AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 23 



CHAPTER III. 



THE OILY RIVER A SUNDAY MORNING'S RAMBLE A STORM 

 WORM FISHING. 



BEFORE proceeding farther into Donegal we re- 

 traced our steps to fish from Hill's Hotel at Dun- 

 kineely. We found the river low on our arrival, 

 and our sport was at first confined to the small 

 brown trout and peeps at larger fish. On Sunday 

 John McGlynn, our gillie, drove me and my son to 

 see the Oily River. McGlynn and myself were on 

 the bridge watching the running sea-trout jump the 

 little fall. This so excited him that he exclaimed, 

 " Shall I be driving back for the rods, sorr ? " No 

 doubt I should have replied, " Please, and be quick," 

 had it not been for the love ot rest from fishing on 

 this day that has been fostered by the innumerable 

 Sabbaths I have spent in Scotland. After six days 

 of tramp, tramp, flog, flog, I enjoy a time off, and it 

 enables me to be at it again on the morrow with 

 renewed zest and vigour. 



As the photo shows, abstaining from fishing does 

 not mean keeping away from temptation. A river, 

 or a brook, has attractions which will draw me a 

 car-drive merely to roam on its banks. Who has 



