1 88 



RECREATION. 



got back, an' Mr. Sam wuz'fryin' taters 

 fer who laid th' rails. I got th' other 

 fry pan an' went ter fryin' th' fish, an' by 

 sundown we had everthin' ready, an' I 

 wuz glad uv it, an' I wouldn't fool you. 

 Pa had cut up th' turkey small 'nuff ter 

 go in th' skillet an' put some water in it, 

 an' a slash uv bacon, an' er little salt 'n' 



black pepper, an' put on th' kiver, an' 

 she'd been er bakin' fer 2 hours. When 

 he took th' kiver off th' water wuz cooked 

 out an' it was nice 'n' brown, an' th' oldest 

 man in th' world never popped is tushes 

 into anythin' better. Time we got through 

 eatin' I wouldn't er walked er mile fer 

 that much money. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY F. C. FASOLDT. 



SUNSET. 

 Made on a New York Dry Plate. 



WHEN THE BOB WHITES CALL. 



MAUDE MEREDITH. 



Along where the sedges are rustling 

 brown, 

 And the willows are tall and trim ; 

 Where the wild grasses tangle in masses 

 down, 

 A dip by the river's brim; 

 In the golden haze of the early fall 

 S-h-h-h-, listen! The Bob Whites call! 



Far out on the upland's wooded knolls 

 Where in windrows of wine and red, 



Lie the rustling heaps of the oak trees' 

 wealth, 

 By the touch of the autumn shed; 



A whirr of wings, and a sudden flight, 



Hush! Listen to our Bob White. 





Where the stubble fields glint with scat- 

 tered grain, 

 And the pasture rills are dry, 

 Where the bittersweets swing in scarlet 

 and gold, 

 As the autumn winds drift by; 

 See trim, brown gleaners; we know them 

 all 

 For. .. .listen! The Bob Whites call. 



