THE DARYL IN MAY. 253 



we do ! As I glance at the glittering Daryl 

 I seem to know every old snag and bramble 

 in the reach before me. That venerable stone, 

 bearded with moss, behind which there is 

 nearly always a big trout and when you 

 catch him, as I hope to do, another will take 

 his place to-morrow that bearded old stone 

 used to seem a rock to me when I served my 

 apprenticeship to the art of angling with a 

 pin. Under the elder a bit further up I have 

 listened with the perfect faith of ten years of 

 age to the stories of Leprecauns, told by the 

 lying, clever, eternally lazy varlet, under whose 

 charge I was placed during my country ram- 

 bles. The fellow localized his yarns, and 

 would point to a mound on which a dwarf 

 in a red waistcoat and knee breeches was seen 

 by him making brogues. The fairies are dead 

 now. ... I have my rod together at last, 

 but I must wait until a cloud goes over the 

 sun. Now, there is a momentary eclipse, and I 

 observe, as we are passing into it, that the same 

 effect is produced on our chanting little fowls 

 when the veil covers the sun's face as you 

 might note when a handkerchief is flung upon 



