148 WA TERSIDE SKETCHES. 



The Moy, as an open salmon river, has no rival in Europe, 

 and the only fault to be found with it is the general unhinge- 

 ing one suffers on reading every week in one's English 

 home a record of the fish taken. It is impossible to settle 

 down to the duties of the day when, in the roaring Babel of 

 London, you read how Captain A. killed his five, the Rev. B. 

 his eight, and Sir John C. his ten fish, weighing so many 

 pounds ; and the most melancholy part of the business is, 

 that you know it is certain to be true. After two visits to 

 the Moy I am in a humour to believe almost any story of 

 fishermen's luck there. The proprietors give you permission 

 for the whole season, fettering you with conditions which 

 are not only reasonable in themselves, but such as every 

 real sportsman will rejoice to observe. 



You are not required, as at some places in Ireland, to 

 take out your licence in the district — of course there is no 

 such thing as salmon fishing without a licence — ^but you are 

 requested carefully to return the fry to the river, and to give 

 up all the salmon taken, with the exception of one fish, as 

 soon as possible after the capture, to the fishery store. 

 There are good seasons and bad seasons on the Moy, as at 

 the West End of London, but it must be indeed a hopeless 

 case if either in the upper or lower waters, with a cast of 

 friend Heams's flies and a " cot " well handled, you cannot 

 show trout or salmon as a reward for your labours. You 

 may not be able, as Hearns can, or rather could do, to pitch 

 your fly forty yards across the stream, or kill your hundred 

 fish in an easy month, as some anglers have done aforetime, 

 ■ but something you can hardly fail to do. 



Lough Gill is the most lovely lake in the north of Ireland, 

 and I doubt whether there is a lovelier in any part of the 



