a similar fish far from the haunts of men, in a boiling rocky torrent
surrounded by heathery mountains, where the shadow of a rod has seldom
been reflected in the stream, and you cease to think the former fish
worth catching; still he is the same size, showed the same courage, had
the same perfection of condition, and yet you cannot allow that it was
sport compared with this wild stream. If you see no difference in the
excitement, you are not a sportsman; you would as soon catch him in a
washing tub, and you should buy your fish when you require him; but
never use a rod, or you would disgrace the hickory.

This feeling of a combination of wild country with the presence of the
game itself, to form a real sport, is most keenly manifested when we
turn our attention to the rifle. This noble weapon is thrown away in an
enclosed country. The smooth-bore may and does afford delightful sport
upon our cultivated fields; but even that pleasure is doubled when those
enclosures no longer intervene, and the wide-spreading moors and
morasses of Scotland give an idea of freedom and undisturbed nature. Who
can compare grouse with partridge shooting? Still the difference exists,
not so much in the character of the bird as in the features of the
country. It is the wild aspect of the heathery moor without a bound,
except the rugged outline of the mountains upon the sky, that gives such
a charm to the grouse-shooting in Scotland, and renders the
deer-stalking such a favourite sport among the happy few who can enjoy
it.

All this proves that the simple act of killing is not sport; if it were,
the Zoological Gardens would form as fine a field to an elephant shot as
the wildest Indian jungle.

Man is a bloodthirsty animal, a beast of prey, instinctively; but let us