IN THE SHETLANDS 143 
an observant race of men, for sights like this might 
upset them—however, to speak candidly, I don’t 
think they would; that was only a fagon de parler. But 
are sportsmen unobservant? for I make no doubt 
that some will demur to this proposition. There are, 
of course, exceptions to all rules, but my own opinion 
is that it is the tendency of sportsmen to overlook, or 
pay slight regard to, anything in an animal which does 
not lie in the path of its being killed by themselves. 
With its habits in relation to ¢his, its ruses, wariness, 
and so forth, they necessarily become acquainted to 
some extent, generally in a very inappreciative and 
unsympathetic sort of way—a disgusting way, in fact 
—“‘very,” as Jingle says—but that, as a rule, is all, or 
nearly all. The actuating motive is to kill, and the 
rest—this that I say—follows of necessity. It is easy 
to deny this, but I appeal to sporting works generally. 
What a mass of them there are, and, off these special 
lines, what a little do we know of natural history 
from the greater number of them! We do not 
sufficiently appreciate this truth, because the bulk of 
what we do know in this department comes to us from 
men who have in some degree been sportsmen. We 
cannot, of course, expect such knowledge from those 
whose activities lie in quite different directions—from 
chemists, astronomers, lawyers, artists, etc.—and the 
greater part of those who come much in contact with 
animal life do so—sometimes almost necessarily—as 
destroyers of it. 
It is, I admit, an unhappy truth that the naturalist 
