134 



THE BUSH. 



Water, water, everywliere, but not a drop to drink ! 

 "Wliat a week we liave Had in Paddy's Land, the kind where 

 tke sky is bkier, the grass greener, and the rivers longer and 

 wider and deeper and wetter than in any other country in 

 the world. If you " misdoubt " — as my boy Mike would 

 say — about the wetness above referred to come over to the 

 distressful country at this period of the year and judge for 

 yourself. All last week the wind blew half a gale, and 

 bitterly cold it was, too, whilst the rain rolled along before 

 iiie gale in vapoury waves, which loolced like drifting 

 smoke. Oh ! it was lovely weather for fly-fishing ! Talk 

 about rain, why the very trees and mountains appeared 

 to be raining, and the earth itself poured forth rivulets 

 and exuded water like a wet sponge wherever you set foot. 

 As for the rivers, their contents might have been bottled, 

 and labelled " Dublin Stout," so brown and frothy was the 

 flood which swept down. But there were poor folk who 

 suffered more from these rain storms than did us holiday 

 folk, because the oat harvest is only half finished in Ireland 

 and there is, on the cold wet land, a quantity of oats not yet 

 cut in the north-western parts of the island. Potatoes are 

 a wretchedly poor crop — small as to size, smaller as to yield, 

 and very much diseased. This I can say is true of the dis- 

 trict comprised within the counties of Galway, Mayo, 

 Derry, and Antrim, because I have seen them for myself 

 this season, and in the first three named places the scanty 

 ■crops will not feed the people beyond Christmas. But I 

 came to Ireland for sport, and not to examine into the 

 probabilities of a famine, although I have found more of 

 the latter than of the former, as the results of my exertions 

 hitherto. The oats may spoil and the praties may rot by 

 reason of the rain, and the rivers may run double stout, but 



