TIGER-SHOOTING. 213 



4 Glenlivet !' But no, just one final wag of the 

 broad tail, and he is off, gradually sinking and 

 vanishing from our distracted gaze ! 



Yes, we have all gone through it : hunting, shoot- 

 ing, fishing, racing. In all sports there have been 

 some days which would have been marked with 



a red letter in our sporting memory if only 



Ah! that infernal 'if; it is always that. That 

 accounts for the 'slip betwixt the cup and the 



UP/ 



As I have devoted some pages to narrating suc- 

 cessful incidents in Indian sport, it is only fair 

 that I should relate the result of some days, when 

 all went wrong, and we came back to camp dis- 

 heartened, disgusted, and out of temper, breathing 

 anathemas at our bad luck, and vowing we would 

 be more careful next time and then, perhaps, 

 next time we committed the same faults ! It 

 would only weary my readers to relate many of 

 the unsuccessful days I had, so I shall content 

 myself with the narration of two that stand out 

 particularly clear in my memory. The first will 

 show the folly of changing one's mind, and the 

 second the folly of over-excitement and eagerness. 



To begin with the first. During my second 

 hot-weather trip, Hebbert, Davidson, and myself 

 had arrived at a place called Tandla, situated on 

 the borders of the Nizam of Hyderabad's territory. 



