over the brow on to 

 the Angler's Throw, the morning now being light, we saw a long rod 

 waving scientifically to and fro. We stopped awhile to watch the 

 performance. He was just finishing the tail of the throw, when, instead 

 of going on to Cos Na Wonna, which joins it, he went up again to the 

 head of the pool, and began it over again. This was enough for Terry. 



"He's moved a fish, and 'U not lave it till he sees him again. 

 The Ledges is too thin this mornin', so we'll go on to the Grass-yard," or 

 Grass Guard, as some call it, a lovely throw, but best from the north 

 bank where we were. It is the commencement of a rapid with high 

 rocky banks on either side. On the south side if you hook a fish, and 

 the water is not too high, you can follow him down, though it is desperately 

 bad wading — very broken, rocky, and uncertain — and should never be 

 attempted without an attendant close by who knows the country. On 

 the north side, if you were to ventiire into the water, you would probably 

 not venture out again, as the stream is very deep, and, though it goes very 

 quietly, it goes very strongly. It is a nasty place at any time to fish, for 

 you have to walk out on a series of rough rocks just awash, which makes 

 very bad footing. 



Selecting as my fly a plain " parson " with few toppings and a saddle 

 feather in the under wing, I walked out on this uncertain causeway tiU I 

 reached the outer rock, and looking well to my footing, Terry holding fast 

 by my coat tail in case of a slip, I began to cast a short line at first, and 

 which I lengthened gradually. There was a beautiful Hght breeze, which 

 just rufiled the smooth surface of the stream before it feU away into 

 a broken torrent, and it was just there — about twenty-five yards out — that 



