A GOOD NIGHT FOR SNIPE. 



CHARLES R. JONES. 



Two years ago I took a trip down the 

 San Joaquin valley. While in the lit- 

 tle town of Hanford I suggested to a 

 friend that game must be plentiful in that 

 section, and expressed a desire to hunt 

 rabbits, ducks, deer, or any other game 

 that should get in front of my Flobert .22. 

 My friend suggested a snipe hunting 

 trip, and it was arranged to start about 

 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon. He said 

 after dark was the time to hunt snipe. 

 We made a start, and I asked how far we 

 should go, saying 25 miles would suit me 

 with such an easy riding carryall. It would 

 be a pleasure to see the country by moon- 

 light. He laughed a little and said that 

 possibly I wouldn't enjoy the ride home 

 so well. 



After driving nearly 9 miles, we got out 

 of the rig, tied the horses to a fence, and 

 started for a piece of marshy ground about 

 half a mile from the buggy. 



Reaching our destination, one of the 

 boys gave me a sack and a lantern, which 

 I lit. He then explained to me what I 

 must do, thus: "Stand here quiet and 

 hold the sack, with the open end touching 

 the ground, the lantern near it, 2 feet from 

 the ground. The rest of us will go 

 around that way and holler and shoot off 

 our revolvers and scare up the snipe. 

 When they get near you they will be at- 



tracted by the lantern and run into the 

 bag, and there you've got 'em." 



The boys started off, getting farther and 

 farther away; so that I was between them 

 and the buggy. As soon as they were 

 out of sight I took a crotched stick 

 I had brought along for the purpose, and, 

 sticking it in the ground, hung the lantern 

 on it. Then, running as fast as I could, I 

 made for the buggy, reaching it just as 

 the boys began shooting off their mouths 

 and their pistols. Getting in, I drove into 

 town as fast as the horses could go, put 

 them in the livery stable, and then went 

 around to the Aborn hotel to wait the ar- 

 rival of my friends, who had taken me snipe 

 hunting. 



About 1 o'clock in the morning came the 

 boys, and, seeing me in front of the ho- 

 tel, came up to me. 



I asked where they had been. My friend 

 who had proposed the trip looked hard at 

 me, but said nothing. 



I remarked that they looked tired, that 

 they must have been walking; would they 

 have a shasta water lemonade? They 

 would and did. Never a word about 

 snipe did I hear from any of them. 



If you have a grudge against anyone, 

 a game hog, for instance, take him snipe 

 hunting. 



A CONVERSION. 



LYMAN H. NORTH. 



A hunter armed with shells and gun, 



Went to a shady wood, 

 And there he sat, intent on fun 



Of killing all he could. 



The hours flew by until at last 

 He saw his chance for gore, — 



A little squirrel was coming past 

 To get his winter's store. 



"Aha! you little rogue!" thought he, 

 "I'll knock you over quick." 



And then he raised his gun in glee 

 To make that squirr'l sick. 



The squirr'l sat up and cocked his head 

 As cunning as squirr'ls can; 



Then, strange to say, he feared no lead, 

 But spoke right to the man: 



"How glad I am to have you come 



And take my picture here; 

 Time was when bullets used to hum 



Their tune around my ear." 



"But that was long ago, before 

 The harmless camera came; 



And now the guns are used no more, 

 So we have grown quite tame." 



The hunter's gun dropped in the grass 

 With most surprising speed. 



He thought, "I'll join the L. A. S. 

 And Recreation read." 



The gun is now left to its fate; 



He lets the shooting lag. 

 And works for game upon the plate 



Instead of in the bag. 



434 



