THE* OLD DRUMMIN' LOG. 



BRAD L. HUBERT. 



Many autumns now have vanished since my 



brother Tim and I, 

 While a-milkin' in the mornin', jest as day 



was drawin' nigh, 

 Heard a bit of pleasant music kinder floatin' 



through the fog ; 

 'Twas the boomin' of a pa'tridge on a well 



known drummin' log. 



Quick we left the tiresome milkin', skippin' 



quickly from the stall ; 

 Softly stole into the kitchen, took the 



musket from the wall ; 

 Then we hustled off like Injuns on a light 



and stealthy jog, 

 Down toward the cheerin' music wafted 



from the drummin' log. 



On all fours we went a-creepin' fer a dozen 



rod er more, 

 Gettin' thistles in our fingers, an' our 



breeches badly tore ; 

 But we slid along with caution, through 



the damp and through the fog, 

 Fer we heard the steady boomin' comin' 



from the drummin' log. 



Then we did some cautious peekin' through 



a clump of little trees; 

 Gee! there set our feathered drummer, jest 



as perky as you please ; 

 So we shoved the faithful musket 'cross a 



hummock in the bog, 

 Allers keepin' of our optics glued upon the 



drummin' log. 



Glancin' straight along the barrel, brother 



took a careful sight, 

 While we almost quit a-breathen' lest the 



bird should take a flight ; 

 Then the shooter pressed the trigger, all 



his faculties agog, 

 An' the smoke went rollin' forward to'rd 



the big old drummin' log. 



With our hearts jest fairly bumpin', off we 



started on a run 

 To pick up our splendid pa'tridge, never 



stoppin' for the gun — 

 Jumpin' Jinks ! what disappointment ! all 



our bright hopes slipped a cog; 

 'Twas a knot that we had peppered on that 



cussed drummin' log. 



Then the pa'tridge jest up an' flew. 







TAKING A SUN BATH. 



T9? 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY rf, w. ,IONES. JR. 



