SALMON ANGLING IN IRELAND. 259 



light easterly air had sprung up, of which we being on the lee 

 shore enjoyed the full benefit. It would hardly have blown out a 

 match, yet it raised our spirits, and confidence is near akin to 

 success. Notwithstanding the dinner, I remembered the point past 

 which we were now paddling. 



" There, Willie, between those two stones, just where the fly is 

 dropping, that was the place where I saw the big trout." 



The obstinate party slowly opened his mouth, probably with the 

 intention of stating at length his reasons why my opinion was erro- 

 neous, when a tearing rise cut short the proposed oration ; he was, 

 however, incorrigible, for I heard him murmur to himself, " Well, I 

 never did see the like ; but it's no trout anyway, that's one comfort." 

 Whatever it was, the great unknown afforded me full occupation ; 

 for, surprised in shallow water, he went off at a pace that promised 

 soon to arrive at the end of the tether. Whether it was the Irish 

 stew, or the whisky, or the pudding, or the surprise, or a little of all 

 combined, it would be difficult to say, but there sat the most accom- 

 plished angler in Ireland, with the oar in his hand, vacantly staring, 

 alternately at his mistress, the fast-revolving wheel, and the counte- 

 nance of his master, who was rapidly waxing very wroth indeed. 



" Do you intend to see me run out ? I believe you are dinink, sir. 

 Pull ; why don't you pull ?" 



As if suddenly roused to consciousness, the poor fellow glanced 

 for a moment over his shoulder to mark the direction the fish was 

 following, and then bent in earnest to his work. A sharp spurt 

 enabled me to regain a considerable quantity of loose capital, and 

 though the fetter which held Mr. Ferox was nothing stronger 

 than a small-sized trout-hook, still our hopes rose as we got into 

 deeper water and the pace diminished. Twenty minutes of delicious 

 anxiety, and our prize, yielding to pressure, slowly approached the 

 surface. Willie had long abandoned the oar, and, gaff in hand, was 

 peering into the purple water. 



"I know'd it," he said at last with dogged deliberation; "I 

 know'd it were not a trout." 



Now I had made up my mind that it ivas, and this obstinate 



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