Then let the fête, the dance, the song,
Be gayer now than e'er before;
Let young and aged swell the throng,
To view what soon shall be no more.
Let its last season be the best;
One blaze of triumph at its fall;
Let farewell visits be the test
Of what we feel for Old Vauxhall!
"A few Fishing Lines, or a Challenge to Anglers."
As the following highly pretentious effusion was written some years ago, solely to oblige, and at the earnest instigation of my much-esteemed friend, Matthew Tertius Skull, Esq., I am bound to put myself right with the lovers of the angle, and others their admirers, by clearly stating, that I by no means endorse the exalted opinion he appears to entertain of his own abilities, beyond the fact of quite going with him, as regards the acknowledged excellence of the artificial baits he alludes to, and that of "Redditch" being "The Mart" for hooks, &c., of all descriptions (wholesale of course); for my own part, I know little of fishing, beyond what grows out of a very ardent love of the pursuit.
