September's first, the day was fair,
We sought the pleasant stubble,
The birds were rising everywhere,
The old dog gave no trouble.
And still my friend missed every shot,
While I ne'er fired in vain.
I said, "Perchance the day's too hot?"
He cried, "Amelia Jane!"
We shot throughout the livelong day,
We always shoot together,
And yet in a disgraceful way,
He never touched a feather.
I said, "How is it that you muff
Your birds, my boy? Explain."
He sighed and said, "I know it's rough
But, oh, Amelia Jane!"
Quoth I, "Amelia Jane may be
As plump as any partridge,
But that's no reason I can see
Why you should waste each cartridge."
He shot the dog, then missed my head,
But caused the keeper pain;
Then broke his gun and wildly fled
To join Amelia Jane!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "ENOUGH OF IT."--_Country Squire._ "By George! Tom,
you've gone and shot the dog!"
_Friend_ (_from town_). "O, I say, old fellow, let's go back and have a
game o' billiards, or else I'm quite sure I shall shoot the other one!
They keep getting in the way so!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HINTS TO BEGINNERS.--Lion hunting. Be quite sure when you
go looking for a lion, that you really want to find one.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE POET GOETH GUNNING