THAT SHELDEAKE. 27 



our ''' sportsman ^^ had a weapon — 11 -bore — ^^ kills ^em 

 clean you know/' That man drank dry sherry and fired 

 away like a mitrailleuse, till hardly a rook remained. 



As for the much-abused grouse driving, I have never, 

 bad luck to it ! had a turn at that, and I am afraid 

 I never shall. I dare say, however, if I were offered a 

 mantelet some fine day, I should turn '' artilleryman "' 

 with the rest of them. As for the sport of the thing, 

 that depends entirely, I imagine, on the taste of the 

 individual ; it really is very difficult to define sport. If 

 a man finds extreme pleasure in killing birds flying at a 

 great pace in large quantities, probably the more he 

 kills the better sport he thinks it. Others, again, would 

 consider three couple of woodcock a far better day's 

 sport than any amount of snipe or duck ; yet I imagine 

 these two latter are about as hard to kill as the former. 

 Before Colonel Hawker's time, duck-shooting was con- 

 demned, as he says, "as an occupation only fit for 

 rustics." I certainly consider it facile pinceps the finest 

 of all sport, except deer-stalking. A celebrated sports- 

 man makes out that buffalo hunting is the finest sport 

 in the universe. There you are again ; I really consider 

 it one of the tamest. You ride up to the herd on a pony 

 trained to the work, single out a straggler, run alongside 

 and fire into him with a heavy pistol, and then run along- 

 side another, and so on, till your horse gives out. There 

 is just the excitement of a good gallop, and no danger 

 in it at all. A stockman on a cattle station in Australia 

 or Chile has twice the excitement and danger, and is far 

 better mounted into the bargain. I would guarantee, at 

 a week's notice, to give a far better buffalo hunt with 

 two or three wicked Highland bulls on a good large 

 moor than is possible on the " boundless peraries." 



