THE ANGLER IN IRELAND. 149 



country. I passed that way four years ago, intending 

 merely to sleep at Sligo and move on to Enniskillen in the 

 morning, but three days had somehow gone before I called 

 for my tavern bill. Too late for salmon, or trout in any 

 quantity, I had some rare fun with the pike. The boatman 

 who took me in charge was a famous fellow for a companion 

 and "help," eager to please, glad at your success, and 

 sympathetic with your reverses — in short, a model boatman 

 for a long day's work. I have no doubt in the world there 

 are pike of 401b. or 501b. in Lough Gill. A minute account 

 was given to me of a couple of young men who had killed 

 one of these giants and who had walked through the main 

 street in triumph with an oar passed through its gills \ the 

 handle and blade resting upon their respective shoulders, 

 they thus unconsciously imitated the spies sent out by 

 Joshua, who, according to the ancient engravings which dis- 

 figure the pages of old-fashioned Bibles, returned with a huge 

 bunch of grapes suspended in the same fashion as the great 

 pike of Lough Gill. 



They — that is, both the fishermen and the fish — are very 

 fond of spoon bait on the lough, and a careful fishing of the 

 river commuriicating with the lake will be no waste of time 

 on your upward pull. Keep pretty close to the left bank 

 and look out for the holes; from one little bend I took 

 four pike in five casts, and Pat, who, like all Irish fishermen, 

 looks upon every fish but salmon as mere vermin, knocked 

 them on the head and consigned them to a hole in the fore 

 part of the boat as if they were so much lumber. The 

 "jack pike," as he termed pickerel of a pound or so, he was 

 more careful with, designing them for bait by-and-by when 

 we reached the lake. 



