214 THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 
Don’t hunt with any one that you know to be careless. Careless- 
ness with three and a quarter drams of powder behind and one-eighth 
ounce of shot is inviting St. Peter. 
Keep your fingers off the trigger until you are looking down the 
barrel at the object you wish to shoot. ; 
Don’t load your gun until you actually get to business. At all 
other times it should be empty. 
Don’t attempt to take your gun from a vehicle muzzle end first. 
The same advice applies to a boat. 
Don’t become intoxicated while hunting. Many a man who has 
tried the experiment has fired his last shot. 
Don’t rest on the muzzle of your gun. 
Don’t borrow a dog or a gun or loan either. 
Don’t shirk doing a little more than your share of the work in 
camp or boat. 
Don’t violate the game laws. It is not only criminal, but some- 
times it’s blamed costly. 
Don’t hog all the game. Leave a little behind for the next fellow— 
and for seed. As Shakespeare says, “Enough is sufficient.” 
Don’t rest the muzzle of your gun on the ground. A gun muzzle 
clogged with dirt or mud is a dangerous proposition. 
Keep the business end of your gun pointed from you, but not at 
the other fellow. 
Don’t shoot at anything you see moving in the brush or timber 
until you are dead sure you know what you are shooting at. 
THE CITY MAN’S LAMENT 
A man grows sick of the walls of brick and the city’s endless 
roar, When old Winter goes with his frosts and snows and the spring- 
time’s at the door. His soul rebels at the city’s smells and he says to 
himelf, says he, “There are banks of thyme with a scent sublime, and 
the woodland’s calling me!” His soul revolts at the jars and jolts 
that the urban dweller knows; at his sordid task, when he longs to 
bask in the glen where the cowslip grows, and he says, “Gee whiz! 
I am tired of biz and sick of the sights I see; of the stress and strain 
for a tawdry gain, when the woodland’s calling me!” In all human 
lives when the spring arrives there riseth the wanderlust, and a 
fellow’s dreams are of woods and streams and the long road white 
with dust. And he heaves a sob as he views his job, from which 
he don’t dare to flee, and he says, “By Hoyle! It is hard to toil 
when the woodland’s calling me!’’—Walt Mason in Chicago Daily 
News. 
