My friend butcher Gale has been quail hunting under difficulties. His case is a sad one, and as I feel in somewhat of a rhyming mood at present, I will invoke the gods, and with eyes in “fine frenzy rolling,” proceed to state his case in verse. “Come leave your hogs,” said lawyer Boggs To red-faced butcher Gale, “We’ll take a day across the bay, And slather lots of quail.” Soon guns were got, and bags of shot, With powder, wads, and caps, And up the canyons dry and hot, Tramped these two city chaps. Old lawyer Boggs had borrowed dogs Well worth their weight in gold; The setter had a “double nose,” And it of her was told, That she could scent two different ways As easy as you please; While one nose smelled along the ground, The other sniffed the trees. [Illustration: ADVANCE OF THE EXPEDITION.] The pointer had peculiar traits; His power of scent was small; But if he saw three birds at once, He pointed at them all. For while his nose would indicate Where one poor piper sat, His tail, straight as a marline-spike, Would point another at; Then if a third one raised its head, Preparing for the air, That dog would balance on three legs, And aim the other there. With such a pair the quick to scare, And then retrieve the dead, The hunters’ sole remaining care Was how to scatter lead. They traversed gorge and gully low, And many a slippery height, And though their feet did heavier grow, Their game bags still were light. While roving o’er the mountain side, It seemed that every quail Within the county limits wide Was piping in the vale; But when they would forsake the hills, And in the valleys dive, It seemed as if the heights around With bevies were alive. Boggs had one fault, from childhood brought, More marked with age it grew; He never failed to shut both eyes Whilst he the trigger drew. This plan might do, if lead he threw At barns or target rings; But frightened quail, when turning tail, Are visionary things. And let him sight, quick as he might, Space still would grow between, And bang! would go the shower of woe Just where the bird—had been. ’Tis said those knowing canines knew While men were taking aim, Whether or not ’twould be their lot To gather in some game. So when they saw Boggs shut both eyes Whene’er the piece he fired, They dropped upon their hams and howled, And from the hunt retired. And he as soon could cause a stump To walk upon its roots, As from a sitting posture coax The two disgusted brutes. Wide was their aim, and wild the game, And when such facts do yoke, There’s many a shot goes off, I wot, Brings nothing to the “poke.” The grains were sown, the fields were mown, The crops proved rather thin; Oft was the raking summons thrown, But slow the heads came in.