154 



THE HARMLESS HOG. 



hold the lantern so I could see. A bee 

 hates a light worse than anything. I struck 

 a blow with the ax and let out about a 

 quart of bees. Every one of them struck 

 that lantern and that boy. They got in- 

 side his clothes, and he danced a pigeon 

 wing that would have made his fortune on 

 a variety stage. He dropped the lantern 

 and made for the brush, and the old man 

 laughed until he could be heard a mile. 

 Finally, Kin brought the dry grass and lit 

 it as I split the slab out of the tree. All 

 the bees dashed at the fire to fight it, and 



that finished them. Then I took up the 

 honey. There were nearly ioo pounds of 

 clear white comb, and a lard can half full 

 that we had to strain. 



It seems cruel to burn the bees, but 

 they would die anyway when robbed of 

 their winter's store. October and Novem- 

 ber are the best months for hunting them. 

 Never box a bee that has beebread on his 

 legs, for he will eat what he wants and 

 never return. Always catch the bee that 

 has no yellow on his legs, for he is the 

 honey maker. 



THE HARMLESS HOG. 



W. H. THOMPSON. 



The game hog sat in his leaky tent 



Smoking his gummy, old clay pipe, 

 And he wrote: "I have bagged on the 

 marsh to-day 

 Twelve ducks and a hundred and four- 

 teen snipe; 

 And my high bred Laverack setter, Prince, 



Made a royal stand on a Sora rail, 

 With eighteen snipe in his mouth, and a 

 brace 

 Of teal on the tip of his rigid tail." 

 Yet the only dog this hog ever owned 

 Was a bob-tailed, lousy, mangy cur, 

 And the fraud couldn't hit the side of a 

 barn 

 At fifteen yards with a howitzer! 



The game hog sat on a muddy log, 



With a sapling pole and a cotton thread, 

 And he baited with slimy salmon eggs. 



And yanked the fingerlings over \i\> head. 

 But he wrote that night of the "maddening 

 rush" 

 Of the "four pound trout" in the "moun- 

 tain flood," 

 And the "willowy bend of his five-ounce 

 rod," 

 And the "thrill" that ran through his 

 "sportsman's blood," 

 As the "good reel whirred" and the "silk 

 line hissed." 

 Till "fifty battle minutes were spent." 

 While the fish "leaped four and a half feet 

 high." 

 (By barometrical measurement!) 



The game hog bought for seventy cents, 

 From an urchin who plied his trade for 

 hire, 

 Some half starved bass, caught over their 

 nests 

 By a spoon-hook dragged at the end of a 

 wire; 

 And he hung the fish with an artist's skill, 



And he stood in the rear so cunningly 

 That he made each bass in the photo show 



Six times as large as it really was. 

 Then he told in the next A. D. G. H. 

 Of "A Grand Day Spent with the Finny 

 Kings," 

 Where the "great pools swirl in the track- 

 less woods 

 And the hermit thrush in the green 

 gloom sings." 



I pray you be kind to the harmless hog; 



He dotes on his lies and they don't hurt! 

 His pen is mightier than gun or rod 



For his "new things are good," and his 

 "good things new." 

 No hunter or angler is e'er deceived 

 By the pictures he takes, nor the tales he 

 tells; 

 Only the greenhorn is lured away 

 To his "marshy moors" and his "bosky 

 dells;" 

 And I cheerfully "dig up" four plunks a 

 year 

 And wait each month with my heart 

 agog. 

 For the old fish picture with man in the 

 rear. 

 And the dear old lies of the harmless hog. 



"Water," said the temperance orator, "is 

 nature's own beverage. It comes to us 

 from the clouds. If, instead of water, it 

 were to rain beer " 



"You would be too full for utterance," 

 interrupted a voice from the gallery. — Chi- 

 cago News, 



