SALMON ANGLINa IN IRELAND. 139 



" Faith, then, it is the Monk's Path ; and the best o' raisons why 

 it should be called the same." Here John seated himself on an 

 opposite fragment of rock, with an air half solemn, half mysterious. 

 I saw he was in the legendary vein ; so, charging the meerschaum, 

 I resigned myself to the infliction. 



" In ould ancient times in the mountains beyant, there lived a raal 

 gintleman, Euaidh O'Rooke. Now, Ruaidh, your honour, was a wild 

 slip of a boy who spent his time between gamin', dancin', huntin', 

 drinkin', fightin', and the girls ; and it chanced somehow, quare 

 enough, that he spint all his money too. Now, Sir Phalim, the 

 master's elder brother, was not sich a gentleman as Ruaidh at all, at 

 all. Not a pin cared he for the ladies seeing he was married ; so for 

 that matther was the master and as to dogs, not a sowl of 'em dared 

 wag a tail in his company but one ould wolf-hound, a great favourite, 

 d'ye see. His only divarsions were readin' in a big book, as dull and 

 silent as himself, or stalkin' over the hills with Dhugh (for that was 

 the haste's name) at his back. Now, seein' the master spint all and 

 Sir Phalim not a copper, small blame to him for borrowing what 

 what was no use in life to his brother. But when the scholar came 

 to know it, och, blood and turf, but he gets into a tunderin' passion, 

 bade him begone, and make a fortin as good as he'd marred. Yer 

 honour may take your book oath the master didn't lave his blessin' 

 behind him. Mary stand atween us and evil wasn't there a too-roo 

 that*.night at the castle ! Such murtherin', screechin', and yellin', 

 rampin' and tearin', howlin' and moanin' the Lord be good to us I 

 Not a mother's son closed an eye, and when momin' came there was 

 the big book, but devil a sign of Sir Phalim or his dog. All this was 

 mighty strange. At last the praist, with the tooth of St. Bridget, 

 knocks at his door ; and who but the raal clargy dare venter ? All 

 was still, and his riverence lifts the latch, and sure he'd been kilt 

 entirely savin' the relic ; for there lay Sir Phalim with a black mark 

 round his neck, stiff and cold, and the dumb baste by his side cryin' 

 like any other Christian. In course of time the master was found, 

 and mighty pale he turned with grief, and mighty fond he got of his 

 brother's wee daughter, and a beautiful crathur she grew, and all the 



