AND THE PKESENT DAY 7 



I asked him how he was getting on in the hunt- 

 ing line. 



" Hunting, my dear fellow ; why, I have given it 

 up years ago — all humbug ! What on earth is the 

 use of a man making a guy of himself, putting 

 on a pink coat, top-boots, and uncomfortable leather 

 breeches, and for what ? — to gallop after a lot of 

 yelping dogs, and to catch a fox which is of no 

 earthly use to any one when he is brought to hand ; 

 endangering your neck, breaking fences, and de- 

 stroying land and the crops. Hunting is an idiotic 

 fashion ; half the men only hunt for the sake of 

 dress, and for mounting the pink. If they must 

 hunt, why not dress like reasonable beings, in com- 

 fortable cords, gaiters, and a shooting-jacket ? Ah ! 

 then you would not see half the men out you do 

 now. I am quite ashamed to think I ever hunted. 

 Just come and look at my shorthorns, will you ? " 



In sporting parlance, I was " knocked clean out of 

 time ; " this was the inveterate six- days-a- week man. 



" But you shoot ? " I asked, seeing it was neces- 

 sary to say something. 



" Oh yes ! I shoot, and fish occasionally, when 

 the May-fly is up — anything but hunting. There, 

 what do you think of that bull ? " 



Shooting, too, is wonderfully changed. Where 

 are the high stubbles we so eagerly sought on the 



