SALMON ANOLINO IN IBELAND. 233 



considerable attention from the divine, the philanthropist, and the 

 statesman, was previously less known than the Friendly Isles are at 

 the present day. This lonely district contributes but little towards 

 our speciality, for, as a general rule, its lakes contain (I believe) only 

 small trout ; still, we were anxious to see a place about which so 

 much has been said. Crossing the sound we rolled over a tolerably 

 level road, and reached Dugurth (the capital) a little after midday. 



The mission buildings were as neat and orderly as when Mr. 

 Nangle presided over the infant colony, and seemed still to exercise 

 a wholesome influence over the place. These pages, however, are 

 not suited to discuss the failure or success of an undertaking, which 

 was here attempted on a scale so large as to comprehend little less 

 than a design of converting the entire Romanist population to 

 Protestantism. That the plan failed is certainly not to be wondered 

 at ; each party viewed the matter from a different point of sight, 

 and could by no means attain to a happy unanimity on the question 

 of " names." 



But enough of this. There lays Black Sod Bay, with each strand 

 and creek, river and mountain, so lovingly described and immor- 

 talised by Maxwell in his " Wild Sports of the West." As my eye 

 ran over the place where his youth was passed, I could not but think 

 of his age the one so bright the other so sad. There shone the 

 river he loved so well, yonder rose the mountain where the deer fell 

 before " Hennessey's unfailing rifle." I fancied, too, I could distin- 

 guish the hut on Carrig-a-Binniogh, where so blithe a party will 

 never more meet ; nor should I have been surprised to see Patigo 

 get under way, beat the hooker out of the bay, and, standing in for 

 the anchorage, hail a shore-boat, and land two sportsmen bright and 

 joyous from the possession of youth, health, and strength, for three 

 days' sport over the mountains and morasses of Achil. If ever man 

 was formed for happiness it was Maxwell. Alas ! that it must be 

 said, if ever man earned sorrow and laboured after poverty and 

 contempt, it was the gifted author of "Wild Sports." To my 

 thinking, notwithstanding their joyous spirit, truth and sentiment, 

 these sparkling volumes are the most mournful books in existence. 



