208 THE SPORT OF KINGS 



well - grown cub, how he slips leisurely along, 

 startled by a noise which he does not connect with 

 his hereditary foes, to whom he had an introduc- 

 tion a week ago. Our shooting tenant has seen 

 him too ; his gun is levelled, and the " little red 

 rover " rolls over stiff. Another gets up and 

 shares the same fate, and the shooting party are 

 jubilant. We will go with them no longer ; men 

 like these are past hoping for, and, arrant hypo- 

 crites that they are, they will pose as friends to 

 hunting ; nay, they are sometimes dependent for 

 their livelihood upon hunting men who may chance 

 to be their best customers. When I come across 

 gentry of this kind — and I do come across them 

 now and again, though, I am thankful to say, it is 

 not often — I am reminded of an anecdote of an 

 old farmer I knew well. He was nothing of a 

 sportsman till well past middle life, and then he 

 "took it badly," greyhound coursing being the 

 sport he affected. Early and late "the dogs" 

 were in his mouth ; Sunday and week - day he 

 thought of them and their noble deeds, and even 

 as he walked home from church a word about 

 " the 'ard bitch " would set him off. Once I 

 ventured to say to him that I wondered he never 

 joined us shooting. "Why," said the old man, 

 " ah nivver fired off a gun but yance. Ye see, the 

 foxes had been plaguing the turkeys, and the 

 wimmen folk got vara bad to liv wiv, sae for peace 

 sake I went to get yan. Sure eneof, the fox cam 

 whale ah was watchin', and it was a fine munelight 

 neet, so ah had a fair shot at him. But the gun 

 brast, and ah swore ah'd nivver shoot a fox or try 

 to again. Ah've thowt that owre mony a time 

 syne, and ah've always looked on it as a kind of 



