A MORNING AT BALLYSHANNON. 371 



the week after that ; and every day, except 

 the fated Friday, when fairy gifts have no 

 power ; and in every water, except the En- 

 chanted Throw — for fairies can do nothing 

 against the saints of the Church — every- 

 where, from the Falls of the Rose Isle to 

 the pool of Ballyshaimon, where the fly 

 touched the water, the salmon rose obedient 

 to its call. 



" Pat was growing rich : in vain did his 

 neighbours imitate his tackle and throw in 

 his throws — nothing rose to them ; no curl 

 broke the waters, and their line felt no 

 twitch : and they crossed themselves, and 

 swore by the holy trout of Kill-geever, that 

 it was not Pat Gallagher at all, but the 

 devil in his likeness. 



" What will not whisky accomplish ! in 

 an evil hour, in an unguarded moment, 

 poor Pat let out the secret — and from that 

 moment the virtue departed from the fly ; 

 his hook caught the bank behind him, or 

 his line knotted itself over his head, or fell 

 in a lump into the splashing water, not ^ve 

 yards from his rod : and, in the bad success 

 which attended him ever after on the river, 

 bitterly did he rue the transgression of that 



