_He_ would rather shoot broken-down cab-horses,--so the mug tells us--than birds. Well, they're more in his line very likely; that means, in his own chosen words, He's more fit for a hammytoor knacker than for that great boast of our land, A true British Sportsman! Great Scott! It's a taste as I _carnt_ understand. Fact is this here FRED is a Demmycrat, Positivist, and all that. There's the nick o' the matter, the reason of all this un-English wild chat. He is down on the Aristos, CHARLIE, this 'ARRISON is. It's the Court And the pick o' the Peerage Sport nobbles, and that's wy he sputters at Sport. All a part of the game, dear old pal, the dead-set at the noble and rich. "Smart people" are "Sports," mostly always, and 'ARRISON slates them as sich. 'Ates killing of "beautiful creatures," and spiling "the Tummel in spate" With "drives," champagne luncheons, and gillies? _That_'s not wot sich slab-dabbers 'ate. It's "Privileged Classes," my pippin, they loathes. Yer can't own a big Moor, Or even rent one like my dry-salter friend, if yer 'umble and poor. Don't 'ARRISON never _eat_ grouse? Ah, you bet, much as ever he'll carry. There's "poz" for a Posit'vist, mate, there's 'ARRISON kiboshed by 'ARRY. * * * * * [Illustration: OUR YOTTING YORICK. YOTTING JOTTINGS.]