28 FISHING EXCURSION. 



in a jerkin of coarse blue cloth, with an otter (a fancy of my 

 cousin's) blazoned on his arm : in one hand he holds a fish- 

 spear, which assists him when he meets with rugged ground, 

 in the other, a very unpretending angle, jointed rudely with a 

 penknife, and secured by waxen threads ; a cast of flies 

 are wound about his hat, and his remaining stock, not 

 exceeding half-a-dozen, are contained between the leaves 

 of a tattered song-book : in the same depository he has 

 some silk, dyed mohair, a hare's ear, and a few feathers 

 from the cock, brown turkey, and mallard ; and these simple 

 materials furnish him w r ith most efficient flies, but he 

 requires a bright day to fabricate them, as his sight is in- 

 different. 



It required much persuasion and a positive assurance of 

 success, before I ventured with my kinsman to the river. 

 Ten minutes' easy walking brought us to a noble pool above 

 the Wear, where my friend never fails to kill a salmon, if 

 the wind be westerly and the water not too low. The water 

 was in beautiful order, and my cousin insisted that, under 

 his direction, I should once more try my fortune with the 

 fishing-rod. Discarding my gaudy flies with a malediction 

 upon the knave who tied them, he affixed two of his upon the 

 casting-line ; and nothing could be of a simpler character than 

 those selected from his book. The tail-fly was a plain black 

 and orange mohair body, with a long and pointed turkey- 

 feather wing ; the dropper was formed of blue and scarlet 

 wool, ribbed with silver, a pheasant sprit for legs, and mixed 

 wings of the turkey and mallard. 



I made several unsuccessful casts : " A bad look-out, 

 friend Julius. Heaven forfend that the cook has placed any 

 dependence on the angle 1" Again I tried the pool, and, like 

 all disappointed fishermen, began to prognosticate a change of 

 weather. " I had remarked mares' tails in the sky yesterday 

 evening, and there was rain over head, for a hundred !" My 

 cousin smiled ; when, suddenly, my nebulous speculations 

 were interrupted by a deep, sluggish roll at the dropper. 

 " Monamondiaoul f"* exclaimed Mortien Beg,\ as he caught a 

 momentary glance of the broad and fan-like tail. " He is 

 fifteen pound weight !" Obedient to the directions of my 

 Mentor, I left the spot the salmon leaped in, and commenced 



* An Irish imprecation. t Little Martin. 



