THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER
Reading edition
The First of September, remember The day of supremest delight. Get ready the cartridge, the partridge Must fall in the stubble ere night. The breechloader's ready, and steady The dog that we taught in old days; He's firm to his duty, a beauty That cares for but one person's praise. He's careful in stubble, no trouble In turnips, he's keen as a man; But looks on acutely, and mutely Seems saying, "Shoot well, if you can!" They flash from the cover—what lover Of sport does not thrill as they rise In feathered apparel? Each barrel Kills one, as the swift covey flies. So on through the morning, still scorning All rest until midday has past, When lunch should be present, and pleasant That al fresco breaking of fast. One pipe, then be doing, pursuing The sport that no sport can eclipse; So homeward to dinner, a winner Of praise from the fairest of lips.
A Humane Instinct.—Snob (who has been making himself very objectionable). "I say, what do you do with your game?"
Host. "Give my friends what they want, and send the rest to market."
Snob. "Ah, sell it, do you? With my game, don'tyer-know, I give my friends some, and send the rest to the hospitals."
Host. "And very natural and proper, I'm sure. The only thing I've seen you shoot to-day was a beater!"
Husband. "Look out, Kitty. There are some birds just in front of you!"
Wife (out for the first time). "Then, for goodness sake, keeper, call that silly dog of yours! Can't you see he's standing right in my way?"
An Unfortunate Remark.—Novice (to host, after walking for two hours under a brilliant sun without seeing a single bird). "Grand day, isn't it?"
[N.B.—He only meant to lighten the general depression, but he wasn't invited again.
A WISE PRECAUTION
Sportsman (to his wife, who is rather a wild shot.) "By Jove! Nelly, you nearly got us again, that time! If you are not more careful, I'll go home!"
Old Keeper (sotto voce). "It's all right, squire. Her bag is full of nothing but blank 'uns!"
"GUNNING WITH A SMELL DOG" (B. Jonathan, Esq., having missed a hare, the dog drops to the shot)
B. J. (scornfully). "Call that a good dawg? I reckon he ain't worth candy! When the beast's sitting, he stands and looks at him; and when he runs away, he lies down and looks at me!"
Keeper. "Would you gentlemen kindly tell me which of you two is a lord, as I've been told to give him the best place."
Gentleman. "That looks a well-bred dog."
Owner. "I should think he was well-bred. Why, he won't have a bit er dinner till he's got his collar on!"
SS. PATRICK AND PARTRIDGE
"Now at the birds, me boy, let dhrive!" Says Mike, exhorting Dan. "That's how we'll keep the game alive, By killing all we can!"
Damaged Goods.—Sportsman (invited to help shoot some bucks in Mr. Meanman's park, and has just knocked one over). "By Jove! what a lovely head! You must let me have that for mounting."
Mr. Meanman (frightfully indignant). "What! cut his head off! Why, man, it would ruin the sale of the carcase!"
UNNECESSARY QUESTIONS.
Lady (with gun). "Am I holding the thing right?"
Sportsman (to Snobson, who hasn't brought down a single bird all day). "Do you know Lord Peckham?"
Snobson. "Oh dear, yes; I've often shot at his house."
Sportsman. "Ever hit it?"
Renting a well-stocked moor
A shooting party
A Zoological Conundrum.—Intending Tenant (to Lord Battusnatch's Head Keeper). And how about the birds? Are they plentiful, Gaskins?
Gaskins. Well, sir, if the foxes of our two neighbours was able to lay pheasants' eggs, I should say there'd be no better shooting south o' the Trent.
Sad Fatality to one of a Shooting Party on the Moors.—On returning home, after a most successful day's sport, just as he entered the garden he was taken from life by a snap-shot.
A Blank Day.—First Friend. "The birds are terribly wild to-day."
Second Friend. "Not half so wild as our host will be, if it keeps on like this."
At a Dog-Show.—First Fancier. That's a well-bred terrier of yours, Bill.
Second Fancier. And so he ought to be. Didn't the Princess of Wales own his great grand-aunt!
Choke bore
Birds were strong