hole thing is! Even a man
whose career has been ruined by malicious persecution will be avoided
like a pest if it is known that he dins the account of his wrongs into
everyone's ears. How, then, shall the sufferer by the petty injuries of
ordinary sport be listened to with patience? Of all bores, the
grievancemonger is the fiercest and worst. Lay this great truth by in
your memory, and be mindful of it in more important matters than sport
when the occasion arises.

[Illustration]

I have been asked to say, whether a man may abuse his gun? I reply
emphatically, no. A gun is not a mere ordinary machine. Its beautiful
arrangement of locks, and springs, and catches, and bolts, and pins, and
screws, its unaccountable perversities, its occasional fits of
sulkiness, its lovely brown complexion, and its capacity both for
kicking and for smoking, all prove that a gun is in reality a sentient
being of a very high order of intelligence. You may be quite certain
that if you abuse your gun, even when you may imagine it to be far out
of earshot, comfortably cleaned and put to roost on its rack, your gun
will resent it. Why are most sportsmen so silent, so _distraits_ at
breakfast? Why do they dally with a scrap of fish, and linger over the
consumption of a small kidney, and drink great draughts of tea to
restore their equilibrium? If you ask them, they will tell you that it's
because they're "just a bit chippy," owing to sitting up late, or
smoking too much, or forgetting to drink a whiskey and soda before they
went to bed. I know better. It is because they incautiously spoke evil
of their guns, and their guns retaliated by haunting their sleep. I
_know_ guns have this power of projecting horrible emanations of
themselves into the slumbers of sportsmen who have not treated them as
they deserved. I have suffered from it myself. It was only last week
that, having said something derogatory to the dignity of my second gun,
I woke with a start at two o'clock in the morning, and found its wraith
going through the most horrible antics in a patch of moonlight on my
bed-room floor. I shot with that gun on the following day, and missed
nearly everything I shot at. Could there be a more convincing proof?
Take my advice, therefore, and abstain from abusing your gun.

Now your typical smoking-room conversation ought always to include the
following subjects:--(1) The wrong-headed, unpopular man, whom every
district possesses, and who is alw