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The Erne, Its Legends & Its Fly Fishing            Page 12

I cannot account for it myself.  I never saw anything like it before; and when I left you and went down the river, I had as much hope of catching a fish as I had of catching an elephant.  It is a fine white fish, too; eleven pounds good, and just out of the sea: you may see the salt-water lice on him still: and a capital fight he made, for the water there is going down like a mill-sluice.”
 
“By George! I wish I had gone,” said the Captain.
 
“It would be no good for your honour to go,” said Pat; “sure it was not to your honour that the dream was sent.”
 
"O ho! I had forgotten, Squire; you are a favourite of Queen Mab’s.”
 
“I am afraid, under these circumstances,” said the Parson, “you will not be induced to listen very favourably to our proposal.  We talk of going to Lough Derg to-morrow.”
 
“Why, to tell you the truth, I should like to give my fly a fair trial; and I cannot do that when the water begins to clear, and your flies catch as well as mine.”
 
“Well, as we are not favourites of the fairies,” said the Parson, “I do not see why we should not go.  You, Pat, would like to stay and see after your fly.  So, Squire, if you will spare us M’Gowan you may keep him.  M’Gowan pulls a better oar, and he and Slievan will be quite enough for us.”
 
“Agreed,” said the Squire.  “And now to dress for dinner.  I will say, that that Anne is the queen of cooks, and deserves all the love the Captain bestows on her.”
 
“In all my fishing experience,” said the Parson, “I never fared so well as we do at Mother Johnstone’s, worthy old soul that she is.”
 
“She is not unlikely to give us an extra good dinner to-day,” said the Squire; “she always does on bad days, by way of consoling us.”
 
“You have deprived yourself of that plea, Squire, by catching that fish.  Pat, you rascal, have him up to the kitchen at once.  The chances are we have nothing but eels for dinner to-day.  No one could catch a trout unless the fairies had favoured him.

“By the bye, Squire, what do you call the new fly?”
 
“We have not given it a name yet,” said the Squire.  “What do you say to the ‘Fairy-fly’?  Rather a pretty name, is not it?”
 
“Ah, now, your honour, the good people do not like you to talk about their gifts.”
 
“Well, then, considering the sort of day we made it on, I should say, ‘Foul-weather Jack’ would do very well.”

 

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