SHOOTING 19 



It is during some such temporary bout of 

 lethargy that a man will occasionally infringe 

 the unwritten rules of sport, and earn the 

 odium and contempt of his fellows by killing 

 the keeper's best dog, shooting a fox, or slaying 

 the favourite barndoor hen of some local farmer. 

 A near relative of my own, who shall be name- 

 less, frequently suffered in this way. Indeed, 

 his natural absent-mindedness, combined with a 

 peculiar obliquity of vision, rendered him so 

 prone to the commission of accidental vulpicide 

 that he always carried a small spade slung 

 over his shoulders, so that whenever he shot a 

 fox he could hastily dig its grave and give it 

 pagan burial before its absence had been 

 noticed. He was thus able for many years to 

 evade the direct consequences of his crime, 

 until at last, when he was caught by my uncle 

 in the act of trying to bury a full-sized cow 

 (which he pretended to have mistaken for a 

 woodcock), it was felt that the conduct of his 

 clandestine obsequies was being carried to 

 extreme lengths, and he was never again invited 

 to The Grange. 



I myself once had the misfortune to shoot a 

 tame parrot belonging to my host's cousin — a 

 regrettable affair the memory of which still 

 causes beads of perspiration to bedew my brow. 

 I was staying at Castle Gormuck, in Aberdeen- 



