SKETCHES OF WESTERN SPORT.-No. XVI.

THE SPIDDEL AND COSTELLO RIVERS.

A Sporting Character of the Old School-The Claddagh Fishermen-Journey to Spiddel-Marine Villas-A ruined Deer Park-Mode of Travelling-Arrival at Spiddel-Hospitality of Mr. Morris-Description of the Place-The HuntA Day's Fishing-A Country Wedding-Journey to the Costello-Wonderful Sporting Resources of that River-Sir Robert Staples' Sporting Lodge—“ A Jewel of a Parson," and his Angling Exploits-Marvellous Accounts of FlyFishing on the Costello-Causes of its prolific Nature-Merry Days and Jovial Evenings Return to Galway A Night March- The Bogs - Singular luminous Phenomenon-A Word to the Reader on the Character of the Irish Peasants-Adieu.

"To-day to fresh lakes and streamlets new."

THERE is a name which has figured prominently in the Sporting Calendar of the "Wild West" for the last half century and upwards, which I shall here take the liberty of introducing to the reader; and I can safely say that a more genuine Sportsman or a more kind-hearted and generous man never breathed than the Gentleman to whom I allude-the late Harry Persse of Galway. Mr. Persse was upwards of sixty years of age when I had the pleasure of his acquaintance, but as hale, hearty, and vigorous as many men not half his age. He then kept a pack of excellent beagles, with which he might be seen on the hills in the neighbourhood of Galway by sunrise every favorable morning during the season.

It is delightful, in these degenerate days, to meet with a genuine Sportsman of the Old School, one who follows the chase purely for the love of it, and not for the sake of dandyism or fashion, after the manner of some of our lady-like Sportsmen of the present age. Many a time, during these hunting excursions, have I admired the tall elastic frame of this veteran huntsman, his bronzed countenance, well-knit limbs, buoyant spirits, and the loose negligé costume of the age to which he belonged, in which he was always attired. His heart was evidently in the highlands, and in the sports which they afforded, and no one, be his soul ever so dead, could be long in his company on these occasions without imbibing his enthusiasm, and participating with additional gusto in the delightful and exhilarating enjoyment of the chase.

On my return from Connemara, I renewed my acquaintance with this enthusiastic Sportsman, and could not have done so at a more opportune time, for I found him busy making preparations for a fishing and hunting excursion in a wild and rocky district, called Spiddel, about ten or a dozen miles due west of Galway. I was at once invited to accompany him, and it is needless to say that I lost no time in accepting that welcome invitation.

It was a calm clear autumnal morning when we started from Galway for our sporting quarters. We passed through the Claddagh, a fishing village of considerable size, which is merely separated from the town by a rapid mill-stream and the estuary which receives the surplus waters of Lough Corrib. There are many points of interest connected with this little colony. The inhabitants, amounting to about two thousand, are exclusively devoted to sea-fishing, and possess a large fleet of goodsized sailing boats. They are governed by their own laws, and they elect a King every year, to whom all matters of love, law, and warfare are referred. This King is, in every sense of the word, an absolute Monarch. His decrees are final, and his subjects are sworn, under pain of expulsion, to obey his commands. These people will not intermarry with the inhabitants of the town, or indeed with any persons not belonging to themselves, and if an "erring sister" happens to violate this rule, she is expelled forthwith from the colony. Their dress is peculiar. That of the females is exceedingly picturesque, and their dark and handsome features indicate their Spanish origin. They rule absolute over the waters of the Bay. No fishing-boat dare go out without their permission, and I could fill more than one Sketch with an

account of their naval victories.

Our route now lay along the north-west coast of the Galway Bay as far as Spiddel, to which village there is an excellent line of road, but beyond that the traveller must be content with a Connemara pony if he wishes to save his neck. I do not think it possible that a wheeled vehicle of any kind could penetrate much farther into the "interior." In passing through the outskirts of Galway several excellent houses met our view, and the bathing-lodges along Salt Hill had a very pleasing effect. They seemed to be in excellent order, and are unrivalled in point of situation, stretching along the shores of the broad Atlantic and within a few yards of the Ocean, yet sheltered from the fury of the storm and the waves by their well-chosen position. About four miles from the town we passed the handsome demesne of Barnagh-the residence of Mr. N. Lynch-to which there was once attached a very fine deer-park. The walls of that pleasure-ground are now in ruins, and a stray deer or two browsing on the hill is the only indication to shew what the inclosure was originally intended for. Two miles farther on we passed by the fine wood of Furbough, the seat of the late Colonel Blake, as gallant a soldier and as jovial a Sportsman as ever fought a Frenchman or rode a race. Beyond this there is not a vestige of wood to be seen. The land prospect is as bleak, barren, and rocky as bare hills and dreary wastes intersected by a countless multitude of stone walls can make it. The sea view is, however, of a different character. The noble cliffs of Black Head and the rest of the Clare coast opposite, with the lofty Islands of Arran in the distance, produced a grand and imposing effect.

