112 IN MEMORIAM. 



The gloaming comes, the camp-fire glows, 



With ever-welcome grace, 

 But, from his new and long repose, 



He comes not to his place. 



No huntsman's horn, no angler's glee, 



Can rouse him from his sleep ; 

 But, in our stricken hearts, may we 



His " memory green " aye keep ! 

 Afield or by the stream, he left 



No " blaze " of shame or greed ; 

 A sportsman undefiled and deft, 



Our craft's Bayard, indeed ! 



Time's silent stream on, ever on, 



Unheeded by him flows ; 

 It bears us to the port he 's won, 



Through "seasons" free and "close." 

 We sign the cross upon his grave, 



With rod of true incline, 

 And, as we fish, on him we crave 



Perpetual light may shine. 

 O. W. R., in Forest and Stream. 



It will be sad news, indeed, to the many 

 near and distant friends of Mr. Prbuty, at the 



