A YEAR OF LIBERTY ; 01?, 



ci blank, and to-day I hate not yet seen a fish ; the wind, too, has 

 gone round to the south-west, and the clouds are gathering in heavy 

 masses. Sulkily we returned through the castle grounds from the 

 upper casts, Willie lagging behind despondingly with the rod. " Shall 

 we give it up, or walk down to the Bound Hill, and once more try 

 the water from thence to the bridge ?" 



For once my faithful companion demurred. " Sure there was a 

 power of rain overhead ; of course the glass was falling ; the wind 

 had died away. Sorra a fish was there in the water, and if there was, 

 there was not a ghost of a chance." 



At this stage of the debate a policeman, for whom my attendant 

 had conceived a violent friendship, passed, on his way to Cappoquin. 

 The aspect of things grew brighter. Now, there was nothing like 

 perseverance, so to the Bound Hill we went. Over all the likely 

 water at its base we fished with savage determination, but no success ; 

 pool after pool always the same blank, blank, blank. At last we 

 came to the lane. The wood round " the Scholar" looked awfully 

 dismal. The rain was falling heavily, and every bush and tree had 

 changed into a shower-bath. We had reeled in, and already taken 

 a step or two up the hill, when better thoughts came to our aid, so 

 we turned into the coppice. At the second cast I was fast in a good 

 fish. Verily, these animals are a mystery. Had it not been for a 

 wholesome fear of police, I should have shouted ''lo triumphe!" as 

 we marched up the Mall in the gloaming. 



All night poured the rain, and in the morning Messrs. Willie and 

 Bay were hard at work tying small flies, the " hare's-ear and yellow" 

 being grudgingly supplied by my landlady's cat. As the Black- 

 water was impracticable, we were to turn our misfortunes to account, 

 and take the Finesk at the fall of the fresh. 



This pretty little stream, which crosses the road some distance 

 beyond Cappoquin, has a high local reputation for the size and 

 quality of its trout, but is useless to the angler, except at times like 

 the present. Too much cumbered with alder, thorn, and hazel, it 

 winds its way through meadows to the main river in alternate pools 

 and shallows. In a few hours we killed about a dozen and a 



