A MORNING AT BALLYSHANNON. 367 



sun flashed from the heavy rod as the rest- 



j 



less fisherman from the battlements wheeled 

 it over his head and cast his fly into some 

 fresh ripple. 



The Parson prided himself, and not with- 

 out cause, on the length, the lightness, and 

 the accuracy of his line ; but in vain did 

 the fly form the correctest of circles round 

 his head ; in vain did the line unfold itself 

 in the air, and fall unwavering on the oily 

 surface. The inhabitants of the water, like 

 those of the earth, were basking in the still 

 warm sunshine, though the flashing, start- 

 ling spring, and the heavy plunge of the 

 sporting salmon, showed more light-hear ted- 

 ness and animation afloat than could be 

 seen on shore. 



" It is of no use," said the Parson, sitting 

 down hopelessly on the thwart and winding 

 up the slack of his line. "It is of no use — 

 the fairy-fly would not rise them now." 



" The fairy-fly ! " said the Squire. "What, 

 another of your Erne legends? You may 

 just as well sit down and tell it me, for you 

 will do no good with that long line of yours : 

 you would not have kept on half so long, if 



