A gentleman from London was invited to go for "a day's snipe-shooting" in the country. The invitation was accepted, and host and guest shouldered guns and sallied forth in quest of game.
After a time a solitary snipe rose, and promptly fell to the visitor's first barrell.
The host's face fell also.
"We may as well return," he remarked, gloomily, "for that was the only snipe in the neighborhood."
The bird had afforded excellent sport to all his friends for six weeks.
An amateur sportsman spent the day with dog and gun, but brought home no game. A friend twitted him with his failure:
"Didn't you shoot anything at all?"
The honest fellow nodded miserably.
"I shot my dog."
"Why?" his questioner demanded. "Was he mad?"
The sportsman shook his head doubtfully.
"Not exactly mad," he asserted; "and not so darned tickled neither!"