INTRODUCTOEY AND EGOTISTICAL. 7 



There had been rain — the water was much the colour of 

 table beer. Old John pulled out trout after trout, and oh 

 how I admired their yellow sides and crimson spots as they 

 danced and jumped upon the green grass glittering with 

 dew drops ! None for a considerable time sought to make 

 acquaintance with my bait — at last I felt a pull at it, and 

 well was it for my peace of mind during the remainder of 

 that day, that my line was formed of stout hemp, for in 

 return I gave such a pull as sent a trout of nearly a pound 

 weight fljT-ng over my head into a remote part of the field 

 behind me. I ran, I caught him, I disengaged the hook 

 from his tongue, I stretched him on the grass, I lay down 

 beside him, I feasted my eyes upon him. I brought him, 

 with those which old John had taken, to my grandmother ; 

 I heard his flavour approved at dinner, and from that hour 

 was irretrievably a fisherman. 



Soon I began to wield one of Martin Kelly's light brook 

 rods — I have it still. Soon I learned to despise the 

 crawling worm, and with my fine gut casting line, my 

 black hackle with a dark blue body for a stretcher, and my 

 red hackle for a bob, found my way to the Dargle river, 

 with which the brook of which I have already spoken 

 mingles its waters. Soon, accompanied by a chuckle- 

 headed, bull-necked, red-haired peasant named Ned 

 Nowlan, the son of an old nurse who had lived a long life 

 on my grandfather's property and in my grandfather's house, 

 I essayed to try more distant streams and lakes. Few are 



B 4 



