262 Alexander Goodman More. [i876 



Ireland, and this is also the time when trout rise more freely than under 

 the bright sun of summer. Our rower, pilot also, and confidential 

 adviser in our sport is old Corny, a well-known character in these parts. 

 Corny was a promising" angler some sixty years ago, and receives a high 

 character for civility and skilfulness from the author of " The Angler in 

 Ireland." He is now a little stiif from age and rheumatism, but as keen 

 as ever in the pursuit of his favourite occupation. Give him the rod, 

 and see with what perfect swing he casts his fly, lightly and surely, 

 scarcely ever failing to hook his fish. Woe to the trout that engages 

 in a single-handed contest with Corny. 



To-day he quickly lights his pipe, and settling down to his oars casts 

 round a quiet look of happy confidence, very reassuring to his con- 

 federate. And well he may ; for a fairer day for angling could not be 

 desired. The wavelets curl merrily in every part of the lake, crested 

 here and there with a narrow ridge of white foam, and break smartly on 

 the pebbles'which line the strand. In the distance northwards, the long 

 range of the Cahir Conree Mountains stand out, not too bright. Close 

 above us the matchless summit of M'Gillicuddy's Reeks and the lesser 

 ranges on the south and west tower sleepily into the clear blue sky, 

 across which the clouds sail steadily under the fresh western breeze. 

 Altogether it is a perfect day. 



We had promised to bring back a dish of trout for dinner : so made 

 at once for O'Brien's bank, one of the best parts of the Lake. We had 

 scarcely thrown out for the first cast when my small trout-fly was taken, 

 and the mad rush of something large and black under the boat indi- 

 cated a salmon. Happily our fish did not go far in his first rush, and 

 gave Corny plenty of time to wind up and stow away the second rod, 

 and we prepared for a struggle which might be expected to last a long 

 time, seeing that a small trout rod of 1 1 feet and a trout- fly on fine gut 

 are scarcely the tackle with which to tire out a salmon. And a monster 

 was on our line, as we soon saw, when a huge fish which Corny rated 

 at 2;lb. jumped clear out of water and fell on his side with a crash that 

 sounded all round the lake. It was too much to expect to kill such a 

 fish, but it became a nice question how long we could maintain our 

 hold. Following our fish as slowly as possible, with an occasional jump 

 to vary the monotony of the sluggish movement of our sulky captive, 

 who had no doubt resided in the lake ever since the previous March, 

 I put all the force I dared upon the gallant little rod, which often bent 

 to the very water under so severe a strain. All to no purpose, for the 

 fish never rose to view, nor could Corny, thirsting for his blood, see any 

 chance of plunging his gaff deep enough to reach him. One hour, 

 two hours, still we held on. We had travelled nearly a mile up and 

 down, and our lazy fish now seemed as if he did not care to exert him- 

 self any longer. Happy thought, my monitor from the stern- sheets 

 of the boat handed me some very welcome sandwiches and beer, while 

 old Corny pursued his monotonous course, muttering what I under- 

 stood to be benedictions in Irish on the " ould tormentor." 



After lunch we had a livelier time of it ; probably the beer took some 



