the milk in thy refrigerator to sour, and thy negligent hen hath forgotten her daily task, remember, that I am thy neighbor, and that my Jersey cow and Brahma hens still live."

This was too much for me, and with the apple still lodged in my throat, I gasped, "Let's eat our lunch."

Witnessed by the tall trees, our mouths filled with ham sandwiches, his wet arms clinging around my neck, we swore eternal friendship, Harry and I.

After lunch, Harry profiting by his successful shot, made several beautiful ones. He followed the sug gestions made, and as a result was rewarded by seeing his birds killed clean and dead. We both shot ten-bore guns, full choked,-mine a nine and three-fourths, his a ten lb. Our shells were loaded with four and one-half dms. powder, a card, a thick felt, then another card on powder; one and one eighth oz. No. 6 chilled shot, with a card wad on top, the shells being firmly crimped. This makes a very killing load, and with it we had no difficulty in reaching the duck forty and at times fifty yards. We stayed until about 4:30 in the afternoon, and killed a nice bunch of ducks. Of course lost some, but not many. Harry did the wading, but when the birds dropped in deep water I sculled to them, and picked them up.

We arrived at the station at dark. There were two hunters there. They had been out all day, had the same opportunities we did, but did not know how to hunt; and as they said to me that night, "the confounded ducks always flew just where we were not." They showed three, the result of their day's work, while we exhibited to them just sixty-six,-all mallards.

On the train home, they related their experience and

wondered why they did not get more, when we did so well. It was amusing to me, although I could have told them what programme they followed throughout the entire day, any old hunter could. It is a programme that most young hunters faithfully carry out. It begins; the first number is talk, generally a duet, simply because two are present. Were there more than two it would be a—well, it would depend on the number of voices, as all present would join in. The second number is usually a recitation, in which one of the party descants on the wonderful things he has seen, and the great shooting qualities of his gun. To make it still more interesting, he allows the oars to slip against the locks emitting sounds that can be heard for a mile through the still woods. The balance of the programme isn't much different, although the finale is grand. This usually takes place, when they attempt cautiously to land the boat, that they may make a sneak on ducks they have seen light. The rower attempts to get out quietly, and lets his oars fall clattering into the boat. He goes to pick them up, the boat tips a little; to save himself he accidentally steps on his dog. The dog yelps, running the chromatic scale as far as high “C," while he in the stern tries to keep the boat from upsetting, swears at his partner for his clumsiness, and both kick at the innocent dog. The dog slips from under the descending foot, the kicker by the force of his kick loses his balance, and falls headfirst into the cold water, or seats himself in the soft mud, while the dog sits on his tail on the bank, and joyfully barks.

(Scolopax Wilsonii.)

When Spring time comes, in the month of May,

And warm rain, and southern winds have driven the frost away, With faithful setter, we hie us to the swamps,

To find Jack Snipe, in his favorite haunts.

Twisting and turning, against the wind he flies,
"Scaipe!" "Scaipe!" he calls, with grating cries.
Then steadies himself, and darts ahead.

A quick report, and the bird falls dead.

WILSON'S SNIPE, generally known as the "Jacksnipe," is a bird familiar to every one who ever hunted over western waters, in the valleys of the Mississippi or Missouri. He is as regular in his arrival as the seasons; spring and fall he makes his appearance with never failing accuracy. To those who are versed in the

secrets of his habits, and who have hunted him successfully, the bird does not fly that causes the hunter's heart to bound with delight and sends the warm blood. rushing through his veins, as does this erratic bird. He comes and goes at such times as pleases his own wandering fancy. To-day, one may visit the wellknown places of his resort, confident in finding him and his kind in large numbers. The most inviting places are thoroughly searched. The keen nose propelled by the tireless lope of the faithful setter or pointer fails to search him out. Swamps are traversed; meadows tramped over; marshes through which the springs gently flow, are gone through; slimy beds of peat and muck are visited, and still he cannot be found. This, at a time when past successes would warrant one in feeling confident that the bird would be found in all the places that have been so faithfully searched. The skilled shooter does not despair because of his ill-luck, but bides his time; for experience has taught him that on the very next day, perhaps, the very places where he did not see a feather, will be full of birds dispersed throughout the marsh, singly, in pairs, and scattered in bunches or wisps, from twenty to fifty feet apart. They are found in abundance in Illinois and Iowa in all the low-lands-black and loamy soil being their place of feeding. They come and go, as a general thing, in the night. This is shown by places which have been thoroughly hunted over one day, and nothing seen, on being visited the succeeding day, are found to be, one might say, alive with them. The time of their arrival is both spring and fall. I have always found them more abundant in the spring. They come the latter part of April, early in May, sometimes late in that