386 A FARMER'S YEAR 



is my respect for the clergy, although there are exceptions (I my- 

 self know one\ I confess that I am not fond of going out shooting 

 with them, since on these occasions they are apt to display too 

 active a trust in a watching Providence. When I was a young 

 fellow there lived in our neighbourhood a retired naval chaplain, 

 who in private life was a most delightful old gentleman, but who 

 when armed with a gun became a perfect terror. On one occasion 

 I was joining a party of shooters who were advancing up a turnip 

 field, and, seeing among them my reverend friend, I was par- 

 ticularly careful to show myself and call out to him. When he 

 arrived within about twenty yards of me, however, a partridge 

 rose at his feet and flew straight past me, whereon, without the 

 slightest hesitation, he sent the contents first of one barrel and 

 then of the other slap into the fence within about a foot of my 

 face. 



' Mr. B. ! Mr. B. ! ' I exclaimed reproachfully, ' you very nearly 

 shot me dead.' 



' Oh,' he grunted in answer, ' shouldn't have been there, you 

 know ; shouldn't have been there ! ' 



On another occasion the same dear old gentleman nearly blew 

 the middle out of one of my brothers, indeed he only escaped the 

 charge by doubling himself up with a wonderful rapidity. After 

 that experience we dared not ask him to shoot any more. This 

 gave him great offence, as he believed that the omission was due 

 to personal reasons. It is very difficult to make the dangerous 

 man understand what a thing of fear he is to all his neighbours. 



Here is a further reminiscence of a parsonic sportsman. The 

 parson and another friend entered at the top of a long covert 

 with a view to walking down it in line and shooting rabbits, 

 while I stood at the bottom waiting for pheasants. There were a 

 good many shots fired in the covert, varied by occasional shouts, 

 and at last my friend staggered out at the end looking very hot and 

 flustered. 



' You had some shooting there,' I said. 



* Shooting ? ' he answered in a fury. * That infernal parson 



