224 A YEAR OF libeety; or, 



the finest trout that ever died under m}^ rod, though unhappily not 

 by my hand. With a diminutive head, high shoulder, deep side, 

 and a weight of 8-^lb., what a beauty he was. and what a warning 

 against making rash promises ! 



From hag to hag Pat again bounded over the bog, the enormous 

 basket with which he had provided himself bumping against his 

 shoulders in a manner truly perplexing. Now this basket, which 

 had for some time been attracting my attention, was nothing more 

 nor less than a horse-pannier, a machine much in vogue in this 

 cartless country, being in fact the only recognised mode of conveying 

 the crop from the field or the turf from the bog ; as for filling it, 

 that was surely an impossibility ; it could hardly, therefore, be said 

 to have been brought out exclusively for use, neither could it exactly 

 be considered ornamental. Had Mr. M'Hale's versatile genius 

 suggested its employment, in order to impress on the minds of two 

 luckless foreigners the famed qualities of the water ? or was it only 

 to be considered as an exaggerated allegorical emblem of plenty a 

 species of piscatorial cornucopia? No matter look at it how I 

 would, there was comfort in it. 



The meeting of the waters was a pretty spot ; for a few hundred 

 yards before their junction they ran murmuring on, gradually 

 approaching each other, parted only by a low narrow slip of land, 

 sweet from the breath of the Myrica gale ; then, like lovers long 

 parted, they hurried into each other's embrace, rushed joyously over 

 a ledge of rocks, and mingled their waters in a pretty granite basin. 

 Here for a few minutes we were unsuccessful ; at the lower end of 

 the pool the water became more shallow, and there a salmon dashed 

 at the fly, but turned short as if disappointed ; a second and a third 

 rise followed in rapid succession. " Oh ! Terry, Terry, I fear your 

 handiwork is anything but what it should be." On the morning of 

 our leaving Ballina the said Terry had given me parting advice and 

 a parting gift. The gift consisted of a dozen flies, carefully done up in 

 brown paper ; the advice was, to hover near Tyrena, and pounce down 

 on the river the moment the weather broke up. Whilst mournfully 

 inspecting Mr. Diver's donation, my meditations were rudely interrupted. 



