CHAPTER XXV 



FROM my earliest days it has been dinned into me that 

 Connemara, otherwise the wild and woolly west of 

 Ireland, was (I use the verb advisedly) El Dorado of the enthu- 

 siastic angler. The beauty spot thereof a veritable oasis 

 in the desert is Ballinahinch Castle and its demesne. Now 

 it happened that the proprietor of this desirable pitch was a 

 Raleigh Club friend of mine, one Dick Berridge, who also had 

 forgathered with me at the Gun Club and at Hurlingham. 



He was a keen shooter of big game the draw of wildest 

 Africa was continually pulling him. There came a time when 

 he packed up his armoury with a view to cavorting in search 

 of lions, buffalo and other fearsome fowl, in the recesses of 

 the Dark Continent. He happened to mention to me at the 

 club one day that it was his intention to let his beautiful 

 Castle, with all its sporting rights, for the term of one year. 

 Here was my opportunity, and I seized upon it with alacrity. 

 When all the preliminaries and formalities were completed, 

 I started across the Irish Channel with my entourage ; but 

 on arrival at Cashel I was informed by Mr. Matthews, my 

 friend's agent, that the Castle was not quite ready for our 

 reception, so we took up quarters at Johnnie O'Lochlan's well- 

 known hostelry in the village. From thence I wandered 

 forth on the Ballinahinch river in eager search of the salmonidce, 

 both of the salar and trutta varieties But before doing so 

 I cast a fly over the waters which were held by the hostelry 

 presided over by the said Johnnie O'Lochlan, who, among 

 other offices, held that of resident magistrate. I had one or 

 two days with the sea- trout, but seldom took more than 

 half a dozen fish of herling age. Never a salmon came my 

 way, for at that time the waters were rather low. 



The first day I essayed the Ballinahinch river commencing 



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