94 BY MEADOW AND STREAM. 



amusements, and have therefore not even the most 

 commonplace incidents to furbish up into readable 

 material. 



The French used to say that November is the month 

 in which Englishmen hang themselves. We have 

 now reached that depressing period, without, let us 

 hope, the suicidal tendencies which the French attri- 

 bute to us, but which a visit to the Morgue at any 

 time would probably show to be more applicable to 

 themselves, only they generally drown themselves. 

 If, as saith the poet, 



" November's sky is chill and drear, 

 November's leaf is red and sere," 



it hath its compensations. We have already made a 

 considerable dip into the dark and dismal days of 

 December, and can we not sit in our armchairs, those 

 of us who are still young : 



" And anxious ask will spring return, 



And birds and lambs again be gay, 



And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? " 



while those of us who are old are apt to take back- 

 ward glances, and beguile the weary time by trying 

 to fight our pleasant angling battles o'er again. In 

 this way, I, being too old to look forward, as some of 

 you can, with the bounding hope of youth, will hark 

 back to days gone by. 



It was in the leafy month of June that we started 

 for a charming stretch of water on the pretty Hert- 

 fordshire Ver. 



Our party consisted only of two rods the Major 

 and that well-known sporting writer "Sarcelle." I 



