XIII 



THE SHOOTING-BOOT'S LAMENT 

 1890 



OH ! the base ingratitude of man ! His utter disregard for 

 the feelings of old friends when these are no longer of 

 use to him ! After years of faithful service, and service rendered 

 to my master's complete satisfaction, I am now, when old, and 

 when well-deserved rest should be mine, literally kicked off 

 and thrown to some servant, to know with him no peace until 

 the last thread which holds the sole to my body shall have 

 parted. Even then no decent burial will be mine, but piecemeal 

 shall I be thrown aside, probably on some dung-heap, parted 

 for ever from my faithful friend who has been at my side all 

 through life. He and I were called into existence together, 

 and, constant companions during life, we shared all hard knocks 

 and carried the same burden through all the rough vicissitudes 

 prepared for us by fate. The base ingratitude of man to us, 

 his faithful friends a pair of shooting-boots ! Why should we 

 I speak in the royal plural not be rewarded after a life of 

 toil with a place of well- deserved rest in our old days in the 

 warm gun-room where all the old guns are kept, treasured up 

 and carefully tended guns many of which we have carried 

 uncomplainingly all day long, in all weathers, and over all 

 varieties of ground? 



May our successors, who, innocent of what is before them, 

 are even now treading in our footsteps, avenge us by finding out 

 those tender spots in their master's feet, which we, grateful for 

 the good treatment we received when still in the vigour and 

 beauty of our youth, took such pride in avoiding and carefully 

 guarding with our very bodies. 



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