can surely be none for the
methodical rogues who band themselves together on business principles, and
plunder coverts just as others crack cribs, or pick pockets. Even sentiment
is wasted on these gentlemen.

But I return from this digression. The one subject, then, on which a keeper
may be trusted to become eloquent, is, that of

FOXES.

Just try him. Suppose you are shooting a wood, in which you expect to find
a considerable number of pheasants. The guns are posted, the beaters have
begun to move at the far end of the wood. Suddenly you are aware of a
commotion in the middle of the wood. Here and there pheasants rise long
before the beaters have approached. There is a whirring of wings, and
dozens of birds sail away, un-shot at, to right, to left, and all over the
place. And then, while you are still wondering what this may mean, a fine
dog-fox comes sliding out from the covert. Away he goes at top speed across
the open. The little stops view him as he passes, and far and near the air
resounds with shrill "yoick!" and "tally-ho!" In the end four birds are
brought to bag, where twenty at least had been expected. When the beat is
over, this is the kind of conversation you will probably hear:--

_First Beater_ (_to a colleague_). I seed 'un, JIM; a great, fine fox 'e
were, a slinkin' off jest afore we coom up. "Go it," I says to myself; "go
it, Muster BILLY FOX, you bin spoilin' sport, I'll warrant, time you was
off"; and out 'e popped as sly as fifty on 'em, ah, that 'e was.

_Second B._ Ah! I lay 'e was that. Where did 'e slip to, TOM?

_First B._ I heerd 'em a hollerin' away by CHUFF'S Farm. Reckon 'e's goin'
to hev 'is supper there, to-night.

_Second B._ And a pretty meal 'e'll make of it. Pheasant for breakfast,
pheasant for dinner, pheasant for tea; I'll lay 'e don't get much thinner.

_One of the Guns_ (_to the Keeper_). Nuisance about that fox, SYKES.

_Keeper._ Nuisance, Sir? You may say that. Why, I've seen as many as four
o' them blamed varmints one after another in this 'ere blessed wood. Did
you see 'im, Sir? I wish you'd a shot 'im just by mistake. Nobody wouldn't
a missed 'im. But there, a-course I daren't touch 'em. Mr. CHALMERS
wouldn't like it, and a-course I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I do
say, we've got too many on 'em, and we never get the hounds, or if they do
come, they can't kill. What am I to do? Mr. CHALMERS wants birds, and 'e
wants foxes too. I tell 'im 'e can't have both. I