You can't appreciate the delights of fly-fishing, doctor--you are no sportsman." "No, I ain't," said the Doctor; "you never said anything truer than that, James Buckley.

I am nothing of the sort.

When I was a young man, I had a sort of brute instinct, which made me take the same sort of pleasure in killing a boar that a cat does in killing a mouse; but I have outlived such barbarism." "Ha! ha!" said the Vicar; "and yet he gave ten shillings for a snipe.
And he's hand-and-glove with every poacher in the parish." "The snipe was a new species, sir," said the Doctor indignantly; "and if I do employ the hunters to collect for me, I see no inconsistency in that.

But I consider this fly-fishing mania just of a piece with your IDIOTIC, I repeat it, IDIOTIC institution of fox-hunting.

Why, if you laid baits poisoned with NUX VOMICA about the haunts of those animals, you would get rid of them in two years." The Doctor used to delight in aggravating the Major by attacking English sports; but he had a great admiration for them nevertheless.
The Major got out his wife's pony; and setting her on it, and handing up the son and heir, departed home to dinner.