162 



THE GAME BREEDER 



PRIZE LETTERS WANTED. 



There was no game on the farms 

 rented by the Long Island Game Breed- 

 ers' Association a year ago last spring. 

 Next fall hundreds of pheasants, wild 

 ducks and three species of quail will be 

 harvested (not otherwise than by shoot- 

 ing) by as clever a lot of sportsmen as 

 ever formed a shooting syndicate to re- 

 store the game and shoot it. 



Dues $1.00 per week and a small war 

 tax— $5.20— to help out Uncle Sam. The 

 editors will be pleased to publish letters 

 from more game law enthusiasts explain- 

 ing in detail the objections to producing 

 good shooting in a place where there was 

 none. They will pay a good price for 

 them. 



The old farm house is rented from a 

 widow. The association pays a little 

 more rent than the preceding tenant 

 agreed to pay, but we beleive he found 

 it difficult to do so. 



There is another old house on another 

 place which has not been occupied for 

 years and from which the windows and 

 banisters were stolen before the syndi- 

 cate rented the shooting. 



Employment is given to the widow of 

 a game keeper who has two young chil- 

 dren and who acts as housekeeper. Em- 

 ployment is provided also for a capable 

 keeper who sees that the cats et al do not 

 eat up everything in the game line. 



Enough cats have been killed to ex- 

 plain why the place was gameless. We 

 shall be glad to publish letters from 

 sportsmen of generous game law be- 

 haviour stating why thev think a closer! 

 season or a small bag should be applied 

 so as to vacate the premises, stop the 

 rent, turn young children out of doors 

 or send them to the city and end the 

 activities of a skilled cat and other ver- 

 min destroyer, who enjoys living and 

 working in the country. We will pav a 

 good price for a few short articles dis- 

 cussing why in the interest of game poli- 

 tics and protection the place should be 

 closed bv one more game law. 



For the information of Mr. Aldo Leo- 

 pold, caoab^e writer and game warden, 

 who fears that dukes and lords may only 



let the common people look over the 

 fence, we would add that no patents of 

 nobility have been issued to any of the 

 members of the shooting syndicate and 

 we extend an invitation to the alarmist 

 to visit the place, shoot for a few days 

 and see if he thinks any great public 

 wrong is being done. 



Possibly it may be necessary to sell a 

 little food to keep the dues down. If so 

 some game will be sold if the members 

 so desire, but at this inexpensive place 

 we think they can eat it all, or at least 

 give some to friends. Please let us hear 

 from you promptly if you desire this 

 place closed, Mr. Leopold. Quail on 

 toast has come back to stay, we think. 

 Our birds are now singing more abund- 

 antly than they are in Ohio. 



He Shot Low. 



A party of gentlemen at a hotel were 

 telling stories one night recently of fa- 

 mous shots and how many quail, par- 

 tridges, ducks and other birds had been 

 killed at a single discharge. After lis- 

 tening to what seemed a willful exag- 

 geration by .different narrators, a stranger 

 who was present volunteered his expe- 

 rience of his only use of the fatal double 

 barreled gun as follows : 



"I went into the field one day to try 

 gunning. The only game discovered was 

 an immense flock of crows. I should say 

 there were 10,000 in the flock. Slowly I 

 crawled up to them,' and when not more 

 than four rods away the crows rose in a 

 solid mass. I fired both barrels, and how 

 many do you think I killed?" 



Different guesses were made by the 

 party, ranging from 20 to 100. 



"Not one," said the stranger, "but I 

 went out with my brother to look for the 

 results and picked up four bushels of 

 legs. I had shot a little under." — Du 

 Pont Magazine. 



He Stood the Raise. 



"Papa, give me a nickel." 



"Why, son, you're too old to be beg- 



ging for nickels." 



"I guess you're right, papa ; make it 

 a dime." — Browning's Magazine. 



