SCIENCE OF THE WILDS, POETRY OF SPORT. 170 



to the keeper. He looks at them only Avhen they 

 point; and let their hehavioiir be good or bad, 

 to use the old, and, in its first instance, misapplied 

 saying, he has not a word — a kind word, '' to 

 throw to a dog." 



Pie, this' mere gmmer absorbed in his gun and 

 grouse, sees not the loveliness of the scene he 

 wanders over. He takes no heed of the sur- 

 rounding beauty of nature, the blooming blush 

 of her honey-bearing heather reflected back as 

 caught from the mountain brow by the still 

 waters of the placid lake stretched in the vale 

 below ; nor does he care for the painstaking, 

 mysteriously-gifted, and carefully-educated dog, 

 who laljours the day throughout, not to find any- 

 thing that he (in this instance the dog, not the man) 

 can eat, Ijut with an unselfish unweariness which 

 never tires tlie setter or pointer, labours only 

 to please the gun-man and to give him delicacies 

 for his table. Of course I speak of the gunner, 

 I can't call Iiim a sportsman, of the present day. 

 There are some men still in existence, and perhaj)s 

 a few young men coming on, who love tlie poetry 

 of sport; but very few are they wlien com- 

 pared to the headache gaining gunners of mere 



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