OUR CLOSING DAY. 245 



your fathers were. You can give the scientific name of a 

 polecat, but you never saw it, and if you met one walking 

 down Regent Street you wouldn't know what it was. Now, 

 when I was a young man I shot a polecat in the very copse 

 some of you know so well at the back of the osier-bed. I 

 doubt whether you know a hawk from a handsaw." 



Here our gay comrade, who is nothing if not Shakespearian, 

 interposes " Hernshaw, not handsaw." General laughter 

 succeeds, in which the patriarch joining continues : — 



"There you are. It's precisely what I mean — you 

 youngsters know too much. I say handsaw, and stick to it. 

 But there, it isn't your fault altogether ; the world moves on 

 and things change. The time is past when a kingfisher 

 perches in confidence on the rod of an angler, as I have 

 known it to do. But it's all right, and I'm delighted to be 

 here once more. I can't throw a trolling bait any longer, 

 and I've as much as I can do to see a rise a dozen yards off 

 if there's a ripple, but I enjoy my summer outings and the 

 soft winds as much as any ; and if I can't wade in a swift 

 stream or do a day's spinning, I can nick a grayling with 

 the best of you.'' And indeed he can ; and the old man 

 hopes that God will bless us all, and that when we are in 

 our seventy-second year we shall be as hearty and happy as 

 he is. To which we add an internal "Amen" in the midst 

 of the applause. 



The next gentleman would make a splendid backwoods- 

 man, if six feet two of straight lissome framework and an 

 unquenchable love of field sports count for anything. Yet 

 he has a gentle soul in that long muscular body, and says 

 the tenderest things in a wonderfully sentimental voice. 

 The voice lifted into song is sweet as the pipe of an 



