SHOOTING 7 



altogether absent, while through a window at 

 the back could be seen a distant view of the 

 river Dee, on whose peaceful bosom a swan was 

 standing on its head with a persistence worthy 

 of a better cause. The face of the Queen was 

 illumined by an encouraging but rather forced 

 smile, in which astonishment at the size and 

 variety of her husband's bag seemed to be 

 battling with the natural annoyance occasioned 

 by the spectacle of her best carpet covered with 

 blood and feathers. (Indeed, if one may say so 

 with all due respect. His Royal Highness' s in- 

 curable habit of bringing grouse into the draw- 

 ing-room, as shown in so many contemporary 

 prints, though it has escaped the notice of most 

 biographers, would appear to have been the only 

 weak spot in an otherwise perfect character.) 



I must confess that it was this engraving as 

 much as anything else that filled my youthful 

 soul with the ambition to excel as a game-shot. 

 In my childish dreams I would often picture 

 myself emulating the achievements of royal 

 personages, and strewing the nursery floor with 

 the sanguinary corpses of defunct fauna that 

 had fallen a prey to my prowess. My delight 

 can therefore readily be imagined when, one 

 memorable Christmas morningj my Uncle Noel 

 presented me with an old - fashioned pair of 

 hammer-guns for which he had no further use. 



