UNLUCKY DAYS IN WALES. 239 



began to rain hard and straight, and I was weatherwise 

 enough to be sure that it would rain for the rest of the day. 

 Better have told those young men to wait in the warmth of 

 the station refreshment room till I came back ; better even 

 have myself taken the next returning train. But hope 

 springs eternal in the human breast. 



" Fifty pounds, I think you said ?" observed the friend who 

 knew all about the Irish lakes, as he resolutely tucked up 

 his trousers. 



It was this phantom that inspired him to follow us through 

 those sodden meadows and slippery marshes into the rain- 

 beaten village nearest the pool. The other friend bore up 

 manfully till he reached the tavern settle, and then he 

 brought up to his moorings under a wharfage of smoked 

 bacon, wishing us luck, and requesting to be awakened, if he 

 slept, when we returned with the game. 



" Fifty pounds is a fine fish, old fellow," the more hopeful 

 companion said as we trudged through mire and rain. He 

 could think of nothing but that. Sympathy I could tender 

 him none, having just discovered that a new waterproof suit 

 warranted to stand fast, let in water like a sieve, and being 

 mentally engaged in debating whether there is anything 

 in the world so thoroughly illustrative of " adding insult to 

 injury" as a waterproof garment that assists the rainfall 

 to saturate you. 



A brave little Welsh boy, as we stand lingering shivering on 

 the brink, offers to pull us out into Llangorst Pool. His offer 

 is accepted, and I work like a galley slave with the rod and 

 spinning tackle. There are two other water parties, but they 

 are coming in, and without waiting to be asked they tender 

 the tidings " Not a touch to-day. " The assurance from one 



