ROEBUCK SHOOTING ON THE BANKS OF 



THE BHINE. 



I. 



Roebuck-calling, or roebuck-poaching, would be an equally 

 applicable term to apply to this curious, legitimised, sport. 

 Many queer methods of killing game have I witnessed and 

 shared in, from my youth up — from tickling trout to angling 

 for albatross, from tiger-netting to deer-shooting by torchlight. 

 Now I have lived to shoot roebuck to the call ; have been 

 immensely interested in the pursuit, and consider I have taken 

 part in a phase of sport about as justifiable as shooting a fox — 

 a form of murder I have never yet been able to bring myself 

 to, even in countries where poor reynard is as vermin as a 

 wild cat. 



My basis of operations was Baden Baden. Now, Baden, 

 though a lovely resort — where the sun and the flowers are 

 always bright, the leaves always green and the shade always. 

 cool — where music fills up half the day, and is apparently 

 sufficient for all the remaiuing energies of those who bathe, 

 of those who come newly married, and of those to whom 

 promenade and pretty frocks are life — yet Baden, with all its 

 charms, is apt to pall upon a man of active habit and tolerably 

 sound body. There is no polo, no cricket — yes, there is lawn 

 tennis, and there is trout fishing. It would seem a hopeless, 

 not to say senseless, task to inquire after shooting in the 

 month of July. But I made the inquiry nevertheless — en- 

 couraged by the sight of venison at the table d'hote ; and, as 

 usual in such cases, made it in various directions before I 



