THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER
The First of September, remember
The day of supremest delight.
Get ready the cartridge, the partridge
Must fall in the stubble ere night.
The breechloader's ready, and steady
The dog that we taught in old days;
He's firm to his duty, a beauty
That cares for but one person's praise.
He's careful in stubble, no trouble
In turnips, he's keen as a man;
But looks on acutely, and mutely
Seems saying, "Shoot well, if you can!"
They flash from the cover—what lover
Of sport does not thrill as they rise
In feathered apparel? Each barrel
Kills one, as the swift covey flies.
So on through the morning, still scorning
All rest until midday has past,
When lunch should be present, and pleasant
That al fresco breaking of fast.
One pipe, then be doing, pursuing
The sport that no sport can eclipse;
So homeward to dinner, a winner
Of praise from the fairest of lips.
A Humane Instinct.—Snob (who has been making himself very objectionable). "I say, what do you do with your game?"
Host. "Give my friends what they want, and send the rest to market."
Snob. "Ah, sell it, do you? With my game, don'tyer-know, I give my friends some, and send the rest to the hospitals."
Host. "And very natural and proper, I'm sure. The only thing I've seen you shoot to-day was a beater!"
Husband. "Look out, Kitty. There are some birds just in front of you!"
Wife (out for the first time). "Then, for goodness sake, keeper, call that silly dog of yours! Can't you see he's standing right in my way?"
An Unfortunate Remark.—Novice (to host, after walking for two hours under a brilliant sun without seeing a single bird). "Grand day, isn't it?"
[N.B.—He only meant to lighten the general depression, but he wasn't invited again.
A WISE PRECAUTION
Sportsman (to his wife, who is rather a wild shot.) "By Jove! Nelly, you nearly got us again, that time! If you are not more careful, I'll go home!"
Old Keeper (sotto voce). "It's all right, squire. Her bag is full of nothing but blank 'uns!"
"GUNNING WITH A SMELL DOG"
(B. Jonathan, Esq., having missed a hare, the dog drops to the shot)
B. J. (scornfully). "Call that a good dawg? I reckon he ain't worth candy! When the beast's sitting, he stands and looks at him; and when he runs away, he lies down and looks at me!"
Keeper. "Would you gentlemen kindly tell me which of you two is a lord, as I've been told to give him the best place."
Gentleman. "That looks a well-bred dog."
Owner. "I should think he was well-bred. Why, he won't have a bit er dinner till he's got his collar on!"