The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



seems to breed contempt ! I can vouch for my 

 own feelings, however, and can swear there was 

 little or no contempt in my mind, but I will 

 confess to a certain degree of " funk." Some- 

 how the darkness and inability to take active 

 steps or to do things get on one's nerves most. 

 It is the waiting about, the enforced inactivity 

 that is so trying. I had noticed the same feel- 

 ings in many ways, for instance, in driving a 

 strange team of horses. Before I got on the box 

 and started the team, I would shake like a 

 leaf, and be unable to speak with comfort, 

 but directly I had them going, then they might 

 smash up the whole concern, and I do not 

 think I should have lost my nerve. I have felt 

 the same feelings too in bicycle racing, going 

 to a dentist to have a tooth drawn, etc. I 

 wonder if this is funk ? To my mind it is 

 perilously near it, but at the same time one is 

 quite unable to alter one's temperament. The 

 more phlegmatic a person is, the less he is able 

 to enjoy various sensations, whilst for those 

 who are, so to speak, " on wires," the exact 

 reverse seems to me to be the case. 



I have digressed from my shooting, though. 

 Notwithstanding the lions' roaring I soon dropped 

 off to sleep, not waking until Tom, the cook, 

 came to call us when the sun had been up for 

 some time. We had a cup of coffee each, and 

 then started off to look for some sport. In a 



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