PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 103.
DECEMBER 10, 1892.
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
The Smoking-Room(continued).
I may assume, that after the terribleexample given in my last chapter, you have firmly made up your mindnever on any account to take service in the great army of bores. Butthis determination is not all that is necessary. A man must constantlykeep a strict guard on himself, lest he should unconsciously deviateeven for a few minutes into the regions of boredom. Whatever you do,let nothing tempt you to relate more than once any grievance you mayhave. Nothing of course is more poisonous to the aggrieved one than tostifle his grievance absolutely. Once, and once only, he may produceit to his friends. I shall be blamed, perhaps, for making even thisslight concession. Please be careful, therefore, not to abuse it. Isthere in the whole world a more ridiculous sight than a strong,healthy, well-fed sportsman who wearies his companions one afteranother with the depressing recital of his ill-luck, or of thedastardly behaviour of the head-keeper in not stopping the whole partyfor half an hour to search for an imaginary bird, which is supposed tohave fallen stone-dead somewhere or other; or of the iniquities of theman from whom he bought his cartridges in not loading them with theright charge; or any of the hundred inconveniences and injuries towhich sportsmen are liable. All these things may be as he says theyare. He may be the most unfortunate, the most unjustly treated ofmankind. But why insist upon it? Why check the current of sympathy bythe dam of constant repetition? And, after all, how trivial and absurdthe whole thing is! Even a man whose career has been ruined bymalicious persecution will be avoided like a pest if it is known thathe dins the account of his wrongs into everyone's ears. How, then,shall the sufferer by the petty injuries of ordinary sport be listenedto with patience? Of all bores, the grievancemonger is the fiercestand worst. Lay this great truth by in your memory, and be mindful ofit in more important matters than sport when the occasion arises.
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I have been asked to say, whether a man may abuse his gun? I replyemphatically, no. A gun is not a mere ordinary machine. Its beautifularrangement of locks, and springs, and catches, and bolts, and pins,and screws, its unaccountable perversities, its occasional fits ofsulkiness, its lovely brown complexion, and its capacity both forkicking and for smoking, all prove that a gun is in reality a sentientbeing of a very high order of intelligence. You may be quite certainthat if you abuse your gun, even when you may imagine it to be far outof earshot, comfortably cleaned and put to roost on its rack, your gunwill resent it. Why are most sportsmen so silent, so distraitsat breakfast? Why do they dally with a scrap of fish, and linger overthe consumption of a small kidney, and drink great draughts of tea torestore their equilibrium? If you ask them, they will tell you thatit's because they're "just a bit chippy," owing to sitting up late, orsmoking too much, or forgetting to drink a whiskey and soda beforethey went to bed. I know better. It is because they incautiously spokeevil of their guns, and their guns retaliated by haunting their sleep.I know...