The Frankfort Roundabout

He Went Hunting

One of our Main street merchants, who
has retired from business, having plenty of
leisure time, concluded to go out last Friday
and take a hunt. Rigging himself up in the
latest and most approved sportsman style
and providing himself with the most modern
fowling piece, he started out early in the
morning. Late in the afternoon a gentle-
man living near Bridgeport discovered a
queer looking object moving about in a
marsh back of his house, and on going out
to see what it was found our friend with his
gun under his arm and an umbrella over
him, wandering about in the wet grass and
mud in a weary, uncertain manner. "What
are you doing here," demanded the farmer.
"Have you killed many?" asked the farmer.
"Oh, yes," was the reply. "I'll show
them up." After raking around in the
bottom of his game bag for some time
he finally produced one poor, forlorn
looking snipe and held it up before the eyes
of the farmer and exultantly exclaimed
"See there. I killed that!" When to
his surprise the farmer said: "Let me
tell you something, my friend, this land
around here is all posted and the sooner you
get away the better, for if the people find out
you have been slaughtering all the game in
this section they will mob you sure." Tak-
ing the hint our merchant-sportsman
turned his face homeward and did not tar-
ry on the way. He has now come to the
conclusion that there is no fun in hunting, as
he thought there was, after all.