A TRIP TO IRELAND. 83 



only to return an hour later with the fly still sticking in its former 

 position, and having received a severe drubbing with shillelahs from 

 the locals for having presumed to gillie for us. Pretty well black and 

 blue all over, his lower lip enormously swollen, he looked indeed a 

 sorry sight. Something had now to be done, so it then occurred to 

 one of us to strip the fly, which fortunately was not an eyed one, and 

 take it out the reverse way. This was done accordingly without delay, 

 a plug of tobacco was stuffed into the gaping hole, a good jorum of 

 "the craytur" was speedily administered, and Pat soon forgot all about 

 his thrashing and his sore lip in his keenness to gaff the fish we 

 managed to catch. 



Owing to our being so severely boycotted, we had to manage for 

 food at the hotel as best we could, and the monotonous diet of salmon 

 in every form or shape, varied with a ham or piece of bacon, disagreed 

 thoroughly with me, and somewhat marred the perfect enjoyment of 

 my trip. 



On Sundays we used to drive to the Protestant church in a big 

 brake, so as to take the servants with us and protect them from possible 

 violence ; and one sermon we heard there amused us mightily. We 

 were sitting in the big square pew just under the pulpit. The parson 

 preached us an impassioned sermon on intolerance, and I must candidly 

 admit that I have seldom listened to a more intolerant one. He launched 

 forth into a tirade of abuse of most things, of absenteeism in particular, 

 bewailing the sorrows of his poor, distressful country, and attributing 

 the large majority of her troubles to a non-resident gentry. " They 

 come here," said he, " not to do their duty or to help us, but merely 

 to gratify their miserable sporting instincts" (and here we began to feel 

 very small) ; " but," he added, leaning over the side of the pulpit in 

 our direction, " not, gintlemen, that I allude to angling, for that is a 

 grand sport. One of the greatest of the apostles, Saint Peter, was an 

 ardent angler, and I am an angler myself." Mentally bowing our 

 acknowledgments, we left the church, grateful that so eloquent a divine 

 should be appreciative of our favourite sport. 



One more anecdote and I have done. We were going back to 

 England on the morrow, and were settling up generally, when my gillie 

 Pat said to me, "Your honour, would ye buy me a pig?" "And why 



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