ight and profit of fools, ruffians, and
thieves. That intelligent men allow themselves to take part in the
affair, and defend their conduct by declaring that their presence
"maintains the character of a sport essentially noble," merely shows that
intelligence can easily enough divest itself of sense and decency.



XV.


Midway in my long walk yesterday, I lunched at a wayside inn. On the
table lay a copy of a popular magazine. Glancing over this miscellany, I
found an article, by a woman, on "Lion Hunting," and in this article I
came upon a passage which seemed worth copying.

"As I woke my husband, the lion--which was then about forty yards
off--charged straight towards us, and with my .303 I hit him full in the
chest, as we afterwards discovered, tearing his windpipe to pieces and
breaking his spine. He charged a second time, and the next shot hit him
through the shoulder, tearing his heart to ribbons."

It would interest me to look upon this heroine of gun and pen. She is
presumably quite a young woman; probably, when at home, a graceful figure
in drawing-rooms. I should like to hear her talk, to exchange thoughts
with her. She would give one a very good idea of the matron of old Rome
who had her seat in the amphitheatre. Many of those ladies, in private
life, must have been bright and gracious, high-bred and full of agreeable
sentiment; they talked of art and of letters; they could drop a tear over
Lesbia's sparrow; at the same time, they were connoisseurs in torn
windpipes, shattered spines and viscera rent open. It is not likely that
many of them would have cared to turn their own hands to butchery, and,
for the matter of that, I must suppose that our Lion Huntress of the
popular magazine is rather an exceptional dame; but no doubt she and the
Roman ladies would get on very well together, finding only a few
superficial differences. The fact that her gory reminiscences are
welcomed by an editor with the popular taste in view is perhaps more
significant than app