On our arrival at Spiddel, we were invited by the worthy proprietor, Mr. Martin Morris, who resides there during the summer months, to stay with him for a day or two, and fish the rivers and streams which ran through his property. Although my friend's Sporting-lodge was some distance farther on, we readily accepted Mr. Morris's kind invitation; nor had we reason to regret so doing, as the sequel will shew. I

may here inform the reader that the district through which we are now travelling has long been famous in Galway for its salmon rivers-none of your ordinary fishing rivers, but streams absolutely alive with fish; and this singular good fortune is accounted for easily enough by two circumstances-1st, by the favorable locality of the rivers, and their immediate contiguity to the sea; 2nd, by the rivers being preserved for sport, and no weirs being allowed on any of these streams, with one exception. Indeed I might add another cause for the wonderfully prolific nature of the Spiddel and Costello rivers; viz. that they are rarely ever frequented by sportsmen. The stranger who visits the Wild West is not aware of the existence of this remote district, or of its piscatorial character; and as it has no attractions in the way of scenery, &c., it is not even mentioned in any of the ordinary Guide Books. The late Sir Robert Staples took a long lease of these rivers. He built a cottage near Spiddel, where he resided during the summer months, when he and his friends fished the rivers.

After reconnoitering our new locality, and making an excursion. amongst the rocky hills for an hour or two, we saw enough to convince us that puss was no stranger to the place; and as for rabbits, they abounded thick and threefold. We therefore resolved to commence our sporting operations on the morrow by a run with the beagles at the foot of a hill about half a mile distant from the Lodge, where we had already seen some indications of game. We were accordingly in the field shortly after sunrise next morning, and under the guidance of one of the natives proceeded by a long boreen (narrow lane) to our destination. This was rather a circuitous route, but the direct way was too exposed, and we chose rather to go round a little than run the risk of spoiling sport by a premature start. The best preconcerted arrangements are often foiled by the very means we take to prevent that contingency; and so it was in this instance; for we had scarcely entered the boreen, when a fine full-grown hare bounded from a furze-bush by the side of which it had been feeding. The dogs were off in a trice, but the hare had a good bit the start of them, and, moreover, had the hill in her favor. On reaching the top of the lane, puss doubled back along a ditch of considerable width, and then bent her course towards the very identical hill on which we were stealing a march when we encountered her in the boreen. She took the broadest part of the ditch in gallant style, and the dogs, in their eagerness, went pell mell after her, although it was much narrower a few yards farther down: the result was that several of the beagles missed the opposite bank, and tumbled into the ditch, where we had to leave them for the nonce floundering in the mud. They yelped most piteously at being left in purgatory in this manner while the game was afoot, and disturbed the repose of sundry rabbits, which we saw scampering off amongst the rocks and briar bushes with which the fields were almost covered. remainder of the dogs, however, followed their leader in good order around the base of the hill before-mentioned, and we took a short cuf across a potatoe-field with the view of meeting them as they turned the hill. We were not disappointed. Just as we reached the foot of the acclivity, we came plump upon the pack, and evidently disconcerted the line of the chase, for the hare instantly "put about," and again made

The

for the fatal ditch. We were about to follow, when our veteran leader cried out

"Stay where you are, boys. My life upon it she will be back again in no time, if she does not die on the other side of the ditch, which is not very likely, for she's a regular tough-'un."

