A Sportsman at Large 75 



sports of any and every kind, gloats over roast beef, boiled 

 mutton, sausages and veal cutlets ! 



I should like to take him (or her) to see a bullock, maddened 

 by the odour of blood, and an uncanny prescience of impending 

 doom, indifferently pole-axed : or the patient sheep, bound 

 on a trestle, and enduring the agony of the cruel knife, driven 

 through the jugular vein and windpipe ; whilst it's life blood 

 thuds into a bucket, and oozes from its mouth and nostrils 

 for many minutes before death brings relief. 



I wonder how our " humanitarians " would regard a pig, 

 stuck in the gullet, dashing aimlessly about its sty, until 

 it drops exhausted from loss of blood ? I know what he would 

 say : "Oh, but it is necessary to kill such animals so that he 

 may live." 



My answer is that it is not necessary. Man could well live 

 on eggs, milk, cheese, fruit, vegetables and cereals, without 

 the killing of a single one of the so-called " inferior animals." 

 In fact I am confident that the general health, vitality and 

 stamina of any nation or group that chose to adopt such a 

 regime, would enjoy an infinite betterment. 



This is my theory. My practice is always has been and 

 always will be to enjoy any sport with rod and gun, horse 

 or hound that comes my way, not for the purpose of obtaining 

 necessary food, but because I enjoy it ! So there ! 



Just below Cator Farm, and on the fringe of the moorlands, 

 were some water-meadows whose lush grass was irrigated 

 by a natural spring which bubbled up in a corner, surrounded 

 by rushes and edged with bright green moss. 



The first day I chanced across this verdant oasis I flushed 

 a snipe, but being unarmed, I was unable to satisfy my blood- 

 lust. However, I bore the little patch in remembrance ; 

 so the next time I approached it I was ready for emergencies, 

 and had slipped a couple of No. 8's (by this time I was able 

 to handle a full-sized Greener double) into my gun. 



Sure enough " Mr. Scollopax " was at home, and as he rose 

 with a protesting " scape-scape ! " I cut short his career 

 with my first and proceeded on my way in triumph. 



Now it is an odd thing that this spring should prove an 

 almost certain final for one snipe, and one only. 



