SALMON ANGLING IN IRELAND. 241 



raise my hopes, but, alas ! insufficieDt to move the stream, the bed 

 of which was nearly dry. Still I was bent on trying a few of the 

 dark and stagnant pools that lay about a couple of miles up 

 amongst the mountains, and felt sure of a pleasant day in the 

 priest's company. Now the P. P. of T3rrena was, doubtless, a sound 

 churchman, yet his geological education had been sadly neglected 

 at Maynooth ; for, the conversation happening to turn on the 

 Causeway, like a " pragmatical ass " I must needs enter into the 

 doctrine of its igneous origin, and forthwith incurred the censure of 

 the Church. 



'^ Oh, docther dear, it is not that ye mane," ^in the mild and 

 earnest spirit of an apostle condemning some heretical opinion held 

 by a friend and a brother, " Sure ye know 'twas huilt by the gi'eat 

 min in ould ancient times, and, by raison of thim, isn't it called the 

 Giants' Causeway to this day ? Oh ! docther, dear, take a friend's 

 advice, and niver talk about what ye don't understand !" 



The propriety of Father Ned's advice struck me forcibly, so I was 

 silent and left the victory in his hands. He was but mortal, and the 

 flush of his triumph shone on him all day. How pleasantly we 

 trudged through the rare Erica Mediterranea, now dropping our 

 single fly on a pool as smooth as a great slab of black marble, and 

 then following the pathless swamp, gradually came nearer the base of 

 Carrig-a-Binniogh. The good father carried the net with as much 

 dignity as if it had been a crosier ; spoke of the loneliness of his 

 position ; the pleasure of meeting a companion ; poured forth his 

 troubles about his flock ; and finally proposed we should plant rod 

 and net in the bog and scale the summit of the mountain. To this 

 proposition I willingly assented, and after half an hour's stout walk- 

 ing, stood on the topmost peak. Spread out before us was a sight as 

 lovely as ever filled the heart of man with delight. To the south lay 

 the Eeek, the mountain tops of Murrisk, and Clew Bay, gemmed with 

 its many islands ; whilst at our feet was an interminable wilderness 

 of heather. To the north stretched Black Sod Bay, and all the wild 

 region, made classic ground by Maxwell. To the west was Achil, 

 and beyond rolled the boundless, sparkling Atlantic. In a nan-ow 



