AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 13 



CHAPTER II. 



EUSTON TO KILLYBEGS A QUAINT FELLOW-PASSENGER 

 DONEGAL TOWN THE MAID'S MOTTO. 



WE, one of my sons and I, started by the 8.30 A.M. 

 from Euston for just another fishing tour in Ireland. 

 I never think of Ireland without having in my mind 

 the picture you get of it on approaching Kingstown. 

 It has always fascinated me in such a way that, 

 while my eyes are greedily taking in the lovely 

 scene, I quite forget my whereabouts, until the 

 brilliant green fields assert themselves. We had 

 intended to sleep in Dublin, but, finding the beds 

 of that city more than occupied, on account of the 

 great motor-race fixed for the following day, we 

 decided to take our sleep travelling not a difficult 

 task in a coach on the Great Northern Railway of 

 Ireland. 



Next to be admired after the policemen who 

 direct the traffic at difficult crossings in London is 

 the much-taxed, yet ever-patient, railway servant. 

 While waiting for trains I have stood aside near an 

 inner entrance gate and listened to the questions 

 put to the man in charge, heard his civil answers, 

 and wondered what his wages were. To say the 



