AND HOW I HAVE CAUGHT MY FISH 79 



to the music of the ringing harebells. All Nature 

 was in such a gloriously playful mood that I, who 

 cannot sing, commenced a song of joy which was 

 cruelly cut short by, "Oh, please, dad, don't." 



Then my arm was taken, and I was gently 

 turned right about face and told of my promised 

 car drive to Glencolumbkille. 



On our return to the hotel we found the anglers 

 jubilant at their prospects and anxious for Sunday's 

 quiet to give place to Monday's expected sport. 

 Notwithstanding the day there was a bustling 

 activity of preparation. Rods were put together, 

 comparisons made of length, weight, and probable 

 usefulness under the varying tests they would be 

 put to, now the Glen river was in ply and with 

 plenty of fresh-run fish. 



Every one seemed some one else, and not one of 

 the silent, sky-watching, glass-tapping, down-in-the- 

 dumps individuals remained to remind you how 

 sour it is possible to look when you have nothing 

 else to do. 



These exhibitions of rods, lines and lures, with 

 plenty of leisure to compare one with the other, 

 aided by the eloquence of the exhibitors, who will 

 favour you with remarkable incidents which tend 

 to prove their rod, line or lure so far perfect that 

 they do not desire a better, are really most inter- 

 esting, and if you watch and listen you will 

 frequently get useful ideas that have cost much 

 time and thought to their possessors. 



