146 WATERSIDE SKETCHES. 



am referring the salmon fishing was over, for the Galway 

 river is not one of the late kind. The proprietor of the 

 fishery, however, with the ready courtesy of his class, freely 

 allowed me to try my best for a brown trout, and wished me 

 luck. This wish was gratified to my heart's content, and 

 the little lad with the net had for a time no opportunity of 

 dropping asleep. In the middle of the stream there was a 

 shallow and placid pool, surrounded by water rippling in the 

 usual way over the stones. The fish below had ceased 

 moving, and observing in the middle of this space the familiar 

 expanding rings caused by a rising fish, I despatched my 

 cast athwart. 



" Tug, tug " was instantly telegraphed down . the butt of 

 the rod : then there was a dull heavy strain. 



Slowly at first, then at gathering speed, the small ebony 

 winch made music. Straight across the pool, back again, 

 here, there, and everywhere, the prey shot, churning the water 

 into foam, and causing many another fish to leap into the 

 air. Such a hullabaloo there never was. The boy shouted 

 franlicly. Workmen threw down their tools and rushed 

 down, and in a few minutes a small crowd had collected. 

 The fly rod was the lightest that could be made, the line 

 finely tapered, the hooks extremely small, so that when half 

 an hour had gone, and the evening had begun to absorb 

 the light, and the commotion in the water to rage as before, 

 hope of a satisfactory finale departed. Perseverance, how- 

 ever, gave me the victory, although the battle would probably 

 have been on the other side had I not prevailed upon Tim 

 to flounder into the water and net the fish as he ran. The 

 wonder was how a five-pound salmon could have created 

 such a stir ! Stooping to claim him, I found out the cause : 



