CHAPTER VIII.

A second Glance at the Lakes of Killarney - Last Day's Attempted Apology for Fly-fishing - Feelings

Angling

on leaving Killarney.

UPON arriving at Killarney, I of course went to my former quarters at Hegarty's; and was much gratified by the apparent delight with which my return was hailed by the former companions of my sport. James Doherty, in particular, declared that the sight of me had added ten years to his life; and I believe he felt it, at least for the moment.

The Irish feel much more rapidly, and express their feelings much more energetically, than our Saxon phlegm will allow us to do; resembling, in both respects, the vivacious

FAREWELL TO KILLARNEY.

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inhabitants of "the Sunny South,” rather than our hyperborean constitutions. It is a necessary consequence that their impressions should not be equally durable: but I do not for this reason think it at all just to accuse them of insincerity. It would perhaps be more difficult to defend them from the charge of fickleness. The creatures of impulse, the strong feeling of to-day may drive out the sentiment that appeared to occupy their whole heart yesterday; but it does not by any means follow that therefore it was less sincerely felt at the time.

Being anxious to take one farewell glance at all my favourite haunts, I was early the next day on the Lake, with my usual crew. I had expected to find the woods dressed in the rich livery of Autumn; for, even before my departure, they had begun perceptibly to change colour. It seemed, however, that the late showers had freshened their tints; for, with the exception of a few beech here and

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FAREWELL TO KILLARNEY,

there, the foliage appeared almost as verdant as ever. My day's excursion was of the most delightful description. I felt, upon thus revisiting this enchanting spot, as if I had never thoroughly enjoyed its delicious scenery until now. Far from tiring by repetition, it pleased me more and more until my departure, which I consider a proof— as far, at least, as my taste goes of its real and intrinsic perfection.

We of course took our rods with us; and, there being a good breeze, with clouds, expected capital sport: the Lake, too, was much higher than I had ever seen it, and rather discoloured. We tried a number of new salmon courses, round Cow, Crow, and Rough Islands, &c., without any success, until, at length, we came to my favourite spots round Innisfallen. Here the fish first began to show themselves: we had several rises, but they did not all take well. Doherty killed one, which weighed above eight pounds, and I killed two, of six pounds

and four pounds respectively. As each was gaffed, and raised into the boat, an Io Pæan of triumph rose from lake to sky, that startled the echoes of Eagle's Nest.

I had to-day a volunteer in the boat, of the name of Barrett: the same that is humourously described as a fisherman and ladies' shoemaker, in Crofton Croker's Legends. It seems that he had heard of my piscatorial prowess from very partial chroniclers; and was anxious both to see me angle, and to have some confabulation with me. I was happy to accommodate him in both his wishes, and found him an intelligent, amusing, and civil fellow. He has, besides, a good voice, and some notion of singing; and, as we had another vocalist in the boat, we often beguiled the intervals between fishing with an Irish song.

The next day I devoted to bringing up a long arrear of letters and journal; but found time to enjoy the lovely hues of evening, from

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LAST DAY'S ANGLING.

a much-loved station of mine, near some Scotch firs, a short half mile from the town, on the Cloghereen road. This is the best and almost the only point near Killarney, from which a favourable coup d'œil of the lake can be obtained. And I should certainly conduct the stranger first to it for a general view of the scenery, instead of to the Western Demesne, which is more distant, and does not by any means command so fine a prospect.

I had half determined to leave Killarney on the following Monday, but was easily persuaded to take one more farewell cast on its waters. The day was cloudy and windy; and our sport, in one respect, extraordinary: I never saw so many salmon rise at the fly, and so few hooked. We rose above twenty fish, and yet only killed a single salmon each. Doherty's weighed but four pounds; mine between seven and eight pounds. I also hooked another, but so close to the boat that I could