ass and dwarf growth of polas and jujube trees
which covered the sites of abandoned villages and fields,--all
these revealed themselves to us in the most tempting situations. But
although I had been an ardent devotee of the double-barrel, the large
and manly tenderness which Bhima Gandharva invariably displayed toward
all animals, whether wild or tame, had wrought marvels upon me, and
I had grown fairly ashamed--nay, horrified--at the idea that anything
which a generous and brave man could call _sport_ should consist
wholly in the most keen and savage cruelties inflicted upon creatures
whom we fight at the most unknightly odds, we armed, they unarmed.
While I knew that our pleasures are by the divine order mostly
distillations from pain, I could not now help recognizing at the same
time that this circumstance was part of an enormous plan which the
slaughter of innocent creatures in the way of "sport" did in nowise
help to carry out.

The truth is, although I had been for some days wavering upon the
brink of these conclusions in a quiet way, I found the old keen ardor
of the sportsman still burning too strongly, and I had started out
with a breech-loader, intent upon doing much of the Gondwana route gun
in hand. It was not long before a thoughtless shot operated to
bring my growing convictions sharply face to face with my decreasing
practice, and thus to quite frown the latter out of existence. It
happened in this wise: One day, not far from sunset, I was walking
idly along behind the chapaya, in which Bhima Gandharva was dreamily
reclining, when suddenly a pair of great _saras_ cranes rose from the
low banks of a small stream and sailed directly across the road. Quick
as thought--indeed, quicker than thought; for if I _had_ thought, I
would not have done it--I fired, and brought down one of the monstrous
birds. As I started to approach it, Bhima Gandharva said, in a tone
just a trifle graver than usual, "Stop! wait a moment," and at the
same time halted the chapaya. The mate of the bird I had shot, seeing
him fall, alighted on the same spot, then flew up, then returned,
flew up again, returned again, with an exhibition of sad and lingering
affection of which I had not dreamed, and which penetrated me beyond
expression; so I stood half stolid outwardly and wholly ashamed
and grieved inwardly. "The saras," said my friend, "is the type of
conjugal affection among the Hindus. The birds nearly always go
in pairs; and when o