AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 17 



tion I was putting myself as we entered Omagh 

 station to the refrain : 



" It's extraordinary, isn't it ? 

 It's most extraordinary, isn't it? 

 Begorry and hurroo, ye divils, whilaloo." 



When Pat had really gone, Kirk said to me : 

 "It took you a long time, dad, to discover that 

 our visitor was quite an artiste, a truly funny fellow, 

 and by no means much, if any, the worse for drink. 

 But there : what would his likeness be without the 

 voice, actions, and inconceivably comic expressions 

 of the original ? I think a real Pat is like our 

 Devonshire junkets grandmother's junkets eh, 

 dad ; with coverings of clotted cream taken care- 

 fully from the pan in which it has been scalded, 

 and placed yellow side up, and then a little nutmeg 

 grated over it. Pat does not bear transplanting 

 any more than our junkets, and neither of them 

 can be made elsewhere." 



It is but a short distance from Omagh to the 

 flourishing town of Strabane, which is favourably 

 situated where the rivers Mourne and Finn unite 

 to form the historically great Foyle. The town 

 is most interesting, and its vicinity very picturesque, 

 and I can highly recommend the Abercorn Arms 

 as an up-to-date commercial hotel at which to stay. 

 We changed at Strabane into a Donegal railway 

 train, and were soon at Stranorlar Junction, where 

 this railway branches fork-like up the vales of the 

 Mourne and Finn to their respective terminations 



c 



