XX 11 



RECREATION. 



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AFIELD ON THE FIRST. 



Messrs. D. Jones, S. E. Wise, C. E. Will- 

 iams, John Kittle and E. M. Heaton, of the 

 Bradford Gun Club, took advantage of the 

 first day of the open season by going afield 

 with dog and gun. They availed them- 

 selves of the invitation of Mr. John Pierce 

 to shoot on his farm. 



The start was to be early, and all were 

 ready betimes. Then it was discovered 

 that Sport, C. E. Williams' dog, was miss- 

 ing, and as he was our best dog, we 

 had to find him. Finally he was 

 rounded up, and we set forth in cool, crisp 

 morning air. Presently the dogs found 

 game, and soon a covey was flushed. 

 Jones, who is considered our best shot, 

 was right in it. Quails and rabbits broke 

 cover to right and left, the pump gun 

 worked, but neither fur nor feather fell. 

 Later, when one of the pups flushed a 

 brace, Jones redeemed himself. Then 

 Williams, with his hammerless, and Wise, 

 with his Remington, began to score. Will- 

 iams was squatting to light a cigar, the 

 boys standing idly by, when up jumped a 

 covey right under his feet. All were so 

 surprised that not a shot was fired. 



Heaton, with his 10 gauge Parker, was 

 the joke of the day. The express com- 

 pany hadTuined his Lefever 12 gauge bar- 

 rels, and he had to use the duck gun. 

 Every time the old cannon went off it 

 scared a rabbit to death. Mr. Pierce was 

 with us most of the morning, and at mid- 

 day invited us to the house for dinner. 

 The way that crowd of sportsmen de- 

 voured the feast, proved the call was just 

 in time. 



When game was counted it was found 

 we had enough to make 6 quails and a 

 rabbit each. Wise had the most to his 

 credit ; Williams came second ; Kittle, 

 third ; and Jones and Heaton tied for 

 fourth place. 



I congratulate you on the good work 

 of the L. A. S. Every member of our club 

 is heart and soul with you. 



Recoil, Bradford, Ohio. 



THE PUGNACIOUS PURP. 

 A man he owned a terrier dorg — 



A bobtailed, onery cuss — 

 And that there purp got that there man 



In many an ugly muss; 

 For the man he was on his mussel, 



And the dorg was on his bite, 

 So to kick that dorg-goned animile 



Was sure to raise a fight. 



A woman she owned a Thomas cat 



That fit at fifteen pound, 

 And other cats got up and slid 



When that there cat was round. 

 The man and his dorg came along one day 



Where the woman she did dwell, 

 And the purp he growled ferociously, 



Then went for the cat like thunder. 



He tried for to chaw the neck of the cat, 



But the cat he wouldn't be chawed, 

 So he lit on the back of that there dorg, 



And bit, and chawed, and clawed ! 

 Oh ! the hair it flew ! and the purp he 

 yowled, 



As the claws went into his hide, 

 And chunks of flesh were peeled from his 

 back, 



Then he flummixed, and kicked and died. 



The man he ripped and cussed and swore — 



As he gathered a big brickbat — 

 That he would be durned essentially 



If he didn't kill that cat! 

 Sut the woman allowed she'd be blest if 

 he did, 



And snatched up an old shot gun, 

 Which she fired and peppered his dia- 

 phram 



With bird shot number one. 



They toted him home on a window blind, 



And the doctors cured him up, 

 But he never was known to fight again, 



Or to own another purp. 

 Folks may turn up their snoots at this 



rhyme, 



I don't care a cuss for that ! 

 All I wanted to show is that fighting dorgs 



May tackle the wrong Tom cat. 



— Exchange. 



