“Let's Go Out and Kill Something”? – Devotion to Sport Not Elevating
One-third of the soil of England is devoted to the pleasures of the aristocracy, the principle of which is sport. The story is old of the foreigner who stayed at a country house where every morning the men of the party exclaimed: “Tis a fine day! Let’s go out and kill something.” The picture is not exaggerated.
All the engagements of the upper classes, political or social, in town or country, are made with reference to sport. The fashionable season and the parliamentary season are determined by the game laws. Country house parties in winter, and tours to the continent in summer depend upon what is called “close times.”
Estates are purchased and houses built because of the proximity of the covers; properties are valuable for the same reason. Scores of fortunes are lost through the excessive love of sport. Every circumstance and event of English high life revolves around this point, and the results are as visible as those of religion.
More often, however, society is combined with sport. At a great house the party is usually large. The men sally out each morning “to kill something,” and sometimes the ladies accompany them. Of late years, a few of these are shooters themselves. This is, of course, when the game is driven to the guns; at such times the bags made are enormous, hundreds of birds often falling to a single sportsman. The labor is less, and the glory; but the boasting is prodigious.
The devotion to sport that characterizes the English aristocracy is not elevating. It not only makes them indifferent to more serious occupations, taking the hereditary legislators from the affairs of state to which they are supposed to apply themselves, and often distracting them from their own more important interests, but the incessant practice is brutalizing.
Every Englishman loves sport, the peasant as well as the peer, but poaching is a criminal offense, and the poor man is sent for two months, six months, or even a year, to jail for doing what gives the rich man his keenest satisfaction. Five thousand committals for poaching are made every year in England alone,-Adam Badeau's Letter, 1886
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