We obeyed the word of command, and ascending the hill had a fine prospect of the hunt, and, moreover, had not long to wait in order to see our leader's prophecy verified; for, "sure enough," the hare did double back in no time, after flooring one or two more of the dogs in the trench; but fortunately their place was filled by the others, which by this time had rescued themselves from the mud-bath, and we had as happy a view of as purty a chase as I ever had the felicity to enjoy through the whole of my sporting career. Reader! Sportsman ! I need not tell you there is a time when we, who really enjoy our profession, grow big with delight; when the whole "heart, and sense, and soul in concert move;" when we feel delighted with all and everything around us, and think that feeling is reciprocal; in short, when we feel as if we should do anything that any person would ask us except cutting our throat or taking a dose of arsenic. Such were the feelings and sensations we experienced on this occasion. The human mind has resources of happiness within itself, which, if properly directed and put in motion, are infinitely superior and more efficacious than all the tonic and stimulant remedies which man can apply from the garden of Flora or old Mother Earth. We know something of the mysteries of the "healing art," and can tell the reader on authority, that one ebullition of real joy, one day's heartfelt pleasure in fieldsports, in the bracing air of the hills, together with the healthful glow of exercise which it occasions, is worth all the remedies in the Materia Medica put together, in infusing health, in cheering the drooping spirits, or in assuaging the gnawing cares of the troubled bosom. But I am digressing from the subject of the chase, to which we must now return.

Well, after making another detour by the hill, during which our enthusiastic leader was cracking his deer-handled whip to the tune of "go it, ye cripples," puss cut off at right angles from her former course towards a shallow but pretty broad river exactly opposite the place where we were standing, no doubt thinking to bother the dogs in crossing the stream; but, alas! the exertion was fatal to her; she was breaking down fast, and in her attempt to leap the river, she must either have miscalculated the distance, or have been unequal for the task in her now exhausted state, for she fell into the stream about halfway across, and after struggling hard against it, and reaching the opposite bank, she died nobly, while both men and dogs were fording the river, and before either had come near her. It was touching to see poor puss lying dead on the river bank from pure exhaustion after so gallant a struggle for her life. But, as our leader naïvely observed, "she had, at all events, the satisfaction of dying spontaneously before the dogs came up."

The hill was too well beaten now to expect any more game there for that morning, and accordingly we had to change our position forthwith, and proceeded straightway to an inviting "bottom," round the greater part of which the same river before-mentioned flowed. MoreVOL. L-THIRD SERIES, N. S.-No. 1.

F

over, it was pretty well sprinkled with furze-bushes, the favorite hidingplace of hares in this stony district. We were not disappointed here either the dogs were not long in putting up puss, but they made shorter work of it on this than on the former occasion, perhaps owing to their being more familiar with the ground now than before. We had capital sport that morning. We killed three hares and lost one, and after enjoying a few hours of as delightful recreation as ever fell to the lot of a sportsman, returned to the Lodge as hungry as hawks to partake of the hospitality of the generous and kind-hearted proprietor.

Next day we devoted to fishing, and in this department of sport we were equally fortunate and equally amused. The Spiddel river, which is not quite so large as the Costello (to be described presently), runs with a considerable fall over a rocky bed; and although it does not abound with "pools," like the latter, it is as famous for salmon-fishing as the Costello is for white trout. As many as eighteen salmon have been killed here in one day by a single rod. If it was preserved in the same way as the Costello, it would no doubt be equally good for troutfishing; but in the former, not a single fish has been taken for many years except by rod and line; whereas there are weirs at the mouth of the Spiddel river during a great part of the season, and the fish are prevented passing into the river except during the floods, which are, however, frequent even in summer. About two miles up the river there is a considerable waterfall, and beneath it the fish may be seen leaping in the spray. The stream rushes over a broad bed of granite, about thirty or forty feet high, into a deep black basin, in which boiling cauldron the salmon may be seen vainly trying to force their way up an insurmountable obstacle. When the river is much swollen by the rains, the cataract has a very pretty effect, as it tumbles, and tosses, and foams over the precipice in very heroic style.

We beguiled the time in the most soothing and delicious manner, angling along the banks of this lonely water until dinner hour arrived. Not a sound was to be heard save the brawling stream, gurgling as it rolled along its rocky bed to the Ocean below, and the song of the joyous lark holding his jubilee in mid-heaven; but ever and anon the cheerful notes of a robin perched upon a wall opposite the bank from which I was fishing joined in this chorus of Nature. The effect which these combined voices produce on the senses has no doubt often been experienced by the angler in his mountain rambles, but it cannot be described. You feel as it were holding converse with Nature, and with Nature only.

There was a country wedding in the neighbourhood, to which we were invited in the evening, and as the happy couple were tenants of our worthy host, we were expected to grace the occasion with our presence. Indeed we required but little pressing. I regret that our space will not admit of a description at length of the frolic and fun ; suffice it to say, that we had a merry night of it, dancing and ogling with the "colleens dhas" (pretty girls), tasting the dew with the boys, and had the felicity of being honored with the bride herself as a partner in a favorite Irish jig.

We started on the following morning for the Costello river, of which we heard so much. It is about eleven Irish miles farther in the