238 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



ing. The poachers were clever or the weather 

 hopeless. 



We used to take a dear little cottage there, at 

 Salruck, right on Lough Muck and Lough Fee and 

 I fished with one of the best men to throw a 

 line in Ireland, and one of the keenest. Major 

 Sweetman. Out at eight and in at nine was his 

 idea of a day's fishing. I do not suppose I shall 

 ever go to Salruck again now and see the red 

 salmon which would not be caught jumping in 

 the still evenings. 



We fished that first year with perhaps one of 

 the worst boatmen in Ireland. 



The only thing to do with him was to haul a 

 fish straight in murderously and trust to your 

 tackle, for the man grew so excited that he would 

 let you drift in on your fish, or if you swore hard 

 enough he would then row too hard and finally 

 drop his oars and dive for the fish when he was 

 still full of go. 



It was a glorious life down there, twenty miles 

 from a town, twelve from a village. No post 

 until one ; the lap of the lake rippHng just below. 

 The huge hills towering over our little house, and 

 the garden blazing with flowers. Great scarlet 

 gladioli, purple irises, white phloxes, masses of 

 Lady Gay roses. The little lonely road at the 

 bottom of the lawn and the air all tang of salt and 

 bog and mountain. Sometimes the world seemed 

 all one sweep of water splashing off the hills, 



