SALMON ANGLING IN lEELAND. 131 



meditating on these things, a light step sounded over the shingles, 



and my friend L stood before me. "Look here," he said, 



pointing in great glee to a particularly handsome gaff in all the 

 splendour of unsullied brass and steel ; *' I shall not want your 

 unwilling charity again, you niggardly Walter. Here, what do you 

 think of this ?" 



I could not but admire the implement. 



" Ton my life, though, I wish it was safe back again in Beleek. 

 Rowley was very unwilling to lend, and gave no end of directions 

 about care, and all that sort of thing." 



"Why don't you give it to my man, he'll keep it safe. We shall 

 be all together for the rest of the day ?" 



" What are you going to do next ? Is there any one at the 

 ' Captain's Throw ?' " 



The latter question I could not answer, and, with respect to the 

 fonner, " I intended to try ' the Row ' again, and afterwards follow 

 the stream down towards the town." 



"I shall go on. then," he said, " and wait for you at Alt More." 



After giving the water sufficient rest, we tried it again and again. 

 But the lodge had been thoroughly upset, and nothing more could 

 be done, so our guide considered it high time to move on and 

 inquire after the fate and fortunes of my friend, more especially as 

 he thought that once or twice suspicious sounds had floated up from 

 his neighbourhood. As we advanced, Mr. Pat was in the act of re- 

 marking, " that the captin must be doing something, or never a bit 

 of him would have stayed quiet so long," when a tenific howl cut 

 him short. The start would have done credit to the Great Liverpool. 

 Off we went at score ; neck and neck : took a rasping fence at the 

 same moment, floundered through some soft ground, and entered the 

 thicket. Here the guide, who knew the paths, shot ahead, and we 

 paused to catch the direction he had taken. 



" Stones, Pat, stones ^those ain't big enough where the deuce is 

 the master ? I've been shouting this hour. There's not a bit of 

 skin left on my throat." Guided by the voice, which resembled 

 that of a trumpet labouring under severe catarrh, we soon came up. 



E 2 



