L' ENVOI. 



Seasons come and go, each in its turn bringing us 

 nearer to the last, those that remain for our enjoyment 

 growing steadily and inevitably fewer. But the instinct 

 of sport, inbred in most of us, dies hard. I, too, would 

 echo Mr. Sydney Buxton's words, ana hope that when 

 my time comes, and my loved rods hang useless in their 

 cases, Old Charon will permit me to loiter awhile on the 

 Styx, aud cast one last fly on its dark and ttirgid waters. 



