282 LIFE ON THE HIGHT VELDT 



men of the present day, for their adage at home is, 

 " kill all the birds you can," possibly and probably to 

 make a boast of their slaughter, but not unfre- 

 quently to balance their poulterer's bill with the 

 outlay their sport has cost them. 



Then there is another class of shooting men, 

 who desire to turn their setters and pointers into 

 French poodles or showman's trick dogs. Bah ! 

 with a bleat of double emphasis ; I would sit upon 

 or rub out such canine teachers. Sellers of dogs, 

 exhibitors of dogs, and doggy men in general, do 

 these things, but who but an unfledged heir to an 

 estate, or a numskull who knows not the value of 

 the coin which has been amassed for him, would call 

 such persons sportsmen ? Certainly I would not 

 call such men sportsmen, although they attend 

 country fairs clothed in laced boots and leggings, 

 shooting-jackets covered with pockets, and possibly 

 a whistle at the end of their watchchain instead of a 

 locket. No, thrice no. Give me the sportsman of 

 a quarter of a century back, who would neither sell 

 his game nor turn his kennel into mountebanks ; 

 who would listen and gain instruction from those 

 who have shot abroad as well as at home, and after 

 dinner, and even before it, feel that if fortune had 

 sent him to foreign lands, he could have done as the 

 narrator did — yes, and possibly have beaten him. 



I trust I have put the above intelligibly before 

 my readers, for they were about the feelings that 



