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-Our esteemed contributor, Mrs. Irene Pomeroy Shields, published some lines, in another publication, unfortunately, that have remained fixed in the gray matter that I am pleased to call my brain. They are as follows:
"Get a move on,' my son, 'get a move on,'
"Is making two motions at once.
"Goes whirling around night and day,
This is good advice, and I have been carrying it out in theory for many years. I also want you fellows to get a move on and make this page of mine the medium of more real, live business transactions, back and forth between friends, than any similar page published on the continent.
Almost every member of RECREATION's great family has something he or she wants to sell, or knows of something he or she would like to buy. Now, that you have the privilege of transacting dealings through an absolutely honest broker, get busy!
I wonder why more taxidermists do not advertise in RECREATION? Only the other day I happened to drop into Edward Von Hofe's Fishing Tackle Emporium, on Fulton street, and noticed a superb specimen of the Amber Jack. It seems this magnificent fish weighed ninety-two pounds when caught at Palm Beach, and it is believed to be the record of its species caught on the rod. But the reason I allude to it more particularly is, that the artist who can do such perfect work-for the fish seems almost alive-makes a mistake in hiding his light under a bushel. I predict that, if that man put a card in RECREATION, he would become enormously wealthy.
FRANK FORD, Information Dept., Recreation, 23 West 24th Street, N. Y.
By CAPT. WILL GRAHAM
grand, strange fertile little valleys, here. and there protected from the salty spray, nestle 'mid the hills of sand, and, odd as it may seem, act as cover for partridge, quail, rabbit, and fox. Miles of meadows and little ponds, where the black duck and the teal abound and big wild geese love to rest their weary wings. A fisherman's hut, a government life-saving station, a long row of little telephone poles dying away in hazy perspective. The beaten-to-death ribs of a gallant ship. That tract of white sand, dead dog fish, drift wood, and the picture is before you. Then the air-is there such anywhere else?