Decemfcer 



LXXV 



IT is many years since I gave up practice with the 

 ' scatter-gun.' Truth to tell, the competitive 

 element dominates modern shooting to such fashioned 

 an extent as to rob it of the zest it once had Sport 

 for me. It has developed into a consummate exhibition 

 of marksmanship, but the wild flavour has fled from the 

 big battues. 



I happened once to be staying in a country house with 

 the late Lord Iddesleigh, then Sir Stafford Northcote. 

 Our host, in arranging for the amusement of his guests, 

 inquired, ' Do you shoot, Sir Stafford ? ' ' Intransitively, I 

 do,' was the reply, thoroughly enigmatic to our worthy 

 host, who had forgotten his Latin syntax. Well, I was 

 present at a shooting-party during this winter (1904) in 

 which I did not take even an intransitive part. Never- 

 theless, I thoroughly enjoyed the sport, for it retained all 

 the simple, leisurely character which used to satisfy all of 

 us dans le temps. Pheasants were the quarry ; and that 

 made it all the more remarkable, seeing that pheasants, 

 more than any other kind of wild animal, have been 

 multiplied artificially, and elaborately disciplined to pro- 

 duce sport. It was in the park of a certain noble earl in 

 the Midlands, and when he told me that he was going to 

 shoot his pheasants, I thought I knew what to expect. 



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