BALMON ANGLING IN IRELAND. 285 



getting a salmon, and refused to knock ofiP whilst a chance remained. 

 Premature twilight was coming on over the desolate mountains as we 

 reached the southernmost side of the lake, where a' small stream ran 

 murmuringly over the stones. It was now or never. 



*' There, take it ! You have kept us waiting long enough," 

 remarked my comrade, striking so vigorously that I turned my 

 head to see the result, and at the same moment became conscious 

 of an increasing weight on my own rod, and a severe voice at my ear, 

 '' There he is ! Why dont you give him the butt." 



How often it happens that perseverance wins the fight at the 

 eleventh hour ! He who has done so knows how sweet such triumph 

 is. It made the Major less critical, and the Scribe excellent 

 company. If the truth must be told, the pair of salmon we landed 

 some fifteen minutes after were far from being in condition, for one 

 was black as my hat and the other red as a brick ; but the soldier's 

 eyesight suddenly became imperfect. " There, pack them up ; 

 'tis too dark to distinguish colours. We'll decide on the shade 

 to-morrow." 



By the time rods and tackle were packed there was little light 

 to spare, and when we reached the lower lake it was dark. As 

 to the exact point at which cart and quadruped were to be found, no 

 two of the party could agree. After a time a dismal howling was 

 heard, which on our nearer approach was exchanged for joyous 

 barking. Even the ill-used horse welcomed us with a subdued 

 neigh. 



Whilst the nag was being harnessed, the Major, with increasing 

 irritability, fumbled silently about the wheels of the cart. " What 

 had he lost? Could we assist him?" These and similar 

 politenesses for a time produced no reply. When at length he 

 spoke, loud was the voice and powerful the brogue, and so fierce 

 was the flame of his wrath, that it licked the varnish clean off his 

 courtesy. 



" Martin," he said, " it's hanged ye'U be, so sure as my name is 

 Peter Dowd. Look at this. Here's the rope, but where*s Ponto, ye 

 thief of the world ? " 



