SALMON ANGLING IN IRELAND. 28l 



the highest pinnacle of matronly happiness. The Major, whilst 

 scientifically compounding a fourth tumbler, opened his heart and 

 became communicative. He told how in the previous month " his 

 lady fair " required stock for her aquarium, and how, the weather 

 being impracticably fine, he shouldered his landing-net, ordered 

 Patsy to follow with the stable-bucket, and betook himself to the 

 sea- shore at low water. " The first few rock pools did not yield us 

 so much as a ' tittlebat ;' but the next scoop under a ledge fringed 

 with pink weed by Jove, sir " stirring his glass with dangerous 

 energy, " I had a dozen prawns as long as my finger and thick as my 

 thumb. Hang the aquarium, sir. I worked like a horse, and brought 

 home the bucket half full of these delicious crustaceae" (he was fond 

 of parading the profound learning to be gained from sixpenny 

 treatises, " about the foreshores and their inhabitants") "and by Jove, 

 sir, didn't Patsy and I stick to business so long as the springs lasted !" 

 When the prawns were discussed we came to matters of more imme- 

 diate concern. The host declared with his usual energy that fishing 

 was out of the question ; there had been a long spell of fine weather, 

 the Inny was nearly dry, and as for the lakes, there had not been a 

 ripple on one of them for a week. 



It appeared, however, that my old friend had made ample prepa- 

 rations for our amusement. The morning broke as grey and calm 

 as those which preceded it. The potted crustaceae were all that 

 could be desired. Men, guns, dogs, game-bags, and ammunition 

 enough to decimate the country, were collected on the little grass 

 plot under the solitary window of our salle a manger. Yet stUl the 

 Major, with feet in his slippers and back to the fire, continued 

 puffing and puffing with a gan'ulous tranquillity that was mad- 

 dening. At length the gigantic cheroot came to an end, and the 

 procession getting under way, shaped a course nearly due east, and 

 in less than half an hour reached some small swampy inclosures at 

 the edge of the beautiful curved strand, through the centre of which 

 the Inny cleaves a passage to the sea. 



The long ling, with narrow black fissures between the hummucks, 

 was literally full of snipe. The autumn had been unusually dry, and 



